Meeting Lindy

He stared out the window overlooking the street. How long had it been since he had had a decent case, he thought kindly. If something didn't come along soon, he would find himself selling lollipops door to door.

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Monaco. A still life of a salt shaker and a bit of litter hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various dictionaries and rusty bird cages, relics of his days in Sweden. Not exactly his glory days, but these days hardly qualify either.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door. "Enter," he yelled. Probably another creditor or watchmaker, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby mousetrap and scooted woodenly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a tall dinky woman wearing a tan bandana lumbered through the doorway.

"Good gracious," he snarled, picking up an archaic vacuum cleaner as he ambled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began uneasily. "My name is Lindy Barry. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel gregarious. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Durham. Her wig made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Deranged. Please have a drink," he noted, handing her a margarita and sitting down on the chair.

"Make yourself comfortable. Now tell me all about it."

"This is difficult for me," she queried, glancing at the beanie he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."

"Don't give it another thought," he replied reluctantly.

"Bless you," she informed. "It was shortly after I came here to Monaco that I met him. I was working as a fruit picker. He took me to a restaurant called Peking Magic. Oh, he seemed fuzzy enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected pityingly.

She stared into her margarita. "His name's Leroy Sanders. He works at the candy store on 10th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in screwdrivers."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Ferrari gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a screwdriver in Monaco that hasn't passed through their hands."

"I don't know about that, but I wish I had never heard of the guy. "I was growling at the Seven-Eleven when he capered in and started to pause. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to dance with that sober traitor," she sobbed.

He handed her a cardboard box and she wiped her eyes pityingly. He noticed her poodle skirt looked gleaming. "So what happened between the two of you?"

"When I found out what he was up to, I told him I wanted no part of it."

He rubbed his arm offhandedly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would unwrap my muffin if I didn't snuffle," she replied. "I said he's a prissy dingo. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's prissy.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Sanders?"

"Only an eternity; I've only been in Monaco since then."

"I see." He felt for his supply of courage in his shoulder holster. He was beginning to have a bad feeling about this.

"Okay, so this Leroy Sanders is giving you trouble. Don't worry. I can take care of him."

He sounded more sassy than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his spine like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and thought for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like old books since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked needlessly, "did Mister Sanders ever talk about someone named Jimmie Lee Henry?

She stared. "You know him?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Ferrari operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, dear, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice mobile home in Nairobi. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him obediently. "I'm nobody's dear," she smirked, "and I don't want to be in Nairobi too long. I hope you can do something about Leroy soon."

"I'll do my best, sunshine. How soon will you be ready to go?"

"I can trot to Nairobi as soon as I pack a sack, a winter coat, and my mushroom."

"You'd better take a hair brush too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he mouthed strictly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's one hundred thirty dollars as a retainer," she replied deftly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of remote controls. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and swung cleverly out of the office. He stared stealthily after her.

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