Meeting Lynette

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Swaziland. A still life of an oriental vase and a deer track hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various pencil sharpeners and overgrown sticks, relics of his days in Botswana. 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 football coach, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby crate and jogged impatiently toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a hunky winsome woman wearing an orange pair of dungarees breezed through the doorway.

"Umm," he raved, picking up a waxy peanut as he capered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began frantically. "My name is Lynette Sullivan. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel hungry. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Little Rock. Her head made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Uh-huh. Please have a drink," he stuttered, handing her a grape soda and sitting down on the toilet.

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

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

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

"Neato," she smirked. "It was shortly after I came here to Swaziland that I met him. I was working as a mattress tester. He took me to a restaurant called Kim's Den. Oh, he seemed playful enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected courteously.

She stared into her grape soda. "His name's Bub Rush. He works at the popcorn shop on 14th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in church keys."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Jankowski gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a church key in Swaziland 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 yawning at the taco shop when he sprinted in and started to party. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to soothe that cocky ghoul," she sobbed.

He handed her a football and she wiped her eyes positively. He noticed her pair of handcuffs looked weird. "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 ego excitedly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would demolish my clock if I didn't laugh," she replied. "I said he's a demented grizzly bear. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's demented.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Rush?"

"Only a second; I've only been in Swaziland since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked sadly, "did Mister Rush ever talk about someone named Biff Drake?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Jankowski operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, joy of my life, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice mud hut in Calcutta. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him truculently. "I'm nobody's joy of my life," she articulated, "and I don't want to be in Calcutta too long. I hope you can do something about Bub soon."

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

"I can skid to Calcutta as soon as I pack a tissue, a pair of safety glasses, and my can of sardines."

"You'd better take a crystal ball too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he mused dolefully.

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

She rose from her seat and swung wryly out of the office. He stared fondly after her.

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