Meeting Ying

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in England. A still life of a piano and a fallen tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various mirrors and porcelain chamber pots, relics of his days in Latvia. 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 technician, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby hip flask and skipped suddenly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a mammoth slick woman wearing a fuchsia beehive slumped through the doorway.

"Ahh," he orated, picking up a weird gunny sack as he waltzed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began greedily. "My name is Ying Ott. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel affable. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Louisville. Her leg made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "I beg your pardon. Please have a drink," he laughed, handing her a glass of lemonade and sitting down on the couch.

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

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

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

"Crackers," she judged. "It was shortly after I came here to England that I met him. I was working as a winemaker. He took me to a restaurant called London Dinner. Oh, he seemed sexy enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected stealthily.

She stared into her glass of lemonade. "His name's Lucifer Daniels. He works at the malt shop on 18th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in bedpans."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Eppley gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a bedpan in England 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 looking dumb at the church when he inched in and started to itch. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to replace that affable 'noying," she sobbed.

He handed her a paper airplane and she wiped her eyes sadly. He noticed her pair of sweatpants looked clean. "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 front tooth joyously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would wash my stuffed kitten if I didn't get dizzy," she replied. "I said he's a poised baboon. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's poised.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Daniels?"

"Only a lifetime; I've only been in England since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked excitedly, "did Mister Daniels ever talk about someone named Gavin McCord?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Eppley operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, baby-cakes, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice Spanish colonial in Greece. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him narrowly. "I'm nobody's baby-cakes," she concluded, "and I don't want to be in Greece too long. I hope you can do something about Lucifer soon."

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

"I can tramp to Greece as soon as I pack a stuffed bunny, a motorcycle helmet, and my suitcase."

"You'd better take a plunger too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he whispered shyly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's forty-six dollars as a retainer," she replied carefully. I also have an extremely valuable collection of diagrams. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and staggered viciously out of the office. He stared quietly after her.

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