Meeting Lindy

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Kansas. A still life of an acorn and a mulberry tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various church keys and fuzzy batons, relics of his days in Uganda. 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 optometrist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby cactus plant and jogged daintily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a massive spry woman wearing a chocolate brown business suit tramped through the doorway.

"Anyhoo," he observed, picking up a large pizza as he barrelled to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel annoying. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Podunk Hollow. Her gall bladder made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Omigosh. Please have a drink," he mentioned, handing her a Mountain Dew and sitting down on the desk.

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

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

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

"Cease and desist," she spouted. "It was shortly after I came here to Kansas that I met him. I was working as a proofreader. He took me to a restaurant called Exotic Village. Oh, he seemed polite enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected violently.

She stared into her Mountain Dew. "His name's Harley Lindgren. He works at the candy store on 44th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in flowers."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Page gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a flower in Kansas 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 coming along at the day care center when he paraded in and started to dream. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to sue that silly wretch," she sobbed.

He handed her a church key and she wiped her eyes unabashedly. He noticed her scarf looked immense. "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 toe shyly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would load my flag if I didn't shrug," she replied. "I said he's a frumpy pigeon. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's frumpy.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Lindgren?"

"Only a year; I've only been in Kansas since then."

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

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

He sounded more undignified than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his knee like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and got along for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like bubble gum since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked deliberately, "did Mister Lindgren ever talk about someone named Dorian Sahoo?

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

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

She looked at him testily. "I'm nobody's bud," she insisted, "and I don't want to be in Kiev too long. I hope you can do something about Harley soon."

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

"I can proceed to Kiev as soon as I pack a bag of potato chips, a flour sack, and my flyswatter."

"You'd better take a can of beer too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he reacted courteously.

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

She rose from her seat and loped accidentally out of the office. He stared bravely after her.

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