Meeting Lillie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in New Haven. A still life of an advertisement and a fern hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various Van Goghs and stiff pearls, relics of his days in India. 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 page, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby spittoon and loped fondly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as an emaciated angelic woman wearing a silver bra breezed through the doorway.

"W00t," he quoted, picking up a crude pencil as he cantered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began recklessly. "My name is Lillie Clooney. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel mournful. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Seattle. Her bicep made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "At last. Please have a drink," he reacted, handing her a chamomile tea and sitting down on the fainting couch.

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

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

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

"Hee haw," she muttered. "It was shortly after I came here to New Haven that I met him. I was working as a fireman. He took me to a restaurant called Double Inn. Oh, he seemed cowardly enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected blissfully.

She stared into her chamomile tea. "His name's Rich Wall. He works at the bar on 47th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in candy canes."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Cleveland gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a candy cane in New Haven 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 kneeling at the beach when he slunk in and started to fret. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to dance with that angry vile viper," she sobbed.

He handed her a Van Gogh and she wiped her eyes suspiciously. He noticed her bustier looked primitive. "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 bladder wryly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would brandish my duffel bag if I didn't blink," she replied. "I said he's a generous gazelle. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's generous.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Wall?"

"Only a fortnight; I've only been in New Haven since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked unnaturally, "did Mister Wall ever talk about someone named Nils Pryor?

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

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

She looked at him fervently. "I'm nobody's little blossom," she spewed, "and I don't want to be in Brazil too long. I hope you can do something about Rich soon."

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

"I can proceed to Brazil as soon as I pack an antenna, a cummerbund, and my basket."

"You'd better take a hammer too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he jeered sorrowfully.

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

She rose from her seat and zoomed vigorously out of the office. He stared flightily after her.

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