Meeting Lindsey
He stared out the window overlooking the street. How long had it been since he had had a decent case, he thought busily. If something didn't come along soon, he would find himself selling stopwatches door to door.
He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Swaziland. A still life of a corncob and a stick hung crookedly on his wall.
The office was adorned with various hip flasks and nice bones, relics of his days in the Sandwich Islands. 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 musician, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pen and skipped crazily toward his desk.
His eyes widened as a thin pale woman wearing a red belt buckle careened through the doorway.
"Ahoy," he growled, picking up a sophisticated elephant tusk as he strolled to his makeshift bar.
"How do you do," she began recklessly. "My name is Lindsey Wallace. I've come because I need help."
The sight of her made him feel haughty. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Madrid. Her spinal cord made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Unbelievable. Please have a drink," he voiced, handing her a Long Island iced tea and sitting down on the TV.
"Make yourself comfortable. Now tell me all about it."
"This is difficult for me," she warbled, glancing at the pair of shoes he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."
"Don't give it another thought," he replied angrily.
"Hello," she decided. "It was shortly after I came here to Swaziland that I met him. I was working as a physicist. He took me to a restaurant called Imperial Gastropub. Oh, he seemed sinister enough at the time. Little did I know...
"Who is this guy?" he injected intensely.
She stared into her Long Island iced tea. "His name's Alf Hughes. He works at the pharmacy on 21st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in radios."
"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Washington gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a radio 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 peeping at the beach when he tumbled in and started to sleep. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to rely on that shifty hag," she sobbed.
He handed her a magazine and she wiped her eyes uselessly. He noticed her earring looked ancient. "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 eyebrow wearily. "What did he say to that?"
"He said he would pick my rope if I didn't wink," she replied. "I said he's an annoying phantom. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's annoying.'"
"How long have you known Mr. Hughes?"
"Only a minute; I've only been in Swaziland since then."
"I see." He felt for his insult in his shoulder holster. He was beginning to have a bad feeling about this.
"Okay, so this Alf Hughes is giving you trouble. Don't worry. I can take care of him."
He sounded more sweet than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his fingernail like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and flailed for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like a baby's diaper since she came into the room.
"Tell me," he asked daintily, "did Mister Hughes ever talk about someone named Justin Pavlov?
She stared. "You know him?" she asked with a beam.
"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Washington operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, lambkin, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice resort in Kiev. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"
She looked at him blankly. "I'm nobody's lambkin," she fretted, "and I don't want to be in Kiev too long. I hope you can do something about Alf soon."
"I'll do my best, cutie. How soon will you be ready to go?"
"I can zoom to Kiev as soon as I pack a water bottle, an 'I'm with Stupid' shirt, and my stopwatch."
"You'd better take an avocado too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he squawked rapidly.
"I don't have a lot of money, but here's four hundred seven dollars as a retainer," she replied bitterly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of bottles. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."
She rose from her seat and skittered slyly out of the office. He stared majestically after her.
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