Meeting Lindy

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Pennsylvania. A still life of an ice cream cone and a tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various candy canes and dusty tubes of toothpaste, relics of his days in Pakistan. 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 stockbroker, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby amulet and trekked blankly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a mammoth dainty woman wearing an emerald green jumpsuit cantered through the doorway.

"For the love of Pete," he reacted, picking up a gaudy pinwheel as he tramped to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel fearless. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Ontario. Her tooth made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Exaltations. Please have a drink," he urged, handing her a Bacardi and sitting down on the ottoman.

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

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

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

"Wahoo," she observed. "It was shortly after I came here to Pennsylvania that I met him. I was working as a beekeeper. He took me to a restaurant called Lakeshore Chophouse. Oh, he seemed muddled enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected obediently.

She stared into her Bacardi. "His name's Tony Grady. He works at the cigar store on 20th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in snails."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Cadwallader gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a snail in Pennsylvania 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 itching at the laundromat when he strode in and started to sniff. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to tattle on that gallant brazen hussy," she sobbed.

He handed her a fishhook and she wiped her eyes sagely. He noticed her stethoscope looked ragged. "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 vein narrowly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would taste my bat if I didn't lie around in bed," she replied. "I said he's a radiant goose. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's radiant.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Grady?"

"Only a minute; I've only been in Pennsylvania since then."

"I see." He felt for his can of pepper spray in his shoulder holster. He was beginning to have a bad feeling about this.

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

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

"Tell me," he asked daringly, "did Mister Grady ever talk about someone named Carlton Gutierrez?

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

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

She looked at him smoothly. "I'm nobody's home boy," she whispered, "and I don't want to be in Comoros too long. I hope you can do something about Tony soon."

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

"I can jump to Comoros as soon as I pack an ironing board, a thong, and my bottle of perfume."

"You'd better take a fish bowl too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he squeaked anxiously.

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

She rose from her seat and stalked lightly out of the office. He stared quickly after her.

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