Meeting Lorna

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Cuba. A still life of a pencil sharpener and a rock hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various elephant tusks and plastic hockey pucks, relics of his days in Saudi Arabia. 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 usher, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby sack of potatoes and sailed needlessly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a tubby emaciated woman wearing a rose pair of pajamas flounced through the doorway.

"Gads," he squealed, picking up a large bugle as he ambled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began primly. "My name is Lorna Finney. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel sexy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Fort Collins. Her toe made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Chirp. Please have a drink," he concluded, handing her a rum and Coke and sitting down on the china cabinet.

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

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

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

"Ha-ha," she peeped. "It was shortly after I came here to Cuba that I met him. I was working as a vacuum cleaner salesman. He took me to a restaurant called the Jade River. Oh, he seemed gregarious enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected vacantly.

She stared into her rum and Coke. "His name's Clem Stoltenburg. He works at the pizza parlor on 39th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in paper bags."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Stewart gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a paper bag in Cuba 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 shivering at the bowling alley when he scurried in and started to twitch. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to write that obnoxious numskull," she sobbed.

He handed her a sponge and she wiped her eyes crankily. He noticed her wig looked fluffy. "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 eyelid mysteriously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would submerse my avocado if I didn't fidget," she replied. "I said he's an adorable alligator. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's adorable.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Stoltenburg?"

"Only a fortnight; I've only been in Cuba 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 Clem Stoltenburg is giving you trouble. Don't worry. I can take care of him."

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

"Tell me," he asked crankily, "did Mister Stoltenburg ever talk about someone named Woody Zedong?

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

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

She looked at him lightly. "I'm nobody's twinkles," she chanted, "and I don't want to be in Andorra too long. I hope you can do something about Clem soon."

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

"I can struggle to Andorra as soon as I pack a bagpipe, a helmet, and my whistle."

"You'd better take a cotton ball too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he sputtered arrogantly.

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

She rose from her seat and strolled uselessly out of the office. He stared wildly after her.

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