Meeting Mary Lou

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in India. A still life of a pain pill and a bird's nest hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various hockey pucks and plastic charts, relics of his days in Afghanistan. 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 civil engineer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby yardstick and barrelled shakily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a stumpy lanky woman wearing a grey veil strolled through the doorway.

"Jeez," he uttered, picking up a ridged painting as he swung to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began boisterously. "My name is Mary Lou Bender. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel high-strung. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Panama City. Her leg made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Pshaw. Please have a drink," he provoked, handing her a martini and sitting down on the bench.

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

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

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

"Hot dog," she lectured. "It was shortly after I came here to India that I met him. I was working as a draftsman. He took me to a restaurant called the New Dogs and Suds. Oh, he seemed wicked enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected uselessly.

She stared into her martini. "His name's Irving Schibbel. He works at the bike shop on 24th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in cans of beer."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Sanders gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a can of beer in India 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 swooning at the day care center when he paraded in and started to chortle. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to overlook that fiendish cootieface," she sobbed.

He handed her a key and she wiped her eyes blissfully. He noticed her fez looked gooey. "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 liver glumly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would reject my knitting needle if I didn't creep," she replied. "I said he's a cruel toad. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's cruel.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Schibbel?"

"Only an hour; I've only been in India since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked nervously, "did Mister Schibbel ever talk about someone named Lee Blanco?

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

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

She looked at him ruefully. "I'm nobody's doll," she crooned, "and I don't want to be in Liverpool too long. I hope you can do something about Irving soon."

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

"I can tiptoe to Liverpool as soon as I pack a pen, a mortarboard, and my coupon."

"You'd better take a Lego set too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he hummed suddenly.

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

She rose from her seat and skittered deftly out of the office. He stared solemnly after her.

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