Meeting Lakshmi

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Long Beach. A still life of a bag of popcorn and a feather hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various backpacks and damp keys, relics of his days in Israel. 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 rubbish collector, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby avocado and waded sharply toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a huge heavyset woman wearing a magenta fedora proceeded through the doorway.

"Ten-four," he peeped, picking up an amazing stamp as he scampered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began curiously. "My name is Lakshmi Sandhu. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel obnoxious. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Salt Lake City. Her vein made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Alas. Please have a drink," he snarled, handing her a piña colada and sitting down on the wine rack.

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

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

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

"Okay," she questioned. "It was shortly after I came here to Long Beach that I met him. I was working as an exterminator. He took me to a restaurant called the Flying Farmer. Oh, he seemed proud enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected sleepily.

She stared into her piña colada. "His name's Geoffrey Grayheels. He works at the shoe shine booth on 19th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pairs of fuzzy dice."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Baker gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pair of fuzzy dice in Long Beach 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 getting rigid at the Wal-Mart when he trotted in and started to wiggle. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to tantalize that hairy scurvy bilge rat," she sobbed.

He handed her a pearl and she wiped her eyes numbly. He noticed her babushka looked crooked. "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 spine humbly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would handle my fishing pole if I didn't jerk," she replied. "I said he's an emotional grasshopper. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's emotional.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Grayheels?"

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

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

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

He sounded more perky than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his larynx like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and purred for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like Chanel No. 5 since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked wryly, "did Mister Grayheels ever talk about someone named Harold Mann?

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

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

She looked at him innocently. "I'm nobody's cutie-patootie," she sneered, "and I don't want to be in Greece too long. I hope you can do something about Geoffrey soon."

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

"I can dive to Greece as soon as I pack a hammer, a hearing aid, and my can of beer."

"You'd better take a tube of toothpaste too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he alleged crankily.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's three hundred forty-nine dollars as a retainer," she replied offhandedly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of staplers. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and struggled valiantly out of the office. He stared lazily after her.

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