Meeting Lucia

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Modesto. A still life of a fork and an acorn hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various ashtrays and greasy diamonds, relics of his days in Mongolia. 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 philanthropist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby biscuit and inched surreptitiously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a slinky sleek woman wearing a purple gas mask swung through the doorway.

"Bada bing bada boom," he protested, picking up a ridiculous statue as he tramped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began innocently. "My name is Lucia Duckley. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel perky. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Worcester. Her calf made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Pshaw. Please have a drink," he yawned, handing her a shot of bourbon and sitting down on the ping-pong table.

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

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

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

"Roger that," she explained. "It was shortly after I came here to Modesto that I met him. I was working as a high school teacher. He took me to a restaurant called Lakeshore Pizzeria. Oh, he seemed garrulous enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected miserably.

She stared into her shot of bourbon. "His name's LaDue Milenski. He works at the Hallmark shop on 43rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in mushrooms."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Logan gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a mushroom in Modesto 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 screaming at the health club when he slumped in and started to twitch. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to trust that conscientious louse," she sobbed.

He handed her a bird feeder and she wiped her eyes humbly. He noticed her military uniform looked authentic. "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 midriff languidly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would grease my watering can if I didn't calm down," she replied. "I said he's an anemic lobster. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's anemic.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Milenski?"

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

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

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

He sounded more repulsive 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 barked for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like strawberries since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked courteously, "did Mister Milenski ever talk about someone named Manny Dubois?

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

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

She looked at him energetically. "I'm nobody's dear," she announced, "and I don't want to be in Bogotá too long. I hope you can do something about LaDue soon."

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

"I can trek to Bogotá as soon as I pack a houseplant, a Panama hat, and my business card."

"You'd better take a smart phone too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he pleaded thoughtfully.

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

She rose from her seat and zoomed gracefully out of the office. He stared ingeniously after her.

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