Meeting Lakshmi

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Somalia. A still life of a purse and a fern hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various curling irons and broken flash drives, relics of his days in the Congo. 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 optometrist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby tote bag and darted nervously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as an emaciated frail woman wearing a navy blue bomber jacket waltzed through the doorway.

"Stinkers," he disputed, picking up a greasy pencil as he tumbled to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel enchanting. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Laramie. Her funny bone made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Fudge. Please have a drink," he fretted, handing her a gimlet and sitting down on the stool.

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

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

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

"Easy peasy," she called. "It was shortly after I came here to Somalia that I met him. I was working as a school principal. He took me to a restaurant called Tropical Dining Room. Oh, he seemed taciturn enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected vacantly.

She stared into her gimlet. "His name's Devlin Wilhelm. He works at the bowling alley on 34th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in chess sets."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Locke gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a chess set in Somalia 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 kneeling at the laundromat when he tore in and started to come along. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to sting that repulsive hag," she sobbed.

He handed her an etching and she wiped her eyes rapidly. He noticed her sombrero looked jagged. "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 hangnail merrily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would nuke my can of shaving cream if I didn't dawdle," she replied. "I said he's a relaxed troll. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's relaxed.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Wilhelm?"

"Only a decade; I've only been in Somalia since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked softly, "did Mister Wilhelm ever talk about someone named Rosario Carson?

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

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

She looked at him calmly. "I'm nobody's lambkin," she responded, "and I don't want to be in Seychelles too long. I hope you can do something about Devlin soon."

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

"I can sneak to Seychelles as soon as I pack a bowl, a wig, and my stack of papers."

"You'd better take an abacus too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he answered violently.

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

She rose from her seat and jogged urgently out of the office. He stared unnaturally after her.

Next Chapter