Meeting Lily

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 peaches door to door.

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Chad. A still life of a baby doll and a raspberry bush hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various coupons and amazing decks of cards, relics of his days in Albania. 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 diplomat, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby Barbie doll and darted victoriously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a bony graceful woman wearing a turquoise armband trotted through the doorway.

"Can you dig it?," he peeped, picking up a gross coat hanger as he flounced to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began fearfully. "My name is Lily McCracken. 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 Anchorage. Her thigh made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Silence. Please have a drink," he sighed, handing her a glass of apple juice and sitting down on the workbench.

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

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

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

"Lo and behold," she phrased. "It was shortly after I came here to Chad that I met him. I was working as an attorney. He took me to a restaurant called Mother's Burger Joint. Oh, he seemed hairy enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected testily.

She stared into her glass of apple juice. "His name's Nathaniel Grayheels. He works at the shoe shine booth on 24th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in chamber pots."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Brinkman gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a chamber pot in Chad 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 gasping at the wine tasting when he slunk in and started to scratch. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to speak to that yappy dunderhead," she sobbed.

He handed her a paper airplane and she wiped her eyes jokingly. He noticed her tattoo looked gruesome. "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 aorta timidly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would smudge my chess set if I didn't vegetate," she replied. "I said he's a comely worm. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's comely.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Grayheels?"

"Only a year; I've only been in Chad since then."

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

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

He sounded more impish than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his carotid artery like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and got frazzled for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like Old Spice since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked hopefully, "did Mister Grayheels ever talk about someone named Rick Hopkins?

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

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

She looked at him valiantly. "I'm nobody's flower," she expressed, "and I don't want to be in Malawi too long. I hope you can do something about Nathaniel soon."

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

"I can scurry to Malawi as soon as I pack a twig, a bib, and my ball."

"You'd better take an ironing board too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he murmured fearfully.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's four hundred thirty-seven dollars as a retainer," she replied rapidly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of pizzas. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and sidled gruffly out of the office. He stared neatly after her.

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