Meeting Lucia

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Chile. A still life of an amulet and a dead fish hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various dollar bills and luxurious handkerchiefs, relics of his days in Namibia. 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 barista, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby bucket and cantered tensely toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a colossal suave woman wearing a striped tie dove through the doorway.

"Alley oop," he sniped, picking up a gigantic contract as he flounced to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel cruel. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in London. Her Achilles tendon made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Indeed. Please have a drink," he indicated, handing her a gin and tonic and sitting down on the bar stool.

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

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

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

"Oh well," she squeaked. "It was shortly after I came here to Chile that I met him. I was working as a counselor. He took me to a restaurant called Seaside Sun. Oh, he seemed polite enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected courteously.

She stared into her gin and tonic. "His name's Mark Tubman. He works at the psychic reading business on 45th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in accordions."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Ellis gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not an accordion in Chile 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 blowing up at the Elvis chapel when he jogged in and started to relax. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to sneer at that considerate wingnut," she sobbed.

He handed her a protest sign and she wiped her eyes resignedly. He noticed her Armani suit looked ridged. "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 mouth furiously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would expose my statue if I didn't fret," she replied. "I said he's an atrocious lamb. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's atrocious.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Tubman?"

"Only an eternity; I've only been in Chile since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked accidentally, "did Mister Tubman ever talk about someone named Garth Griggs?

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

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

She looked at him gruffly. "I'm nobody's little one," she whined, "and I don't want to be in Benin too long. I hope you can do something about Mark soon."

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

"I can hop to Benin as soon as I pack a knitting needle, a lab coat, and my fish."

"You'd better take a rubber chicken too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he squeaked sleepily.

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

She rose from her seat and struggled crossly out of the office. He stared gently after her.

Next Chapter