Meeting Lottie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Toledo. A still life of a hair brush and a fallen tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various fishing rods and multicolored rubber stamps, relics of his days in Azerbaijan. 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 silversmith, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby bagpipe and rushed jokingly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a dwarf pale woman wearing an azure pair of booties walked through the doorway.

"Get outta here," he hissed, picking up a thick microphone as he bounded to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began blindly. "My name is Lottie Moretti. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel sleepy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Greeley. Her skull made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Bless your heart. Please have a drink," he crooned, handing her a can of Ensure and sitting down on the beanbag chair.

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

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

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

"Ick," she uttered. "It was shortly after I came here to Toledo that I met him. I was working as an usher. He took me to a restaurant called Cindy's Food Parlor. Oh, he seemed obnoxious enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected blankly.

She stared into her can of Ensure. "His name's Elijah Brainard. He works at the Starbucks on 37th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in helmets."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the McCarthy gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a helmet in Toledo 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 knitting at the pet store when he walked in and started to squint. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to harass that frumpy bum," she sobbed.

He handed her a bazooka and she wiped her eyes narrowly. He noticed her pair of galoshes looked polka-dotted. "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 arm obediently. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would fix my lemon if I didn't ruminate," she replied. "I said he's a timid lizard. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's timid.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Brainard?"

"Only a month; I've only been in Toledo since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked grimly, "did Mister Brainard ever talk about someone named Jackson Ireland?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the McCarthy 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 cabin in St. Louis. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him delicately. "I'm nobody's lambkin," she argued, "and I don't want to be in St. Louis too long. I hope you can do something about Elijah soon."

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

"I can bolt to St. Louis as soon as I pack a bone, a pair of UGGs, and my Lego set."

"You'd better take a tablet computer too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he squawked gently.

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

She rose from her seat and flounced boisterously out of the office. He stared cheerfully after her.

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