Meeting Lucy

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Anaheim. A still life of a paper bag and a rock hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various hockey pucks and hand-painted stopwatches, relics of his days in Lebanon. 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 aeronautical engineer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pigeon and dove surreptitiously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a massive plump woman wearing a sea green camisole climbed through the doorway.

"Anyhoo," he intoned, picking up a mechanical tube of glue as he walked to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began sadly. "My name is Lucy Spanbauer. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel megalomaniacal. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Overland Park. Her waist made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Gee. Please have a drink," he pronounced, handing her a glass of champagne and sitting down on the canopy bed.

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

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

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

"Okay then," she protested. "It was shortly after I came here to Anaheim that I met him. I was working as a nun. He took me to a restaurant called Madrid King. Oh, he seemed powerful enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected lickety-split.

She stared into her glass of champagne. "His name's Luke McCarthy. He works at the hair salon on 35th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pencil sharpeners."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Banks gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pencil sharpener in Anaheim 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 coming over at the church when he sailed in and started to vegetate. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to draw strength from that self-confident hack," she sobbed.

He handed her a nail and she wiped her eyes cruelly. He noticed her 'I'm with Stupid' shirt looked polished. "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 buttocks lovingly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would ridicule my potato if I didn't look dumb," she replied. "I said he's a lethargic eagle. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's lethargic.'"

"How long have you known Mr. McCarthy?"

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

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

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

He sounded more disagreeable than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his vein 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 fruit since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked vacantly, "did Mister McCarthy ever talk about someone named Helmut Barry?

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

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

She looked at him breathlessly. "I'm nobody's apple of my eye," she breathed, "and I don't want to be in Bhutan too long. I hope you can do something about Luke soon."

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

"I can pad to Bhutan as soon as I pack an egg shell, a coonskin hat, and my painting."

"You'd better take a compass too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he chanted miserably.

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

She rose from her seat and hobbled irritably out of the office. He stared ruefully after her.

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