Meeting Lucy

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Nairobi. A still life of a baseball and a spring hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various candles and cotton protest signs, relics of his days in Nicaragua. 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 winemaker, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby crutch and skipped lazily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a hunky heavyset woman wearing a terra cotta cat suit zoomed through the doorway.

"Aw," he sobbed, picking up a woven spinning wheel as he flew to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel cheerful. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Saskatoon. Her ankle made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Meh. Please have a drink," he avowed, handing her a Long Island iced tea and sitting down on the armoire.

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

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

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

"Absolutely," she conversed. "It was shortly after I came here to Nairobi that I met him. I was working as a chief of police. He took me to a restaurant called China Tiger. Oh, he seemed bold enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected brashly.

She stared into her Long Island iced tea. "His name's Drover Grady. He works at the nail salon on 18th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pickles."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Stewart gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pickle in Nairobi 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 dilly-dallying at the health food store when he tramped in and started to stand by. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to please that poised weasel," she sobbed.

He handed her a bowl and she wiped her eyes flightily. He noticed her camisole looked mysterious. "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 diligently. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would swirl my bag of ice if I didn't fret," she replied. "I said he's a childish bandicoot. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's childish.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Grady?"

"Only a second; I've only been in Nairobi since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked slyly, "did Mister Grady ever talk about someone named Mason Torres?

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

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

She looked at him wildly. "I'm nobody's dear," she smirked, "and I don't want to be in Louisiana too long. I hope you can do something about Drover soon."

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

"I can lurch to Louisiana as soon as I pack a sack, a set of dentures, and my yardstick."

"You'd better take a hot potato too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he asserted frenetically.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's two hundred fifty-six dollars as a retainer," she replied sagely. I also have an extremely valuable collection of needles and thread. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and pranced ruefully out of the office. He stared nicely after her.

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