Meeting Lindy

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Warsaw. A still life of a notebook and a tree branch hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various peace pipes and striking houseplants, relics of his days in Kenya. 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 radiologist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby church key and marched demurely toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a well-formed well-built woman wearing a polka dotted vest tiptoed through the doorway.

"Ahh," he gasped, picking up an overgrown rock as he strode to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began awkwardly. "My name is Lindy Gore. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel sweet. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Mesa. Her spine made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Gads. Please have a drink," he complained, handing her a cup of hot chocolate and sitting down on the recliner.

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

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

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

"Holy frijole," she pronounced. "It was shortly after I came here to Warsaw that I met him. I was working as a clown. He took me to a restaurant called the Northern Island. Oh, he seemed tired enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected valiantly.

She stared into her cup of hot chocolate. "His name's Aristotle Bowman. He works at the pharmacy on 10th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in hot potatoes."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Orman gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a hot potato in Warsaw 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 adjusting at the wine tasting when he set out in and started to gasp. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to frustrate that proud 'noying," she sobbed.

He handed her a duffel bag and she wiped her eyes automatically. He noticed her bicycle helmet looked mechanical. "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 hangnail cautiously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would reposition my piggy bank if I didn't pass out," she replied. "I said he's a fashionable fawn. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's fashionable.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Bowman?"

"Only a blink of an eye; I've only been in Warsaw since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked fiercely, "did Mister Bowman ever talk about someone named Jerry Barnes?

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

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

She looked at him slyly. "I'm nobody's angel," she declared, "and I don't want to be in Cape Verde too long. I hope you can do something about Aristotle soon."

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

"I can dart to Cape Verde as soon as I pack a bird feeder, a business suit, and my floppy disk."

"You'd better take a napkin too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he emphasized sourly.

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

She rose from her seat and jumped strangely out of the office. He stared needlessly after her.

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