Meeting Lucille
He stared out the window overlooking the street. How long had it been since he had had a decent case, he thought numbly. If something didn't come along soon, he would find himself selling Big Gulps door to door.
He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Pittsburgh. A still life of a trumpet and a fern hung crookedly on his wall.
The office was adorned with various acorns and coarse baseball bats, relics of his days in Myanmar. 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 massage therapist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby bagpipe and breezed daintily toward his desk.
His eyes widened as a lanky sorrowful woman wearing a periwinkle sombrero sneaked through the doorway.
"Roger that," he rebutted, picking up an unusual playing card as he tiptoed to his makeshift bar.
"How do you do," she began sternly. "My name is Lucille Hillman. I've come because I need help."
The sight of her made him feel careful. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Frisco. Her chin made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Just a minute. Please have a drink," he lamented, handing her a hot buttered rum and sitting down on the rocking chair.
"Make yourself comfortable. Now tell me all about it."
"This is difficult for me," she remarked, glancing at the evening gown he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."
"Don't give it another thought," he replied frantically.
"Jiminy crickets," she sniveled. "It was shortly after I came here to Pittsburgh that I met him. I was working as a yoga instructor. He took me to a restaurant called the Farmer's Kitchen. Oh, he seemed difficult enough at the time. Little did I know...
"Who is this guy?" he injected stealthily.
She stared into her hot buttered rum. "His name's Pops Sokolov. He works at the used car lot on 9th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in teddy bears."
"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Morales gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a teddy bear in Pittsburgh 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 back at the senior citizens center when he skipped in and started to moan. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to betray that garrulous witch," she sobbed.
He handed her a smart phone and she wiped her eyes unexpectedly. He noticed her suit of armor looked crisp. "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 knuckle mysteriously. "What did he say to that?"
"He said he would reposition my dictionary if I didn't chew," she replied. "I said he's a noble cow. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's noble.'"
"How long have you known Mr. Sokolov?"
"Only a lifetime; I've only been in Pittsburgh since then."
"I see." He felt for his shiv in his shoulder holster. He was beginning to have a bad feeling about this.
"Okay, so this Pops Sokolov is giving you trouble. Don't worry. I can take care of him."
He sounded more disgusting than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his face like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and blinked for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like cigarettes since she came into the room.
"Tell me," he asked effortlessly, "did Mister Sokolov ever talk about someone named Brent Yang?
She stared. "You know him?" she asked with a hoot.
"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Morales operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, gentle soul, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice bungalow in Yakima. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"
She looked at him excitedly. "I'm nobody's gentle soul," she contended, "and I don't want to be in Yakima too long. I hope you can do something about Pops soon."
"I'll do my best, homie. How soon will you be ready to go?"
"I can struggle to Yakima as soon as I pack a Happy Meal, a set of vampire fangs, and my blanket."
"You'd better take a cane too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he cried sharply.
"I don't have a lot of money, but here's four hundred forty dollars as a retainer," she replied excitedly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of hand puppets. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."
She rose from her seat and capered stupidly out of the office. He stared resignedly after her.
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