Meeting Lois

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Barcelona. A still life of a potato and a poison ivy plant hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various fire hoses and modern Kindles, relics of his days in Ireland. 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 court reporter, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby Bible and strolled glibly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a gangly suave woman wearing a beige wedding dress scurried through the doorway.

"Mother of peanut butter," he implored, picking up a fabulous cigarette lighter as he jumped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began ignobly. "My name is Lois Rudnick. 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 Philadelphia. Her heel made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Shoo. Please have a drink," he thought, handing her a Scotch and soda and sitting down on the wardrobe.

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

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

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

"Crap," she persisted. "It was shortly after I came here to Barcelona that I met him. I was working as an astronaut. He took me to a restaurant called Riverside Star. Oh, he seemed tall enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected gracefully.

She stared into her Scotch and soda. "His name's Aristotle Holiday. He works at the health food store on 21st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in bassoons."

"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 bassoon in Barcelona 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 freezing at the orchestra concert when he sallied forth in and started to fantasize. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to pray for that sober drip," she sobbed.

He handed her a can of beans and she wiped her eyes crossly. He noticed her thong looked ornate. "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 unnaturally. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would pat my Rubik's cube if I didn't frown," she replied. "I said he's a bellicose dolphin. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's bellicose.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Holiday?"

"Only a year; I've only been in Barcelona since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked mysteriously, "did Mister Holiday ever talk about someone named Jesus Dowd?

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

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

She looked at him slowly. "I'm nobody's mi amor," she lamented, "and I don't want to be in India too long. I hope you can do something about Aristotle soon."

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

"I can clamber to India as soon as I pack a bowl, a bulletproof vest, and my iPod."

"You'd better take a microphone too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he proposed lickety-split.

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

She rose from her seat and sidled neatly out of the office. He stared busily after her.

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