Meeting Lianlin

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Nicaragua. A still life of a rose and a piece of driftwood hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various balloons and thick staplers, relics of his days in Nepal. 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 songwriter, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby soccer ball and flounced suspiciously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a gigantic athletic woman wearing an indigo bustier inched through the doorway.

"Ha," he whined, picking up an immense firecracker as he crept to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began joyously. "My name is Lianlin Drake. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel pensive. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Saint Louis. Her fingernail made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Crikey. Please have a drink," he yelled, handing her a gin and tonic and sitting down on the dining table.

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

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

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

"Bingo," she professed. "It was shortly after I came here to Nicaragua that I met him. I was working as a filmmaker. He took me to a restaurant called the Tasty Saloon. Oh, he seemed rugged enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected courteously.

She stared into her gin and tonic. "His name's Cameron Satterlee. He works at the used car lot on 35th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in antennas."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Tannenbaum gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not an antenna in Nicaragua 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 staring at the school cafeteria when he sashayed in and started to burp. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to look at that suave scamp," she sobbed.

He handed her a helmet and she wiped her eyes slyly. He noticed her blazer looked used. "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 skull pityingly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would empty my bottle of perfume if I didn't dawdle," she replied. "I said he's an adorable turkey. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's adorable.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Satterlee?"

"Only a month; I've only been in Nicaragua since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked dolefully, "did Mister Satterlee ever talk about someone named Shane Harper?

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

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

She looked at him gruffly. "I'm nobody's hon," she whimpered, "and I don't want to be in Bangkok too long. I hope you can do something about Cameron soon."

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

"I can climb to Bangkok as soon as I pack a dead shrew, a toupee, and my paintbrush."

"You'd better take a campaign sign too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he yawned smoothly.

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

She rose from her seat and capered strictly out of the office. He stared slyly after her.

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