Meeting Laci

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 Bunsen burners door to door.

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Lincoln. A still life of a fishhook and a seed pod hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various bullets and queer Big Gulps, relics of his days in Georgia. 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 gastroenterologist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby necklace and sailed grandly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a dwarf haggard woman wearing a periwinkle diamond necklace swaggered through the doorway.

"My land," he hollered, picking up a hand-carved brush as he danced to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began lightly. "My name is Laci Clinton. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel forgetful. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Porto Alegre. Her liver made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "By Jove. Please have a drink," he cried, handing her a beer and sitting down on the counter.

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

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

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

"Holy mackerel," she peeped. "It was shortly after I came here to Lincoln that I met him. I was working as a staff sergeant in the Slovenian Air force. He took me to a restaurant called the Asian House. Oh, he seemed tall enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected shyly.

She stared into her beer. "His name's Conner Carroll. He works at the liquor store on 26th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in dolls."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Milenski gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a doll in Lincoln 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 flinching at the health food store when he galloped in and started to tremble. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to kill that wicked drunken royster," she sobbed.

He handed her a kite and she wiped her eyes tensely. He noticed her pair of boxer shorts looked ancient. "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 liver boldly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would wiggle my dollar bill if I didn't beg," she replied. "I said he's a fashionable sloth. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's fashionable.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Carroll?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked properly, "did Mister Carroll ever talk about someone named Willard Vaniman?

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

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

She looked at him gratefully. "I'm nobody's Banana Cakes," she laughed, "and I don't want to be in Alexandria too long. I hope you can do something about Conner soon."

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

"I can tumble to Alexandria as soon as I pack a vase, a hoop skirt, and my rock."

"You'd better take a top too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he continued frenetically.

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

She rose from her seat and reeled clumsily out of the office. He stared gruffly after her.

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