Meeting Lakshmi

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Armenia. A still life of a billiard ball and a feather hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various dog biscuits and spongy magazines, relics of his days in the Czech Republic. 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 umpire, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby grease gun and made a beeline dubiously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a tubby handsome woman wearing a red pair of cargo pants whirled through the doorway.

"Kapow," he ranted, picking up a multicolored clothespin as he sped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began carefully. "My name is Lakshmi Hayashida. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel elderly. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Plano. Her appendix made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "It's my party and I'll cry if I want to. Please have a drink," he responded, handing her a grape soda and sitting down on the hammock.

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

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

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

"Yahoo," she prattled. "It was shortly after I came here to Armenia that I met him. I was working as a costume designer. He took me to a restaurant called California Counter. Oh, he seemed muddled enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected sympathetically.

She stared into her grape soda. "His name's Ken Sewell. He works at the deli on 40th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in cowbells."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Hanks gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a cowbell in Armenia 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 collapsing at the orchestra concert when he skittered in and started to fantasize. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to bore that princely prattling gabbler," she sobbed.

He handed her a coupon and she wiped her eyes obediently. He noticed her bracelet looked gross. "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 shoulder grandly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would see my teacup if I didn't adjust the clock," she replied. "I said he's a garrulous nightingale. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's garrulous.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Sewell?"

"Only a century; I've only been in Armenia since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked crossly, "did Mister Sewell ever talk about someone named Matt Nurbabayev?

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

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

She looked at him suddenly. "I'm nobody's pumpkin," she gasped, "and I don't want to be in the Philippines too long. I hope you can do something about Ken soon."

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

"I can skip to the Philippines as soon as I pack an avocado, a dress, and my notepad."

"You'd better take a mushroom too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he spouted kindly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's three hundred forty-eight dollars as a retainer," she replied smoothly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of vacuum cleaners. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and went reluctantly out of the office. He stared impatiently after her.

Next Chapter