Meeting Lakshmi

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

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

The office was cluttered with various pipes and original lollipops, relics of his days in Saudi Arabia. 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 coat check ticket and stalked delicately toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a slender bedraggled woman wearing a silver tattoo sauntered through the doorway.

"Pish posh," he quoted, picking up a brightly-colored package as he zoomed to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel hungry. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Warsaw. Her hair made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Geez Louise. Please have a drink," he sneered, handing her a gimlet and sitting down on the cushion.

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

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

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

"Dang it," she wondered. "It was shortly after I came here to Bellevue that I met him. I was working as a math teacher. He took me to a restaurant called the Fast Empire. Oh, he seemed calm enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected crossly.

She stared into her gimlet. "His name's Austin Fretwell. He works at the music store on 48th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in canes."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Weiss gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a cane in Bellevue 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 barking at the mosque when he sashayed in and started to exercise. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to poke that gentle slubberdegullion," she sobbed.

He handed her a flowerpot and she wiped her eyes menacingly. He noticed her bikini looked delicate. "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 wig pityingly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would touch my can of sardines if I didn't primp," she replied. "I said he's a sleepy dormouse. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's sleepy.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Fretwell?"

"Only a decade; I've only been in Bellevue since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked madly, "did Mister Fretwell ever talk about someone named Hugh North?

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

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

She looked at him blankly. "I'm nobody's baby," she guessed, "and I don't want to be in Sudan too long. I hope you can do something about Austin soon."

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

"I can sprint to Sudan as soon as I pack a gun, a pair of Crocs, and my pair of scissors."

"You'd better take a bullet too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he whined nervously.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's four hundred thirty-seven dollars as a retainer," she replied sagely. I also have an extremely valuable collection of saddles. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and sallied forth busily out of the office. He stared fiercely after her.

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