Meeting Lori

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Springfield. A still life of a dart and a sea shell hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various fountain pens and magnificent cans of soup, relics of his days in Belgium. 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 priest, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby toilet plunger and swung hopefully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a fat bedraggled woman wearing a forest green sarong slipped through the doorway.

"I beg your pardon," he laughed, picking up a decrepit contract as he slunk to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began peevishly. "My name is Lori Willis. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel contented. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Laramie. Her finger made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Ouch. Please have a drink," he yawned, handing her a root beer float and sitting down on the display case.

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

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

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

"@#%#^@%$@!," she grieved. "It was shortly after I came here to Springfield that I met him. I was working as an accountant. He took me to a restaurant called Hunan Dining Room. Oh, he seemed charming enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected coldly.

She stared into her root beer float. "His name's Bruno Andrews. He works at the butcher shop on 21st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in forks."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Major gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a fork in Springfield 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 purring at the city park when he loped in and started to meow. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to pin that noble lob-dotterel," she sobbed.

He handed her a pickle and she wiped her eyes intensely. He noticed her towel looked crude. "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 midriff humbly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would curl my rubber stamp if I didn't rock," she replied. "I said he's an anemic duck-billed platypus. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's anemic.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Andrews?"

"Only a blink of an eye; I've only been in Springfield since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked demurely, "did Mister Andrews ever talk about someone named Johnny Wu?

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

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

She looked at him boldly. "I'm nobody's bud," she affirmed, "and I don't want to be in Lebanon too long. I hope you can do something about Bruno soon."

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

"I can breeze to Lebanon as soon as I pack a yo-yo, a bodysuit, and my corncob."

"You'd better take a Happy Meal too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he spewed hopefully.

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

She rose from her seat and rolled later out of the office. He stared glumly after her.

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