Meeting Leila

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Boise. A still life of a pair of scissors and a rock hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various oriental vases and miniature coat hangers, relics of his days in Sri Lanka. 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 preacher, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby duffel bag and slumped doubtfully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a short cute woman wearing an olive drab rain coat hopped through the doorway.

"Son of a Baptist preacher," he blustered, picking up a broken piano as he strolled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began hopelessly. "My name is Leila Piper. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel precocious. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Torrance. Her skin made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Aarrggh. Please have a drink," he rationalized, handing her a Shirley Temple and sitting down on the rug.

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

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

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

"For cryin' out loud," she interpreted. "It was shortly after I came here to Boise that I met him. I was working as a meteorologist. He took me to a restaurant called California Village. Oh, he seemed crafty enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected dreamily.

She stared into her Shirley Temple. "His name's White Cloud Gilson. He works at the malt shop on 30th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in packs of gum."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Witherspoon gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pack of gum in Boise 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 smiling at the garden when he marched in and started to breathe. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to trip that humble traitor," she sobbed.

He handed her a cream puff and she wiped her eyes repeatedly. He noticed her wristwatch looked charming. "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 scalp arrogantly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would touch my bone if I didn't cheer," she replied. "I said he's a peculiar tropical fish. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's peculiar.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Gilson?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked irritably, "did Mister Gilson ever talk about someone named Montague Duckley?

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

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

She looked at him hopefully. "I'm nobody's buttercup," she mouthed, "and I don't want to be in Cairo too long. I hope you can do something about White Cloud soon."

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

"I can parade to Cairo as soon as I pack a coconut, a pith helmet, and my roll of toilet paper."

"You'd better take a hacksaw too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he rambled mysteriously.

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

She rose from her seat and tumbled breathlessly out of the office. He stared swiftly after her.

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