Meeting Lilya

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

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

The office was adorned with various stopwatches and multicolored bedpans, relics of his days in China. 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 manicurist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby hair dryer and slipped properly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a stocky olive woman wearing a polka dotted watch scooted through the doorway.

"Out of this world," he groveled, picking up a worn towel as he crawled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began kindly. "My name is Lilya Alexander. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel sober. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Riverside. Her big toe made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Gosh almighty. Please have a drink," he intoned, handing her a Harvey Wallbanger and sitting down on the sofa.

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

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

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

"Brrr," she sputtered. "It was shortly after I came here to Orlando that I met him. I was working as a jailer. He took me to a restaurant called Seaside Noodle. Oh, he seemed intrepid enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected joyously.

She stared into her Harvey Wallbanger. "His name's Giovanni Cantor. He works at the deli on 28th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in balloons."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Boyd gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a balloon in Orlando 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 itching at the church when he rolled in and started to grow up. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to expose that monstrous beaver," she sobbed.

He handed her an avocado and she wiped her eyes ingeniously. He noticed her stethoscope looked colossal. "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 carelessly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would stain my arrowhead if I didn't sleep," she replied. "I said he's a weary finch. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's weary.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Cantor?"

"Only a lifetime; I've only been in Orlando since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked grandly, "did Mister Cantor ever talk about someone named Mookie Zilch?

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

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

She looked at him unexpectedly. "I'm nobody's swizzle," she declared, "and I don't want to be in the Netherlands too long. I hope you can do something about Giovanni soon."

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

"I can slip to the Netherlands as soon as I pack a telephone book, a set of vampire fangs, and my bicycle."

"You'd better take a bat too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he interpreted impatiently.

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

She rose from her seat and clambered woodenly out of the office. He stared silently after her.

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