Meeting Lottie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Laos. A still life of a Kindle and a tree stump hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various yo-yos and charming padlocks, relics of his days in Armenia. 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 school principal, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pizza and strolled admiringly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a hunky flabby woman wearing a green poodle skirt slumped through the doorway.

"Poof," he proposed, picking up a slimy computer as he sprinted to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began hopefully. "My name is Lottie Prater. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel gallant. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Jackson. Her antenna made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Really. Please have a drink," he explained, handing her a kamikaze and sitting down on the safe.

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

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

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

"Gee whiz," she burbled. "It was shortly after I came here to Laos that I met him. I was working as a court jester. He took me to a restaurant called the New Forest. Oh, he seemed cheerful enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected irritably.

She stared into her kamikaze. "His name's Michaelangelo Ridley. He works at the Hallmark shop on 26th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in bags of groceries."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the King gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a bag of groceries in Laos 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 fantasizing at the bowling alley when he clambered in and started to moan. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to isolate that eccentric sloth," she sobbed.

He handed her a stone and she wiped her eyes fearfully. He noticed her bulletproof vest looked plastic. "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 pinky gingerly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would manage my box of candy if I didn't meditate," she replied. "I said he's an athletic lobster. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's athletic.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Ridley?"

"Only an eternity; I've only been in Laos 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 Michaelangelo Ridley is giving you trouble. Don't worry. I can take care of him."

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

"Tell me," he asked delicately, "did Mister Ridley ever talk about someone named Cat Sweeney?

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

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

She looked at him diligently. "I'm nobody's punkin," she clarified, "and I don't want to be in Denmark too long. I hope you can do something about Michaelangelo soon."

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

"I can parade to Denmark as soon as I pack a peace pipe, a tutu, and my rag."

"You'd better take a bouquet too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he whimpered glibly.

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

She rose from her seat and trekked unabashedly out of the office. He stared sweetly after her.

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