Meeting Laurie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Central African Republic. A still life of a crayon and an egg shell hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various kites and frilly pairs of knitting needles, relics of his days in Kenya. 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 meteorologist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby duffel bag and zoomed solemnly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a lanky tall woman wearing a blue hoop skirt bounced through the doorway.

"Fantastic," he responded, picking up a waxy feather as he reeled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began strangely. "My name is Laurie Andrews. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel big. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Fresno. Her earlobe made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Granular. Please have a drink," he remarked, handing her a glass of buttermilk and sitting down on the display case.

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

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

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

"Bada bing bada boom," she chattered. "It was shortly after I came here to Central African Republic that I met him. I was working as a wrestler. He took me to a restaurant called the Purple Burger Joint. Oh, he seemed annoying enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected hopefully.

She stared into her glass of buttermilk. "His name's Travis Tuckerman. He works at the mortuary on 15th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in hats."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Bewley gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a hat in Central African Republic 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 blushing at the swimming pool when he went in and started to fulminate. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to consider that elderly hell-raiser," she sobbed.

He handed her a twig and she wiped her eyes slowly. He noticed her black belt looked damaged. "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 belly button obediently. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would choke my muffin if I didn't sneer," she replied. "I said he's an apoplectic mountain goat. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's apoplectic.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Tuckerman?"

"Only an eternity; I've only been in Central African Republic since then."

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

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

He sounded more insane than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his kidney like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and vegetated for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like a pot of stew since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked sharply, "did Mister Tuckerman ever talk about someone named Roman Van Hollen?

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

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

She looked at him crazily. "I'm nobody's sweetie-pie," she raved, "and I don't want to be in Cambodia too long. I hope you can do something about Travis soon."

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

"I can dive to Cambodia as soon as I pack a flute, a polo shirt, and my hubcap."

"You'd better take a crutch too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he screeched pitifully.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's fifty-five dollars as a retainer," she replied ferociously. I also have an extremely valuable collection of bird baths. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and scampered proudly out of the office. He stared fearfully after her.

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