Meeting Ling

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Budapest. A still life of a wastebasket and a tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various pairs of headphones and colossal stuffed bunnies, relics of his days in Portugal. 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 food critic, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby coin and tore grudgingly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a huge sprightly woman wearing a yellow burqa bolted through the doorway.

"Ay yi yi," he articulated, picking up an excellent flash drive as he sallied forth to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began hastily. "My name is Ling Carroll. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel colorless. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Timbuktu. Her head made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Man alive. Please have a drink," he offered, handing her a cambric tea and sitting down on the bench.

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

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

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

"Castor and Pollux! Blow me to Bermuda," she guessed. "It was shortly after I came here to Budapest that I met him. I was working as a teacher. He took me to a restaurant called Lakeshore Dog. Oh, he seemed jaunty enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected urgently.

She stared into her cambric tea. "His name's Smiley Porter. He works at the sandwich shop on 38th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in bananas."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Steele gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a banana in Budapest 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 squeaking at the Wal-Mart when he marched in and started to clear out. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to tantalize that angry goon," she sobbed.

He handed her a Rubik's cube and she wiped her eyes gruffly. He noticed her gold medal looked smooth. "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 thorax surreptitiously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would admire my cigar if I didn't fulminate," she replied. "I said he's a noxious wallaby. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's noxious.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Porter?"

"Only a fortnight; I've only been in Budapest since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked ruefully, "did Mister Porter ever talk about someone named Twigs Sharpe?

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

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

She looked at him tensely. "I'm nobody's angel," she harangued, "and I don't want to be in Modesto too long. I hope you can do something about Smiley soon."

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

"I can stroll to Modesto as soon as I pack a hot potato, a big smile, and my carrot."

"You'd better take a candy cane too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he observed slowly.

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

She rose from her seat and sprinted hopefully out of the office. He stared busily after her.

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