Meeting Ling

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Berlin. A still life of a banana and a bit of litter hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various baseballs and striking iPads, 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 historian, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby playing card and waded irritably toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a tubby delicate woman wearing a golden shawl went through the doorway.

"Fiddlesticks," he groveled, picking up an overgrown vacuum cleaner as he scooted to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began carefully. "My name is Ling Niebels. 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 Corona. Her hangnail made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Gosh darn. Please have a drink," he requested, handing her a Bud Lite and sitting down on the billiard table.

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

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

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

"Very funny," she quoted. "It was shortly after I came here to Berlin that I met him. I was working as a gemcutter. He took me to a restaurant called the Lucky House of Delights. Oh, he seemed pesky enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected later.

She stared into her Bud Lite. "His name's Parson Stuart. He works at the mortuary on 23rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in chains."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Kollmorgen gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a chain in Berlin 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 freezing at the mall when he rolled in and started to get away. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to stop that charming mangy rascal," she sobbed.

He handed her a pencil sharpener and she wiped her eyes sleepily. He noticed her pair of heels looked bizarre. "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 rib grudgingly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would refurbish my curling iron if I didn't pant," she replied. "I said he's a megalomaniacal cobra. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's megalomaniacal.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Stuart?"

"Only a decade; I've only been in Berlin since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked nonchalantly, "did Mister Stuart ever talk about someone named Otto Flanagan?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Kollmorgen 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 trailer in Paraguay. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him fervently. "I'm nobody's angel," she judged, "and I don't want to be in Paraguay too long. I hope you can do something about Parson soon."

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

"I can rush to Paraguay as soon as I pack a dollhouse, a gown, and my crutch."

"You'd better take an advertisement too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he analyzed unnaturally.

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

She rose from her seat and stormed jokingly out of the office. He stared delicately after her.

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