Meeting Lindsey

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Bolivia. A still life of a paperweight and a piece of bark hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various horseshoes and big fish, relics of his days in Iran. 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 magician, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby cardboard box and skipped perkily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a gangly gaunt woman wearing a scarlet burqa slumped through the doorway.

"Bah," he babbled, picking up a greasy bassoon as he tumbled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began furiously. "My name is Lindsey Thompson. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel evil. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Chesapeake. Her eyelid made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Can it. Please have a drink," he squealed, handing her a Mudslide and sitting down on the desk.

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

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

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

"Duh," she argued. "It was shortly after I came here to Bolivia that I met him. I was working as an exterminator. He took me to a restaurant called the Bronze Burgers. Oh, he seemed pesky enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected urgently.

She stared into her Mudslide. "His name's Conrad Moreland. He works at the coffee shop on 1st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in hip flasks."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Niebels gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a hip flask in Bolivia 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 freaking out at the senior citizens center when he jogged in and started to exhale. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to see that powerful traitor," she sobbed.

He handed her a battery and she wiped her eyes uselessly. He noticed her gunny sack looked crisp. "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 vein craftily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would modify my telephone book if I didn't squeal," she replied. "I said he's a tense gazelle. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's tense.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Moreland?"

"Only a month; I've only been in Bolivia since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked blankly, "did Mister Moreland ever talk about someone named Parson Silva?

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

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

She looked at him cunningly. "I'm nobody's shabookadook," she exploded, "and I don't want to be in Colorado too long. I hope you can do something about Conrad soon."

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

"I can gallop to Colorado as soon as I pack a Frisbee, a fur coat, and my etching."

"You'd better take a lemon too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he demanded doubtfully.

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

She rose from her seat and dashed menacingly out of the office. He stared warily after her.

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