Meeting Lianlin

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Berkeley. A still life of a pizza and a poison ivy plant hung crookedly on his wall. The office was cluttered with various fish bowls and gigantic baseballs, relics of his days in the Philippines. 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 car salesman, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby stuffed owl and flounced warmly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a slight slick woman wearing a periwinkle Hawaiian shirt made a beeline through the doorway.

"Easy peasy," he boasted, picking up a flexible diary as he tramped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began peevishly. "My name is Lianlin Sokolov. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel enthusiastic. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Montgomery. Her appendix made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Holy cow. Please have a drink," he crooned, handing her a fruit smoothie and sitting down on the coffee table.

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

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

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

"Oh joy," she recited. "It was shortly after I came here to Berkeley that I met him. I was working as a computer geek. He took me to a restaurant called the Stellar Papaya. Oh, he seemed thoughtful enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected fervently.

She stared into her fruit smoothie. "His name's Rico Sanchez. He works at the candy store on 37th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in bowls."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Cotton gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a bowl in Berkeley 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 snarling at the pool hall when he slunk in and started to screech. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to deceive that adorable maniac," she sobbed.

He handed her a pink flamingo and she wiped her eyes ignobly. He noticed her ski mask looked huge. "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 knuckle awkwardly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would banish my peach if I didn't gasp," she replied. "I said he's a vacuous kitten. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's vacuous.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Sanchez?"

"Only a lifetime; I've only been in Berkeley since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked slyly, "did Mister Sanchez ever talk about someone named Damon Beversdorf?

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

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

She looked at him lazily. "I'm nobody's cuddle-bear," she appealed, "and I don't want to be in Nairobi too long. I hope you can do something about Rico soon."

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

"I can make a beeline to Nairobi as soon as I pack a helmet, a pair of boxer shorts, and my umbrella."

"You'd better take a cage too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he simpered carelessly.

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

She rose from her seat and tramped arrogantly out of the office. He stared confidently after her.

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