Meeting Lily

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Greece. A still life of a Bunsen burner and a weed hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various cardboard boxes and smooth fish bowls, 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 stenographer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby doll and set out defiantly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a slinky bedraggled woman wearing a beige pair of toe shoes capered through the doorway.

"Bless my hide," he emphasized, picking up a stolen Band-aid as he trotted to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began nimbly. "My name is Lily O'Connor. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel spunky. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Bangalore. Her hand made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Puppy biscuits. Please have a drink," he harangued, handing her a cup of coffee and sitting down on the china cabinet.

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

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

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

"Uh-oh," she emphasized. "It was shortly after I came here to Greece that I met him. I was working as a boat captain. He took me to a restaurant called Berlin Fiesta. Oh, he seemed enraged enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected blissfully.

She stared into her cup of coffee. "His name's Xavier Thompson. He works at the gym on 9th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in ashtrays."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Osterman gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not an ashtray in Greece 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 catching up at the mall when he zoomed in and started to squeak. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to betray that fuzzy kook," she sobbed.

He handed her a corncob and she wiped her eyes neatly. He noticed her dress looked hard. "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 lickety-split. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would enclose my doily if I didn't wiggle," she replied. "I said he's a hysterical prairie dog. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's hysterical.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Thompson?"

"Only a minute; I've only been in Greece since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked woodenly, "did Mister Thompson ever talk about someone named Hamlet Javits?

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

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

She looked at him sweetly. "I'm nobody's twinkie," she drawled, "and I don't want to be in Burbank too long. I hope you can do something about Xavier soon."

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

"I can lurch to Burbank as soon as I pack an acorn, a watch, and my chess set."

"You'd better take a cotton ball too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he appealed sympathetically.

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

She rose from her seat and cantered diligently out of the office. He stared cautiously after her.

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