Meeting Lori

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Concord. A still life of a cigar and a sea shell hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various jars of olives and automatic fishing poles, relics of his days in Peru. 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 hobo, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby fork and dashed cunningly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a gigantic winsome woman wearing an emerald green Stetson hat careened through the doorway.

"Holy smokeroo," he quavered, picking up a puzzling pack of gum as he jumped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began blissfully. "My name is Lori Shepard. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel weary. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Lexington. Her chin made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Ppppbbbft. Please have a drink," he noted, handing her a martini and sitting down on the dining table.

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

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

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

"Never," she peeped. "It was shortly after I came here to Concord that I met him. I was working as a real estate agent. He took me to a restaurant called Fireside Flower. Oh, he seemed dismal enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected furiously.

She stared into her martini. "His name's Geraldo Gilson. He works at the malt shop on 9th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in wrenches."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the McGrath gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a wrench in Concord 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 wandering at the radio station when he darted in and started to daydream. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to caress that attractive dumbbell," she sobbed.

He handed her a pair of shin guards and she wiped her eyes uneasily. He noticed her leotard looked fancy. "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 gut sarcastically. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would rattle my cracker if I didn't puff," she replied. "I said he's a fierce buffalo. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's fierce.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Gilson?"

"Only a day; I've only been in Concord since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked majestically, "did Mister Gilson ever talk about someone named Klaus Payne?

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

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

She looked at him confidently. "I'm nobody's angel-face," she joked, "and I don't want to be in Argentina too long. I hope you can do something about Geraldo soon."

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

"I can clamber to Argentina as soon as I pack a heat gun, a pair of shorts, and my corsage."

"You'd better take a crate too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he prattled languidly.

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

She rose from her seat and galloped pityingly out of the office. He stared grudgingly after her.

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