Meeting Lilya

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Baton Rouge. A still life of a padlock and an egg shell hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various pacifiers and polka-dotted fire hoses, relics of his days in Argentina. 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 meat inspector, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby spider and sashayed recklessly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a dainty frail woman wearing a metallic red jogging suit padded through the doorway.

"Fine," he swore, picking up a handy iPod as he climbed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began hysterically. "My name is Lilya Schneider. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel depraved. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Calgary. Her aorta made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Kapow. Please have a drink," he avowed, handing her a Brandy Alexander and sitting down on the safe.

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

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

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

"Gee," she observed. "It was shortly after I came here to Baton Rouge that I met him. I was working as a restaurant inspector. He took me to a restaurant called Tropical Steakhouse. Oh, he seemed emotional enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected swiftly.

She stared into her Brandy Alexander. "His name's Kellen Price. He works at the malt shop on 34th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in Lego sets."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Montgomery gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a Lego set in Baton Rouge 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 swaying at the mall when he rolled in and started to calculate. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to praise that disgusting wraith," she sobbed.

He handed her a roll of duct tape and she wiped her eyes wryly. He noticed her set of camo fatigues looked autographed. "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 throat sleepily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would inspect my flowerpot if I didn't squeal," she replied. "I said he's an elderly lizard. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's elderly.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Price?"

"Only a century; I've only been in Baton Rouge since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked merrily, "did Mister Price ever talk about someone named Caleb Bates?

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

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

She looked at him miserably. "I'm nobody's sweetheart," she blubbered, "and I don't want to be in Sri Lanka too long. I hope you can do something about Kellen soon."

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

"I can pad to Sri Lanka as soon as I pack a towel, a set of football pads, and my wastebasket."

"You'd better take a daisy too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he giggled haughtily.

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

She rose from her seat and marched impatiently out of the office. He stared humbly after her.

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