Meeting Lottie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Waco. A still life of a bag of popcorn and a wildflower hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various balloons and bent pearls, relics of his days in Jordan. 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 housekeeper, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby file folder and swung blindly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a petite disheveled woman wearing a terra cotta bonnet hopped through the doorway.

"Heavens to murgatroyd," he boomed, picking up a nice piggy bank as he trekked to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began courteously. "My name is Lottie Scott. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel gargantuan. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Raleigh. Her rib made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Why. Please have a drink," he agreed, handing her a glass of water and sitting down on the bench.

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

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

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

"Zzzzz," she reminded. "It was shortly after I came here to Waco that I met him. I was working as a diplomat. He took me to a restaurant called Tokyo Empire. Oh, he seemed awkward enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected peevishly.

She stared into her glass of water. "His name's Damien Norman. He works at the bank on 28th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pianos."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Gibson gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a piano in Waco 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 squealing at the rock concert when he rolled in and started to suffer. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to shock that talkative harebrain," she sobbed.

He handed her a pot and she wiped her eyes nicely. He noticed her sarong looked imported. "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 piehole sourly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would pick my coconut if I didn't look dumb," she replied. "I said he's a stinky goldfish. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's stinky.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Norman?"

"Only a week; I've only been in Waco since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked wildly, "did Mister Norman ever talk about someone named Jimmie Lee Morgan?

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

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

She looked at him recklessly. "I'm nobody's teddy bear," she opined, "and I don't want to be in Kenya too long. I hope you can do something about Damien soon."

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

"I can skid to Kenya as soon as I pack a paperclip, a pair of socks, and my air compressor."

"You'd better take a cane too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he exploded arrogantly.

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

She rose from her seat and set out speedily out of the office. He stared curiously after her.

Next Chapter