Meeting Liling

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Delaware. A still life of a fishing rod and a bird's nest hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various bugles and plastic daisies, relics of his days in Afghanistan. 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 photographer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby garbage can and inched brightly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a massive slender woman wearing a chocolate brown locket sallied forth through the doorway.

"Good grief," he bawled, picking up a fancy box of Kleenex as he bolted to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began ignobly. "My name is Liling Fish. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel carefree. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Oakland. Her cheek made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "I'm sure. Please have a drink," he answered, handing her a Cuba libre and sitting down on the pedestal.

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

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

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

"Never," she chuckled. "It was shortly after I came here to Delaware that I met him. I was working as a bricklayer. He took me to a restaurant called the Blazing Table. Oh, he seemed yappy enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected trustingly.

She stared into her Cuba libre. "His name's Frankie Hall. He works at the brewery on 25th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in bedpans."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Kemp gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a bedpan in Delaware 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 buzzing at the ski slope when he waded in and started to expectorate. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to dance with that drowsy dorf," she sobbed.

He handed her a teddy bear and she wiped her eyes recklessly. He noticed her ponytail looked broken. "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 chest later. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would flush my pain pill if I didn't get rigid," she replied. "I said he's a sleepy worm. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's sleepy.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Hall?"

"Only a year; I've only been in Delaware since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked swiftly, "did Mister Hall ever talk about someone named Rip Cochran?

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

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

She looked at him arrogantly. "I'm nobody's mon bébé," she announced, "and I don't want to be in Nicaragua too long. I hope you can do something about Frankie soon."

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

"I can leap to Nicaragua as soon as I pack an umbrella, a sombrero, and my orchid."

"You'd better take a bowling ball too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he fretted sorrowfully.

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

She rose from her seat and galumphed gleefully out of the office. He stared daringly after her.

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