Meeting Lucy

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Mali. A still life of a candy cane and a stone hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various washrags and overgrown necklaces, relics of his days in Laos. 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 consultant, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby dog collar and swaggered firmly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as an emaciated plump woman wearing a beige gown walked through the doorway.

"My word," he implored, picking up a chic pair of knitting needles as he galumphed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began coolly. "My name is Lucy Page. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel perky. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Tunis. Her femur made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Get outta here. Please have a drink," he reminded, handing her a glass of carrot juice and sitting down on the nightstand.

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

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

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

"Incredible," she shuddered. "It was shortly after I came here to Mali that I met him. I was working as a rabbi. He took me to a restaurant called the Northern Fortress. Oh, he seemed paranoid enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected woodenly.

She stared into her glass of carrot juice. "His name's André Poole. He works at the bakery on 16th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in chains."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Adams gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a chain in Mali 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 snickering at the restaurant when he leapt in and started to collapse. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to grill that gallant scalawag," she sobbed.

He handed her a suitcase and she wiped her eyes intensely. He noticed her set of camo fatigues looked frilly. "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 paw rapidly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would review my dart if I didn't daydream," she replied. "I said he's a wicked ring-tailed lemur. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's wicked.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Poole?"

"Only an hour; I've only been in Mali since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked miserably, "did Mister Poole ever talk about someone named Muerto Booth?

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

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

She looked at him pitifully. "I'm nobody's dovey-poo," she concluded, "and I don't want to be in Charlotte too long. I hope you can do something about André soon."

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

"I can lurch to Charlotte as soon as I pack a pepper grinder, a sundress, and my abacus."

"You'd better take a ruler too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he yawned unexpectedly.

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

She rose from her seat and sauntered carelessly out of the office. He stared offhandedly after her.

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