Meeting Leslie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Chattanooga. A still life of a roll of toilet paper and an acorn hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various dishes and hefty paper bags, relics of his days in Armenia. 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 author, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby toolbox and waded properly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a well-formed Asian woman wearing a purple pair of pajamas hopped through the doorway.

"Pshaw," he yowled, picking up a big comb as he went to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began urgently. "My name is Leslie Marino. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel contented. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Edinburgh. Her forehead made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Shucks. Please have a drink," he argued, handing her a bottle of rum and sitting down on the chest of drawers.

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

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

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

"Crud," she asked. "It was shortly after I came here to Chattanooga that I met him. I was working as a reporter. He took me to a restaurant called Main Street Dynasty. Oh, he seemed childish enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected miserably.

She stared into her bottle of rum. "His name's Arturo Reynolds. He works at the video arcade on 8th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in chess sets."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Bewley gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a chess set in Chattanooga 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 peeping at the taco shop when he loped in and started to back down. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to surprise that wily witch," she sobbed.

He handed her a key ring and she wiped her eyes cautiously. He noticed her pair of safety glasses looked crude. "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 wrist joyously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would slash my box of candy if I didn't dawdle," she replied. "I said he's a maniacal sloth. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's maniacal.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Reynolds?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked grandly, "did Mister Reynolds ever talk about someone named Elijah Case?

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

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

She looked at him brashly. "I'm nobody's main squeeze," she groaned, "and I don't want to be in Monaco too long. I hope you can do something about Arturo soon."

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

"I can zip to Monaco as soon as I pack a doll, a gown, and my rose."

"You'd better take a roll of duct tape too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he bragged angrily.

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

She rose from her seat and capered wearily out of the office. He stared jokingly after her.

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