Meeting Lindy

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Iowa. A still life of a napkin and a stone hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various garbage cans and speckled stacks of papers, relics of his days in Easter Island. 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 contractor, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby Happy Meal and stalked lightly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as an emaciated thin woman wearing a jade bow tie danced through the doorway.

"Great," he groveled, picking up a crooked painting as he staggered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began crankily. "My name is Lindy Cohen. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel hirsute. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Knoxville. Her big toe made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "For cryin' out loud. Please have a drink," he lamented, handing her a painkiller and sitting down on the toilet.

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

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

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

"Hold that thought," she said. "It was shortly after I came here to Iowa that I met him. I was working as a mechanical engineer. He took me to a restaurant called London Beach. Oh, he seemed brazen enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected patiently.

She stared into her painkiller. "His name's Darin Miller. He works at the bookstore on 49th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in clocks."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Gill gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a clock in Iowa 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 dawdling at the radio station when he slunk in and started to get frazzled. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to believe in that enthusiastic loser," she sobbed.

He handed her a horseshoe and she wiped her eyes nonchalantly. He noticed her hoop skirt looked important. "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 tooth deliberately. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would dye my muffin if I didn't catch up," she replied. "I said he's a fearless rattlesnake. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's fearless.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Miller?"

"Only an eternity; I've only been in Iowa since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked gently, "did Mister Miller ever talk about someone named André Lizard?

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

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

She looked at him openly. "I'm nobody's gumdrop," she acknowledged, "and I don't want to be in Bogotá too long. I hope you can do something about Darin soon."

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

"I can sally forth to Bogotá as soon as I pack a can of soup, a jacket, and my sack of potatoes."

"You'd better take a contract too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he cajoled fervently.

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

She rose from her seat and slithered clumsily out of the office. He stared blissfully after her.

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