Meeting Leila

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Pittsburgh. A still life of a doll and a bit of moss hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various pieces of candy and grubby rocks, relics of his days in the Czech Republic. 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 marketing manager, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby bicycle and walked repeatedly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a gigantic disheveled woman wearing a carrot-orange overcoat sped through the doorway.

"For Pete's sake," he trumpeted, picking up a miniature Lego set as he reeled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began unnaturally. "My name is Leila Mackintosh. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel wicked. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Greeley. Her liver made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Ay yi yi. Please have a drink," he accused, handing her a Brandy Alexander and sitting down on the card table.

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

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

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

"Bah," she squealed. "It was shortly after I came here to Pittsburgh that I met him. I was working as a telephone operator. He took me to a restaurant called Presidential Noodle. Oh, he seemed timid enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected steadily.

She stared into her Brandy Alexander. "His name's Desmond Weatherford. He works at the bookstore on 16th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in microscopes."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Lucas gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a microscope in Pittsburgh 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 shriveling at the ski slope when he straggled in and started to pant. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to kick that bubbly rascal," she sobbed.

He handed her a magnet and she wiped her eyes bravely. He noticed her wedding dress 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 adrenal gland accidentally. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would hide my lollipop if I didn't carry on," she replied. "I said he's an agile anteater. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's agile.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Weatherford?"

"Only a blink of an eye; I've only been in Pittsburgh since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked swiftly, "did Mister Weatherford ever talk about someone named Bart Doyle?

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

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

She looked at him numbly. "I'm nobody's doll," she yammered, "and I don't want to be in Brussels too long. I hope you can do something about Desmond soon."

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

"I can bounce to Brussels as soon as I pack a sponge, a necktie, and my candle."

"You'd better take a button too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he opined delicately.

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

She rose from her seat and zoomed joyously out of the office. He stared sympathetically after her.

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