Sending Warm Garnishings Abroad
Wellington Leg: I had a client come in the other day, a victim of the foreign minister con, the one where all the money is offshore and it’s all yours for the asking. For the sake of his privacy we’ll call him Leo. No, wait, that’s his real name. Well, the cat’s out of the bag now.
Leo’s had a few beefs with the law so he had a hard time finding someone to lend him a hand. He’s a large guy with a bald spot that begins at the crown of his head and ends at his shoulders; he favors Aloha shirts but I’m not sure he’s into the spirit of Aloha. A set of brass knuckles fell out of his pocket when he was reaching for his wallet to throw a wad of bills in my direction. A lot of fives and ones in that wad, the first hint of a character trait.
Anyway before I track down the foreign minister of a mineral rich West African nation, I have a few questions for Leo. He cuts the q&a short with a wave of his hand. I understand that he’s embarrassed. I think AARP is all over the offshore account scam. Leo knows better. He got greedy.
Leo is looking glum when Connie yells from the front office that the foreign minister of Lesotho is on line two. I grab the receiver and warn Leo to keep quiet, saying, “Mr. Foreign Minister?”
“Hey Leo,” I say. “It’s for you.”
“Yeah?” Leo is cautious. He listens, then says, “Wait a minute, my account was empty?”
Leo hangs up.
“What did he say?” I ask.
“He cautioned me against sending warm garnishings abroad. I guess I didn’t lose any money after all.”
I tossed Leo his bankroll. “This is your lucky day.”
“Somebody told me you got something against dogs,” Leo said.
“One dog.”
“You’re saying it’s personal.”
“Between me and the dog.”
“If you want the dog spoken to, I’m your guy.”
I sat back, put my feet on the desk. “I’m Arthur Murray, Leo. If I want to speak to a dog, I’ll do it myself.”