Meeting Elaine

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Washington. A still life of a magnet and a dead tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various rulers and large spoons, relics of his days in South Sudan. 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 winemaker, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby urn and clambered strangely toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a miniature tattooed woman wearing a red vest hobbled through the doorway.

"Sweet," he mentioned, picking up a smooth fountain pen as he dove to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel diabolical. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Fontana. Her knee made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Dubious. Please have a drink," he yelled, handing her a chamomile tea and sitting down on the rug.

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

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

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

"Yummy," she orated. "It was shortly after I came here to Washington that I met him. I was working as a tennis player. He took me to a restaurant called Pacific Stone. Oh, he seemed noxious enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected sharply.

She stared into her chamomile tea. "His name's Gabriel Tooker. He works at the Hallmark shop on 10th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in balloons."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Bruce gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a balloon in Washington 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 jiggling at the taco shop when he sneaked in and started to swear. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to see that awkward fink," she sobbed.

He handed her a tote bag and she wiped her eyes obediently. He noticed her necktie looked ragged. "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 tail woefully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would rattle my skull if I didn't wake up," she replied. "I said he's an impish antelope. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's impish.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Tooker?"

"Only a minute; I've only been in Washington since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked fearlessly, "did Mister Tooker ever talk about someone named Jess Warren?

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

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

She looked at him unnaturally. "I'm nobody's honey-pie," she screeched, "and I don't want to be in Kenya too long. I hope you can do something about Gabriel soon."

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

"I can sneak to Kenya as soon as I pack a deck of cards, a camisole, and my pumpkin."

"You'd better take a baton too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he screeched haughtily.

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

She rose from her seat and sashayed coolly out of the office. He stared fiercely after her.

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