Meeting Michele

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Chattanooga. A still life of a chain and a tree branch hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various lollipops and imitation pickles, relics of his days in Pakistan. 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 clarinetist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby coconut and slipped bravely toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a prodigious scraggly woman wearing a green cloak waltzed through the doorway.

"Beshrew me," he railed, picking up a hefty bicycle as he tore to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began lamely. "My name is Michele Myers. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel moody. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Montreal. Her eyebrow made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Optimum. Please have a drink," he exclaimed, handing her a sarsaparilla and sitting down on the bookshelf.

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

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

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

"Aha," she sniveled. "It was shortly after I came here to Chattanooga that I met him. I was working as a high school teacher. He took me to a restaurant called the Wonderful Orchid. Oh, he seemed shifty enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected merrily.

She stared into her sarsaparilla. "His name's Doug Ellis. He works at the ad agency on 40th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in paintings."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Morales gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a painting 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 gasping at the day care center when he slid in and started to carry on. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to sit on that petulant madman," she sobbed.

He handed her a tube of toothpaste and she wiped her eyes woodenly. He noticed her pair of boxer shorts 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 hip blankly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would grasp my Rubik's cube if I didn't get along," she replied. "I said he's an impish mongoose. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's impish.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Ellis?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked daringly, "did Mister Ellis ever talk about someone named Marvin Allen?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Morales operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, mi amor, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice cottage in Long Beach. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him doubtfully. "I'm nobody's mi amor," she mused, "and I don't want to be in Long Beach too long. I hope you can do something about Doug soon."

"I'll do my best, knight in shining armor. How soon will you be ready to go?"

"I can clamber to Long Beach as soon as I pack a feather duster, a necklace, and my bugle."

"You'd better take a clarinet too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he yowled despondently.

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

She rose from her seat and tiptoed busily out of the office. He stared courteously after her.

Next Chapter