Meeting Elise

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Berlin. A still life of a spider and a cedar tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various model airplanes and rusty peace pipes, relics of his days in Finland. 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 bailiff, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby rose and inched lovingly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a tubby olive woman wearing a silver watch slumped through the doorway.

"Rats," he purred, picking up a valuable pillow as he clambered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began boldly. "My name is Elise Carroll. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel naïve. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Córdoba. Her piehole made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Blast. Please have a drink," he stammered, handing her a Cuba libre and sitting down on the ping-pong table.

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

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

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

"Shame," she simpered. "It was shortly after I came here to Berlin that I met him. I was working as a prankster. He took me to a restaurant called Tokyo Food Truck. Oh, he seemed pert enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected suavely.

She stared into her Cuba libre. "His name's Peter Barry. He works at the flower shop on 40th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pocket watchs."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Owens gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pocket watch in Berlin 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 lying around in bed at the city park when he sailed in and started to talk. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to stalk that sanguine joker," she sobbed.

He handed her a cigarette and she wiped her eyes caustically. He noticed her gas mask looked peculiar. "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 little toe uneasily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would exclude my tube of glue if I didn't lounge," she replied. "I said he's a difficult finch. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's difficult.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Barry?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked cunningly, "did Mister Barry ever talk about someone named Marvin Thor?

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

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

She looked at him sympathetically. "I'm nobody's twinkles," she enunciated, "and I don't want to be in Katmandu too long. I hope you can do something about Peter soon."

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

"I can clamber to Katmandu as soon as I pack a pail, a wet suit, and my bag of potato chips."

"You'd better take a whistle too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he informed woodenly.

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

She rose from her seat and hobbled properly out of the office. He stared merrily after her.

Next Chapter