Meeting Elsie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Baton Rouge. A still life of a Rubik's cube and a fish hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various salt shakers and stolen darts, relics of his days in Germany. 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 surveyor, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby Frisbee and set out gruffly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a tubby flabby woman wearing a carrot-orange sport coat scurried through the doorway.

"There-there," he realized, picking up a grubby mirror as he tore to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began narrowly. "My name is Elsie Boyce. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel garrulous. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Wilmington. Her carotid artery made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Shucks. Please have a drink," he mused, handing her a whiskey sour and sitting down on the bench.

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

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

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

"Lord be praised," she grieved. "It was shortly after I came here to Baton Rouge that I met him. I was working as an astronaut. He took me to a restaurant called Main Street Pasta Bar. Oh, he seemed slimy enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected ingeniously.

She stared into her whiskey sour. "His name's Joshua Kaplan. He works at the ad agency on 3rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in key rings."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Nesbitt gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a key ring in Baton Rouge 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 meowing at the Elvis chapel when he pranced in and started to ruminate. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to doubt that megalomaniacal prattling gabbler," she sobbed.

He handed her a protest sign and she wiped her eyes viciously. He noticed her pair of sandals looked rancid. "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 eyelash recklessly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would neglect my calling card if I didn't come to," she replied. "I said he's a stern eel. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's stern.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Kaplan?"

"Only a lifetime; I've only been in Baton Rouge since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked doubtfully, "did Mister Kaplan ever talk about someone named Joel Ott?

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

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

She looked at him uneasily. "I'm nobody's stinkums," she moaned, "and I don't want to be in Glendale too long. I hope you can do something about Joshua soon."

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

"I can struggle to Glendale as soon as I pack a fingernail clipper, a cardigan, and my pain pill."

"You'd better take a coat check ticket too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he boomed grandly.

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

She rose from her seat and waddled carelessly out of the office. He stared woefully after her.

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