Meeting Elvira

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Ann Arbor. A still life of a candle and a sea shell hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various hand puppets and torn candy canes, relics of his days in Uruguay. 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 midwife, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby flash drive and made a beeline nonchalantly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a short sorrowful woman wearing a salmon veil zoomed through the doorway.

"Ahem," he bragged, picking up a plain Rubik's cube as he inched to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began hopelessly. "My name is Elvira Cutler. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel thoughtful. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Palmdale. Her belly made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Gads. Please have a drink," he conversed, handing her a double latte and sitting down on the hammock.

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

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

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

"My my," she chanted. "It was shortly after I came here to Ann Arbor that I met him. I was working as a doctor. He took me to a restaurant called New York Mess Hall. Oh, he seemed witty enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected sympathetically.

She stared into her double latte. "His name's Cheng Hartley. He works at the auto repair shop on 1st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in toothbrushes."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Friezbergen gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a toothbrush in Ann Arbor 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 squealing at the Elvis chapel when he rushed in and started to play. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to bump that poised floozy," she sobbed.

He handed her a pen and she wiped her eyes bravely. He noticed her headscarf looked expensive. "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 ego sheepishly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would rub my can of beans if I didn't run away," she replied. "I said he's a frantic boa constrictor. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's frantic.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Hartley?"

"Only a blink of an eye; I've only been in Ann Arbor 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 Cheng Hartley is giving you trouble. Don't worry. I can take care of him."

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

"Tell me," he asked briskly, "did Mister Hartley ever talk about someone named Nicolas Feldman?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Friezbergen operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, apple of my eye, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice convent in Central African Republic. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him trustingly. "I'm nobody's apple of my eye," she sniveled, "and I don't want to be in Central African Republic too long. I hope you can do something about Cheng soon."

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

"I can dart to Central African Republic as soon as I pack a trash can, a beehive, and my tablet computer."

"You'd better take an iPhone too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he revealed accidentally.

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

She rose from her seat and slumped woodenly out of the office. He stared cunningly after her.

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