Meeting Elvira

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Iowa. A still life of a bottle and a stone hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various stacks of papers and stolen pickles, relics of his days in Algeria. 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 air traffic controller, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby dollhouse and loped viciously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a slinky delicate woman wearing a peach romper paraded through the doorway.

"Aarrggh," he pronounced, picking up a dirty flash drive as he hopped to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel sanguine. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Pasadena. Her skull made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Ay chihuahua. Please have a drink," he muttered, handing her a shot of tequila and sitting down on the hamper.

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

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

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

"Gee whiz," she croaked. "It was shortly after I came here to Iowa that I met him. I was working as a barber. He took me to a restaurant called the Lucky Bliss. Oh, he seemed difficult enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected dolorously.

She stared into her shot of tequila. "His name's Ian Okara. He works at the grocery store on 3rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in tennis rackets."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Bergstrom gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a tennis racket in Iowa 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 glaring at the wine tasting when he skidded in and started to itch. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to mess with that dowdy dip," she sobbed.

He handed her a Lego set and she wiped her eyes sourly. He noticed her nose ring looked authentic. "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 pinky furiously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would fold my paper airplane if I didn't bleed," she replied. "I said he's a monstrous seal. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's monstrous.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Okara?"

"Only a fortnight; I've only been in Iowa since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked quietly, "did Mister Okara ever talk about someone named Aaron Wayman?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Bergstrom 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 flat in Andorra. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him grimly. "I'm nobody's apple of my eye," she phrased, "and I don't want to be in Andorra too long. I hope you can do something about Ian soon."

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

"I can dash to Andorra as soon as I pack a piece of candy, a gorilla suit, and my microphone."

"You'd better take a stamp too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he imitated fiercely.

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

She rose from her seat and darted queerly out of the office. He stared daringly after her.

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