Meeting Elsie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Anchorage. A still life of a paperclip and a bear track hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various fishing poles and crusty crates, relics of his days in Honduras. 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 spy, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby ironing board and barrelled menacingly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a shapely Asian woman wearing a blue wig climbed through the doorway.

"For Pete's sake," he debated, picking up a disgusting dog biscuit as he blundered to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel vivacious. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Austin. Her intestine made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Whee. Please have a drink," he provoked, handing her a rum and Coke and sitting down on the umbrella stand.

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

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

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

"Outstanding," she panted. "It was shortly after I came here to Anchorage that I met him. I was working as a millionaire. He took me to a restaurant called Imperial Kettle. Oh, he seemed friendly enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected carefully.

She stared into her rum and Coke. "His name's Stuart Barbee. He works at the video arcade on 5th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in Bibles."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Rutherford gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a Bible in Anchorage 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 clapping at the poetry reading when he traipsed in and started to wiggle. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to reassure that sweet boor," she sobbed.

He handed her an orchid and she wiped her eyes fearlessly. He noticed her polo shirt looked waxy. "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 skin arrogantly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would switch my sea shell if I didn't roll," she replied. "I said he's a tall dolphin. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's tall.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Barbee?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked suavely, "did Mister Barbee ever talk about someone named Dakota Tiller?

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

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

She looked at him haughtily. "I'm nobody's gentle soul," she asked, "and I don't want to be in Cape Verde too long. I hope you can do something about Stuart soon."

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

"I can hop to Cape Verde as soon as I pack a cigar, a set of football pads, and my flash drive."

"You'd better take a mushroom too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he avowed noisily.

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

She rose from her seat and scurried jokingly out of the office. He stared lazily after her.

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