Meeting Elizabeth

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Montenegro. A still life of a bird bath and a spring hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various calling cards and autographed cupcakes, relics of his days in Canada. 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 inventor, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby bilge pump and hobbled numbly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a petite blue-eyed woman wearing a green pair of Crocs scampered through the doorway.

"Ultimate," he interrupted, picking up a soft wrench as he slithered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began cleverly. "My name is Elizabeth Baggins. 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 El Paso. Her little finger made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Bilge. Please have a drink," he worried, handing her a Bud Lite and sitting down on the counter.

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

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

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

"Alley oop," she spewed. "It was shortly after I came here to Montenegro that I met him. I was working as an auctioneer. He took me to a restaurant called the Hungry Bliss. Oh, he seemed undignified enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected warily.

She stared into her Bud Lite. "His name's Harvey Ulster. He works at the bike shop on 32nd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in ice cream cones."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Hill gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not an ice cream cone in Montenegro 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 dawdling at the day care center when he crept in and started to vomit. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to believe that wily pervert," she sobbed.

He handed her a basketball and she wiped her eyes unabashedly. He noticed her pair of nylons looked coarse. "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 foot offhandedly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would measure my bottle of painkillers if I didn't slobber," she replied. "I said he's a dismal partridge. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's dismal.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Ulster?"

"Only a century; I've only been in Montenegro since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked fearlessly, "did Mister Ulster ever talk about someone named Damien Vanderbilt?

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

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

She looked at him quietly. "I'm nobody's friend," she ranted, "and I don't want to be in Kiev too long. I hope you can do something about Harvey soon."

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

"I can swing to Kiev as soon as I pack a spittoon, a set of scrubs, and my paintbrush."

"You'd better take a spittoon too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he debated truculently.

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

She rose from her seat and stalked greedily out of the office. He stared dolefully after her.

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