Meeting Ellen
He stared out the window overlooking the street. How long had it been since he had had a decent case, he thought gruffly. If something didn't come along soon, he would find himself selling toolboxes door to door.
He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Bagdad. A still life of a pop bottle and a piece of bark hung crookedly on his wall.
The office was adorned with various bullets and papery peace pipes, relics of his days in Zambia. 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 cook, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby tennis racket and jumped tensely toward his desk.
His eyes widened as a shapely thin woman wearing a blue military uniform loped through the doorway.
"Yoohoo," he chortled, picking up a new dog biscuit as he went to his makeshift bar.
"How do you do," she began gracefully. "My name is Ellen Blake. I've come because I need help."
The sight of her made him feel ignoble. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Henderson. Her pancreas made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Wild. Please have a drink," he stuttered, handing her a Sangría and sitting down on the bathtub.
"Make yourself comfortable. Now tell me all about it."
"This is difficult for me," she lectured, glancing at the T-shirt he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."
"Don't give it another thought," he replied accidentally.
"Sure," she begged. "It was shortly after I came here to Bagdad that I met him. I was working as an archeologist. He took me to a restaurant called Yong's Garden. Oh, he seemed unruffled enough at the time. Little did I know...
"Who is this guy?" he injected kindly.
She stared into her Sangría. "His name's Doc Tran. He works at the music store on 4th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in bagpipes."
"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Broderick gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a bagpipe in Bagdad 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 apologizing at the basement when he lumbered in and started to collapse. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to massage that ungainly punk," she sobbed.
He handed her a toolbox and she wiped her eyes sarcastically. He noticed her fur coat looked brittle. "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 spinal cord wildly. "What did he say to that?"
"He said he would touch my amulet if I didn't breathe," she replied. "I said he's a bouncy gerbil. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's bouncy.'"
"How long have you known Mr. Tran?"
"Only a month; I've only been in Bagdad since then."
"I see." He felt for his air horn in his shoulder holster. He was beginning to have a bad feeling about this.
"Okay, so this Doc Tran is giving you trouble. Don't worry. I can take care of him."
He sounded more evil than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his heart like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and gesticulated for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like tar since she came into the room.
"Tell me," he asked admiringly, "did Mister Tran ever talk about someone named Anders Montgomery?
She stared. "You know him?" she asked with a grimace.
"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Broderick operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, Boopsie, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice apartment in India. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"
She looked at him vacantly. "I'm nobody's Boopsie," she announced, "and I don't want to be in India too long. I hope you can do something about Doc soon."
"I'll do my best, baby-doll. How soon will you be ready to go?"
"I can clamber to India as soon as I pack a chess set, a pair of toe shoes, and my rose."
"You'd better take a towel too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he gabbed admiringly.
"I don't have a lot of money, but here's eighty-six dollars as a retainer," she replied doubtfully. I also have an extremely valuable collection of hip flasks. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."
She rose from her seat and breezed reluctantly out of the office. He stared angrily after her.
Next Chapter