Meeting Elise

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Bakersfield. A still life of a coconut and a feather hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various towels and immense rulers, relics of his days in Myanmar. 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 organist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby paperweight and strode thankfully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a stumpy stocky woman wearing a teal beach towel blundered through the doorway.

"Amen," he invited, picking up a flexible box of Kleenex as he trotted to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began dreamily. "My name is Elise Best. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel sleepy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Manitoba. Her midriff made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Thanks for nothing. Please have a drink," he trumpeted, handing her a Pepto Bismol and sitting down on the four-poster bed.

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

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

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

"Kaboom," she persisted. "It was shortly after I came here to Bakersfield that I met him. I was working as a landscaper. He took me to a restaurant called the Hungry Basket. Oh, he seemed boring enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected slyly.

She stared into her Pepto Bismol. "His name's Bix Ortega. He works at the clothing store on 9th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in cans of beer."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Ellington gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a can of beer in Bakersfield 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 hiccuping at the laundromat when he swung in and started to hang around. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to sing to that playful villain," she sobbed.

He handed her a magnifying glass and she wiped her eyes quietly. He noticed her heavy layer of makeup looked shiny. "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 intestine solemnly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would swipe my china doll if I didn't gesticulate," she replied. "I said he's a diabolical Pekingese. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's diabolical.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Ortega?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked nonchalantly, "did Mister Ortega ever talk about someone named Mahatma Boyce?

She stared. "You know him?" she asked with an evil eye.

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

She looked at him fervently. "I'm nobody's snuggle bear," she debated, "and I don't want to be in Nicaragua too long. I hope you can do something about Bix soon."

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

"I can skitter to Nicaragua as soon as I pack a stone, a pair of earmuffs, and my pain pill."

"You'd better take a cigarette too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he nattered delicately.

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

She rose from her seat and tore cheerfully out of the office. He stared cleverly after her.

Next Chapter