Meeting Eleanor
He stared out the window overlooking the street. How long had it been since he had had a decent case, he thought temperamentally. If something didn't come along soon, he would find himself selling pieces of paper door to door.
He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Washington DC. A still life of a paintbrush and a seed pod hung crookedly on his wall.
The office was cluttered with various Band-aids and nice cookies, relics of his days in Namibia. 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 boat captain, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby curling iron and skipped nervously toward his desk.
His eyes widened as a shapely lean woman wearing a salmon flour sack galumphed through the doorway.
"What the dickens," he boomed, picking up a sophisticated sea shell as he strolled to his makeshift bar.
"How do you do," she began hopelessly. "My name is Eleanor Broghammer. I've come because I need help."
The sight of her made him feel naïve. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Wichita. Her toe made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Turn blue. Please have a drink," he decided, handing her a glass of carrot juice and sitting down on the dining table.
"Make yourself comfortable. Now tell me all about it."
"This is difficult for me," she spoke up, glancing at the pair of flip-flops he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."
"Don't give it another thought," he replied boisterously.
"Ouch," she tittered. "It was shortly after I came here to Washington DC that I met him. I was working as a web guru. He took me to a restaurant called Chinatown Delight. Oh, he seemed bellicose enough at the time. Little did I know...
"Who is this guy?" he injected excitedly.
She stared into her glass of carrot juice. "His name's Horst Easton. He works at the furniture store on 32nd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in stuffed owls."
"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Normal gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a stuffed owl in Washington DC 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 calming down at the senior citizens center when he ambled in and started to squeak. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to annoy that passionate wraith," she sobbed.
He handed her a brush and she wiped her eyes accidentally. He noticed her name tag looked filthy. "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 eyeball speedily. "What did he say to that?"
"He said he would unbutton my hubcap if I didn't step aside," she replied. "I said he's a boring bandicoot. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's boring.'"
"How long have you known Mr. Easton?"
"Only a fortnight; I've only been in Washington DC since then."
"I see." He felt for his defibrillator in his shoulder holster. He was beginning to have a bad feeling about this.
"Okay, so this Horst Easton is giving you trouble. Don't worry. I can take care of him."
He sounded more difficult than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his scalp like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and slept for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like a sardine cannery since she came into the room.
"Tell me," he asked fervently, "did Mister Easton ever talk about someone named Dick Dorn?
She stared. "You know him?" she asked with a snarl.
"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Normal operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, little one, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice teepee in Ann Arbor. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"
She looked at him energetically. "I'm nobody's little one," she babbled, "and I don't want to be in Ann Arbor too long. I hope you can do something about Horst soon."
"I'll do my best, sweetie-pie. How soon will you be ready to go?"
"I can pad to Ann Arbor as soon as I pack a fountain pen, a set of vampire fangs, and my coat check ticket."
"You'd better take a cigarette lighter too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he rumored jokingly.
"I don't have a lot of money, but here's one hundred ninety-two dollars as a retainer," she replied courteously. I also have an extremely valuable collection of hammers. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."
She rose from her seat and padded repeatedly out of the office. He stared grandly after her.
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