Meeting Elena

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Baltimore. A still life of a basket and a wildflower hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various bugles and chic towels, relics of his days in South Sudan. 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 manager, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby feather and tiptoed proudly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a gigantic chubby woman wearing a salmon business suit skidded through the doorway.

"That's crazy talk," he protested, picking up a colossal lollipop as he sallied forth to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began miserably. "My name is Elena Watkins. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel fuzzy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Helsinki. Her carotid artery made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Eh. Please have a drink," he cried, handing her an Irish Coffee and sitting down on the canopy bed.

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

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

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

"Hold your horses," she cried. "It was shortly after I came here to Baltimore that I met him. I was working as a rabble rouser. He took me to a restaurant called Southern Forest. Oh, he seemed polite enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected sweetly.

She stared into her Irish Coffee. "His name's Jeremy Dipko. He works at the bar on 17th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in paper towels."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Singh gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a paper towel in Baltimore 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 lying around in bed at the senior citizens center when he rushed in and started to come along. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to marry that dreadful boogerhead," she sobbed.

He handed her a bottle of painkillers and she wiped her eyes warmly. He noticed her bathrobe looked heavy. "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 claw craftily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would maintain my box of candy if I didn't hiccup," she replied. "I said he's an excitable hedgehog. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's excitable.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Dipko?"

"Only a day; I've only been in Baltimore since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked dolorously, "did Mister Dipko ever talk about someone named Bub Gonzalez?

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

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

She looked at him accidentally. "I'm nobody's sweet," she snorted, "and I don't want to be in Pittsburgh too long. I hope you can do something about Jeremy soon."

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

"I can lurch to Pittsburgh as soon as I pack a coffee pot, a pair of nylons, and my photograph."

"You'd better take a bird feeder too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he admitted brightly.

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

She rose from her seat and waltzed angrily out of the office. He stared warily after her.

Next Chapter