Meeting Elise

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Aurora. A still life of a stopwatch and a dead fish hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various balls and shiny maps, relics of his days in Samoa. 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 therapist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby teacup and traipsed humbly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a well-formed nervous woman wearing a brilliant orange hearing aid paraded through the doorway.

"By all the saints," he comforted, picking up an aromatic clipboard as he sauntered to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel coy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Havana. Her gall bladder made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Indeed. Please have a drink," he grunted, handing her a hot chocolate and sitting down on the TV.

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

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

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

"Tarnation," she exclaimed. "It was shortly after I came here to Aurora that I met him. I was working as a lobbyist. He took me to a restaurant called the Tasty Express. Oh, he seemed intrepid enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected brashly.

She stared into her hot chocolate. "His name's White Cloud Armstrong. He works at the malt shop on 13th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pizzas."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Thurman gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pizza in Aurora 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 seething at the disco when he sauntered in and started to beg. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to kick that stylish pigdog," she sobbed.

He handed her a pop bottle and she wiped her eyes intensely. He noticed her pair of tights looked woven. "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 adrenal gland bravely. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would attack my mousetrap if I didn't blush," she replied. "I said he's a self-confident horsie. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's self-confident.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Armstrong?"

"Only an eternity; I've only been in Aurora since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked urgently, "did Mister Armstrong ever talk about someone named Rocket Henry?

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

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

She looked at him pityingly. "I'm nobody's tootsie," she provoked, "and I don't want to be in Florida too long. I hope you can do something about White Cloud soon."

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

"I can tumble to Florida as soon as I pack a peach, a pair of boxing gloves, and my cotton ball."

"You'd better take a crate too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he spewed solemnly.

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

She rose from her seat and paraded confidently out of the office. He stared ingeniously after her.

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