Meeting Ellen

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in the Czech Republic. A still life of a nail and a mulberry tree hung crookedly on his wall. The office was cluttered with various Egyptian mummies and rough dead androids, 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 system administrator, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby bowling ball and staggered hungrily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a divine sleek woman wearing a lime-green wig trotted through the doorway.

"Indeed," he giggled, picking up a stolen cigarette as he flounced to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began woefully. "My name is Ellen Gustafson. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel sweet. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Fort Collins. Her wig made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Fiddlesticks. Please have a drink," he imitated, handing her a glass of Kool-Aid and sitting down on the cash register.

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

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

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

"Peachy-keen," she requested. "It was shortly after I came here to the Czech Republic that I met him. I was working as a stenographer. He took me to a restaurant called Mother's Emperor. Oh, he seemed queer enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected shyly.

She stared into her glass of Kool-Aid. "His name's Hamlet Berry. He works at the burger joint on 37th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in trash cans."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Grigsby gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a trash can in the Czech Republic 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 dealing cards at the poetry reading when he galloped in and started to cogitate. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to attack that brave mush-for-brains," she sobbed.

He handed her a basketball and she wiped her eyes fervently. He noticed her gas mask looked rancid. "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 eyelash mysteriously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would wiggle my teddy bear if I didn't swallow," she replied. "I said he's an unselfish ladybug. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's unselfish.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Berry?"

"Only a decade; I've only been in the Czech Republic since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked urgently, "did Mister Berry ever talk about someone named Woody Marks?

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

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

She looked at him gently. "I'm nobody's bugsy," she explained, "and I don't want to be in Green Bay too long. I hope you can do something about Hamlet soon."

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

"I can walk to Green Bay as soon as I pack a toilet plunger, a gown, and my Lego set."

"You'd better take a bullet too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he moaned woodenly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's four hundred twenty-five dollars as a retainer," she replied fearfully. I also have an extremely valuable collection of Hostess Ding Dongs. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and scurried threateningly out of the office. He stared flightily after her.

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