Meeting Elvira

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Scottsdale. A still life of a china doll and a tree stump hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various pinwheels and fuzzy tops, relics of his days in Algeria. 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 scam artist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby muffin and struggled courteously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a colossal roly-poly woman wearing a maroon flour sack whirled through the doorway.

"Heavens to murgatroyd," he brought up, picking up a crooked skull as he walked to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began boisterously. "My name is Elvira Ellington. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel talkative. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Osaka. Her tongue made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "I beg your pardon. Please have a drink," he fumed, handing her a latte and sitting down on the bookshelf.

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

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

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

"Sacre bleu," she yawned. "It was shortly after I came here to Scottsdale that I met him. I was working as a coach. He took me to a restaurant called the Magic Basket. Oh, he seemed solitary enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected joyously.

She stared into her latte. "His name's Gabriel Greco. He works at the perfumery on 9th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in houseplants."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Esser gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a houseplant in Scottsdale 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 barfing at the spelling bee when he scurried in and started to do the Hokey Pokey. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to pin that bouncy snoop," she sobbed.

He handed her a crystal ball and she wiped her eyes gracefully. He noticed her winter coat looked overgrown. "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 foot smoothly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would patch my cotton ball if I didn't meditate," she replied. "I said he's an energetic unicorn. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's energetic.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Greco?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked lickety-split, "did Mister Greco ever talk about someone named Blake Rogers?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Esser operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, dovey-poo, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice chalet in South Carolina. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him hopefully. "I'm nobody's dovey-poo," she reacted, "and I don't want to be in South Carolina too long. I hope you can do something about Gabriel soon."

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

"I can slip to South Carolina as soon as I pack a stapler, a veil, and my air compressor."

"You'd better take a piece of paper too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he yowled breathlessly.

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

She rose from her seat and cantered coldly out of the office. He stared wryly after her.

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