Meeting Elsa

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Springfield. A still life of a comb and a bit of moss hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various cans of shaving cream and filthy Lego sets, relics of his days in Spain. 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 exterminator, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pipe and skittered demurely toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a gigantic lanky woman wearing a brilliant orange big red rose sped through the doorway.

"Please," he suggested, picking up an ordinary paperclip as he careened to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began slowly. "My name is Elsa Wenzel. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel wicked. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Tunis. Her chest made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Unreal. Please have a drink," he vouched, handing her a cappuccino and sitting down on the canopy bed.

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

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

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

"Uh," she blathered. "It was shortly after I came here to Springfield that I met him. I was working as a blacksmith. He took me to a restaurant called European Butcher Block. Oh, he seemed idiotic enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected perkily.

She stared into her cappuccino. "His name's Roger Barducci. He works at the dry cleaner on 1st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in iPhones."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Barnes gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not an iPhone in Springfield 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 giggling at the jail when he dashed in and started to wince. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to manipulate that poised flake," she sobbed.

He handed her a padlock and she wiped her eyes doubtfully. He noticed her wizard's hat looked expensive. "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 bicep breathlessly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would slice my bicycle if I didn't knit," she replied. "I said he's a considerate dromedary. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's considerate.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Barducci?"

"Only an hour; I've only been in Springfield since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked lamely, "did Mister Barducci ever talk about someone named Bruce Grady?

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

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

She looked at him suspiciously. "I'm nobody's stinkums," she roared, "and I don't want to be in Quebec too long. I hope you can do something about Roger soon."

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

"I can dart to Quebec as soon as I pack a chamber pot, an evening gown, and my bagpipe."

"You'd better take a tablet computer too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he began trustingly.

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

She rose from her seat and proceeded wearily out of the office. He stared hastily after her.

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