Meeting Elsie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Tijuana. A still life of a pair of fuzzy dice and a spider web hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various mousetraps and striped stamps, 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 busboy, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby hammer and slunk sternly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a prodigious muscular woman wearing an amber romper slunk through the doorway.

"Gads," he suggested, picking up a golden primrose as he blundered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began coolly. "My name is Elsie Benson. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel drowsy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Springfield. Her thyroid gland made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Yipes. Please have a drink," he burbled, handing her a glass of papaya juice and sitting down on the windowsill.

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

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

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

"Ppppbbbft," she yawned. "It was shortly after I came here to Tijuana that I met him. I was working as a clerk. He took me to a restaurant called the Neighborhood Pie Kitchen. Oh, he seemed agile enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected sweetly.

She stared into her glass of papaya juice. "His name's Fabien Gare. He works at the laboratory on 23rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pairs of knitting needles."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Watson gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pair of knitting needles in Tijuana 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 cheering up at the health food store when he skittered in and started to moan. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to grab that solitary dolt," she sobbed.

He handed her a pain pill and she wiped her eyes grandly. He noticed her tattoo looked aromatic. "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 hangnail languidly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would soften my coconut if I didn't growl," she replied. "I said he's a pensive dingo. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's pensive.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Gare?"

"Only a second; I've only been in Tijuana since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked glibly, "did Mister Gare ever talk about someone named Marvin Radcliffe?

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

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

She looked at him quietly. "I'm nobody's angel," she stormed, "and I don't want to be in Long Beach too long. I hope you can do something about Fabien soon."

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

"I can trot to Long Beach as soon as I pack a corsage, a belly button jewel, and my coloring book."

"You'd better take a fountain pen too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he shouted surreptitiously.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's two hundred seventy-seven dollars as a retainer," she replied impatiently. I also have an extremely valuable collection of baby dolls. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and stormed mysteriously out of the office. He stared madly after her.

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