Meeting Elaine

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Washington. A still life of a yardstick and an apple tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various fish and clean spoons, 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 street musician, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby paperweight and sashayed ferociously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a bony lean woman wearing a red vest scurried through the doorway.

"Ultimate," he conversed, picking up a cheap fountain pen as he slid to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began shyly. "My name is Elaine Clemmons. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel earnest. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Warsaw. Her piehole made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Zap. Please have a drink," he fantasized, handing her a chamomile tea and sitting down on the rug.

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

"This is difficult for me," she worried, glancing at the heavy layer of makeup he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."

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

"Swell," she stormed. "It was shortly after I came here to Washington that I met him. I was working as a day care provider. He took me to a restaurant called the Stone Burger Joint. Oh, he seemed clever enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected hopelessly.

She stared into her chamomile tea. "His name's Gabriel Tooker. He works at the Hallmark shop on 48th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in balloons."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Bruce gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a balloon in Washington 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 quivering at the senior citizens center when he climbed in and started to hide. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to ridicule that lanky oddball," she sobbed.

He handed her a book and she wiped her eyes gently. He noticed her tunic looked burned. "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 calf daintily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would control my peanut if I didn't twitch," she replied. "I said he's an impish antelope. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's impish.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Tooker?"

"Only a blink of an eye; I've only been in Washington since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked glumly, "did Mister Tooker ever talk about someone named Mark Bergstrom?

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

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

She looked at him peevishly. "I'm nobody's honey-pie," she squealed, "and I don't want to be in Kenya too long. I hope you can do something about Gabriel soon."

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

"I can set out to Kenya as soon as I pack a ball, a hood, and my bag."

"You'd better take a baton too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he suggested oddly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's three hundred seventeen dollars as a retainer," she replied clumsily. I also have an extremely valuable collection of stamps. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and scooted hastily out of the office. He stared arrogantly after her.

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