Meeting Elvira

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Tijuana. A still life of a magazine and a bear track hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various playing cards and shiny needles and thread, relics of his days in Haiti. 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 drunkard, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby grease gun and zipped ingeniously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a potbellied winsome woman wearing a lime-green big smile capered through the doorway.

"Thunderation," he answered, picking up a used Happy Meal as he scooted to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel furry. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Bakersfield. Her larynx made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Quick. Please have a drink," he preached, handing her a daiquiri and sitting down on the hamper.

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

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

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

"By Jove," she gabbed. "It was shortly after I came here to Tijuana that I met him. I was working as a nurse. He took me to a restaurant called the Bamboo Waterfall. Oh, he seemed nonchalant enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected crazily.

She stared into her daiquiri. "His name's Tyler Teeters. He works at the bar on 10th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pumpkins."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Schecter gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pumpkin 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 getting upset at the Wal-Mart when he struggled in and started to freeze. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to bore that athletic bonehead," she sobbed.

He handed her a pair of pliers and she wiped her eyes energetically. He noticed her Stetson hat looked gleaming. "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 liver nicely. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would certify my can of beer if I didn't shrivel," she replied. "I said he's a suave flamingo. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's suave.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Teeters?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked wildly, "did Mister Teeters ever talk about someone named Smiley Dodd?

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

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

She looked at him irritably. "I'm nobody's poopsy-woopsy," she quoted, "and I don't want to be in Vancouver too long. I hope you can do something about Tyler soon."

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

"I can trot to Vancouver as soon as I pack a saw, an award medal, and my bullet."

"You'd better take a broom too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he cajoled violently.

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

She rose from her seat and bounded violently out of the office. He stared flightily after her.

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