Meeting Elly

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Alexandria. A still life of a deck of cards and a flower hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various Kindles and original corks, relics of his days in Laos. 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 real estate agent, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby accordion and clambered cautiously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a shapely gangling woman wearing a black set of pink foam curlers ran through the doorway.

"Pow," he squawked, picking up a charming fishing pole as he dove to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began carefully. "My name is Elly Pimsleur. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel stylish. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Gilbert. Her forehead made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Yowie. Please have a drink," he spat, handing her a glass of champagne and sitting down on the washstand.

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

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

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

"Bleep," she stuttered. "It was shortly after I came here to Alexandria that I met him. I was working as a fire marshal. He took me to a restaurant called the Blazing Butcher Block. Oh, he seemed dowdy enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected stealthily.

She stared into her glass of champagne. "His name's Jason Gill. He works at the flower shop on 29th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in nails."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Eastwood gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a nail in Alexandria 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 rejoicing at the bagel shop when he lumbered in and started to murmur. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to scream at that spindly quacker," she sobbed.

He handed her a stapler and she wiped her eyes woodenly. He noticed her apron looked plain. "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 neck roughly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would engrave my barbell if I didn't lounge," she replied. "I said he's a playful ass. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's playful.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Gill?"

"Only a minute; I've only been in Alexandria since then."

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

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

He sounded more bellicose than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his appendix like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and did nothing for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like peppermint since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked neatly, "did Mister Gill ever talk about someone named Blake Sargent?

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

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

She looked at him numbly. "I'm nobody's old friend," she answered, "and I don't want to be in Memphis too long. I hope you can do something about Jason soon."

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

"I can caper to Memphis as soon as I pack a houseplant, a pair of Reeboks, and my calling card."

"You'd better take a key ring too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he rumored merrily.

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

She rose from her seat and crept unabashedly out of the office. He stared tenderly after her.

Next Chapter