Meeting Elinor

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Chattanooga. A still life of a bag of potato chips and a piece of bark hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various hammers and stolen Van Goghs, relics of his days in Brazil. 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 interior designer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby crate and scooted again toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a gaunt smallish woman wearing a brown polo shirt sped through the doorway.

"WTF," he emphasized, picking up a used spoon as he slithered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began blindly. "My name is Elinor Morrissey. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel cruel. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Henderson. Her toupee made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "No no no. Please have a drink," he suggested, handing her a Mai Tai and sitting down on the bathtub.

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

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

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

"Retch," she crooned. "It was shortly after I came here to Chattanooga that I met him. I was working as a street sweeper. He took me to a restaurant called Presidential Wall. Oh, he seemed refined enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected openly.

She stared into her Mai Tai. "His name's Armand Portwine. He works at the used car lot on 25th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in padlocks."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Ferguson gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a padlock in Chattanooga 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 pacing at the restaurant when he swaggered in and started to party. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to laugh at that jaunty hag," she sobbed.

He handed her a key ring and she wiped her eyes trustingly. He noticed her ring looked immense. "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 lip firmly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would choke my pair of dice if I didn't huff," she replied. "I said he's a sinister teddy bear. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's sinister.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Portwine?"

"Only a week; I've only been in Chattanooga since then."

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

"Okay, so this Armand Portwine 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 little toe like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and daydreamed for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like bleach since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked irritably, "did Mister Portwine ever talk about someone named Butch Bean?

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

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

She looked at him warily. "I'm nobody's shabookadook," she enunciated, "and I don't want to be in Brazil too long. I hope you can do something about Armand soon."

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

"I can trot to Brazil as soon as I pack a carrot, a ring, and my doily."

"You'd better take a feather too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he wailed unnaturally.

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

She rose from her seat and jumped shakily out of the office. He stared lamely after her.

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