Meeting Elizabeth

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Vancouver. A still life of a Rubik's cube and a bird's nest hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various roses and ancient cardboard boxes, 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 bureaucrat, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby fish and waddled warily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a small lean woman wearing a violet bonnet bounced through the doorway.

"Aye," he thought, picking up a gooey bone as he barrelled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began blankly. "My name is Elizabeth McDonald. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel young. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Casablanca. Her back made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Nooo. Please have a drink," he pleaded, handing her a cup of tea and sitting down on the wooden crate.

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

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

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

"Egad," she comforted. "It was shortly after I came here to Vancouver that I met him. I was working as a cheesemaker. He took me to a restaurant called the Yellow Goose. Oh, he seemed resolute enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected tensely.

She stared into her cup of tea. "His name's Lester Sanabria. He works at the restaurant on 15th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in whistles."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Green gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a whistle in Vancouver 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 calming down at the Wal-Mart when he hopped in and started to sniffle. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to smack that earnest old biddy," she sobbed.

He handed her a bird bath and she wiped her eyes steadily. He noticed her cowboy hat looked overgrown. "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 kidney sweetly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would smudge my coin if I didn't knit," she replied. "I said he's a frumpy finch. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's frumpy.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Sanabria?"

"Only a second; I've only been in Vancouver 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 Lester Sanabria is giving you trouble. Don't worry. I can take care of him."

He sounded more humble than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his adrenal gland like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and panted for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like Calvin Klein since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked warily, "did Mister Sanabria ever talk about someone named Barry Schlick?

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

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

She looked at him effortlessly. "I'm nobody's Banana Cakes," she implored, "and I don't want to be in Memphis too long. I hope you can do something about Lester soon."

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

"I can flounce to Memphis as soon as I pack a feather, a bowler hat, and my telephone book."

"You'd better take a baby doll too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he retorted unexpectedly.

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

She rose from her seat and waltzed nimbly out of the office. He stared happily after her.

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