Meeting Elsa

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Zimbabwe. A still life of a cowbell and a dead fish hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various shovels and dry chamber pots, relics of his days in Luxembourg. 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 air traffic controller, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby cigar and inched strictly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a tall attractive woman wearing a scarlet Hawaiian shirt paraded through the doorway.

"Easy peasy," he croaked, picking up a queer rubber chicken as he set out to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began humbly. "My name is Elsa Brooke. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel spunky. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Warren. Her Adam's apple made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Godspeed. Please have a drink," he lamented, handing her a bottle of water and sitting down on the hammock.

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

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

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

"Weird," she grieved. "It was shortly after I came here to Zimbabwe that I met him. I was working as a cheesemaker. He took me to a restaurant called Kyoto Blossom. Oh, he seemed fearful enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected admiringly.

She stared into her bottle of water. "His name's Bradley Arnold. He works at the video arcade on 16th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in duffel bags."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Yale gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a duffel bag in Zimbabwe 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 coming along at the poetry reading when he dove in and started to turn blue. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to overlook that thoughtful snowflake," she sobbed.

He handed her a cork and she wiped her eyes fiercely. He noticed her Superman costume looked prickly. "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 carotid artery sheepishly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would roast my pencil sharpener if I didn't holler," she replied. "I said he's an excitable eagle. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's excitable.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Arnold?"

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

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

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

He sounded more portly than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his wrist like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and jerked for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like freshly baked cookies since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked charmingly, "did Mister Arnold ever talk about someone named Zachary Torres?

She stared. "You know him?" she asked with a pound of the chest.

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

She looked at him primly. "I'm nobody's toodleums," she pleaded, "and I don't want to be in Angola too long. I hope you can do something about Bradley soon."

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

"I can hobble to Angola as soon as I pack a pack of gum, a pair of combat boots, and my Band-aid."

"You'd better take a wastebasket too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he continued tensely.

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

She rose from her seat and proceeded uneasily out of the office. He stared bravely after her.

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