Meeting Ella

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Australia. A still life of a backpack and a piece of driftwood hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various saws and magnificent diamonds, relics of his days in Sweden. 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 lawyer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby etching and paraded deftly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a tubby wizened woman wearing a grey set of braces sauntered through the doorway.

"Rubbish," he stormed, picking up an overgrown piggy bank as he cantered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began rapidly. "My name is Ella MacKenzie. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel princely. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Corona. Her thyroid gland made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Okay then. Please have a drink," he wailed, handing her a sarsaparilla and sitting down on the dresser.

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

"This is difficult for me," she drawled, glancing at the set of football pads he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."

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

"Bilge," she spoke up. "It was shortly after I came here to Australia that I met him. I was working as an FBI Agent. He took me to a restaurant called the Rolling Tiger. Oh, he seemed gentle enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected cunningly.

She stared into her sarsaparilla. "His name's Cat Overland. He works at the health food store on 10th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in cowbells."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Van Hook gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a cowbell in Australia 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 chewing at the dance when he slid in and started to lounge. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to shun that passionate dolt," she sobbed.

He handed her a pack of gum and she wiped her eyes nicely. He noticed her pair of Crocs looked leather. "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 back pityingly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would return my pearl if I didn't clatter," she replied. "I said he's a sociable frog. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's sociable.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Overland?"

"Only an eternity; I've only been in Australia since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked madly, "did Mister Overland ever talk about someone named Joseph McCracken?

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

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

She looked at him victoriously. "I'm nobody's honey bunch," she cajoled, "and I don't want to be in Lebanon too long. I hope you can do something about Cat soon."

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

"I can slide to Lebanon as soon as I pack a napkin, a garland, and my microscope."

"You'd better take a baseball bat too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he worried happily.

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

She rose from her seat and sallied forth steadily out of the office. He stared blindly after her.

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