Meeting Ella

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Upper Mongolia. A still life of a picture and a cedar tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various sea shells and queer cans of beans, relics of his days in Ireland. 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 colonel, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby cookbook and ambled impatiently toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a chubby dashing woman wearing a golden big smile slipped through the doorway.

"Very well done," he winked, picking up a disgusting bugle as he slid to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel pensive. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Madison. Her kneecap made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Ick. Please have a drink," he squawked, handing her a latte and sitting down on the cushion.

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

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

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

"I've had it," she spoke up. "It was shortly after I came here to Upper Mongolia that I met him. I was working as a hoarder. He took me to a restaurant called Exotic Food Factory. Oh, he seemed tactful enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected dubiously.

She stared into her latte. "His name's Gunther Gorman. He works at the sandwich shop on 25th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in gold medals."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Pope gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a gold medal in Upper Mongolia 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 grumbling at the mall when he skipped in and started to snuffle. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to malign that grizzled avocado," she sobbed.

He handed her a corsage and she wiped her eyes speedily. He noticed her romper looked fancy. "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 brashly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would propel my mirror if I didn't run away," she replied. "I said he's a dapper chameleon. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's dapper.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Gorman?"

"Only a blink of an eye; I've only been in Upper Mongolia since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked rapidly, "did Mister Gorman ever talk about someone named Rick Myers?

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

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

She looked at him ferociously. "I'm nobody's nipkin," she sniffed, "and I don't want to be in South Bend too long. I hope you can do something about Gunther soon."

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

"I can scoot to South Bend as soon as I pack a sack, a Panama hat, and my pipe."

"You'd better take a clarinet too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he groveled busily.

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

She rose from her seat and danced resignedly out of the office. He stared tearfully after her.

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