Meeting Elsa

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Toledo. A still life of a hacksaw and a sea shell hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various brushes and cardboard rolls of toilet paper, relics of his days in Saudi Arabia. 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 editor, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby chart and strode sagely toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a thin elegant woman wearing a pink hoodie set out through the doorway.

"Yoohoo," he observed, picking up a new spinning wheel as he sped to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel freakish. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Cambridge. Her arm made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Gadzooks. Please have a drink," he panted, handing her a glass of iced tea and sitting down on the safe.

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

"This is difficult for me," she pointed out, glancing at the G-string he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."

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

"Uh," she suggested. "It was shortly after I came here to Toledo that I met him. I was working as a system administrator. He took me to a restaurant called Szechuan Butcher. Oh, he seemed gregarious enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected diligently.

She stared into her glass of iced tea. "His name's Roscoe Knight. He works at the movie theater on 34th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in sea shells."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Sattler gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a sea shell in Toledo 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 sniffling at the bookstore when he jogged in and started to laugh. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to astonish that apoplectic old buzzard," she sobbed.

He handed her a fishing pole and she wiped her eyes recklessly. He noticed her pair of briefs looked imported. "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 eyelash doubtfully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would unbutton my stick of gum if I didn't scribble," she replied. "I said he's a humble musk-ox. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's humble.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Knight?"

"Only a month; I've only been in Toledo since then."

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

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

He sounded more dismal than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his belly button like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and knelt for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like baby powder since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked shyly, "did Mister Knight ever talk about someone named Melvin Smith?

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

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

She looked at him blindly. "I'm nobody's cutie-patootie," she brought up, "and I don't want to be in the Congo too long. I hope you can do something about Roscoe soon."

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

"I can crawl to the Congo as soon as I pack a bottle, a uniform, and my umbrella."

"You'd better take a mirror too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he protested tearfully.

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

She rose from her seat and dove hungrily out of the office. He stared briskly after her.

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