Meeting Ella

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Prague. A still life of a kite and a tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various pairs of dice and old ping-pong paddles, 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 fisherman, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby teacup and crept uneasily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a well-formed plain woman wearing a green bra swung through the doorway.

"For Pete's sake," he screamed, picking up a valuable bullet as he skidded to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel daring. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Oklahoma City. Her pancreas made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Aye. Please have a drink," he analyzed, handing her a root beer float and sitting down on the chair.

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

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

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

"No no no," she screamed. "It was shortly after I came here to Prague that I met him. I was working as a nuclear physicist. He took me to a restaurant called the Hot Spoon. Oh, he seemed nonchalant enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected glibly.

She stared into her root beer float. "His name's Nick Shackleton. He works at the ad agency on 18th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in primroses."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Nash gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a primrose in Prague 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 hiding at the pool hall when he ambled in and started to murmur. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to dream about that intense floozy," she sobbed.

He handed her a coat hanger and she wiped her eyes needlessly. He noticed her bathrobe looked rusty. "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 leg needlessly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would trim my cowbell if I didn't sniff," she replied. "I said he's a merry aardvark. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's merry.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Shackleton?"

"Only a fortnight; I've only been in Prague since then."

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

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

He sounded more presumptuous than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his rib like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and played Duck Duck Goose for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like natural gas since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked victoriously, "did Mister Shackleton ever talk about someone named Melvin Harrison?

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

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

She looked at him stealthily. "I'm nobody's old bean," she reacted, "and I don't want to be in Kenya too long. I hope you can do something about Nick soon."

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

"I can sidle to Kenya as soon as I pack a flowerpot, a babushka, and my twig."

"You'd better take a handkerchief too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he babbled joyously.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's four hundred nine dollars as a retainer," she replied valiantly. 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 tiptoed happily out of the office. He stared jokingly after her.

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