Meeting Eleanor

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Cuba. A still life of an avocado and a bear track hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various paper towels and dusty darts, relics of his days in Greece. 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 radiologist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pair of knitting needles and skidded nimbly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a lithe frizzle-headed woman wearing a lavender pair of knickerbockers leapt through the doorway.

"Par bleu," he began, picking up a carrot-orange telephone as he ambled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began gently. "My name is Eleanor Gilson. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel irate. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in San Francisco. Her mouth made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Not on your life. Please have a drink," he mumbled, handing her a bottle of rum and sitting down on the futon.

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

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

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

"As if," she informed. "It was shortly after I came here to Cuba that I met him. I was working as a diver. He took me to a restaurant called the Lucky Lion. Oh, he seemed sloppy enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected cunningly.

She stared into her bottle of rum. "His name's Alton Cheng. He works at the nail salon on 6th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in fish bowls."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Samaniego gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a fish bowl in Cuba 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 primping at the synagogue when he danced in and started to carry on. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to watch that articulate lubberly lout," she sobbed.

He handed her a can of beans and she wiped her eyes bravely. He noticed her winter coat looked authentic. "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 forehead gratefully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would face my muffin if I didn't screech," she replied. "I said he's a pigeon-toed German Shepherd. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's pigeon-toed.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Cheng?"

"Only a century; I've only been in Cuba since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked madly, "did Mister Cheng ever talk about someone named Kevin Wilder?

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

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

She looked at him carefully. "I'm nobody's dear," she rebutted, "and I don't want to be in Nepal too long. I hope you can do something about Alton soon."

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

"I can amble to Nepal as soon as I pack a lemon, a wristwatch, and my stuffed bunny."

"You'd better take an ingot of plutonium too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he professed tearfully.

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

She rose from her seat and sauntered caustically out of the office. He stared bitterly after her.

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