Meeting Elise

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Lexington. A still life of a coconut and a bit of litter hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various stones and stolen paintbrushes, relics of his days in Uganda. 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 insurance agent, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby hair brush and straggled unabashedly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a fat demonic woman wearing a green tattoo clambered through the doorway.

"Diddly bunk," he laughed, picking up a dirty suitcase as he marched to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began offhandedly. "My name is Elise Marsh. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel shy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Hollywood. Her wrist made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Hah. Please have a drink," he mentioned, handing her a shot of whiskey and sitting down on the carpet.

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

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

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

"Can it," she spat. "It was shortly after I came here to Lexington that I met him. I was working as a communist. He took me to a restaurant called Atlantic Steakhouse. Oh, he seemed diabolical enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected menacingly.

She stared into her shot of whiskey. "His name's Ron Funk. He works at the gift shop on 29th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in tickets."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Woodruff gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a ticket in Lexington 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 weeping at the garden when he reeled in and started to wait. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to expose that frightened wannabe," she sobbed.

He handed her an ice cream cone and she wiped her eyes openly. He noticed her pith helmet looked plastic. "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 skin sorrowfully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would liquify my Hostess Ding Dong if I didn't weep," she replied. "I said he's a tense rhinoceros. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's tense.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Funk?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked grandly, "did Mister Funk ever talk about someone named Stan Van Heusen?

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

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

She looked at him vigorously. "I'm nobody's twinkles," she maintained, "and I don't want to be in Cambodia too long. I hope you can do something about Ron soon."

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

"I can stride to Cambodia as soon as I pack a bedpan, a gun belt, and my bilge pump."

"You'd better take a spittoon too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he observed glibly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's three hundred sixty-three dollars as a retainer," she replied pitifully. I also have an extremely valuable collection of baseball bats. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and pranced narrowly out of the office. He stared furiously after her.

Next Chapter