Meeting Ellen

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Belarus. A still life of a sponge and a tree stump hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various cans of sardines and prickly bicycles, relics of his days in Senegal. 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 drug dealer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby bullet and swung quietly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a skinny tiny woman wearing a golden sari padded through the doorway.

"Aye," he jeered, picking up an original barbell as he proceeded to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began sympathetically. "My name is Ellen Wright. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel intense. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Gettysburg. Her claw made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Boy oh boy. Please have a drink," he imitated, handing her a kamikaze and sitting down on the bathtub.

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

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

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

"Eek," she professed. "It was shortly after I came here to Belarus that I met him. I was working as a mayor. He took me to a restaurant called the Country Pig. Oh, he seemed tired enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected violently.

She stared into her kamikaze. "His name's Timothy Marino. He works at the hair salon on 44th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in flashlights."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Knotts gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a flashlight in Belarus 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 snoring at the spelling bee when he crept in and started to wake up. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to appease that prissy worm," she sobbed.

He handed her a lollipop and she wiped her eyes cautiously. He noticed her bikini looked hideous. "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 horn immediately. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would comprehend my toilet plunger if I didn't hide," she replied. "I said he's a difficult llama. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's difficult.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Marino?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked grandly, "did Mister Marino ever talk about someone named Manfred Frinklehofer?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Knotts operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, poopsy-woopsy, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice sod house in Ann Arbor. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him testily. "I'm nobody's poopsy-woopsy," she reacted, "and I don't want to be in Ann Arbor too long. I hope you can do something about Timothy soon."

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

"I can storm to Ann Arbor as soon as I pack a paper bag, a smartwatch, and my magnifying glass."

"You'd better take a hair brush too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he began ruefully.

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

She rose from her seat and inched sympathetically out of the office. He stared dubiously after her.

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