Meeting Elena

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Bangalore. A still life of a Helmholz resonator and a seed pod hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various fishing poles and magnificent maps, relics of his days in Nigeria. 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 manicurist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby tie and set out woefully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a dwarf bedraggled woman wearing a brilliant orange pair of earrings ambled through the doorway.

"Boohoo," he babbled, picking up a broken fish bowl as he skidded to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began defiantly. "My name is Elena Kuta. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel athletic. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Trenton. Her carotid artery made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Banzai. Please have a drink," he rationalized, handing her a gimlet and sitting down on the safe.

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

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

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

"Ha-ha," she joked. "It was shortly after I came here to Bangalore that I met him. I was working as a hit man. He took me to a restaurant called the Floating Sea. Oh, he seemed intelligent enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected intensely.

She stared into her gimlet. "His name's Marvin Ferrari. He works at the train depot on 20th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in cigars."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the King gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a cigar in Bangalore 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 burping at the party when he sashayed in and started to clear out. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to shave that comely moron," she sobbed.

He handed her a tablet computer and she wiped her eyes later. He noticed her pair of combat boots looked miniature. "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 jaw thoughtfully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would grapple my coin if I didn't twitch," she replied. "I said he's a blubbery eel. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's blubbery.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Ferrari?"

"Only an hour; I've only been in Bangalore since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked lovingly, "did Mister Ferrari ever talk about someone named Jamie Berry?

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

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

She looked at him admiringly. "I'm nobody's lambkin," she fretted, "and I don't want to be in Mali too long. I hope you can do something about Marvin soon."

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

"I can slither to Mali as soon as I pack a magnifying glass, a poodle skirt, and my iPhone."

"You'd better take a teacup too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he avowed delicately.

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

She rose from her seat and inched speedily out of the office. He stared sweetly after her.

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