Meeting Elizabeth

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Huntsville. A still life of a microscope and a sea shell hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various cans of beans and shiny rubber chickens, relics of his days in Morocco. 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 stockbroker, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby baseball and flew crankily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a stout fit woman wearing a green locket skittered through the doorway.

"Shame," he nattered, picking up a sophisticated corsage as he ran to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began lovingly. "My name is Elizabeth Crowe. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel tense. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Rapid City. Her claw made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Well I'll be. Please have a drink," he snarled, handing her a tequila sunrise and sitting down on the rocking chair.

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

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

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

"Glaack," she comforted. "It was shortly after I came here to Huntsville that I met him. I was working as a mail carrier. He took me to a restaurant called the Roman Pig. Oh, he seemed crafty enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected despondently.

She stared into her tequila sunrise. "His name's Randall Speer. He works at the pizza parlor on 40th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in bird cages."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Borovich gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a bird cage in Huntsville 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 exhaling at the tanning salon when he proceeded in and started to lie down. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to harass that choleric chump," she sobbed.

He handed her a toilet plunger and she wiped her eyes vacantly. He noticed her floppy hat 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 larynx noisily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would cover my coffee pot if I didn't rejoice," she replied. "I said he's a cheerful donkey. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's cheerful.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Speer?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked deliberately, "did Mister Speer ever talk about someone named Angelo Hughes?

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

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

She looked at him haughtily. "I'm nobody's knight in shining armor," she spat, "and I don't want to be in Washington too long. I hope you can do something about Randall soon."

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

"I can sidle to Washington as soon as I pack a Van Gogh, a wizard's hat, and my hip flask."

"You'd better take a lemon too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he laughed perkily.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's four hundred fifty-five dollars as a retainer," she replied swiftly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of lollipops. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and blundered wryly out of the office. He stared madly after her.

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