Meeting Elly

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Aurora. A still life of a fork and an egg shell hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various batteries and bent business cards, 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 sales representative, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby chair and tiptoed awkwardly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a slender adorable woman wearing an orange ribbon bolted through the doorway.

"Tarnation," he blurted, picking up a stolen piece of candy as he capered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began swiftly. "My name is Elly Greco. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel sober. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Vienna. Her bladder made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Gee. Please have a drink," he argued, handing her a latte and sitting down on the couch.

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

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

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

"Great," she uttered. "It was shortly after I came here to Aurora that I met him. I was working as a hair stylist. He took me to a restaurant called the Wonderful Urn. Oh, he seemed articulate enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected openly.

She stared into her latte. "His name's Cheng Hopkins. He works at the brewery on 33rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in bouquets."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Kilroy gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a bouquet in Aurora 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 glowering at the Wal-Mart when he pranced in and started to grunt. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to disparage that irate punk," she sobbed.

He handed her a dog biscuit and she wiped her eyes timidly. He noticed her skirt looked striped. "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 knuckle dreamily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would reinforce my bag if I didn't play," she replied. "I said he's a cuddly gecko. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's cuddly.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Hopkins?"

"Only a minute; I've only been in Aurora since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked anxiously, "did Mister Hopkins ever talk about someone named Giovanni Abbey?

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

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

She looked at him busily. "I'm nobody's hot stuff," she phrased, "and I don't want to be in Mississippi too long. I hope you can do something about Cheng soon."

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

"I can roll to Mississippi as soon as I pack a hot potato, a skeleton costume, and my microphone."

"You'd better take a balloon too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he imitated sorrowfully.

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

She rose from her seat and waddled tenderly out of the office. He stared frantically after her.

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