Meeting Nadine

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Aurora. A still life of a houseplant and a pine cone hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various teacups and rough bags of ice, relics of his days in Turkey. 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 meteorologist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby mop and waddled uneasily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a well-formed delicate woman wearing a chocolate brown military uniform crept through the doorway.

"Judas Priest," he noted, picking up a ruined can of soup as he struggled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began oddly. "My name is Nadine Ecklund. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel tactful. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Caracas. Her eyelash made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Okay then. Please have a drink," he harangued, handing her a Pepto Bismol and sitting down on the filing cabinet.

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

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

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

"Pssst," she indicated. "It was shortly after I came here to Aurora that I met him. I was working as a grocer. He took me to a restaurant called the Wonderful Plate. Oh, he seemed corpulent enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected glibly.

She stared into her Pepto Bismol. "His name's Willard Vickers. He works at the cigar store on 14th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in mousetraps."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Hoffmann gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a mousetrap 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 coming over at the supermarket when he ran in and started to dream. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to text that calm maniac," she sobbed.

He handed her an Egyptian mummy and she wiped her eyes pityingly. He noticed her pair of earrings looked well worn. "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 intestine sweetly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would soften my blank check if I didn't grimace," she replied. "I said he's a passionate horsie. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's passionate.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Vickers?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked quietly, "did Mister Vickers ever talk about someone named Roman Portwine?

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

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

She looked at him wearily. "I'm nobody's pumpkin," she exploded, "and I don't want to be in Monaco too long. I hope you can do something about Willard soon."

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

"I can dart to Monaco as soon as I pack a flashlight, a Superman costume, and my paperclip."

"You'd better take a stuffed kitten too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he acknowledged furiously.

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

She rose from her seat and hopped uneasily out of the office. He stared fearfully after her.

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