Meeting Nookie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Sri Lanka. A still life of a water bottle and a fallen tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various joints and rigid darts, relics of his days in Jamaica. 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 clarinetist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby hair brush and bounded gingerly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a tall athletic woman wearing an ivory wristwatch hobbled through the doorway.

"Poppycock," he griped, picking up a disgusting helmet as he scurried to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began wearily. "My name is Nookie Caldwell. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel miniscule. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Cairo. Her belly made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Totally rad. Please have a drink," he snarled, handing her a whiskey sour and sitting down on the bath mat.

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

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

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

"Cock-a-doodle-doo," she squealed. "It was shortly after I came here to Sri Lanka that I met him. I was working as a psychiatrist. He took me to a restaurant called California Sun. Oh, he seemed confident enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected gently.

She stared into her whiskey sour. "His name's Matthew Fretwell. He works at the used car lot on 49th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in acorns."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the McCord gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not an acorn in Sri Lanka 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 thinking at the orchestra concert when he stormed in and started to shiver. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to speak to that cunning vile viper," she sobbed.

He handed her a pot and she wiped her eyes lamely. He noticed her pair of dungarees looked hefty. "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 earlobe glibly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would hang my clock if I didn't applaud," she replied. "I said he's a comely puma. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's comely.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Fretwell?"

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

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

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

He sounded more moody than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his gall bladder like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and rocked for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like Pla-Doh since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked suspiciously, "did Mister Fretwell ever talk about someone named Geoffrey O'Sullivan?

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

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

She looked at him excitedly. "I'm nobody's gumdrop," she warbled, "and I don't want to be in Albania too long. I hope you can do something about Matthew soon."

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

"I can bound to Albania as soon as I pack a fish bowl, a hair net, and my bilge pump."

"You'd better take a gun too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he raved menacingly.

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

She rose from her seat and bounded strictly out of the office. He stared tenderly after her.

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