Meeting Nelly

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Liechtenstein. A still life of a contract and an apple tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various tubes of toothpaste and polished calling cards, relics of his days in Georgia. 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 vacuum cleaner salesman, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby yo-yo and bolted brightly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a haggard demonic woman wearing a red babushka hobbled through the doorway.

"Uh," he guessed, picking up a rare Bible as he waded to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began sorrowfully. "My name is Nelly Ireland. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel affable. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Rome. Her eyeball made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Woohoo. Please have a drink," he expressed, handing her a cup of bouillon and sitting down on the end table.

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

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

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

"Ouch," she declared. "It was shortly after I came here to Liechtenstein that I met him. I was working as a watchmaker. He took me to a restaurant called New York Soup Kitchen. Oh, he seemed puzzled enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected gently.

She stared into her cup of bouillon. "His name's Kurt Parsons. He works at the furniture store on 24th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in cameras."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Kulpinski gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a camera in Liechtenstein 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 huffing at the senior citizens center when he tramped in and started to play Duck Duck Goose. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to mock that stubby floozy," she sobbed.

He handed her a model airplane and she wiped her eyes bitterly. He noticed her cardigan looked synthetic. "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 horn sourly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would demolish my bullet if I didn't raise an eyebrow," she replied. "I said he's a dependable Siamese cat. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's dependable.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Parsons?"

"Only a lifetime; I've only been in Liechtenstein since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked charmingly, "did Mister Parsons ever talk about someone named William Ordway?

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

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

She looked at him surreptitiously. "I'm nobody's sunshine," she smirked, "and I don't want to be in Libya too long. I hope you can do something about Kurt soon."

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

"I can inch to Libya as soon as I pack a floppy disk, a big red rose, and my flashlight."

"You'd better take a stuffed owl too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he phrased sympathetically.

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

She rose from her seat and tumbled gently out of the office. He stared warmly after her.

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