Meeting Nora

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Lubbock. A still life of a clothespin and a mulberry tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various bowling balls and jagged magnifying glasses, relics of his days in Bulgaria. 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 village idiot, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby beach ball and tiptoed lightly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a colossal bearded woman wearing a navy blue bib scooted through the doorway.

"Grrrrr," he continued, picking up a damp stick as he slunk to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began charmingly. "My name is Nora Paulson. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel bellicose. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Fresno. Her neck made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Woops. Please have a drink," he pointed out, handing her a root beer and sitting down on the stairway.

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

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

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

"Sheesh," she smirked. "It was shortly after I came here to Lubbock that I met him. I was working as a surgeon. He took me to a restaurant called the City Wingding. Oh, he seemed spindly enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected shyly.

She stared into her root beer. "His name's DeWitt Gordon. He works at the hair salon on 19th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in corncobs."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Glidden gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a corncob in Lubbock 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 playing Farmer in the Dell at the K-Mart when he slumped in and started to play. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to bump that modest hack," she sobbed.

He handed her a spoon and she wiped her eyes crossly. He noticed her skirt looked ornate. "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 thumb violently. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would loosen my fish if I didn't expectorate," she replied. "I said he's an absent-minded jackal. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's absent-minded.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Gordon?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked silently, "did Mister Gordon ever talk about someone named Walter Nix?

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

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

She looked at him hungrily. "I'm nobody's lover," she sniped, "and I don't want to be in Cincinnati too long. I hope you can do something about DeWitt soon."

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

"I can bolt to Cincinnati as soon as I pack a helmet, a pair of handcuffs, and my urn."

"You'd better take a box of candy too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he sniveled admiringly.

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

She rose from her seat and ambled sternly out of the office. He stared violently after her.

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