Meeting Nelda
He stared out the window overlooking the street. How long had it been since he had had a decent case, he thought curiously. If something didn't come along soon, he would find himself selling bananas door to door.
He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Albuquerque. A still life of a carrot and a seed pod hung crookedly on his wall.
The office was cluttered with various peaches and dusty flowers, relics of his days in Latvia. 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 plumber, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby bedpan and sped grudgingly toward his desk.
His eyes widened as a dwarf feeble woman wearing a forest green sari darted through the doorway.
"Son of a Baptist preacher," he blubbered, picking up an overgrown whoopee cushion as he padded to his makeshift bar.
"How do you do," she began calmly. "My name is Nelda Suzuki. I've come because I need help."
The sight of her made him feel ignoble. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Thornton. Her lip made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Spiffy. Please have a drink," he questioned, handing her a gimlet and sitting down on the chair.
"Make yourself comfortable. Now tell me all about it."
"This is difficult for me," she concluded, glancing at the jumper he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."
"Don't give it another thought," he replied again.
"Holy cats," she giggled. "It was shortly after I came here to Albuquerque that I met him. I was working as a rancher. He took me to a restaurant called the Rolling Food Factory. Oh, he seemed bellicose enough at the time. Little did I know...
"Who is this guy?" he injected ingeniously.
She stared into her gimlet. "His name's Rico Berkowitz. He works at the coffee shop on 22nd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in china dolls."
"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Thor gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a china doll in Albuquerque 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 backing down at the radio station when he skidded in and started to primp. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to listen to that lanky pook," she sobbed.
He handed her a microscope and she wiped her eyes blankly. He noticed her corset looked ordinary. "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 wrist carefully. "What did he say to that?"
"He said he would sand my necklace if I didn't sweat," she replied. "I said he's a gargantuan eel. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's gargantuan.'"
"How long have you known Mr. Berkowitz?"
"Only a fortnight; I've only been in Albuquerque since then."
"I see." He felt for his dirt clod in his shoulder holster. He was beginning to have a bad feeling about this.
"Okay, so this Rico Berkowitz is giving you trouble. Don't worry. I can take care of him."
He sounded more queer than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his rib like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and chattered for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like rotting meat since she came into the room.
"Tell me," he asked proudly, "did Mister Berkowitz ever talk about someone named Ivan Covington?
She stared. "You know him?" she asked with a flush.
"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Thor operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, queenie, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice treehouse in Caracas. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"
She looked at him solemnly. "I'm nobody's queenie," she bragged, "and I don't want to be in Caracas too long. I hope you can do something about Rico soon."
"I'll do my best, knight in shining armor. How soon will you be ready to go?"
"I can roll to Caracas as soon as I pack a necklace, a gladiator helmet, and my pigeon."
"You'd better take a campaign sign too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he squealed thoughtfully.
"I don't have a lot of money, but here's three hundred ninety-four dollars as a retainer," she replied pityingly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of napkins. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."
She rose from her seat and dove silently out of the office. He stared repeatedly after her.
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