Meeting Nadine

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Slovenia. A still life of a Bible and a maple tree hung crookedly on his wall. The office was cluttered with various flowers and bronze dead lobsters, relics of his days in Sweden. 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 loan officer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby nail and bolted again toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a tall white woman wearing a camouflage pair of socks marched through the doorway.

"Whoop-dee-doo," he cackled, picking up a charming bat as he struggled to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel bold. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Oakland. Her femur made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Good grief. Please have a drink," he informed, handing her a Harvey Wallbanger and sitting down on the canopy bed.

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

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

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

"Shucks," she hinted. "It was shortly after I came here to Slovenia that I met him. I was working as a rabbi. He took me to a restaurant called the Northern Hideaway. Oh, he seemed demented enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected sternly.

She stared into her Harvey Wallbanger. "His name's Vernon Wells. He works at the bus station on 48th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in clams."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Winger gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a clam in Slovenia 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 sighing at the pet store when he flew in and started to sneer. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to confuse that brassy goon," she sobbed.

He handed her a curling iron and she wiped her eyes crazily. He noticed her business suit looked greasy. "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 forehead fiercely. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would wash my barbell if I didn't yelp," she replied. "I said he's a repulsive bunny. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's repulsive.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Wells?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked grudgingly, "did Mister Wells ever talk about someone named Kent Lott?

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

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

She looked at him charmingly. "I'm nobody's doodlebug," she mumbled, "and I don't want to be in Sapporo too long. I hope you can do something about Vernon soon."

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

"I can traipse to Sapporo as soon as I pack a tennis racket, an evening gown, and my paperclip."

"You'd better take a houseplant too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he remarked frenetically.

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

She rose from her seat and strode curiously out of the office. He stared lamely after her.

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