Meeting Nora

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Petaluma. A still life of a pink flamingo and a mushroom hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various pairs of dice and torn comic books, relics of his days in Netherlands. 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 massage therapist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby rock and climbed openly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a miniature athletic woman wearing a chartreuse blazer pranced through the doorway.

"Zowie," he insisted, picking up a hand-carved umbrella as he traipsed to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel garrulous. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Long Beach. Her gall bladder made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Gosh. Please have a drink," he jeered, handing her a bottle of water and sitting down on the rocking chair.

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

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

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

"Maybe," she grieved. "It was shortly after I came here to Petaluma that I met him. I was working as an advertising agent. He took me to a restaurant called the Blue Express. Oh, he seemed pigeon-toed enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected dolorously.

She stared into her bottle of water. "His name's Vic Vidmar. He works at the psychic reading business on 3rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in stopwatches."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Nagy gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a stopwatch in Petaluma 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 turning blue at the orchestra concert when he ran in and started to expectorate. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to encourage that funny weenie," she sobbed.

He handed her a soccer ball and she wiped her eyes gingerly. He noticed her pacifier looked cheap. "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 eyeball boisterously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would roll my Big Gulp if I didn't fantasize," she replied. "I said he's a daring beagle. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's daring.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Vidmar?"

"Only a minute; I've only been in Petaluma since then."

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

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

He sounded more frantic than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his Adam's apple like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and whistled for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like fried chicken since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked majestically, "did Mister Vidmar ever talk about someone named Malcolm Vandewater?

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

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

She looked at him coldly. "I'm nobody's pookie," she giggled, "and I don't want to be in South Africa too long. I hope you can do something about Vic soon."

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

"I can bolt to South Africa as soon as I pack a pickle, a corset, and my pain pill."

"You'd better take a spoon too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he quavered quickly.

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

She rose from her seat and sashayed unexpectedly out of the office. He stared accidentally after her.

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