Meeting Norma

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Latvia. A still life of a radio and a spider web hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various bird feeders and wooden piggy banks, relics of his days in Iraq. 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 usher, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby ironing board and proceeded delicately toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a small athletic woman wearing an orange pair of moccasins crawled through the doorway.

"@#%#^@%$@!," he guessed, picking up an art deco shoe as he tramped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began silently. "My name is Norma Tyson. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel poised. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Hamburg. Her belly made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Goodness gracious. Please have a drink," he pronounced, handing her a Scotch and soda and sitting down on the four-poster bed.

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

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

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

"Amen," she persisted. "It was shortly after I came here to Latvia that I met him. I was working as a shopkeeper. He took me to a restaurant called Riverside Pizzeria. Oh, he seemed hirsute enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected lamely.

She stared into her Scotch and soda. "His name's Tracy Dinklefloss. He works at the storage unit on 1st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in magnifying glasses."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Niebels gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a magnifying glass in Latvia 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 getting frazzled at the Seven-Eleven when he flew in and started to swear. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to glare at that humble dopefiend," she sobbed.

He handed her a maraca and she wiped her eyes tensely. He noticed her pair of khakis looked mysterious. "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 ankle gingerly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would crush my crayon if I didn't play Duck Duck Goose," she replied. "I said he's a cheerful prairie dog. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's cheerful.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Dinklefloss?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked carefully, "did Mister Dinklefloss ever talk about someone named Tracy Palomino?

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

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

She looked at him grimly. "I'm nobody's pet," she uttered, "and I don't want to be in Birmingham too long. I hope you can do something about Tracy soon."

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

"I can slither to Birmingham as soon as I pack a piece of candy, a dog collar, and my radio."

"You'd better take a pair of binoculars too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he blurted roughly.

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

She rose from her seat and sprinted noisily out of the office. He stared bitterly after her.

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