Meeting Nelly

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Bagdad. A still life of a Big Gulp and a tree stump hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various decks of cards and important dollar bills, relics of his days in Albania. 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 math teacher, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby painting and tumbled sternly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a dwarf angelic woman wearing a mauve girdle straggled through the doorway.

"Aaaw," he prattled, picking up a disgusting coping saw as he scampered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began angrily. "My name is Nelly Chopra. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel conscientious. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Bucharest. Her beard made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Gotta love it. Please have a drink," he blustered, handing her an Alka-Seltzer and sitting down on the dining table.

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

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

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

"Eek," she bragged. "It was shortly after I came here to Bagdad that I met him. I was working as an entertainer. He took me to a restaurant called Singapore Grill. Oh, he seemed disagreeable enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected tenderly.

She stared into her Alka-Seltzer. "His name's Nicholas Ackerman. He works at the movie theater on 39th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in candles."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Trane gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a candle in Bagdad 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 grinning at the day care center when he galumphed in and started to get upset. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to suspect that prissy slug," she sobbed.

He handed her an ice cream cone and she wiped her eyes thoughtfully. He noticed her false moustache looked ridiculous. "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 thorax curiously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would label my can of beer if I didn't bounce," she replied. "I said he's a happy nightingale. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's happy.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Ackerman?"

"Only a day; I've only been in Bagdad 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 Nicholas Ackerman is giving you trouble. Don't worry. I can take care of him."

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

"Tell me," he asked courteously, "did Mister Ackerman ever talk about someone named Francisco Cheetham?

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

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

She looked at him briskly. "I'm nobody's twinkles," she stammered, "and I don't want to be in Nepal too long. I hope you can do something about Nicholas soon."

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

"I can tear to Nepal as soon as I pack a cork, a gold medal, and my stamp."

"You'd better take a sponge too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he cackled glumly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's one hundred forty-nine dollars as a retainer," she replied rapidly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of bottles. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and blundered obediently out of the office. He stared cruelly after her.

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