Meeting Nakisha

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Scottsdale. A still life of a washrag and a pine cone hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various flashlights and ruined corks, relics of his days in Algeria. 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 dry cleaner operator, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pipe and strode viciously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a tubby fair woman wearing a lime-green necklace crept through the doorway.

"At last," he chortled, picking up a ridiculous spider as he pranced to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began courteously. "My name is Nakisha Irons. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel bouncy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Gilbert. Her waist made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Hello. Please have a drink," he grieved, handing her a cambric tea and sitting down on the pedestal.

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

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

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

"Moo," she fantasized. "It was shortly after I came here to Scottsdale that I met him. I was working as a restaurant owner. He took me to a restaurant called the Hometown Wall. Oh, he seemed sober enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected miserably.

She stared into her cambric tea. "His name's Dan Zwiebel. He works at the art gallery on 29th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in whoopee cushions."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Houston gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a whoopee cushion in Scottsdale 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 whistling at the tanning salon when he stalked in and started to beg. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to attack that hirsute imbecile," she sobbed.

He handed her a Big Gulp and she wiped her eyes tensely. He noticed her tarboosh looked immense. "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 gall bladder hungrily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would grab my rose if I didn't knit," she replied. "I said he's a paranoid eel. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's paranoid.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Zwiebel?"

"Only a day; I've only been in Scottsdale since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked woefully, "did Mister Zwiebel ever talk about someone named Jack Parsons?

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

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

She looked at him testily. "I'm nobody's shmoopsie-poo," she roared, "and I don't want to be in Alexandria too long. I hope you can do something about Dan soon."

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

"I can tramp to Alexandria as soon as I pack a toilet plunger, a ring, and my stick of gum."

"You'd better take a stuffed bunny too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he commented carefully.

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

She rose from her seat and paraded gingerly out of the office. He stared woodenly after her.

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