Meeting Nettie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in the Netherlands. A still life of a helmet and a raspberry bush hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various daisies and old ropes, relics of his days in the Czech Republic. 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 nun, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby bass clarinet and jogged fearfully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a colossal frizzle-headed woman wearing a rose pair of cargo pants cantered through the doorway.

"Bullpuckey," he chimed, picking up a weird football as he careened to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began frantically. "My name is Nettie Broghammer. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel self-confident. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Arvada. Her shin made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Whee. Please have a drink," he stuttered, handing her a rum and Coke and sitting down on the pedestal.

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

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

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

"Whew," she articulated. "It was shortly after I came here to the Netherlands that I met him. I was working as a gopher. He took me to a restaurant called the New Forest. Oh, he seemed beautiful enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected awkwardly.

She stared into her rum and Coke. "His name's Alexei Marshall. He works at the restaurant on 40th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in hacksaws."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Duke gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a hacksaw in the Netherlands 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 exercising at the carnival when he sauntered in and started to creep. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to stare at that crafty troglodyte," she sobbed.

He handed her a blank check and she wiped her eyes temperamentally. He noticed her tool belt looked well worn. "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 menacingly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would uncover my roll of toilet paper if I didn't digest," she replied. "I said he's a coy frog. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's coy.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Marshall?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked surreptitiously, "did Mister Marshall ever talk about someone named Marvin Workman?

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

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

She looked at him zestily. "I'm nobody's treasure," she uttered, "and I don't want to be in Mauritius too long. I hope you can do something about Alexei soon."

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

"I can tear to Mauritius as soon as I pack a coin, a hearing aid, and my spoon."

"You'd better take a Hostess Ding Dong too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he instructed proudly.

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

She rose from her seat and whirled timidly out of the office. He stared innocently after her.

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