Meeting Nettie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Mali. A still life of an orange and a piece of bark hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various corncobs and gleaming Big Gulps, relics of his days in Kazakhstan. 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 bus driver, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby peach and slithered crossly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a slender curvy woman wearing a forest green military uniform scurried through the doorway.

"Shoo," he rationalized, picking up a ruined hat as he leapt to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began ignobly. "My name is Nettie Del Genio. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel young. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Quito. Her midriff made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Good grief. Please have a drink," he clarified, handing her a cup of Sanka and sitting down on the table.

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

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

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

"Golly," she hollered. "It was shortly after I came here to Mali that I met him. I was working as a masseuse. He took me to a restaurant called the Stellar Chopstick. Oh, he seemed undignified enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected woodenly.

She stared into her cup of Sanka. "His name's Newton Greenwood. He works at the boutique on 30th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in toilet plungers."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Pavlov gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a toilet plunger in Mali 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 snarling at the health club when he walked in and started to gasp. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to encourage that muscular dope," she sobbed.

He handed her a baby doll and she wiped her eyes oddly. He noticed her pair of Oxfords looked hefty. "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 earlobe angrily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would grab my telephone if I didn't dress up," she replied. "I said he's a considerate sloth. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's considerate.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Greenwood?"

"Only a second; I've only been in Mali since then."

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

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

He sounded more maniacal than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his thyroid gland like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and gesticulated 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 ingeniously, "did Mister Greenwood ever talk about someone named Wallace Werner?

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

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

She looked at him speedily. "I'm nobody's homie," she whined, "and I don't want to be in Rhode Island too long. I hope you can do something about Newton soon."

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

"I can slink to Rhode Island as soon as I pack a banana, a bonnet, and my iPhone."

"You'd better take a toilet plunger too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he stammered lickety-split.

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

She rose from her seat and waltzed smoothly out of the office. He stared crankily after her.

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