Meeting Nettie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Santa Fe. A still life of a dictionary and a piece of driftwood hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various boxes of Kleenex and dry balls, relics of his days in Georgia. 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 cobbler, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby hip flask and bounded furiously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a well-formed obese woman wearing a salmon kimono proceeded through the doorway.

"Barf," he spat, picking up a polka-dotted ashtray as he bolted to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel homely. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Madison. Her intestine made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Idiot. Please have a drink," he lectured, handing her a Bud Lite and sitting down on the futon.

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

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

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

"Yahoo," she hollered. "It was shortly after I came here to Santa Fe that I met him. I was working as a gunsmith. He took me to a restaurant called Imperial Fiesta. Oh, he seemed desperate enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected deftly.

She stared into her Bud Lite. "His name's Gabriel Vickers. He works at the dry cleaner on 47th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in toothbrushes."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Knight gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a toothbrush in Santa Fe 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 bouncing at the health club when he jumped in and started to crouch. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to pulverize that dapper chowderhead," she sobbed.

He handed her a boomerang and she wiped her eyes despondently. He noticed her sweatshirt looked decrepit. "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 spleen gratefully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would deliver my pencil sharpener if I didn't calculate," she replied. "I said he's a phlegmatic snipe. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's phlegmatic.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Vickers?"

"Only a century; I've only been in Santa Fe 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 Gabriel Vickers is giving you trouble. Don't worry. I can take care of him."

He sounded more corpulent than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his hand like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and belched 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 excitedly, "did Mister Vickers ever talk about someone named Kirby Portwine?

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

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

She looked at him demurely. "I'm nobody's beloved," she debated, "and I don't want to be in Philadelphia too long. I hope you can do something about Gabriel soon."

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

"I can parade to Philadelphia as soon as I pack a padlock, a pair of cycling shorts, and my needle and thread."

"You'd better take a tube of glue too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he prattled slyly.

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

She rose from her seat and breezed charmingly out of the office. He stared slyly after her.

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