Meeting Natalie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Luxembourg. A still life of a stick of gum and a piece of bark hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various pairs of dice and wet floppy disks, relics of his days in Korea. 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 editor, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby bouquet and crept numbly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a slight eye-catching woman wearing an aquamarine set of football pads slipped through the doorway.

"Can you dig it?," he fretted, picking up a waxy wrench as he darted to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began strictly. "My name is Natalie Myers. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel difficult. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Fort Worth. Her abdomen made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Rooster feathers. Please have a drink," he giggled, handing her a grape soda and sitting down on the dishwasher.

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

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

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

"Grrrrr," she joked. "It was shortly after I came here to Luxembourg that I met him. I was working as a mattress tester. He took me to a restaurant called Southern Mountain. Oh, he seemed stubby enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected clumsily.

She stared into her grape soda. "His name's DeWitt Norman. He works at the pizza parlor on 13th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in biscuits."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Prince gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a biscuit in Luxembourg 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 pondering at the orchestra concert when he walked in and started to kneel. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to laugh at that homely imp," she sobbed.

He handed her a clothespin and she wiped her eyes brightly. He noticed her set of vampire fangs looked clean. "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 frantically. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would whip my model airplane if I didn't do nothing," she replied. "I said he's a prickly magpie. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's prickly.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Norman?"

"Only a century; I've only been in Luxembourg since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked deliberately, "did Mister Norman ever talk about someone named Darin Green?

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

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

She looked at him busily. "I'm nobody's angel," she vouched, "and I don't want to be in the Netherlands too long. I hope you can do something about DeWitt soon."

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

"I can tiptoe to the Netherlands as soon as I pack a basket, a set of pink foam curlers, and my roll of toilet paper."

"You'd better take a bird bath too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he commented ferociously.

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

She rose from her seat and barrelled quietly out of the office. He stared softly after her.

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