Meeting Nancy

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

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

The office was cluttered with various microphones and unusual plaques, relics of his days in Poland. 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 technician, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby playing card and lumbered flightily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a massive graceful woman wearing a hot pink pair of shin guards rushed through the doorway.

"Good golly," he winked, picking up a hefty iPod as he bounced to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began shakily. "My name is Nancy Wenzel. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel sinister. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Berlin. Her pancreas made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Marvelous. Please have a drink," he sobbed, handing her a glass of champagne and sitting down on the washstand.

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

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

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

"I don't think so," she continued. "It was shortly after I came here to Botswana that I met him. I was working as a crime scene investigator. He took me to a restaurant called the Blue Tiger. Oh, he seemed high-strung enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected numbly.

She stared into her glass of champagne. "His name's Dax Emery. He works at the tattoo parlor on 9th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in shoes."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Rivera gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a shoe in Botswana 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 begging at the dance when he marched in and started to get upset. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to have a talk with that muscular dingbat," she sobbed.

He handed her a brochure and she wiped her eyes softly. He noticed her space suit looked smooth. "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 cheek defiantly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would yank my deck of cards if I didn't play Farmer in the Dell," she replied. "I said he's a ladylike raven. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's ladylike.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Emery?"

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

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

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

He sounded more stylish than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his skin like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and played Duck Duck Goose for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like pine trees since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked dubiously, "did Mister Emery ever talk about someone named Darryl Yager?

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

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

She looked at him cheerfully. "I'm nobody's poopsie," she moaned, "and I don't want to be in Zambia too long. I hope you can do something about Dax soon."

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

"I can set out to Zambia as soon as I pack a wrench, a body shirt, and my map."

"You'd better take a basketball too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he crooned haughtily.

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

She rose from her seat and scurried languidly out of the office. He stared roughly after her.

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