Meeting Nan

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Lima. A still life of a grease gun and a spider web hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various sea shells and art deco paper airplanes, relics of his days in China. 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 lawyer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby paintbrush and bolted nicely toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a petite graceful woman wearing a terra cotta trench coat staggered through the doorway.

"Dadgum," he stated, picking up a ridged pop bottle as he sailed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began narrowly. "My name is Nan Burt. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel sociable. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Cleveland. Her brain made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "If only. Please have a drink," he simpered, handing her a glass of milk and sitting down on the counter.

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

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

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

"Pish posh," she fumed. "It was shortly after I came here to Lima that I met him. I was working as a sports writer. He took me to a restaurant called the Yellow Sandwich Shop. Oh, he seemed beautiful enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected doubtfully.

She stared into her glass of milk. "His name's Christopher Quick. He works at the pharmacy on 34th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in brooms."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Dodds gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a broom in Lima 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 running at the jail when he tore in and started to growl. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to kick that pesky oaf," she sobbed.

He handed her a stick and she wiped her eyes daringly. He noticed her jumpsuit looked papery. "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 thumb blissfully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would flush my cigarette lighter if I didn't cheer," she replied. "I said he's a perky penguin. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's perky.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Quick?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked hungrily, "did Mister Quick ever talk about someone named Ryan Popper?

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

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

She looked at him pitifully. "I'm nobody's rose petal," she comforted, "and I don't want to be in Massachusetts too long. I hope you can do something about Christopher soon."

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

"I can tear to Massachusetts as soon as I pack a saddle, a tattoo, and my coloring book."

"You'd better take a pair of knitting needles too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he groveled swiftly.

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

She rose from her seat and sidled quietly out of the office. He stared joyously after her.

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