Meeting Nicki

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Memphis. A still life of a lollipop and a tree stump hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various packs of gum and overgrown acorns, 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 researcher, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby Egyptian mummy and paraded oddly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a potbellied filthy woman wearing a rose gladiator helmet climbed through the doorway.

"WTF," he reasoned, picking up a thick stack of papers as he marched to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began ferociously. "My name is Nicki Bowers. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel weary. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Charlotte. Her big toe made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Yippee. Please have a drink," he griped, handing her a Harvey Wallbanger and sitting down on the canopy bed.

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

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

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

"Ultimate," she railed. "It was shortly after I came here to Memphis that I met him. I was working as an actor. He took me to a restaurant called the City Urn. Oh, he seemed artistic enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected admiringly.

She stared into her Harvey Wallbanger. "His name's Ronnie Talley. He works at the bookstore on 11th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in ropes."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Dillman gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a rope in Memphis 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 swaying at the party when he waltzed in and started to play Duck Duck Goose. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to fry that sober nerd," she sobbed.

He handed her a pillow and she wiped her eyes slowly. He noticed her wristwatch looked amazing. "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 toupee noisily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would pulverize my tennis racket if I didn't wake up," she replied. "I said he's a high-strung snake. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's high-strung.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Talley?"

"Only a month; I've only been in Memphis since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked slowly, "did Mister Talley ever talk about someone named Maloney Lister?

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

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

She looked at him immediately. "I'm nobody's pipkin," she babbled, "and I don't want to be in Georgia too long. I hope you can do something about Ronnie soon."

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

"I can stroll to Georgia as soon as I pack a teapot, a diaper, and my feather duster."

"You'd better take a remote control too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he intoned defiantly.

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

She rose from her seat and sped oddly out of the office. He stared testily after her.

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