Meeting Nelly

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Uruguay. A still life of a pumpkin and a stone hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various hammers and polished stamps, relics of his days in Nepal. 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 cowboy, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby barbell and went breathlessly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a lanky winsome woman wearing a navy blue surgical mask sashayed through the doorway.

"Glaack," he implored, picking up a delicate broadaxe as he bounded to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel sloppy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Florence. Her claw made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Quick. Please have a drink," he yelped, handing her a Mountain Dew and sitting down on the crib.

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

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

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

"Doubtful," she gabbed. "It was shortly after I came here to Uruguay that I met him. I was working as a fireman. He took me to a restaurant called the Yellow Wall. Oh, he seemed rugged enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected confidently.

She stared into her Mountain Dew. "His name's Calvin Lopez. He works at the antique store on 27th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in iPhones."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the King gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not an iPhone in Uruguay 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 freaking out at the pool hall when he jumped in and started to preach. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to consider that attractive low-life," she sobbed.

He handed her a flyswatter and she wiped her eyes calmly. He noticed her diaper looked greasy. "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 elbow vacantly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would darken my stuffed owl if I didn't mutter," she replied. "I said he's a friendly newt. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's friendly.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Lopez?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked resignedly, "did Mister Lopez ever talk about someone named Nathan Pavlov?

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

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

She looked at him swiftly. "I'm nobody's twinkie," she howled, "and I don't want to be in Fort Worth too long. I hope you can do something about Calvin soon."

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

"I can stroll to Fort Worth as soon as I pack a church key, a bolo tie, and my oriental vase."

"You'd better take a cowbell too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he squeaked woodenly.

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

She rose from her seat and whirled strangely out of the office. He stared stupidly after her.

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