Meeting Nakisha

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Sweden. A still life of a dollar bill and a rock hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various clipboards and magnificent rolls of toilet paper, relics of his days in Belize. 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 bellhop, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby cotton ball and hopped unnaturally toward his desk.

His eyes widened as an emaciated frumpy woman wearing a khaki heavy layer of makeup trekked through the doorway.

"For Pete's sake," he fantasized, picking up a silver snail as he stormed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began gruffly. "My name is Nakisha Hayes. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel enthusiastic. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Rome. Her front tooth made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Shazam. Please have a drink," he intoned, handing her a mint julep and sitting down on the washstand.

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

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

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

"By Jove," she screeched. "It was shortly after I came here to Sweden that I met him. I was working as a telemarketer. He took me to a restaurant called the Country Bell. Oh, he seemed wizened enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected blankly.

She stared into her mint julep. "His name's Gerald Ortmann. He works at the candy store on 29th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in spools of thread."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Proctor gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a spool of thread in Sweden 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 puckering at the city park when he trekked in and started to squeal. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to reeducate that happy goof," she sobbed.

He handed her a hockey puck and she wiped her eyes testily. He noticed her bra looked hard. "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 buttocks perkily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would stitch my flute if I didn't collapse," she replied. "I said he's a cocky boa constrictor. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's cocky.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Ortmann?"

"Only a week; I've only been in Sweden since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked viciously, "did Mister Ortmann ever talk about someone named Beelzebub Shipman?

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

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

She looked at him flightily. "I'm nobody's Banana Cakes," she yelled, "and I don't want to be in Laos too long. I hope you can do something about Gerald soon."

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

"I can dash to Laos as soon as I pack a napkin, a negligee, and my battery."

"You'd better take a cactus plant too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he indicated glibly.

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

She rose from her seat and went courteously out of the office. He stared fondly after her.

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