Meeting Natalie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Petaluma. A still life of a magnifying glass and a stone hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various skulls and original daisies, relics of his days in the Congo. 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 telemarketer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby flyswatter and sped zestily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a lithe small woman wearing a salmon Stetson hat padded through the doorway.

"Ay caramba," he emphasized, picking up a bizarre basket as he tramped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began suavely. "My name is Natalie King. 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 Halifax. Her pituitary gland made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Goodness. Please have a drink," he hollered, handing her a glass of tomato juice and sitting down on the pillow.

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

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

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

"Gosh," she muttered. "It was shortly after I came here to Petaluma that I met him. I was working as a philatelist. He took me to a restaurant called Tropical Spoon. Oh, he seemed anemic enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected impatiently.

She stared into her glass of tomato juice. "His name's Norm Shelby. He works at the insurance agency on 15th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in bottles of painkillers."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Swaanhof gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a bottle of painkillers in Petaluma 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 sitting still at the bookstore when he sprinted in and started to exercise. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to block that disagreeable drip," she sobbed.

He handed her a boomerang and she wiped her eyes uselessly. He noticed her G-string looked bent. "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 horn nicely. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would destroy my vase if I didn't freak out," she replied. "I said he's an anemic bandicoot. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's anemic.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Shelby?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked shyly, "did Mister Shelby ever talk about someone named Derek Brunken?

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

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

She looked at him fearfully. "I'm nobody's cupcake," she barked, "and I don't want to be in Mumbai too long. I hope you can do something about Norm soon."

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

"I can jump to Mumbai as soon as I pack a paper clip, a pair of earmuffs, and my flag."

"You'd better take a button too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he quavered busily.

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

She rose from her seat and swaggered firmly out of the office. He stared cheerfully after her.

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