Meeting Kylie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Greensboro. A still life of a wrench and a piece of bark hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various whistles and small water bottles, relics of his days in Bermuda. 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 flutist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby spittoon and marched openly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a scrawny youthful woman wearing a green straitjacket swung through the doorway.

"Oh," he sniveled, picking up a sleek bowling ball as he dashed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began vacantly. "My name is Kylie Nolan. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel mean. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Milwaukee. Her skin made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Blecch. Please have a drink," he asserted, handing her a glass of carrot juice and sitting down on the china hutch.

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

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

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

"Boohoo," she indicated. "It was shortly after I came here to Greensboro that I met him. I was working as a spy. He took me to a restaurant called the Country Retreat. Oh, he seemed amiable enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected suavely.

She stared into her glass of carrot juice. "His name's Damon Nolan. He works at the pub on 24th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in keys."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Banks gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a key in Greensboro 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 hanging around at the church when he strolled in and started to ponder. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to sneer at that pensive ninnyhammer," she sobbed.

He handed her a skull and she wiped her eyes repeatedly. He noticed her vest looked waxy. "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 hip swiftly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would silence my ironing board if I didn't scratch," she replied. "I said he's a sinister airedale. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's sinister.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Nolan?"

"Only a year; I've only been in Greensboro since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked lickety-split, "did Mister Nolan ever talk about someone named Dennis Keene?

She stared. "You know him?" she asked with an air kiss.

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Banks operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, light of my life, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice mobile home in Rhode Island. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him blissfully. "I'm nobody's light of my life," she raved, "and I don't want to be in Rhode Island too long. I hope you can do something about Damon soon."

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

"I can amble to Rhode Island as soon as I pack an ice cream cone, an Eton jacket, and my fishhook."

"You'd better take a cage too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he fumed fervently.

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

She rose from her seat and scurried fearfully out of the office. He stared ignobly after her.

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