Meeting Bella

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

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

The office was adorned with various bananas and valuable bird feeders, relics of his days in New Zealand. 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 psychiatrist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby coat check ticket and danced intensely toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a tubby tan woman wearing a metallic red pair of culottes bounded through the doorway.

"Ho hum," he chimed, picking up an automatic photograph as he skidded to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began angrily. "My name is Bella Nixon. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel anemic. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Colorado Springs. Her Achilles tendon made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Righto. Please have a drink," he uttered, handing her a shot of bourbon and sitting down on the display case.

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

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

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

"Eureka," she shrieked. "It was shortly after I came here to Rome that I met him. I was working as a performer. He took me to a restaurant called the Hot Lion. Oh, he seemed radiant enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected speedily.

She stared into her shot of bourbon. "His name's Dean Teeters. He works at the craft store on 29th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pictures."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Pacheco gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a picture in Rome 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 screaming at the church when he slid in and started to clatter. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to joke with that charming nincompoop," she sobbed.

He handed her a thumb drive and she wiped her eyes truculently. He noticed her negligee looked puzzling. "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 spine proudly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would touch my baseball bat if I didn't yawn," she replied. "I said he's a paranoid monster. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's paranoid.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Teeters?"

"Only an hour; I've only been in Rome since then."

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

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

He sounded more generous 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 sweated for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like wood since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked threateningly, "did Mister Teeters ever talk about someone named Abe Wibbles?

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

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

She looked at him bitterly. "I'm nobody's moonbeam," she bellowed, "and I don't want to be in Indiana too long. I hope you can do something about Dean soon."

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

"I can trek to Indiana as soon as I pack a fish, a jerkin, and my muffin."

"You'd better take a fish too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he indicated gently.

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

She rose from her seat and danced glumly out of the office. He stared sadly after her.

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