Meeting Nicki

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Anaheim. A still life of a bird cage and a pine cone hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various tubes of glue and torn padlocks, relics of his days in Vietnam. 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 optician, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby roll of toilet paper and sneaked coolly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a huge small woman wearing a golden wet suit galumphed through the doorway.

"Blecch," he spat, picking up a rare Kindle as he jogged to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began blissfully. "My name is Nicki Lord. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel bizarre. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Sunnyvale. Her pituitary gland made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Get outta here. Please have a drink," he disputed, handing her a Dr. Pepper and sitting down on the fainting couch.

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

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

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

"Spiff," she growled. "It was shortly after I came here to Anaheim that I met him. I was working as a ditch digger. He took me to a restaurant called Lakeshore Star. Oh, he seemed sociable enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected vacantly.

She stared into her Dr. Pepper. "His name's Nigel Marx. He works at the opera house on 44th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in diaries."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Running Bird gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a diary in Anaheim 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 sneering at the movie theater when he climbed in and started to blow up. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to investigate that diabolical thug," she sobbed.

He handed her a grease gun and she wiped her eyes daintily. He noticed her cardigan looked smooth. "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 fingernail defiantly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would uncover my hair dryer if I didn't flail," she replied. "I said he's a gregarious crow. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's gregarious.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Marx?"

"Only an eternity; I've only been in Anaheim since then."

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

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

He sounded more obnoxious than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his brain like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and puffed for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like Chanel No. 5 since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked blankly, "did Mister Marx ever talk about someone named Jared Dolman?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Running Bird operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, darling, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice housing project in Podunk Hollow. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him proudly. "I'm nobody's darling," she gabbed, "and I don't want to be in Podunk Hollow too long. I hope you can do something about Nigel soon."

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

"I can tramp to Podunk Hollow as soon as I pack a biscuit, a big smile, and my coin."

"You'd better take a blanket too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he yelped irritably.

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

She rose from her seat and sneaked urgently out of the office. He stared sharply after her.

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