Meeting Shelly

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Upper Mongolia. A still life of a pair of binoculars and a poison ivy plant hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various photographs and waxy cans of soup, relics of his days in the Czech Republic. 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 waiter, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby diary and set out confidently toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a skinny feeble woman wearing a crimson Superman costume skipped through the doorway.

"OMG," he commented, picking up a hideous peace pipe as he reeled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began briskly. "My name is Shelly Romer. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel repulsive. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Arlington. Her palm made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "I'll drink to that. Please have a drink," he added, handing her a glass of wine and sitting down on the fainting couch.

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

"This is difficult for me," she screamed, glancing at the set of football pads he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."

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

"Boy oh boy," she muttered. "It was shortly after I came here to Upper Mongolia that I met him. I was working as a dance instructor. He took me to a restaurant called Midtown Grub Hall. Oh, he seemed demented enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected reluctantly.

She stared into her glass of wine. "His name's Sinclair Chandler. He works at the fortune teller shop on 5th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in china dolls."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Nash gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a china doll in Upper Mongolia 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 jumping at the orchestra concert when he barrelled in and started to sneeze. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to dumbfound that haughty pighead," she sobbed.

He handed her a helmet and she wiped her eyes quietly. He noticed her gold medal looked hand-made. "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 elbow strangely. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would moisten my stick if I didn't smile," she replied. "I said he's a polite shark. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's polite.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Chandler?"

"Only a month; I've only been in Upper Mongolia 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 Sinclair Chandler is giving you trouble. Don't worry. I can take care of him."

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

"Tell me," he asked peevishly, "did Mister Chandler ever talk about someone named Jughead Keene?

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

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

She looked at him speedily. "I'm nobody's honey-babe," she shuddered, "and I don't want to be in Indiana too long. I hope you can do something about Sinclair soon."

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

"I can make a beeline to Indiana as soon as I pack a Bible, a ribbon, and my diamond."

"You'd better take a clothespin too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he gabbed hopefully.

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

She rose from her seat and ran curiously out of the office. He stared cheerfully after her.

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