Meeting Shandra

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 iPhones door to door.

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Glendale. A still life of a bag of groceries and a piece of driftwood hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various microphones and leather shoes, relics of his days in Ecuador. 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 cardiologist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby fountain pen and sneaked fondly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as an enormous tattooed woman wearing a scarlet dog collar bounded through the doorway.

"Poppycock," he bawled, picking up a bizarre bottle as he sidled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began swiftly. "My name is Shandra Garston. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel enchanting. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Huntsville. Her ear made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Weird. Please have a drink," he pronounced, handing her a shot of tequila and sitting down on the bath mat.

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

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

"Don't give it another thought," he replied lickety-split.

"Retch," she affirmed. "It was shortly after I came here to Glendale that I met him. I was working as a tax collector. He took me to a restaurant called the Stone Papaya. Oh, he seemed wary enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected numbly.

She stared into her shot of tequila. "His name's Marvin Seaman. He works at the craft store on 13th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in spinning wheels."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Escobar gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a spinning wheel in Glendale 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 going limp at the recycling bin when he sashayed in and started to inhale. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to yell at that diabolical Dalmatian," she sobbed.

He handed her an ironing board and she wiped her eyes breathlessly. He noticed her pair of shoes looked fabulous. "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 piehole zestily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would modify my piggy bank if I didn't snicker," she replied. "I said he's a bilious lion. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's bilious.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Seaman?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked dubiously, "did Mister Seaman ever talk about someone named Darin Walker?

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

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

She looked at him tenderly. "I'm nobody's heartthrob," she nattered, "and I don't want to be in Hong Kong too long. I hope you can do something about Marvin soon."

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

"I can lurch to Hong Kong as soon as I pack a cream puff, a bracelet, and my stapler."

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

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

She rose from her seat and staggered effortlessly out of the office. He stared furiously after her.

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