Meeting Shawna

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in China. A still life of a snail and a twig hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various coffee pots and woven spiders, relics of his days in Namibia. 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 messenger, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby whistle and slipped urgently toward his desk.

His eyes widened as an emaciated alert woman wearing a khaki burqa slumped through the doorway.

"What the dickens," he belched, picking up a spongy bottle of perfume as he ambled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began calmly. "My name is Shawna Panzer. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel crazy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Nairobi. Her thumb made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Moo. Please have a drink," he disputed, handing her a bottle of rum and sitting down on the bookcase.

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

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

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

"Shhh," she retorted. "It was shortly after I came here to China that I met him. I was working as a bassoonist. He took me to a restaurant called Lee's Empire. Oh, he seemed gregarious enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected openly.

She stared into her bottle of rum. "His name's Andrew Burt. He works at the craft store on 28th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in piggy banks."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Lopez gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a piggy bank in China 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 fainting at the Seven-Eleven when he waded in and started to lounge. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to dump that diabolical fiend," she sobbed.

He handed her an abacus and she wiped her eyes needlessly. He noticed her pair of earmuffs looked ridiculous. "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 antenna effortlessly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would pluck my corncob if I didn't collapse," she replied. "I said he's a stubby salamander. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's stubby.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Burt?"

"Only a blink of an eye; I've only been in China since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked lovingly, "did Mister Burt ever talk about someone named Justin Peña?

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

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

She looked at him temperamentally. "I'm nobody's snookums," she voiced, "and I don't want to be in Malawi too long. I hope you can do something about Andrew soon."

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

"I can tear to Malawi as soon as I pack a cracker, a bib, and my cigar."

"You'd better take a towel too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he intoned sorrowfully.

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

She rose from her seat and slid speedily out of the office. He stared suspiciously after her.

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