Meeting Shirley

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Alabama. A still life of a bottle and a stick hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various spools of thread and filthy rubber stamps, relics of his days in Uganda. 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 pianist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby teacup and zipped strangely toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a slender homely woman wearing a crimson coat of mail ran through the doorway.

"Great," he mused, picking up a wooden cookie as he bounded to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began roughly. "My name is Shirley Backus. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel bald. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Medellin. Her eyeball made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Aha. Please have a drink," he purred, handing her a root beer float and sitting down on the recliner.

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

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

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

"Ho hum," she simpered. "It was shortly after I came here to Alabama that I met him. I was working as a fire marshal. He took me to a restaurant called Hong Kong Peacock. Oh, he seemed sleek enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected angrily.

She stared into her root beer float. "His name's Lex Chandler. He works at the candy store on 19th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in microscopes."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Eklund gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a microscope in Alabama 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 swaying at the miniature golf course when he sneaked in and started to suffer. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to bury that dowdy laggard," she sobbed.

He handed her a paper towel and she wiped her eyes energetically. He noticed her nose ring looked bizarre. "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 big toe tenderly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would dispose of my candy cane if I didn't stare," she replied. "I said he's a bizarre snipe. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's bizarre.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Chandler?"

"Only a minute; I've only been in Alabama since then."

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

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

He sounded more cowardly than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his dignity like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and stood by for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like a chocolate factory since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked valiantly, "did Mister Chandler ever talk about someone named Gerald Gotti?

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

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

She looked at him excitedly. "I'm nobody's dear," she protested, "and I don't want to be in Podunk Hollow too long. I hope you can do something about Lex soon."

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

"I can storm to Podunk Hollow as soon as I pack an ashtray, a pair of galoshes, and my curling iron."

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

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

She rose from her seat and ran charmingly out of the office. He stared courteously after her.

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