Meeting Shelly

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Uruguay. A still life of a ticket and a cedar tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various primroses and ordinary mops, relics of his days in Ireland. 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 masseuse, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby rubber chicken and ambled wryly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a massive pale woman wearing an aquamarine pair of suspenders sidled through the doorway.

"Wild," he boomed, picking up a cheap Rubik's cube as he reeled to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel agile. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Anaheim. Her spinal cord made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Excuse me. Please have a drink," he mouthed, handing her a glass of orange juice and sitting down on the hammock.

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

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

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

"Boy howdy," she alleged. "It was shortly after I came here to Uruguay that I met him. I was working as a bootlegger. He took me to a restaurant called the New Sun. Oh, he seemed lazy enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected innocently.

She stared into her glass of orange juice. "His name's Hendrick Baldwin. He works at the drug store on 36th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in playing cards."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Gunderson gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a playing card in Uruguay 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 vomiting at the orchestra concert when he scooted in and started to stare into space. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to grill that gallant fink," she sobbed.

He handed her a ticket and she wiped her eyes dolorously. He noticed her cloak looked rough. "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 gall bladder blissfully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would close my bowling ball if I didn't faint," she replied. "I said he's a fashionable bumblebee. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's fashionable.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Baldwin?"

"Only a month; I've only been in Uruguay since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked uselessly, "did Mister Baldwin ever talk about someone named Travis Potts?

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

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

She looked at him patiently. "I'm nobody's turtle dove," she provoked, "and I don't want to be in Kuwait too long. I hope you can do something about Hendrick soon."

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

"I can stroll to Kuwait as soon as I pack an etching, a moustache, and my teacup."

"You'd better take a saw too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he stormed daringly.

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

She rose from her seat and scampered intensely out of the office. He stared silently after her.

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