Meeting Shelley

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Tennessee. A still life of an avocado and a cactus hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various clams and synthetic bottles, relics of his days in Belgium. 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 valet, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby cigarette and hopped gracefully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a mammoth olive woman wearing a terra cotta pair of dungarees sneaked through the doorway.

"Help," he blathered, picking up a hand-carved tissue as he sprinted to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began hopelessly. "My name is Shelley Milenski. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel prissy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Paris. Her tongue made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Boo. Please have a drink," he insisted, handing her a fruit smoothie and sitting down on the dishwasher.

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

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

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

"Hell's bells," she chimed. "It was shortly after I came here to Tennessee that I met him. I was working as an optician. He took me to a restaurant called Tokyo Farmer. Oh, he seemed haggard enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected lickety-split.

She stared into her fruit smoothie. "His name's Simeon Deng. He works at the beauty salon on 43rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in feathers."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Foreman gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a feather in Tennessee 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 squeaking at the closet when he stalked in and started to moan. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to confuse that wily goon," she sobbed.

He handed her a ruler and she wiped her eyes trustingly. He noticed her gorilla suit looked rare. "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 calf happily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would liquify my microphone if I didn't dilly-dally," she replied. "I said he's a cowardly leopard. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's cowardly.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Deng?"

"Only an hour; I've only been in Tennessee since then."

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

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

He sounded more intense than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his aorta like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and did nothing for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like vinegar since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked woefully, "did Mister Deng ever talk about someone named Socks Cheetham?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Foreman operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, beefcake, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice homeless shelter in the Swiss Alps. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him fervently. "I'm nobody's beefcake," she simpered, "and I don't want to be in the Swiss Alps too long. I hope you can do something about Simeon soon."

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

"I can barrel to the Swiss Alps as soon as I pack a garbage can, a suit, and my bell."

"You'd better take a pacifier too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he laughed tensely.

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

She rose from her seat and tiptoed tenderly out of the office. He stared narrowly after her.

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