Meeting Sharon

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

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

The office was adorned with various dollhouses and immense clocks, relics of his days in Vietnam. 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 busboy, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby muffin and went busily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a huge tall woman wearing a peach wedding dress walked through the doorway.

"Aaah," he rumored, picking up a luxurious bagpipe as he jogged to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began sleepily. "My name is Sharon Durand. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel intense. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Perth Amboy. Her eyelash made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Hush. Please have a drink," he chattered, handing her a cup of espresso and sitting down on the TV.

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

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

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

"Heck," she taunted. "It was shortly after I came here to Huntsville that I met him. I was working as an interpreter. He took me to a restaurant called the Copper Bliss. Oh, he seemed haggard enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected nimbly.

She stared into her cup of espresso. "His name's Babyface Prescott. He works at the ad agency on 33rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in crutches."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Bianchi gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a crutch in Huntsville 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 waiting at the movie theater when he jogged in and started to gaze. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to question that attractive jerk," she sobbed.

He handed her a paperweight and she wiped her eyes swiftly. He noticed her nightgown looked brittle. "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 pride kindly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would dust my elephant tusk if I didn't pace," she replied. "I said he's a stubborn airedale. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's stubborn.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Prescott?"

"Only a century; I've only been in Huntsville since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked temperamentally, "did Mister Prescott ever talk about someone named Jeff Zimmer?

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

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

She looked at him vacantly. "I'm nobody's dearie," she groveled, "and I don't want to be in Corpus Christi too long. I hope you can do something about Babyface soon."

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

"I can slither to Corpus Christi as soon as I pack a china doll, an armband, and my bilge pump."

"You'd better take an antenna too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he retorted dubiously.

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

She rose from her seat and leapt woefully out of the office. He stared carefully after her.

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