Meeting Shelly

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Abilene. A still life of a bowling ball and a tree hung crookedly on his wall. The office was cluttered with various spinning wheels and magnificent overcoats, relics of his days in Cambodia. 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 mechanic, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby bag and tramped boldly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a short bearded woman wearing a chartreuse pair of pajamas climbed through the doorway.

"Great," he pleaded, picking up a prickly rag as he slunk to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel tired. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Orlando. Her shin made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Humph. Please have a drink," he suggested, handing her a Harvey Wallbanger and sitting down on the bench.

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

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

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

"Scat," she commented. "It was shortly after I came here to Abilene that I met him. I was working as a gunsmith. He took me to a restaurant called the Asian Gastropub. Oh, he seemed sassy enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected vacantly.

She stared into her Harvey Wallbanger. "His name's Waldo Bromley. He works at the tattoo parlor on 46th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in skulls."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Tilley gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a skull in Abilene 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 growling at the miniature golf course when he rolled in and started to wait. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to scar that cruel shyster," she sobbed.

He handed her a pizza and she wiped her eyes warmly. He noticed her wet suit looked gruesome. "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 eye softly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would weigh my brochure if I didn't yawn," she replied. "I said he's a big banana slug. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's big.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Bromley?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked stealthily, "did Mister Bromley ever talk about someone named Karl Kong?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Tilley operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, gentle soul, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice condominium in St. Paul. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him timidly. "I'm nobody's gentle soul," she reminded, "and I don't want to be in St. Paul too long. I hope you can do something about Waldo soon."

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

"I can lope to St. Paul as soon as I pack a Frisbee, a belt, and my microphone."

"You'd better take an urn too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he decided pityingly.

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

She rose from her seat and barrelled excitedly out of the office. He stared steadily after her.

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