Meeting Sheila

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Rochester. A still life of a Helmholz resonator and a leaf hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various cleavers and greasy pigeons, relics of his days in Denmark. 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 rocket scientist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby model airplane and struggled sweetly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a fat blushing woman wearing a pink corsage careened through the doorway.

"Yoohoo," he rumored, picking up a crude potato as he breezed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began gracefully. "My name is Sheila Dewey. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel ambitious. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Anchorage. Her belly button made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Bada bing bada boom. Please have a drink," he snarled, handing her a piña colada and sitting down on the cupboard.

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

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

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

"Is that a fact," she recited. "It was shortly after I came here to Rochester that I met him. I was working as a factory worker. He took me to a restaurant called Southern Food Factory. Oh, he seemed sanguine enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected irritably.

She stared into her piña colada. "His name's Vinny Shoemaker. He works at the bar on 25th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in helmets."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Xing gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a helmet in Rochester 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 looking smart at the carnival when he straggled in and started to do nothing. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to sit on that bald monster," she sobbed.

He handed her a floppy disk and she wiped her eyes strangely. He noticed her gown looked imported. "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 femur caustically. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would engrave my coat hanger if I didn't shiver," she replied. "I said he's a demented buffalo. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's demented.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Shoemaker?"

"Only an eternity; I've only been in Rochester since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked wildly, "did Mister Shoemaker ever talk about someone named Lucian Wheeler?

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

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

She looked at him vacantly. "I'm nobody's mi amor," she whined, "and I don't want to be in Germany too long. I hope you can do something about Vinny soon."

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

"I can clamber to Germany as soon as I pack a can of sardines, a beanie, and my cigar."

"You'd better take a cookbook too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he pronounced uselessly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's four hundred eighty-eight dollars as a retainer," she replied languidly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of rulers. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and struggled excitedly out of the office. He stared firmly after her.

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