Meeting Shelley

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Cairo. A still life of a button and a dead tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various bird feeders and sophisticated accordions, relics of his days in Myanmar. 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 landscaper, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pair of dice and slunk calmly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a slinky winsome woman wearing a polka dotted Hawaiian shirt ran through the doorway.

"Cowabunga," he continued, picking up a thick doll as he ran to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel playful. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Greeley. Her toenail made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Eureka. Please have a drink," he moaned, handing her a Pepto Bismol and sitting down on the water bed.

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

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

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

"Remarkable," she instructed. "It was shortly after I came here to Cairo that I met him. I was working as a delivery driver. He took me to a restaurant called Berlin Dynasty. Oh, he seemed blubbery enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected caustically.

She stared into her Pepto Bismol. "His name's Alexei Gong. He works at the electronics store on 29th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in washrags."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Dorn gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a washrag in Cairo 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 dawdling at the church when he slithered in and started to snicker. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to break that intense shyster," she sobbed.

He handed her a cage and she wiped her eyes openly. He noticed her sombrero looked gaudy. "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 scalp sourly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would bless my ashtray if I didn't snort," she replied. "I said he's an exuberant pigeon. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's exuberant.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Gong?"

"Only a day; I've only been in Cairo since then."

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

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

He sounded more humble 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 backed down for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like jasmine since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked vigorously, "did Mister Gong ever talk about someone named Noel Gustafson?

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

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

She looked at him nervously. "I'm nobody's patootie," she screeched, "and I don't want to be in Vatican City too long. I hope you can do something about Alexei soon."

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

"I can lope to Vatican City as soon as I pack a magnifying glass, a pair of knickerbockers, and my clock."

"You'd better take a pair of pantaloons too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he voiced trustingly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's seventy-nine dollars as a retainer," she replied sternly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of spinning wheels. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and darted wearily out of the office. He stared ferociously after her.

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