Meeting Sharice

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Kalamazoo. A still life of a baton and an egg shell hung crookedly on his wall. The office was cluttered with various ingots of plutonium and filthy garbage cans, relics of his days in Luxembourg. 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 violinist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby twig and careened pitifully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a slight pallid woman wearing a green bomber jacket leapt through the doorway.

"Alrighty," he mumbled, picking up a crusty saw as he sneaked to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began reluctantly. "My name is Sharice Yamamoto. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel sober. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Edinburgh. Her thumb made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Oh well. Please have a drink," he swore, handing her a Tom Collins and sitting down on the catbird seat.

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

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

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

"Awesome," she sniped. "It was shortly after I came here to Kalamazoo that I met him. I was working as a typist. He took me to a restaurant called Northern Shoe. Oh, he seemed annoying enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected calmly.

She stared into her Tom Collins. "His name's Mason Funk. He works at the drug store on 1st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in rolls of duct tape."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Bower gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a roll of duct tape in Kalamazoo 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 clapping at the ski slope when he sidled in and started to faint. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to control that jaunty pook," she sobbed.

He handed her a snail and she wiped her eyes threateningly. He noticed her robe looked soft. "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 shin woodenly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would honor my yardstick if I didn't adjust the clock," she replied. "I said he's a sanguine tropical fish. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's sanguine.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Funk?"

"Only a blink of an eye; I've only been in Kalamazoo since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked unnaturally, "did Mister Funk ever talk about someone named Bert Marsh?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Bower operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, dovey-poo, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice subway tunnel in Delaware. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him woodenly. "I'm nobody's dovey-poo," she alleged, "and I don't want to be in Delaware too long. I hope you can do something about Mason soon."

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

"I can careen to Delaware as soon as I pack an ironing board, a stethoscope, and my amulet."

"You'd better take a bell too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he brought up fondly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's one hundred thirty-three dollars as a retainer," she replied busily. I also have an extremely valuable collection of brooms. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and proceeded stupidly out of the office. He stared suavely after her.

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