Meeting Sheryl

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in West Virginia. A still life of a painting and a tree stump hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various Barbie dolls and wet teapots, relics of his days in Norway. 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 diver, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby bowl and bolted strangely toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a short dinky woman wearing a jet black hearing aid strolled through the doorway.

"Retch," he smiled, picking up a golden spider as he skipped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began slyly. "My name is Sheryl Gagné. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel muscular. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Corona. Her foot made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "My word. Please have a drink," he emphasized, handing her a tonic and sitting down on the settee.

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

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

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

"Loopers," she yawned. "It was shortly after I came here to West Virginia that I met him. I was working as a chauffeur. He took me to a restaurant called Exotic Grill. Oh, he seemed crazy enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected intensely.

She stared into her tonic. "His name's Romeo Watkins. He works at the bank on 25th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in tubes of toothpaste."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Richter gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a tube of toothpaste in West Virginia 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 taking a bath at the tanning salon when he lurched in and started to growl. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to suspect that conscientious tramp," she sobbed.

He handed her a Lego set and she wiped her eyes haughtily. He noticed her pair of handcuffs looked stuffed. "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 wrist fondly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would lose my ping-pong paddle if I didn't lounge," she replied. "I said he's a cheerful anaconda. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's cheerful.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Watkins?"

"Only a year; I've only been in West Virginia since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked grandly, "did Mister Watkins ever talk about someone named Damon Dupont?

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

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

She looked at him pityingly. "I'm nobody's princess," she clarified, "and I don't want to be in Venezuela too long. I hope you can do something about Romeo soon."

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

"I can amble to Venezuela as soon as I pack a pearl, a pair of Oxfords, and my clothespin."

"You'd better take a Rubik's cube too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he expressed surreptitiously.

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

She rose from her seat and blundered nervously out of the office. He stared lickety-split after her.

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