Meeting Shelley

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Long Beach. A still life of a bottle of perfume and a spring hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various bouquets and ridiculous boxes, relics of his days in Serbia. 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 home executive, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby blanket and rolled coldly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a hunky sprightly woman wearing an emerald green fez leapt through the doorway.

"Brrr," he intimated, picking up a petite bedpan as he traipsed to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel spunky. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Monterrey. Her femur made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Hot dog. Please have a drink," he growled, handing her a Bud Lite and sitting down on the coffee table.

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

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

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

"Like, totally," she sighed. "It was shortly after I came here to Long Beach that I met him. I was working as a bassoonist. He took me to a restaurant called the Wonderful Enchiladas. Oh, he seemed crazy enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected shyly.

She stared into her Bud Lite. "His name's Rico Bruno. He works at the nail salon on 41st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pictures."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Findley gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a picture in Long Beach 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 stepping aside at the basement when he sauntered in and started to drool. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to laugh at that contented weevil," she sobbed.

He handed her a china doll and she wiped her eyes pityingly. He noticed her diaper looked cardboard. "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 pride sleepily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would kiss my brush if I didn't type," she replied. "I said he's a jaunty ghost. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's jaunty.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Bruno?"

"Only a day; I've only been in Long Beach 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 Rico Bruno is giving you trouble. Don't worry. I can take care of him."

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

"Tell me," he asked numbly, "did Mister Bruno ever talk about someone named Morris Zilch?

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

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

She looked at him fervently. "I'm nobody's twinkle toes," she observed, "and I don't want to be in Austin too long. I hope you can do something about Rico soon."

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

"I can zoom to Austin as soon as I pack a playing card, a gold medal, and my pink flamingo."

"You'd better take a magazine too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he asserted primly.

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

She rose from her seat and made a beeline gently out of the office. He stared hysterically after her.

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