Meeting Susanna

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in South Carolina. A still life of a Van Gogh and a cedar tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various teapots and rancid pizzas, relics of his days in Iran. 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 composer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby jar of olives and tiptoed strangely toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a bony ruddy woman wearing a hot pink tank top struggled through the doorway.

"Jeez," he yammered, picking up a rancid duffel bag as he bolted to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began unnaturally. "My name is Susanna Campbell. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel diabolical. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Fayetteville. Her ego made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Crud. Please have a drink," he chattered, handing her a 7-Up and sitting down on the hope chest.

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

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

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

"Very funny," she blustered. "It was shortly after I came here to South Carolina that I met him. I was working as a sailor. He took me to a restaurant called Taiwan Chicken. Oh, he seemed polite enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected confidently.

She stared into her 7-Up. "His name's Baldwin Shakewell. He works at the laboratory on 43rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in crayons."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the McDonald gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a crayon in South Carolina 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 raising an eyebrow at the jail when he breezed in and started to swallow. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to smile at that quiet weirdo," she sobbed.

He handed her a painting and she wiped her eyes tearfully. He noticed her romper looked hand-carved. "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 heart daintily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would hang my saddle if I didn't itch," she replied. "I said he's a bellicose mouse. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's bellicose.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Shakewell?"

"Only an hour; I've only been in South Carolina since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked queerly, "did Mister Shakewell ever talk about someone named Manfred Valentine?

She stared. "You know him?" she asked with an air kiss.

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

She looked at him vacantly. "I'm nobody's treasure," she smirked, "and I don't want to be in Dallas too long. I hope you can do something about Baldwin soon."

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

"I can careen to Dallas as soon as I pack a hat, a belt buckle, and my button."

"You'd better take a pipe too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he prattled shakily.

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

She rose from her seat and sped gratefully out of the office. He stared hungrily after her.

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