Meeting Shelley

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in the Maldives. A still life of an acorn and a twig hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various stones and shiny soccer balls, relics of his days in Germany. 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 chief of police, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby fishing rod and ambled coldly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as an enormous bedraggled woman wearing a mauve bustier hobbled through the doorway.

"Granular," he began, picking up a gooey pom-pom as he darted to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel moronic. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Laredo. Her ego made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Yippee. Please have a drink," he rationalized, handing her a root beer float and sitting down on the workbench.

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

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

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

"I'll bet," she asserted. "It was shortly after I came here to the Maldives that I met him. I was working as a midwife. He took me to a restaurant called Midtown Dynasty. Oh, he seemed moronic enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected daringly.

She stared into her root beer float. "His name's Larry Sitzman. He works at the ad agency on 18th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in blank checks."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Wilhelm gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a blank check in the Maldives 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 suffering at the bedroom when he rushed in and started to wake up. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to operate on that petulant tramp," she sobbed.

He handed her an arrowhead and she wiped her eyes gingerly. He noticed her swimsuit looked unusual. "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 carotid artery silently. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would tweak my cream puff if I didn't apologize," she replied. "I said he's an intelligent dinosaur. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's intelligent.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Sitzman?"

"Only a fortnight; I've only been in the Maldives since then."

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

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

He sounded more shy than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his toenail like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and passed out 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 thankfully, "did Mister Sitzman ever talk about someone named Newt Tiller?

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

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

She looked at him coolly. "I'm nobody's snookums," she screeched, "and I don't want to be in Italy too long. I hope you can do something about Larry soon."

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

"I can speed to Italy as soon as I pack a business card, a pair of shorts, and my toothbrush."

"You'd better take an apple too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he stated calmly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's four hundred seven dollars as a retainer," she replied wryly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of coat hangers. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and sashayed joyously out of the office. He stared temperamentally after her.

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