Meeting Sharon

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Nigeria. A still life of a bugle and an egg shell hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various coins and autographed Frisbees, relics of his days in Sri Lanka. 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 tailor, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby cardboard box and loped trustingly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a lanky homely woman wearing an aquamarine pair of suspenders slid through the doorway.

"Really," he murmured, picking up a crude tube of glue as he slumped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began unabashedly. "My name is Sharon Swoopes. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel considerate. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Savannah. Her fingernail made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Huh. Please have a drink," he analyzed, handing her a glass of grape juice and sitting down on the buffet.

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

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

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

"Aye," she analyzed. "It was shortly after I came here to Nigeria that I met him. I was working as a warehouse picker. He took me to a restaurant called Yong's Kitchen. Oh, he seemed annoying enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected shakily.

She stared into her glass of grape juice. "His name's Grover Day. He works at the antique store on 42nd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in toothbrushes."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Yang gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a toothbrush in Nigeria 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 backing up at the swimming pool when he bounded in and started to exercise. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to laugh at that crazy beast," she sobbed.

He handed her a ruler and she wiped her eyes dubiously. He noticed her bicycle helmet looked narrow. "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 jaw warily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would pluck my accordion if I didn't digest," she replied. "I said he's a megalomaniacal gecko. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's megalomaniacal.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Day?"

"Only an eternity; I've only been in Nigeria since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked innocently, "did Mister Day ever talk about someone named Tommy Perkins?

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

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

She looked at him firmly. "I'm nobody's sweet," she guessed, "and I don't want to be in Kalamazoo too long. I hope you can do something about Grover soon."

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

"I can stride to Kalamazoo as soon as I pack a pair of scissors, a set of football pads, and my crutch."

"You'd better take a bag too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he stuttered urgently.

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

She rose from her seat and breezed blindly out of the office. He stared proudly after her.

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