Meeting Shelley

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Malaysia. A still life of a crate and a stick hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various dollar bills and porcelain clams, relics of his days in Italy. 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 phlebotomist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby crutch and swaggered woodenly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a slinky cute woman wearing an orange shawl tumbled through the doorway.

"Diddly poo," he groveled, picking up a fluffy statue as he sped to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel dapper. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Johannesburg. Her front tooth made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Okay then. Please have a drink," he blathered, handing her a cup of Sanka and sitting down on the computer.

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

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

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

"Bingo," she whimpered. "It was shortly after I came here to Malaysia that I met him. I was working as a florist. He took me to a restaurant called the Beautiful Harvest. Oh, he seemed noble enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected accidentally.

She stared into her cup of Sanka. "His name's Arnold Morrissey. He works at the deli on 22nd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pieces of candy."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Brandon gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a piece of candy in Malaysia 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 vomiting at the city park when he padded in and started to nod. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to smile at that adorable coward," she sobbed.

He handed her an orchid and she wiped her eyes positively. He noticed her kimono looked striking. "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 front tooth sadly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would kill my gun if I didn't run," she replied. "I said he's a paranoid horsie. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's paranoid.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Morrissey?"

"Only a minute; I've only been in Malaysia since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked busily, "did Mister Morrissey ever talk about someone named Marvin Sartre?

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

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

She looked at him gleefully. "I'm nobody's cream puff," she chimed, "and I don't want to be in Athens too long. I hope you can do something about Arnold soon."

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

"I can gallop to Athens as soon as I pack a Lego set, a pair of Crocs, and my notebook."

"You'd better take a pearl too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he voiced dreamily.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's two hundred ninety-nine dollars as a retainer," she replied calmly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of bags of ice. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and slid dreamily out of the office. He stared effortlessly after her.

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