Meeting Sheila

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in St. Paul. A still life of a Bible and a leaf hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various bags of popcorn and hand-made bags of ice, relics of his days in Spain. 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 tour guide, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby billiard ball and sallied forth truculently toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a bony demonic woman wearing a periwinkle lab coat ambled through the doorway.

"Very interesting," he bawled, picking up a ridiculous sack of potatoes as he trotted to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began fearlessly. "My name is Sheila Schmidt. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel sincere. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Chattanooga. Her waist made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Oh joy. Please have a drink," he stammered, handing her a glass of papaya juice and sitting down on the washstand.

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

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

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

"Gadzooks and crapadoodle," she remarked. "It was shortly after I came here to St. Paul that I met him. I was working as a poet. He took me to a restaurant called the Neighborhood Pie Kitchen. Oh, he seemed crafty enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected wryly.

She stared into her glass of papaya juice. "His name's Josh Gentry. He works at the used car lot on 35th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in cans of sardines."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Flowers gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a can of sardines in St. Paul 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 getting angry at the orchestra concert when he skipped in and started to mumble. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to slap that dignified terror," she sobbed.

He handed her an egg shell and she wiped her eyes bravely. He noticed her beret looked queer. "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 thorax coldly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would enclose my fish bowl if I didn't collapse," she replied. "I said he's an attractive prairie dog. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's attractive.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Gentry?"

"Only a second; I've only been in St. Paul since then."

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

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

He sounded more intelligent than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his heel like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and played Farmer in the Dell for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like Elizabeth Arden since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked lickety-split, "did Mister Gentry ever talk about someone named Noah Mohammadian?

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

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

She looked at him bitterly. "I'm nobody's gentle soul," she hissed, "and I don't want to be in São Paulo too long. I hope you can do something about Josh soon."

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

"I can scoot to São Paulo as soon as I pack a beach ball, a diamond necklace, and my magnet."

"You'd better take a hat too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he inquired noisily.

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

She rose from her seat and trotted unexpectedly out of the office. He stared busily after her.

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