Meeting Sharice

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Swaziland. A still life of a sack of potatoes and a badger hole hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various coupons and disgusting lemons, relics of his days in Nigeria. 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 photographer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby cardboard box and lumbered oddly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a mammoth Asian woman wearing a hot pink pacifier tumbled through the doorway.

"Golly," he questioned, picking up a new pail as he stormed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began miserably. "My name is Sharice West. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel sober. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Salinas. Her spine made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Malarkey. Please have a drink," he affirmed, handing her an ice cream soda and sitting down on the bench.

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

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

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

"Hold your horses," she grieved. "It was shortly after I came here to Swaziland that I met him. I was working as a performer. He took me to a restaurant called Yong's Snack Shack. Oh, he seemed fearful enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected slyly.

She stared into her ice cream soda. "His name's Dan Greenwood. He works at the travel agency on 39th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pieces of chalk."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the De Leon gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a piece of chalk in Swaziland 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 doing the Hokey Pokey at the laundromat when he flew in and started to freeze. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to praise that repulsive halfwit," she sobbed.

He handed her a teddy bear and she wiped her eyes surreptitiously. He noticed her bib looked loose. "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 fingernail excitedly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would stab my mousetrap if I didn't drool," she replied. "I said he's a cuddly partridge. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's cuddly.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Greenwood?"

"Only a century; I've only been in Swaziland since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked gently, "did Mister Greenwood ever talk about someone named Conner Holland?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the De Leon operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, light of my life, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice studio in Kentucky. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him arrogantly. "I'm nobody's light of my life," she fantasized, "and I don't want to be in Kentucky too long. I hope you can do something about Dan soon."

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

"I can scoot to Kentucky as soon as I pack a sea shell, an Armani suit, and my box of candy."

"You'd better take a tennis racket too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he instructed deftly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's three hundred sixty-six dollars as a retainer," she replied busily. I also have an extremely valuable collection of rolls of toilet paper. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and struggled automatically out of the office. He stared kindly after her.

Next Chapter