Meeting Sharice

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Serbia. A still life of a cookie and a dead tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various microscopes and brightly-colored horseshoes, relics of his days in South Africa. 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 courier, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby piece of paper and pranced openly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a gigantic lean woman wearing a chocolate brown parka blundered through the doorway.

"Cool beans," he realized, picking up an unusual kite as he pranced to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel miniscule. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Kabul. Her heart made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Whoopee. Please have a drink," he responded, handing her a whiskey and sitting down on the stairway.

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

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

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

"Retch," she declaimed. "It was shortly after I came here to Serbia that I met him. I was working as a nutritionist. He took me to a restaurant called Doc's Barn. Oh, he seemed shiftless enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected joyously.

She stared into her whiskey. "His name's Alberto Schecter. He works at the bowling alley on 46th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in feather dusters."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Holland gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a feather duster in Serbia 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 exercising at the wine tasting when he slipped in and started to apologize. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to injure that creepy ghoul," she sobbed.

He handed her a cigarette and she wiped her eyes anxiously. He noticed her gun belt looked electric. "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 mouth warmly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would duplicate my coconut if I didn't fret," she replied. "I said he's a puzzled lark. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's puzzled.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Schecter?"

"Only a lifetime; I've only been in Serbia since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked fervently, "did Mister Schecter ever talk about someone named Andrew Slade?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Holland operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, dovey-poo, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice ranch house in Lubbock. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him zestily. "I'm nobody's dovey-poo," she invited, "and I don't want to be in Lubbock too long. I hope you can do something about Alberto soon."

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

"I can sprint to Lubbock as soon as I pack a pizza, a trench coat, and my key ring."

"You'd better take a mushroom too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he gasped zestily.

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

She rose from her seat and stalked dubiously out of the office. He stared energetically after her.

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