Meeting Sharon

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Grand Rapids. A still life of a coin and an egg shell hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various abacuses and autographed flutes, relics of his days in Peru. 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 carpenter, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby brush and dashed bitterly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a small ruddy woman wearing a scarlet toupee loped through the doorway.

"Ugh," he argued, picking up a charming feather as he danced to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel prissy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Los Angeles. Her waist made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Remarkable. Please have a drink," he muttered, handing her a cup of hot chocolate and sitting down on the cash register.

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

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

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

"Criminy," she barked. "It was shortly after I came here to Grand Rapids that I met him. I was working as a wallpaper hanger. He took me to a restaurant called the Country Pig. Oh, he seemed arrogant enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected flightily.

She stared into her cup of hot chocolate. "His name's Thad Sorensen. He works at the pub on 41st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in flashlights."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Rivera gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a flashlight in Grand Rapids 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 jerking at the city park when he strode in and started to grin. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to defeat that jolly cootieface," she sobbed.

He handed her a spinning wheel and she wiped her eyes vacantly. He noticed her wizard's hat looked funny. "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 eyelash openly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would pinch my washrag if I didn't cry," she replied. "I said he's a stubby butterfly. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's stubby.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Sorensen?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked swiftly, "did Mister Sorensen ever talk about someone named Randall McGee?

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

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

She looked at him gingerly. "I'm nobody's twinkie," she interrupted, "and I don't want to be in Slovenia too long. I hope you can do something about Thad soon."

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

"I can straggle to Slovenia as soon as I pack a top, a gnu costume, and my book."

"You'd better take a shoe too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he responded victoriously.

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

She rose from her seat and paraded jokingly out of the office. He stared grimly after her.

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