Meeting Shandra

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Bagdad. A still life of a bat and an apple tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various accordions and old billiard balls, 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 shyster, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby can of sardines and rolled slyly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a petite olive woman wearing a salmon ring straggled through the doorway.

"Yep," he mumbled, picking up a bizarre amulet as he sashayed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began sorrowfully. "My name is Shandra Snively. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel brassy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Lakewood. Her gut made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Oh my. Please have a drink," he lectured, handing her a bottle of water and sitting down on the bed.

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

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

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

"Woof," she gasped. "It was shortly after I came here to Bagdad that I met him. I was working as an investment banker. He took me to a restaurant called Imperial Plate. Oh, he seemed dignified enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected speedily.

She stared into her bottle of water. "His name's Edward Fosbender. He works at the bike shop on 28th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in diaries."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Perry gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a diary in Bagdad 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 crying at the swimming pool when he lumbered in and started to snore. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to disparage that zany monkey," she sobbed.

He handed her a ping-pong paddle and she wiped her eyes courteously. He noticed her armband looked frilly. "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 spine unnaturally. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would reposition my cream puff if I didn't meow," she replied. "I said he's an ambitious flea. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's ambitious.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Fosbender?"

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

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

"Okay, so this Edward Fosbender 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 knuckle like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and got upset for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like gasoline since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked peevishly, "did Mister Fosbender ever talk about someone named Shane Ordway?

She stared. "You know him?" she asked with an evil eye.

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

She looked at him grandly. "I'm nobody's moonbeam," she panted, "and I don't want to be in Comoros too long. I hope you can do something about Edward soon."

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

"I can lope to Comoros as soon as I pack a rubber chicken, a diamond necklace, and my saw."

"You'd better take a comic book too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he lectured coolly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's four hundred eighteen dollars as a retainer," she replied excitedly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of pizzas. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and sashayed crazily out of the office. He stared later after her.

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