Meeting Shandra

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Wisconsin. A still life of a stack of papers and a spring hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various telephone books and hideous sponges, relics of his days in Lithuania. 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 social worker, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby napkin and whirled violently toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a skinny lanky woman wearing a turquoise polo shirt ambled through the doorway.

"Huzzah," he cajoled, picking up a fabulous bird feeder as he tramped to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel idiotic. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Chicago. Her heart made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Holy frijole. Please have a drink," he chuckled, handing her a Shirley Temple and sitting down on the washstand.

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

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

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

"Voilà," she yelped. "It was shortly after I came here to Wisconsin that I met him. I was working as a philatelist. He took me to a restaurant called the Green Lounge. Oh, he seemed shiftless enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected crazily.

She stared into her Shirley Temple. "His name's Lex Judd. He works at the beauty salon on 42nd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in fossils."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Schecter gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a fossil in Wisconsin 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 screaming at the disco when he sped in and started to murmur. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to call the cops on that corpulent pigdog," she sobbed.

He handed her a roll of toilet paper and she wiped her eyes deliberately. He noticed her wet suit looked cotton. "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 gall bladder later. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would hammer my chess set if I didn't murmur," she replied. "I said he's a choleric ferret. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's choleric.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Judd?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked coldly, "did Mister Judd ever talk about someone named Lee Mainz?

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

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

She looked at him slyly. "I'm nobody's cuddle-bear," she added, "and I don't want to be in Argentina too long. I hope you can do something about Lex soon."

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

"I can climb to Argentina as soon as I pack a handkerchief, a mask, and my camera."

"You'd better take a protest sign too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he instructed cunningly.

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

She rose from her seat and loped violently out of the office. He stared cheerfully after her.

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