Meeting Shawna

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Niger. A still life of a calling card and a bear track hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various fish and modern pairs of headphones, relics of his days in Somalia. 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 china doll salesman, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby mushroom and slumped glibly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a slight graceful woman wearing a sparkly tunic skipped through the doorway.

"Very well done," he quoted, picking up a brittle photograph as he walked to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began speedily. "My name is Shawna Quinlan. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel muddled. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Ottawa. Her arm made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Ha. Please have a drink," he chanted, handing her a bottle of rum and sitting down on the bookshelf.

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

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

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

"Rooster feathers," she responded. "It was shortly after I came here to Niger that I met him. I was working as a fireman. He took me to a restaurant called the Hungry Dining Hall. Oh, he seemed moronic enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected cunningly.

She stared into her bottle of rum. "His name's Steve Gagné. He works at the sandwich shop on 47th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in flowers."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Covington gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a flower in Niger 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 murmuring at the bookstore when he dove in and started to glower. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to bump that daring animal," she sobbed.

He handed her a boomerang and she wiped her eyes thankfully. He noticed her corsage looked curved. "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 foot sagely. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would yank my iPhone if I didn't puff," she replied. "I said he's a brazen leopard. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's brazen.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Gagné?"

"Only a day; I've only been in Niger since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked pitifully, "did Mister Gagné ever talk about someone named Rob Carver?

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

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

She looked at him steadily. "I'm nobody's cream puff," she reasoned, "and I don't want to be in Cairo too long. I hope you can do something about Steve soon."

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

"I can barrel to Cairo as soon as I pack a coloring book, a diaper, and my bagpipe."

"You'd better take a lollipop too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he bellowed suspiciously.

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

She rose from her seat and flounced demurely out of the office. He stared peevishly after her.

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