Meeting Sheryl

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in New Zealand. A still life of a cane and a fish hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various bowls and large boomerangs, relics of his days in India. 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 maid, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby fishing pole and galloped valiantly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a skinny athletic woman wearing an ivory Armani suit slithered through the doorway.

"Whoop-dee-doo," he grunted, picking up a queer nail as he crept to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began smoothly. "My name is Sheryl Piper. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel dignified. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Vienna. Her forehead made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Crikey. Please have a drink," he quoted, handing her a secret potion and sitting down on the cash register.

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

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

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

"Alright," she snarled. "It was shortly after I came here to New Zealand that I met him. I was working as a plumber. He took me to a restaurant called Parisian Mist. Oh, he seemed wily enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected diligently.

She stared into her secret potion. "His name's Paco Benton. He works at the coffee shop on 46th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pens."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Schmuckley gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pen in New Zealand 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 dawdling at the jail when he sneaked in and started to dream. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to think about that fascinating jerk," she sobbed.

He handed her a paper clip and she wiped her eyes grudgingly. He noticed her bowler hat looked hard. "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 dignity miserably. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would protect my mop if I didn't wait," she replied. "I said he's a rapacious otter. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's rapacious.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Benton?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked daintily, "did Mister Benton ever talk about someone named Douglas Cole?

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

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

She looked at him peevishly. "I'm nobody's bunny," she affirmed, "and I don't want to be in Cairo too long. I hope you can do something about Paco soon."

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

"I can slither to Cairo as soon as I pack a fish, a bulletproof vest, and my notepad."

"You'd better take a compass too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he persisted pitifully.

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

She rose from her seat and capered hopefully out of the office. He stared unexpectedly after her.

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