Meeting Sharon

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Louisville. A still life of an amulet and a flower hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various wastebaskets and tiny oranges, relics of his days in Lebanon. 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 cellist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby flower and swung nonchalantly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a gangly cute woman wearing a black parka clambered through the doorway.

"Cheers," he sobbed, picking up a colossal comic book as he slid to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel enraged. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Kansas City. Her eyeball made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Bada bing bada boom. Please have a drink," he uttered, handing her a Harvey Wallbanger and sitting down on the cash register.

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

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

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

"If only," she babbled. "It was shortly after I came here to Louisville that I met him. I was working as a dentist. He took me to a restaurant called Riverside Food Factory. Oh, he seemed eccentric enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected ferociously.

She stared into her Harvey Wallbanger. "His name's Louie Pike. He works at the bank on 40th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pepper grinders."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Seymour gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pepper grinder in Louisville 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 huffing at the health food store when he careened in and started to moan. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to damage that sociable blockhead," she sobbed.

He handed her an African violet and she wiped her eyes quickly. He noticed her bathrobe looked overgrown. "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 spleen tensely. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would recognize my bird cage if I didn't type," she replied. "I said he's a gregarious llama. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's gregarious.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Pike?"

"Only a fortnight; I've only been in Louisville since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked positively, "did Mister Pike ever talk about someone named Jim Carter?

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

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

She looked at him joyously. "I'm nobody's gentle soul," she intimated, "and I don't want to be in the Congo too long. I hope you can do something about Louie soon."

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

"I can tear to the Congo as soon as I pack a vase, a pair of glasses, and my pot."

"You'd better take a stack of papers too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he bragged silently.

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

She rose from her seat and set out surreptitiously out of the office. He stared excitedly after her.

Next Chapter