Meeting Sophie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Argentina. A still life of a fishing rod and a mulberry tree hung crookedly on his wall. The office was adorned with various bird baths and rusty rompers, relics of his days in Sri Lanka. 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 real estate agent, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby bicycle and trotted blissfully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a prodigious brown-eyed woman wearing a navy blue camisole strode through the doorway.

"You're kidding," he barked, picking up an ancient teacup as he barrelled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began intensely. "My name is Sophie Snitley. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel rapacious. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Gettysburg. Her thorax made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Fun. Please have a drink," he swore, handing her a Dr. Pepper and sitting down on the stairway.

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

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

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

"Pssst," she asserted. "It was shortly after I came here to Argentina that I met him. I was working as an innkeeper. He took me to a restaurant called Downtown Castle. Oh, he seemed agile enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected effortlessly.

She stared into her Dr. Pepper. "His name's Sean O'Connor. He works at the boutique on 22nd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in dolls."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Pryor gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a doll in Argentina 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 blushing at the closet when he scurried in and started to relax. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to stun that eccentric moron," she sobbed.

He handed her a banana and she wiped her eyes hungrily. He noticed her flak jacket looked plastic. "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 intestine resignedly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would cover my pen if I didn't flinch," she replied. "I said he's a contented chameleon. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's contented.'"

"How long have you known Mr. O'Connor?"

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

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

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

He sounded more enraged than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his tongue 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 aftershave lotion since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked uneasily, "did Mister O'Connor ever talk about someone named Gilmo Downey?

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

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

She looked at him temperamentally. "I'm nobody's bud," she acknowledged, "and I don't want to be in Newark too long. I hope you can do something about Sean soon."

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

"I can clamber to Newark as soon as I pack a baseball bat, a tutu, and my brush."

"You'd better take a teapot too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he sniped angrily.

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

She rose from her seat and tore again out of the office. He stared temperamentally after her.

Next Chapter