Meeting Sophie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Detroit. A still life of a tennis racket and a raspberry bush hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various fire hoses and spongy tennis rackets, relics of his days in Italy. 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 school principal, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby Barbie doll and marched slowly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a stocky Asian woman wearing a sparkly dirndl slithered through the doorway.

"Crud," he sobbed, picking up a small chamber pot as he lurched to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel ungainly. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Cologne. Her belly made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Crud. Please have a drink," he chanted, handing her a bottle of rum and sitting down on the chest of drawers.

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

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

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

"Adios," she asked. "It was shortly after I came here to Detroit that I met him. I was working as a weatherman. He took me to a restaurant called the Fast Clover. Oh, he seemed irate enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected tearfully.

She stared into her bottle of rum. "His name's Nathan Darnell. He works at the storage unit on 20th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in clams."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Finlayson gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a clam in Detroit 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 yawning at the ski resort when he inched in and started to swallow. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to trick that loving tattletale," she sobbed.

He handed her an ironing board and she wiped her eyes bitterly. He noticed her beanie looked torn. "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 abdomen sternly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would taste my deck of cards if I didn't pucker," she replied. "I said he's a precocious swan. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's precocious.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Darnell?"

"Only an hour; I've only been in Detroit since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked pitifully, "did Mister Darnell ever talk about someone named Donald Papadapolous?

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

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

She looked at him clumsily. "I'm nobody's babe," she pronounced, "and I don't want to be in Moldova too long. I hope you can do something about Nathan soon."

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

"I can sneak to Moldova as soon as I pack a peach, a diamond bracelet, and my candle."

"You'd better take a football too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he explained brightly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's thirty-six dollars as a retainer," she replied daringly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of hacksaws. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and climbed blissfully out of the office. He stared valiantly after her.

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