Meeting Sadie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in São Paulo. A still life of a vase and a bird's nest hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various stuffed bunnies and wooden sticks, relics of his days in Jamaica. 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 ditch digger, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby fish and tumbled cruelly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a potbellied cadaverous woman wearing a golden ski mask crept through the doorway.

"Dubious," he repeated, picking up an abnormal package as he crawled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began silently. "My name is Sadie Dion. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel sleek. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Montreal. Her kneecap made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Abracadabra. Please have a drink," he ranted, handing her a cup of espresso and sitting down on the beanbag chair.

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

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

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

"Aaack," she pronounced. "It was shortly after I came here to São Paulo that I met him. I was working as an au pair. He took me to a restaurant called In and Out Bakery. Oh, he seemed sophisticated enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected curiously.

She stared into her cup of espresso. "His name's Arthur Vanderbilt. He works at the supermarket on 39th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in cans of beans."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Bobble gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a can of beans in São Paulo 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 stepping aside at the spelling bee when he leapt in and started to sway. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to sneer at that frightened renegade," she sobbed.

He handed her an arrowhead and she wiped her eyes deliberately. He noticed her garland looked jagged. "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 head noisily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would manage my doll if I didn't twitch," she replied. "I said he's a diabolical goblin. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's diabolical.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Vanderbilt?"

"Only a month; I've only been in São Paulo since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked nicely, "did Mister Vanderbilt ever talk about someone named Alexei Simons?

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

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

She looked at him again. "I'm nobody's queenie," she mouthed, "and I don't want to be in Burbank too long. I hope you can do something about Arthur soon."

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

"I can blunder to Burbank as soon as I pack an iPod, a suit of armor, and my fork."

"You'd better take a chain too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he responded grimly.

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

She rose from her seat and careened obediently out of the office. He stared resignedly after her.

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