Meeting Sophia

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Scottsdale. A still life of a cream puff and a bear track hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various diagrams and bulky flashlights, relics of his days in Zambia. 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 fish rancher, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby sack and capered grimly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a miniature angelic woman wearing a chartreuse visor trotted through the doorway.

"My word," he stated, picking up a valuable pencil sharpener as he slumped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began dolorously. "My name is Sophia Rinfield. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel precocious. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Guadalajara. Her back made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Out of this world. Please have a drink," he shouted, handing her a Mai Tai and sitting down on the footstool.

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

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

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

"Shame," she harangued. "It was shortly after I came here to Scottsdale that I met him. I was working as a pathologist. He took me to a restaurant called China Farmer. Oh, he seemed adorable enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected hysterically.

She stared into her Mai Tai. "His name's Cory Romer. He works at the office supply store on 17th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in billfolds."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Findley gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a billfold in Scottsdale 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 waking up at the health club when he jumped in and started to mumble. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to confuse that affable pansy," she sobbed.

He handed her a paper airplane and she wiped her eyes accidentally. He noticed her polo shirt looked unusual. "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 funny bone quickly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would rebuild my Helmholz resonator if I didn't apologize," she replied. "I said he's an elderly goblin. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's elderly.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Romer?"

"Only a day; I've only been in Scottsdale since then."

"I see." He felt for his AK-47 in his shoulder holster. He was beginning to have a bad feeling about this.

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

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

"Tell me," he asked wryly, "did Mister Romer ever talk about someone named Spud Walters?

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

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

She looked at him confidently. "I'm nobody's pork chop," she agreed, "and I don't want to be in Norfolk too long. I hope you can do something about Cory soon."

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

"I can sprint to Norfolk as soon as I pack a paper clip, a dirndl, and my toolbox."

"You'd better take a muffin too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he crooned effortlessly.

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

She rose from her seat and loped woodenly out of the office. He stared patiently after her.

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