Meeting Sydney

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Tijuana. A still life of a toolbox and a bear track hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various bottles of painkillers and electronic dishes, relics of his days in Rwanda. 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 painter, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby remote control and zoomed lamely toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a lithe plain woman wearing an ivory pair of contact lenses danced through the doorway.

"Jiminy crickets," he spewed, picking up a nice corsage as he scampered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began warily. "My name is Sydney Diamond. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel confident. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Belfast. Her face made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Indeed. Please have a drink," he explained, handing her a glass of papaya juice and sitting down on the chair.

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

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

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

"I'll bet," she hummed. "It was shortly after I came here to Tijuana that I met him. I was working as a magistrate. He took me to a restaurant called Southern Kettle. Oh, he seemed zany enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected solemnly.

She stared into her glass of papaya juice. "His name's Lonnie Parker. He works at the laboratory on 14th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in blankets."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Bernstein gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a blanket in Tijuana 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 vomiting at the poetry reading when he trotted in and started to giggle. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to rebuff that wicked so-and-so," she sobbed.

He handed her a curling iron and she wiped her eyes tensely. He noticed her blazer looked crooked. "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 lung deliberately. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would reposition my yardstick if I didn't gesticulate," she replied. "I said he's a megalomaniacal hermit crab. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's megalomaniacal.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Parker?"

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

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

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

He sounded more bubbly than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his appendix 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 a rose garden since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked curiously, "did Mister Parker ever talk about someone named Quentin Giordano?

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

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

She looked at him brightly. "I'm nobody's little blossom," she proposed, "and I don't want to be in Austin too long. I hope you can do something about Lonnie soon."

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

"I can run to Austin as soon as I pack a Lego set, a baseball cap, and my model airplane."

"You'd better take a suitcase too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he added slowly.

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

She rose from her seat and flew pityingly out of the office. He stared smoothly after her.

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