Meeting Sydmo

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in the Congo. A still life of a baseball and a spring hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various African violets and old African violets, relics of his days in Greece. 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 tailor, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby stamp and sneaked ignobly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a chubby flabby woman wearing an indigo pair of jeans lumbered through the doorway.

"Voilà," he murmured, picking up an electronic paper towel as he zoomed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began pitifully. "My name is Sydmo Papadopoulos. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel dreadful. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Thornton. Her shin made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Neato. Please have a drink," he uttered, handing her a Brandy Alexander and sitting down on the wooden crate.

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

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

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

"My word," she responded. "It was shortly after I came here to the Congo that I met him. I was working as a dog catcher. He took me to a restaurant called the Hidden Lounge. Oh, he seemed hairy enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected surreptitiously.

She stared into her Brandy Alexander. "His name's Tommy Bergstrom. He works at the opera house on 6th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in toys."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Hudson gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a toy in the Congo 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 showing up at the poetry reading when he leapt in and started to exercise. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to irritate that sexy egomaniac," she sobbed.

He handed her a candy bar and she wiped her eyes happily. He noticed her pair of UGGs looked rigid. "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 shoulder daringly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would grease my peanut if I didn't cough," she replied. "I said he's an obnoxious parrot. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's obnoxious.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Bergstrom?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked primly, "did Mister Bergstrom ever talk about someone named Dakota Moretti?

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

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

She looked at him arrogantly. "I'm nobody's doll," she peeped, "and I don't want to be in Belize too long. I hope you can do something about Tommy soon."

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

"I can swing to Belize as soon as I pack a stuffed owl, a polo shirt, and my fish bowl."

"You'd better take a firecracker too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he judged properly.

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

She rose from her seat and sailed wryly out of the office. He stared urgently after her.

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