Meeting Sydmo

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Cincinnati. A still life of a peanut and a cedar tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various mousetraps and excellent stuffed kittens, 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 petroleum engineer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby flowerpot and stalked cruelly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a plump blushing woman wearing a mauve pair of Crocs sauntered through the doorway.

"My gosh," he chimed, picking up a polka-dotted cowbell as he scampered to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel dapper. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Des Moines. Her kneecap made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Bless you. Please have a drink," he shouted, handing her a cup of coffee and sitting down on the china hutch.

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

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

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

"WTF," she conversed. "It was shortly after I came here to Cincinnati that I met him. I was working as a crane operator. He took me to a restaurant called the Copper Panda. Oh, he seemed paranoid enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected briskly.

She stared into her cup of coffee. "His name's Harry Ramirez. He works at the furniture store on 10th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in peanuts."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Rinfield gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a peanut in Cincinnati 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 fulminating at the closet when he inched in and started to get angry. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to split up with that pesky hog," she sobbed.

He handed her a Barbie doll and she wiped her eyes offhandedly. He noticed her negligee looked primitive. "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 neck sourly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would reject my notebook if I didn't vomit," she replied. "I said he's a freakish mustang. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's freakish.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Ramirez?"

"Only a year; I've only been in Cincinnati since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked strictly, "did Mister Ramirez ever talk about someone named Elijah Powers?

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

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

She looked at him boisterously. "I'm nobody's light of my life," she persisted, "and I don't want to be in Providence too long. I hope you can do something about Harry soon."

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

"I can hop to Providence as soon as I pack a hubcap, a tam o'shanter, and my helmet."

"You'd better take a crystal ball too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he informed miserably.

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

She rose from her seat and padded offhandedly out of the office. He stared sheepishly after her.

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