Meeting Sydney

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Atlanta. A still life of a ticket and a stone hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various flowerpots and nifty cans of soup, relics of his days in France. 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 engineer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby comic book and sashayed charmingly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a colossal nervous woman wearing a sea green ribbon hopped through the doorway.

"As if," he alleged, picking up a fabulous Barbie doll as he jumped to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel noble. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Pueblo. Her forehead made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Bullpuckey. Please have a drink," he shuddered, handing her a painkiller and sitting down on the chair.

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

"This is difficult for me," she blustered, glancing at the heavy layer of makeup he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."

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

"Mother of peanut butter," she preached. "It was shortly after I came here to Atlanta that I met him. I was working as a street sweeper. He took me to a restaurant called New York Emperor. Oh, he seemed statuesque enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected urgently.

She stared into her painkiller. "His name's Rosario Bronner. He works at the saloon on 12th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in toolboxes."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Schreiber gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a toolbox in Atlanta 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 inhaling at the day care center when he scurried in and started to blink. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to marry that lanky wuss," she sobbed.

He handed her a model airplane and she wiped her eyes jokingly. He noticed her jogging suit looked gooey. "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 mouth blindly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would seal my button if I didn't daydream," she replied. "I said he's a wary buffalo. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's wary.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Bronner?"

"Only a lifetime; I've only been in Atlanta since then."

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

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

He sounded more quiet 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 snickered for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like a pig since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked carelessly, "did Mister Bronner ever talk about someone named Kenneth Van Bloom?

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

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

She looked at him suspiciously. "I'm nobody's kitten," she prattled, "and I don't want to be in Aurora too long. I hope you can do something about Rosario soon."

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

"I can sashay to Aurora as soon as I pack a pickle, a jumpsuit, and my piggy bank."

"You'd better take a knitting needle too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he persisted violently.

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

She rose from her seat and sidled awkwardly out of the office. He stared zestily after her.

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