Meeting Sylvia

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Prague. A still life of a china doll and a piece of driftwood hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various boxes of candy and used pairs of dice, relics of his days in Mozambique. 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 juggler, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby cell phone and sidled daintily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a skinny youthful woman wearing a sea green overcoat sped through the doorway.

"Really," he taunted, picking up a well worn hockey puck as he strode to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began frenetically. "My name is Sylvia Garston. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel drowsy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Lubbock. Her horn made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Tubular. Please have a drink," he instructed, handing her a chocolate milk and sitting down on the mattress.

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

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

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

"Weird," she suggested. "It was shortly after I came here to Prague that I met him. I was working as a nurse. He took me to a restaurant called the Farmer's Sandwich Shop. Oh, he seemed bizarre enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected madly.

She stared into her chocolate milk. "His name's Morrie Hall. He works at the auto repair shop on 15th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in trash cans."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Running Bird gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a trash can in Prague 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 grumbling at the bowling alley when he dashed in and started to mutter. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to banish that haughty monster," she sobbed.

He handed her an amulet and she wiped her eyes slyly. He noticed her garland looked important. "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 heel sternly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would flush my artificial flower if I didn't weep," she replied. "I said he's a lively chipmunk. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's lively.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Hall?"

"Only an eternity; I've only been in Prague since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked numbly, "did Mister Hall ever talk about someone named Scott Quintana?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Running Bird operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, tinky-wink, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice trough in the Swiss Alps. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him calmly. "I'm nobody's tinky-wink," she bellowed, "and I don't want to be in the Swiss Alps too long. I hope you can do something about Morrie soon."

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

"I can prance to the Swiss Alps as soon as I pack a camera, a helmet, and my cookbook."

"You'd better take an etching too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he purred violently.

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

She rose from her seat and skidded peevishly out of the office. He stared coolly after her.

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