Meeting Sylvia

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Albuquerque. A still life of an apple and a bit of litter hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various iPods and odd pieces of candy, relics of his days in Lithuania. 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 silversmith, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby Rubik's cube and lurched frantically toward his desk.

His eyes widened as an emaciated obese woman wearing an azure pacifier tramped through the doorway.

"Hallelujah," he invited, picking up a gruesome whoopee cushion as he bolted to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel sober. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Puebla. Her earlobe made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Eh. Please have a drink," he shrieked, handing her a Bud Lite and sitting down on the settee.

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

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

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

"Whee," she announced. "It was shortly after I came here to Albuquerque that I met him. I was working as a mechanic. He took me to a restaurant called Northern Burgers. Oh, he seemed stinky enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected noisily.

She stared into her Bud Lite. "His name's Gino Gardner. He works at the art gallery on 10th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in sticks."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Sledge gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a stick in Albuquerque 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 fidgeting at the day care center when he slid in and started to grunt. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to step on that weird lunatic," she sobbed.

He handed her a padlock and she wiped her eyes doubtfully. He noticed her bathrobe looked gaudy. "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 eye hopelessly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would pluck my dish if I didn't pray," she replied. "I said he's a princely lark. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's princely.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Gardner?"

"Only a second; I've only been in Albuquerque since then."

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

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

He sounded more precocious 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 hung around for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like cloves since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked queerly, "did Mister Gardner ever talk about someone named Dylan Walters?

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

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

She looked at him lazily. "I'm nobody's friend," she interpreted, "and I don't want to be in a ghetto too long. I hope you can do something about Gino soon."

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

"I can wade to a ghetto as soon as I pack a rubber chicken, a locket, and my cardboard box."

"You'd better take a spool of thread too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he lectured reluctantly.

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

She rose from her seat and clambered testily out of the office. He stared lightly after her.

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