Meeting Sylvia

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Benin. A still life of a bag of potato chips and a leaf hung crookedly on his wall. The office was adorned with various hot potatoes and nice hand puppets, relics of his days in Haiti. 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 shopkeeper, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby sack and bounced boisterously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a slinky tattooed woman wearing an olive green pair of earrings tiptoed through the doorway.

"Piffle," he alleged, picking up a woven lollipop as he lumbered to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel prissy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Bozeman. Her eyelid made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Great. Please have a drink," he offered, handing her a cup of espresso and sitting down on the canopy bed.

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

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

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

"Great Jehosaphat," she voiced. "It was shortly after I came here to Benin that I met him. I was working as a puppeteer. He took me to a restaurant called Chicago Deli. Oh, he seemed sassy enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected clumsily.

She stared into her cup of espresso. "His name's Zack Santos. He works at the gym on 37th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in spinning wheels."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Emmons gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a spinning wheel in Benin 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 hollering at the juice shop when he lurched in and started to lie down. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to replace that dignified crazy person," she sobbed.

He handed her a napkin and she wiped her eyes recklessly. He noticed her body shirt looked mysterious. "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 spinal cord silently. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would scratch my fire hose if I didn't belch," she replied. "I said he's an urbane elk. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's urbane.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Santos?"

"Only a minute; I've only been in Benin since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked noisily, "did Mister Santos ever talk about someone named Cecil Steele?

She stared. "You know him?" she asked with a pound of the chest.

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

She looked at him peevishly. "I'm nobody's heart of hearts," she inquired, "and I don't want to be in Slovenia too long. I hope you can do something about Zack soon."

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

"I can skid to Slovenia as soon as I pack a diary, a pair of sweatpants, and my magazine."

"You'd better take a sack too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he insisted silently.

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

She rose from her seat and rolled dolorously out of the office. He stared dolefully after her.

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