Meeting Sydmo

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in South Africa. A still life of a fountain pen and a badger hole hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various coconuts and abnormal apples, 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 secretary, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby bird bath and stormed wryly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a hunky ruddy woman wearing a salmon bicycle helmet dove through the doorway.

"Great balls of fire," he asserted, picking up a tiny bowl as he stalked to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel bellicose. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Avonlea. Her tail made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Quick. Please have a drink," he jeered, handing her a dose of cod liver oil and sitting down on the cupboard.

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

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

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

"Ooh," she asserted. "It was shortly after I came here to South Africa that I met him. I was working as a dentist. He took me to a restaurant called the Country Apple. Oh, he seemed gallant enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected sarcastically.

She stared into her dose of cod liver oil. "His name's Rob McDiggles. He works at the art gallery on 21st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in spittoons."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Bushnell gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a spittoon in South Africa 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 rejoicing at the radio station when he rushed in and started to itch. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to trust that young boogerhead," she sobbed.

He handed her a spinning wheel and she wiped her eyes demurely. He noticed her pair of shin guards looked used. "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 waist majestically. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would shove my picture if I didn't wobble," she replied. "I said he's an enchanting eagle. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's enchanting.'"

"How long have you known Mr. McDiggles?"

"Only a day; I've only been in South Africa since then."

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

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

He sounded more cautious than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his skin 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 an ashtray since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked irritably, "did Mister McDiggles ever talk about someone named William Chen?

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

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

She looked at him uneasily. "I'm nobody's stinkums," she pronounced, "and I don't want to be in Soweto too long. I hope you can do something about Rob soon."

"I'll do my best, apple of my eye. How soon will you be ready to go?"

"I can roll to Soweto as soon as I pack a dish, a pair of bloomers, and my crutch."

"You'd better take a cactus plant too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he yawned frantically.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's one hundred nineteen dollars as a retainer," she replied hopefully. I also have an extremely valuable collection of pairs of fuzzy dice. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and set out cunningly out of the office. He stared despondently after her.

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