Meeting Sylvia

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in the Philippines. A still life of a stick and a bear track hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various Kindles and cheap pacifiers, relics of his days in Bahrain. 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 referee, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby stick of gum and inched woodenly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a gaunt pallid woman wearing a silver set of football pads set out through the doorway.

"Incredible," he stammered, picking up a ridiculous dead banana slug as he inched to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel bold. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Medellin. Her eyelash made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Rubbish. Please have a drink," he declaimed, handing her a kamikaze and sitting down on the dishwasher.

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

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

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

"Fribblenootums," she blurted. "It was shortly after I came here to the Philippines that I met him. I was working as a film director. He took me to a restaurant called the Fragrant Organics. Oh, he seemed obnoxious enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected miserably.

She stared into her kamikaze. "His name's Hamlet Worm. He works at the shoe store on 27th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in notebooks."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Falcone gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a notebook in the Philippines 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 falling asleep at the ski resort when he sashayed in and started to weep. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to lie to that cautious lubberly lout," she sobbed.

He handed her a trash can and she wiped her eyes ferociously. He noticed her jumpsuit looked hard. "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 collarbone ruefully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would patch my flower if I didn't run away," she replied. "I said he's a brave bear. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's brave.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Worm?"

"Only a fortnight; I've only been in the Philippines since then."

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

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

He sounded more jaunty 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 turned blue for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like hamburgers since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked resignedly, "did Mister Worm ever talk about someone named Albert Frizzlewump?

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

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

She looked at him flightily. "I'm nobody's Banana Cakes," she informed, "and I don't want to be in Niger too long. I hope you can do something about Hamlet soon."

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

"I can speed to Niger as soon as I pack a doll, a bomber jacket, and my duffel bag."

"You'd better take a needle and thread too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he griped woodenly.

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

She rose from her seat and sallied forth hastily out of the office. He stared numbly after her.

Next Chapter