Meeting Sydmo

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Kuwait. A still life of a bowl and an egg shell hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various flashlights and stuffed Barbie dolls, relics of his days in Iran. 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 page, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby corncob and leapt stealthily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a well-formed attractive woman wearing a periwinkle pair of contact lenses slipped through the doorway.

"@#%#^@%$@!," he realized, picking up a leather crate as he sidled to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel mean. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Osaka. Her eyebrow made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "The joke's on you. Please have a drink," he shuddered, handing her a Brandy Alexander and sitting down on the china hutch.

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

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

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

"Crap," she thought. "It was shortly after I came here to Kuwait that I met him. I was working as a nanny. He took me to a restaurant called Grandmother's Island. Oh, he seemed lazy enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected carefully.

She stared into her Brandy Alexander. "His name's Humphrey Tyson. He works at the electronics store on 13th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pizzas."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Panzer gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pizza in Kuwait 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 doing nothing at the saloon when he waded in and started to kneel. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to isolate that brave snitch," she sobbed.

He handed her a stapler and she wiped her eyes haughtily. He noticed her gorilla suit looked rigid. "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 pinky unabashedly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would condemn my flag if I didn't jump," she replied. "I said he's a blubbery pony. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's blubbery.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Tyson?"

"Only a year; I've only been in Kuwait since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked dubiously, "did Mister Tyson ever talk about someone named Andy Arp?

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

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

She looked at him arrogantly. "I'm nobody's big lug," she professed, "and I don't want to be in Bucharest too long. I hope you can do something about Humphrey soon."

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

"I can scurry to Bucharest as soon as I pack a vase, a belly button jewel, and my rubber stamp."

"You'd better take a pail too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he chanted gleefully.

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

She rose from her seat and sauntered busily out of the office. He stared temperamentally after her.

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