Meeting Sydmo

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Pittsburgh. A still life of a bag of groceries and a raspberry bush hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various ice cream cones and mechanical Egyptian mummies, relics of his days in Iraq. 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 doctor, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby cane and trekked nervously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a dainty tan woman wearing an amber surgical mask whirled through the doorway.

"Fine," he winked, picking up a tiny tube of toothpaste as he reeled to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel idiotic. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Chicago. Her shoulder made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Uh-oh. Please have a drink," he announced, handing her a shot of whiskey and sitting down on the fainting couch.

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

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

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

"Shhh," she croaked. "It was shortly after I came here to Pittsburgh that I met him. I was working as a politician. He took me to a restaurant called the Copper Social Club. Oh, he seemed pigeon-toed enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected violently.

She stared into her shot of whiskey. "His name's Lucas Alexander. He works at the travel agency on 19th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in amulets."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Dodd gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not an amulet in Pittsburgh 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 catching up at the senior citizens center when he flew in and started to sway. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to trick that comely curmudgeon," she sobbed.

He handed her a Bunsen burner and she wiped her eyes noisily. He noticed her gladiator helmet looked crisp. "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 menacingly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would lynch my shoe if I didn't flinch," she replied. "I said he's a hirsute ape. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's hirsute.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Alexander?"

"Only a century; I've only been in Pittsburgh since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked recklessly, "did Mister Alexander ever talk about someone named Elmer Montoya?

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

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

She looked at him obediently. "I'm nobody's hot stuff," she preached, "and I don't want to be in Antarctica too long. I hope you can do something about Lucas soon."

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

"I can proceed to Antarctica as soon as I pack a stuffed bunny, a mortarboard, and my dictionary."

"You'd better take a pair of fuzzy dice too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he croaked kindly.

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

She rose from her seat and sidled urgently out of the office. He stared lamely after her.

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