Summer was heating up, so the landlord decided to turn off my electricity.

 

Strictly speaking, that's illegal. I could take him to court, but there is that small matter of unpaid back rent. Instead, I plugged an extension cord into the hall lights and ran it in over the drop ceiling. That could power everything but the air conditioner.

 

Most summer days, I sit here for hours listening to the phone not ring. Unfortunately, my desk fan picked today to burn out. I'd torn it apart using my penknife for a screwdriver, but fixing it was another matter entirely.

 

I was sitting there with the hall door open, praying for a breeze, when Sheila stopped by. She works for Professor Greene, a brilliant (not to say mad) scientist and former client.

 

"Here I thought I was your only fan. What happened?"

 

I sighed. "It's broke, like me. Old and worn out."

 

"Oh, you! Why don't you open a window or something? It's stifling in here."

 

"They're sealed shut, and the air conditioning's out." I didn't want to get into the details.

 

"Sounds like a good day to play hooky. The Professor's at a conference, so I finagled an invitation to spend the evening at a philanthropist's yacht party. Care to join me?"

 

I didn't need to be asked twice.

 

* * *

 

In addition to being so pretty it's distracting, Sheila's got a million sterling qualities. All else aside, she's willing to spend the odd evening with a down-on-his-luck shamus even if he is between paychecks. She's far too good for the likes of me, but try as I might I can't convince her.

 

The yacht was full of rich people and their sycophants. My rumpled old suit would never have made it past the gangway, but with her on my arm I virtually invisible. We danced for hours and drank our unknown host's champagne to stay cool. In spite of its bad start, my day was turning out all right.

 

She lives with her mother in a crumbling brownstone about three blocks from my apartment, so naturally we shared a cab home. On the way, she kept after me until I told her the whole story about the air conditioning. Her brow furrowed in thought for half a moment, and then she smiled.

 

"I've got the perfect solution," she told me. "Driver! Change of plans; we're going uptown."

 

Greene's new lab is in converted warehouse, but I didn't get to see it. She was in and out in under a minute, carrying a Coleman thermos.

 

"It's something the Professor invented accidentally. He's still trying to figure out how it works. Take it into the office with you tomorrow, and open the top the tiniest crack. It'll cool it off in no time."

 

I took the thermos gingerly. "Do I have to be careful about spilling it or anything?"

 

She laughed. "Oh, Jack, you worry too much! Would I give it to you unless it was perfectly safe?"

 

"But—"

 

"No, you be nice about it now and say, Thank you, Sheila."

 

I sighed. "Thank you, Sheila."

 

She smiled at me, displaying her perfect dimples. "See? I knew you could be house-trained."

 

* * *

 

Whatever it was, Greene's dingus worked like a charm. I twisted the lid half off and the air in my cramped office grew icy. By afternoon it was so cold I decided to seal the thermos again, but it had iced up and I couldn't turn it. Instead, I just wrapped it in a spare blanket. That helped.

 

I got a call to help a colleague with a tail job, just routine, and spent the night watching the back door of an after-hours joint in Queens. Boring or not, it was worth a couple hundred bucks, and I was smiling when he showed up to relieve me. I went home to grab a nap and a shower, and got to the office only a little late.

 

I'd had visitors the night before, the kind who don't knock. I knew because one was still there. He had the thermos in one hand and the cap in the other, and was layered in six inches of ice. I was certain he must be dead until I saw a thin streamer of steam ooze out of his blue nose.

 

I reached for the phone but paused. How could I hope to explain the dingus to the cops? I knew the Professor could handle himself, but Sheila would certainly get in trouble. I couldn't let that happen.

 

I broke into the janitor's closet for a hammer and screwdriver, then used them to carefully chip the thermos free. I peeked inside, but all I could see was a shining blue ball in a cloud of mist. I capped the thermos as well as I could, then stashed it in the vacant office next to mine before calling an ambulance. While I waited I got as much of the ice off him as I could.

 

Burglars are people too, ya know?

 

* * *

 

The cops didn't believe a man could freeze solid in my office without me knowing how, not in a Manhattan summer. But I stuck to my story and eventually they turned me loose — with a tail, and probably a phone tap.

 

I swung by Mel's Diner for an evening breakfast, then borrowed their phone to call Sheila. "I couldn't get the lid all the way back on," I confessed. "It's probably growing into a huge block of ice by now. I've got no idea what to do."

 

She laughed at me. "It's just a thermos, Jack. It's not magic. Buy a new one, and just transfer the cryolizer over."

 

"Who the what now?"

 

"Dump it in."

 

"I won't break it?"

 

"Don't be silly," she said, still laughing, and hung up.

 

The women in my life are all smarter than me. I wonder why that is...