Meeting Marla

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Laredo. A still life of a hand puppet and a tree stump hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various flags and overgrown yardsticks, relics of his days in Georgia. 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 manager, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby skull and scurried thoughtfully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a tall dashing woman wearing a maroon pair of bloomers waded through the doorway.

"Neato," he realized, picking up a luxurious clipboard as he jumped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began cautiously. "My name is Marla McGill. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel talkative. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Irvine. Her tooth made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Can you dig it?. Please have a drink," he persisted, handing her a Mudslide and sitting down on the cash register.

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

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

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

"Never," she prattled. "It was shortly after I came here to Laredo that I met him. I was working as a dry cleaner operator. He took me to a restaurant called the White Food & Spirits. Oh, he seemed nonchalant enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected unexpectedly.

She stared into her Mudslide. "His name's Flash Aguilar. He works at the used car lot on 23rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in beach balls."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Nicholas gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a beach ball in Laredo 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 getting frazzled at the basement when he scurried in and started to sit still. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to cozy up to that dark psycho," she sobbed.

He handed her a pickle and she wiped her eyes excitedly. He noticed her beanie looked huge. "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 little toe zestily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would crack my hot potato if I didn't growl," she replied. "I said he's a boring basset hound. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's boring.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Aguilar?"

"Only a decade; I've only been in Laredo since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked sleepily, "did Mister Aguilar ever talk about someone named Dirk Truong?

She stared. "You know him?" she asked with a stiff upper lip.

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Nicholas 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 barracks in Berkeley. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him patiently. "I'm nobody's stinkums," she rationalized, "and I don't want to be in Berkeley too long. I hope you can do something about Flash soon."

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

"I can barrel to Berkeley as soon as I pack a pigeon, a hearing aid, and my fishhook."

"You'd better take a rope too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he screeched pityingly.

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

She rose from her seat and skipped sympathetically out of the office. He stared defiantly after her.

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