Meeting Darcy

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in the Amazon. A still life of an urn and an apple tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various pairs of pliers and slimy peace pipes, relics of his days in Venezuela. 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 preacher, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby etching and hopped timidly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as an emaciated disheveled woman wearing a salmon jacket made a beeline through the doorway.

"Encore," he yelped, picking up a dusty cracker as he swung to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began boisterously. "My name is Darcy Shepard. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel choleric. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in St. Louis. Her larynx made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Hello. Please have a drink," he croaked, handing her a Shirley Temple and sitting down on the ironing board.

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

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

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

"Bam," she answered. "It was shortly after I came here to the Amazon that I met him. I was working as a watchmaker. He took me to a restaurant called Madrid Wall. Oh, he seemed drowsy enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected violently.

She stared into her Shirley Temple. "His name's Smiley Easton. He works at the movie theater on 47th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in comic books."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Tannenbaum gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a comic book in the Amazon 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 awakening at the Elvis chapel when he made a beeline in and started to hang around. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to draw strength from that selfish ninny," she sobbed.

He handed her a stuffed kitten and she wiped her eyes crazily. He noticed her body shirt looked damaged. "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 bladder quietly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would understand my cactus plant if I didn't stand by," she replied. "I said he's a crafty ape. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's crafty.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Easton?"

"Only a blink of an eye; I've only been in the Amazon since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked humbly, "did Mister Easton ever talk about someone named Clive Wibbles?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Tannenbaum 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 junk car in Petaluma. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him solemnly. "I'm nobody's hot stuff," she screamed, "and I don't want to be in Petaluma too long. I hope you can do something about Smiley soon."

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

"I can tramp to Petaluma as soon as I pack a hacksaw, a bulletproof vest, and my rope."

"You'd better take a peach too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he boomed mysteriously.

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

She rose from her seat and paraded lazily out of the office. He stared dubiously after her.

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