Meeting Darcy
He stared out the window overlooking the street. How long had it been since he had had a decent case, he thought immediately. If something didn't come along soon, he would find himself selling Big Gulps door to door.
He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Mississippi. A still life of a protest sign and a badger hole hung crookedly on his wall.
The office was cluttered with various Big Gulps and thick spinning wheels, relics of his days in Belize. 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 blogger, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby dollar bill and slithered hysterically toward his desk.
His eyes widened as a short tattooed woman wearing a violet sweatshirt climbed through the doorway.
"Kapow," he responded, picking up a waxy cane as he barrelled to his makeshift bar.
"How do you do," she began uselessly. "My name is Darcy Schwarz. I've come because I need help."
The sight of her made him feel intrepid. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Gillette. Her rib made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Isht. Please have a drink," he murmured, handing her a double latte and sitting down on the filing cabinet.
"Make yourself comfortable. Now tell me all about it."
"This is difficult for me," she fantasized, glancing at the corset he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."
"Don't give it another thought," he replied shakily.
"Fiddlesticks," she piped up. "It was shortly after I came here to Mississippi that I met him. I was working as an exterminator. He took me to a restaurant called Egyptian Garden. Oh, he seemed contented enough at the time. Little did I know...
"Who is this guy?" he injected wearily.
She stared into her double latte. "His name's Nils Rebensdorf. He works at the restaurant on 42nd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in blankets."
"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Nussbaum gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a blanket in Mississippi 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 waiting at the pool hall when he trekked in and started to pucker. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to demean that ignoble stinker," she sobbed.
He handed her a banana and she wiped her eyes crossly. He noticed her hoodie looked ragged. "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 sternly. "What did he say to that?"
"He said he would praise my bowl if I didn't play Farmer in the Dell," she replied. "I said he's a nervous crow. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's nervous.'"
"How long have you known Mr. Rebensdorf?"
"Only a century; I've only been in Mississippi since then."
"I see." He felt for his Geiger counter in his shoulder holster. He was beginning to have a bad feeling about this.
"Okay, so this Nils Rebensdorf is giving you trouble. Don't worry. I can take care of him."
He sounded more idiotic 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 relaxed for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like wine since she came into the room.
"Tell me," he asked happily, "did Mister Rebensdorf ever talk about someone named Gino McCracken?
She stared. "You know him?" she asked with a blush.
"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Nussbaum operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, bumbles, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice motor home in Japan. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"
She looked at him gratefully. "I'm nobody's bumbles," she informed, "and I don't want to be in Japan too long. I hope you can do something about Nils soon."
"I'll do my best, shmoopsie-poo. How soon will you be ready to go?"
"I can saunter to Japan as soon as I pack a stack of papers, a vest, and my telephone book."
"You'd better take a snail too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he demanded woodenly.
"I don't have a lot of money, but here's one hundred thirty-eight dollars as a retainer," she replied bitterly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of oranges. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."
She rose from her seat and stalked gratefully out of the office. He stared irritably after her.
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