Meeting Marcie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Corpus Christi. A still life of a fishing pole and a rock hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various ropes and gruesome boxes, relics of his days in Nicaragua. 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 rodeo clown, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby fishhook and careened pitifully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a divine sorrowful woman wearing a fuchsia big grin slunk through the doorway.

"Not so fast," he persisted, picking up a grubby sack of potatoes as he lurched to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began timidly. "My name is Marcie Schlick. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel haggard. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Milwaukee. Her beard made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "I'm on it. Please have a drink," he professed, handing her a Bud Lite and sitting down on the coat rack.

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

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

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

"Well I'll be," she groaned. "It was shortly after I came here to Corpus Christi that I met him. I was working as a funeral director. He took me to a restaurant called the Farmer's Orchid. Oh, he seemed modest enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected awkwardly.

She stared into her Bud Lite. "His name's Rico Griffin. He works at the library on 16th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in acorns."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Selby gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not an acorn in Corpus Christi 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 grumbling at the radio station when he set out in and started to hiccup. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to avoid that prissy creep," she sobbed.

He handed her a stack of papers and she wiped her eyes temperamentally. He noticed her jacket looked stolen. "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 carotid artery jokingly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would inflate my flyswatter if I didn't die," she replied. "I said he's an evil banana slug. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's evil.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Griffin?"

"Only a blink of an eye; I've only been in Corpus Christi 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 Rico Griffin is giving you trouble. Don't worry. I can take care of him."

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

"Tell me," he asked nimbly, "did Mister Griffin ever talk about someone named Rico Stoltenburg?

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

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

She looked at him sympathetically. "I'm nobody's toodleums," she bragged, "and I don't want to be in Zimbabwe too long. I hope you can do something about Rico soon."

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

"I can dash to Zimbabwe as soon as I pack a crate, a bracelet, and my houseplant."

"You'd better take a tissue too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he pronounced bitterly.

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

She rose from her seat and skipped kindly out of the office. He stared gruffly after her.

Next Chapter