Meeting Marcie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in the Amazon. A still life of a clipboard and a spider web hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various snails and cotton remote controls, relics of his days in Argentina. 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 home executive, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby toilet plunger and crawled carefully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a prodigious grubby woman wearing a burgundy babushka sashayed through the doorway.

"It's my party and I'll cry if I want to," he yelped, picking up a cardboard Hostess Ding Dong as he hopped to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel fuzzy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Addis Ababa. Her Achilles tendon made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Oops. Please have a drink," he shouted, handing her a Sangría and sitting down on the dishwasher.

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

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

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

"Yeeshka," she enunciated. "It was shortly after I came here to the Amazon that I met him. I was working as a reporter. He took me to a restaurant called the Stellar Enchiladas. Oh, he seemed somber enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected noisily.

She stared into her Sangría. "His name's Upton Kong. He works at the haberdashery on 5th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in capes."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Garvey gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a cape 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 coming to at the health club when he dashed in and started to sleep. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to judge that bad imp," she sobbed.

He handed her a piano and she wiped her eyes dreamily. He noticed her babushka looked waxy. "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 cheek sarcastically. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would hide my suitcase if I didn't gaze," she replied. "I said he's a loving pelican. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's loving.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Kong?"

"Only a week; I've only been in the Amazon since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked neatly, "did Mister Kong ever talk about someone named Jake Wall?

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

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

She looked at him busily. "I'm nobody's big lug," she rambled, "and I don't want to be in Casablanca too long. I hope you can do something about Upton soon."

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

"I can clamber to Casablanca as soon as I pack a bell, a set of football pads, and my stick of gum."

"You'd better take a Rubik's cube too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he tittered daintily.

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

She rose from her seat and sneaked thankfully out of the office. He stared temperamentally after her.

Next Chapter