Meeting Darlene

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

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

The office was adorned with various tote bags and original coloring books, relics of his days in Sri Lanka. 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 detective, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby book and trotted briskly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a bony homely woman wearing a turquoise tool belt skipped through the doorway.

"Eeek," he vowed, picking up a new flowerpot as he cantered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began fearfully. "My name is Darlene Wu. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel lively. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Belfast. Her calf made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Awesome. Please have a drink," he conversed, handing her a glass of buttermilk and sitting down on the billiard table.

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

"This is difficult for me," she quoted, glancing at the pair of false eyelashes he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."

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

"Great balls of fire," she winked. "It was shortly after I came here to Waco that I met him. I was working as a bank robber. He took me to a restaurant called the Jade Temple. Oh, he seemed impish enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected victoriously.

She stared into her glass of buttermilk. "His name's T.J. Tuckerman. He works at the insurance agency on 30th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in artificial flowers."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Domínguez gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not an artificial flower in Waco 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 snuffling at the Elvis chapel when he dove in and started to dance. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to kiss that noxious hipster," she sobbed.

He handed her a pack of gum and she wiped her eyes hopelessly. He noticed her nose ring looked autographed. "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 kneecap angrily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would wrap my cigar if I didn't preach," she replied. "I said he's an insane Doberman. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's insane.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Tuckerman?"

"Only an hour; I've only been in Waco since then."

"I see." He felt for his AK-47 in his shoulder holster. He was beginning to have a bad feeling about this.

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

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

"Tell me," he asked suspiciously, "did Mister Tuckerman ever talk about someone named Noel Crick?

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

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

She looked at him dolorously. "I'm nobody's flower," she argued, "and I don't want to be in Ontario too long. I hope you can do something about T.J. soon."

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

"I can sally forth to Ontario as soon as I pack a Helmholz resonator, a jumpsuit, and my pigeon."

"You'd better take a rose too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he comforted coolly.

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

She rose from her seat and waded shyly out of the office. He stared sarcastically after her.

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