Bookshelf Battle

PREVIOUSLY ON POP CULTURE MYSTERIES…

Here, just read it nerds:

Part 1   Part 2   Part 3   Part 4   Part 5

AND NOW THE POP CULTURE MYSTERIES CONTINUE…

Wanda was splayed out across my desk, practically begging me to caress her.  I wasn’t sure what to caress exactly, since she didn’t have much in the way of the curve department, but she was a welcome sight just the same.

As I gulped the last drop of La Orina de Serpiente (or, “Snake Piss,” as the gringos call it), I knew it was time to cover her up and take her out on the town.

Good old reliable Wanda.  Not much to look at but always there in a pinch.

Delilah K. Donnelly, Legal Counsel for a Website with 3.5 Readers

Next to her was a box of red roses.  I pulled the posies out one by one and laid them out next to Ms. W.

A knock on the door.

“Mr. Hatcher?”

Delilah.  I hated to do it but I stashed Wanda under the desk.  After all, my old friend wasn’t a sight to be taken in by the peepers of a classy sophisticated dame like Ms. Donnelly.

“Come in, Ms. Donnelly.”

How did this gal do it?  Every time I saw her she looked like she’d just stepped off a fashion show runway in Milan.

In her hand was an envelope, the contents of which I could only assume were yet another Pop Culture Mystery Question sent by my secretive employer, Mr. Bookshelf Q. Battler.

“Pardon me for barging in unannounced but I’ve been positively swamped with case work and I wanted to…”

Delilah slammed on her brakes and stared at me like I was some kind of odd ball existentialist painting.

“Mr. Hatcher, are you well?”  my demure visitor asked as she took a seat and locked one knee over the other.  “You look…well…more like a hobo than usual.”

“I had a long night,”  I said, ignoring the hobo crack.  “Sometimes when I’m in the thick of a case I allow my hygiene to slip by the wayside.  All part of the private dick game, ma’am.”

“A case?”  Delilah asked.   “You’re working for someone other than Mr. Battler?”

“You could say that,”  I replied.  “Though the client’s most likely been zipped up into a body bag by now.”

“Oh how dreadful,”  Delilah said.

“Fella who worked at the…at the uh…”

Delilah knew I drank more than a thirsty fish with a straw in its mouth but my pride prevented me from admitting it.  Just then, I noticed the empty bottle of Snake Piss and moved it off the desk, tucking it carefully on the floor, right between my legs, which coincidentally, was where Wanda was as well.

“At the intellectual book store,”  I said.  “Specialty shop, only sold volumes for high falutin’ thinkers.  Sad business.  I considered him a friend.”

Delilah clutched her pearls.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Hatcher,”  she said in a breathy tone.  “I had no idea you even had any friends.”

Dames.  They say it’s a man’s world yet some how I’m certain Delilah would have chewed me out royally had I lobbed such passive aggression her way.

“Once in awhile I meet someone who doesn’t assume I grow a pair of horns and a tail when nobody’s looking.”

I don’t know why, maybe it was the false courage brewing in me courtesy of the La Orina, but I decided to make like Babe Ruth and swing for the fences.

“Come paint the town red with me sometime, Ms. Donnelly, and you’ll find I’m not such a bad friend to have.”

The blonde’s eyes rolled like they were a couple of whitewalls on a 57 Chevy barreling down the highway.

“We have been over this subject, Mr. Hatcher,”  she said, curtly.  “There is no friendship to be had here.  Our relationship is strictly business.”

“Of course, Ms. Donnelly, of course,”  I replied.  “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Delilah grabbed one of the roses off my desk and studied it carefully.

“Mr. Hatcher, surely these roses aren’t intended for me?”

I yanked it out of her hand.

“Of course not,”  I said.  “Didn’t we just agree that our relationship is strictly a business one?”

It was the first time I saw Delilah come close to being flustered.

“Yes but…”

“Why would I get roses for a mere co-worker?”  I asked.  “That doesn’t make much sense.”

“Ahh,”  Delilah said.  “I take it you’ve found a candidate to become the fourth Mrs. Hatcher then?”

I leaned back in my chair and smiled.

“I might be seeing someone,”  I said.  “But I don’t really discuss my personal life with business associates, Ms. Donnelly.  I’m sure you understand.”

I had a hunch that I’d just caused Delilah’s mind to implode, but as expected, she didn’t show it.  Just a simple nod.

“Indeed I do,”  she said.  “This is…good.  Good for you, Mr. Hatcher.  A female companion will surely help you adjust to life in the modern world.”

I reached into my desk drawer, pulled a cigarette out of a fresh pack, and stuck it between my lips.

“Please Ms. Donnelly,”  I said as I lit up.  “Stop sifting for details.  You’re just embarrassing yourself now.”

Eh.  Maybe that was overkill.  She stood up and laid the envelope on my desk.

“I shall leave this for you and be on my way.”

“Tell the nerd it’s going to be awhile before I get to this,”  I said.  “I’m hot on the trail of a real humdinger.”

“Certainly,”  Delilah said on the way out the door.  “I’m sure Mr. Battler and his 3.5 readers will understand.  Good day, Mr. Hatcher.”

“So long, Ms. Donnelly.”

Hot damn.  She wouldn’t admit it even if faced with water torture but I could tell that dame was sweet on yours truly.  When she found out those roses weren’t for her, that another broad was in the picture, it was like her little heart pulled out a tiny violin and strummed a sad, sad melody.

Unfortunate part for me was that there was no other gal in the picture.

I reached under the desk, pulled out Wanda, and cocked her good.

Then I…wait a minute.

Wanda was my father’s old double-barrel shotgun.  The only thing Pa Hatcher left to me, besides his wit, wisdom, and a penchant for communicating through long, drawn-out monologues that were rife with exaggeration.

Who did you 3.5 degenerates think she was?

Get your mind out of the gutter.  Giving a female name to our firearms was a longstanding Hatcher family tradition and I needed Wanda if I was ever going to recover Betsy.

Carefully, I set her down in the empty flower box, closed the lid, picked her up under my arm.  It was the only way I could think of to walk around the city with a weapon that large without attracting suspicion.

I grabbed a few extra shells out of my drawer, tossed them into my trench coat pocket, and decided it was time to go.

Those flowers.  Seemed such a waste to let them wilt and die without giving them the chance to make someone smile.

Had Ms. Donnelly not given me the old “there is no friendship to be had here” speech, I’d of gladly forked them over to her, though I doubt it would of won me any points.

That dame was harder to crack than a lead lined safe.

And besides, she’d gone to the opera with a gentleman caller recently, so there was competition of a variety more classier than this gumshoe.

Even so, Delilah’s inquisition filled me with a modest amount of hope.

Just a modest amount, mind you.  I never allow myself to get too hopeful.  Hope is the only thing I can think of that can mess with a fella’s mind more than alcohol.

I picked up the bouquet, headed downstairs, and cut through the kitchen, where Ms. Tsang was supervising three of her employees as they prepared lunch for a floor full of hungry paying customers.

“For you, sweetheart,”  I said as I foisted the flowers my landlady’s way.

“Oh Jake,”  Ms. Tsang said as she took them and sniffed them.  “You shouldn’t have.”

“Yeah,”  I said.  “Well, I know I’ve been a real pill to live with and you did take care of me for six decades so I figured the least I could do was…”

“Actually the least you could do is get a job that pays more than five bucks a case so you can help out with the bills around here but this is a start.”

Dames.  It’s like the nicer you are to them, the more they want to knock you over the head.  I swear, one day I’m going to do something nice for a female and when she replies with nothing more than a “thank you,” I’m going to be so shocked that I’ll drop stone cold dead from a heart attack.

“Where’d you get the money for these?”  Ms. Tsang asked as she looked around her cupboards for a vase.  “They look expensive.”

“An unexpected windfall,”  I said as I snatched a piping hot egg roll off a platter and headed out the back door.

Honestly, I dipped into Karen’s thousand bucks.  Whoever she was, I assumed she wouldn’t mind if I took a few dollars to help with expenses as I tracked down Lou’s killer.

And believe it or not, but a box to hide Wanda’s butt ugly mug from the world was a much needed expense.

Copyright (c) Bookshelf Q. Battler 2015.

All Rights Reserved.

Image courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.