Taco Noir Read Online Free PDF Page B

be me who’s doing the dropping, peaches,” called back Little Anthony, stepping towards the little woman. His lawyer, a much more seasoned and substantial mouthpiece, stepped between McDermott and the object of his affections, pushing back his client before he could do anything hasty in a courthouse lobby full of witnesses.
                  “Keep your head on, Mr. McDermott,” said the suit, a guy in his fifties with salt and pepper hair and a mustache that made him look as if he tied young women to railroad tracks and laughed maniacally in his spare time. “We’ve got to play this one by the book. Judge Thurston will be all over you until this is through.”
                  “I’m cool, I’m cool!” snapped Little Anthony, stopping in his tracks and straightening his suit. He gave the Mrs. one last sneer as she blew him a raspberry on her way out. I guess the spark wasn’t completely gone.
                  I took this moment to walk towards McDermott so that I could introduce myself and offer my humble services. Mrs. McDermott was a pistol, and he was a keg of dynamite, so it was only a matter of time till one of them did something stupid. In his case, he could afford to pay for court-documented photos of his wife caught in the act of “stupid.” I stepped in front of the bulldog of a man, relying on my bulk to stop him. He was in such a hurry to get out of the courthouse he almost bowled me over instead.
                  “Watch where you’re going, flat foot,” barked Little Anthony as he tried to elbow past me. I gave him a quick bow and my best soft-soap salesman voice.
                  “I’m no copper, Mr. McDermott,” I told the little bulldog, looking down into his eyes. I told him my name, and mentioned that I was in the investigations racket. “The word around the old courthouse is that you are in need of someone with my particular … skill set.”
                  “Standing in my way?” he snapped. I considered telling him he might need someone to help him reach the top of his bookshelf, but reminded myself that I was trying to pick up a client as opposed to losing one.
                  “I believe that he may indeed be of some use to us, after all, Mr. McDermott,” said his slick lawyer. I smiled a little wider at the two, hoping that action wouldn’t result in a case of diabetes.
                  “Oh,” replied Anthony dumbly to his mouthpiece. Time seemed to stand still as Little Anthony took this simple concept and rolled it over in his mind. “You mean he can get the goods on Martha and we can turn it over to Judge Tightwads in there.” Eureka. Apparently Little Anthony could put two and two together and occasionally come up with four. He was truly a testament to private education.
                  “Uh…not how I would put it, but yes,” agreed the shyster. If Little Anthony McDermott ever heard the phrase “no,” it certainly wouldn’t have come from this mug.
                  “Fine,” said McDermott, turning away once again and aiming his fire plug body towards the front entrance. “Get me some pictures, something I can use in court, and I’ll toss a little something your way.” He got to the door and paused, looking annoyed at his mouthpiece. The lawyer scrambled to open the door for his pugnacious client. “Heck, I might even give you a sawbuck or two.”
                  I had paid a sawbuck for the falafel and the tip on the McDermott case, and an extra sawbuck wasn’t even worth my conversation with Little Anthony. If Anthony was empathetic enough to tell my feelings, or anyone’s feelings, he didn’t let on. I was about to tell the little man where he could place his sawbuck when his lawyer stepped between us, having the good sense that he should earn his retainer. Before the shyster or I could tell Anthony anything, the taxi