Dick by Law

Chapter Two

 

Ten Weeks
Earlier

Mel
ville, Pennsylvania, 10:15 a.m.

The old woman in a purple dress stood on the
customer
side of the counter in the
musty antique shop. She watched expectantly as an overweight middle-aged man on the other side of the counter flipped through a stack of ancient comic books.

The overweight man had the comics propped on his ample gut
, which stretched his lime green polo shirt to the limits of elasticity
.
Flipping
to the last
comic
,
he
took a good long look at it, then flicked it forward to the bottom of the stack
and shook
his head.
"I'm so sorry these aren't worth more, ma'am."
The man, who owned the shop,
dropped the stack of comic books
on
the counter
. "Some comics just aren't as collectible as others, you understand."

The old woman in the purple dress sighed. "
Just because something's
old
doesn't
always
mean it's
valuable
, I suppose."

"Sorry I can't help you." The man turned and started toward the rear of the
cluttered, cramped
antique shop...then stopped. "Okay, look." He reached into a pocket of his khaki trousers and tugged out a single twenty-dollar bill.
"I'll take the lot of them. At least you won't leave empty-handed."

The old woman smiled. "Oh, thank you, young man." She reached for the twenty...

And someone leaped out from
between
the merchandise racks and swatted it away.

"Don't do it!" The person doing the swatting was
in his thirties, with short black hair and a slender build.
He wore bluejeans and a
black t-shirt with the letters "LA" splashed across the chest in
a bold font straight out of a comic book.
"He's ripping you off, ma'am!"
His tone was melodramatic, as if he were playing the role of a hero in a radio drama.

His name was Simon Bellerophon.

"What on Earth?" said the old woman.

The shop
owner made a grab for the comics on the counter...but Simon was too fast for him.
"Hands off, thou blackguard!" Scooping the comics away from the shop owner, Simon whirled and held them out to the old woman. "He would have given you a
pittance
for this
treasure
, milady
."

"Treasure?" said the old woman.

"You hold a small fortune in your hands." Simon bowed as he gave her the comics. "And I am here to ensure
that
you
get
it."

"Get the hell out of he
re!"
T
he shop owner
sounded furious
. "You're interfering with a business transaction!"

"Highway robbery is more like it!" Simon winked at the old woman. "
Each one
of those comics is worth
thousands
of dollars, ma'am."

The old woman looked at the shop owner. "Is that true?"

The shop owner locked eyes with her and shook his head. "He's a nutcase.
Don't believe him."

The old woman nodded decisive
ly. "You're a
liar
."

"How perceptive of you," said Simon. "What an
excellent
judge of character you are."

With a
howl of rage
, the shop owner reached under the counter and came up with a baseball bat.
"Get out of here. Both of you. And
don't
come back, Bellerophon! I told you
last
time."

"
And
the time before that." Simon waggled his brows like Groucho Marx, and the old woman laughed.

The shop owner cracked the ball bat on the counter. "What part of 'banned for life' don't you understand, Bellerophon?"

"I'll stop coming back here," said Simon, "when
you
stop ripping off innocent
civilians
for fortunes in collectibles!"

"Get out!" Bat in hand, the shop owner started around the counter.

"Shall we, milady?" Simon hooked
his elbow, and the old woman threaded her arm through the loop.
"Allow me to tell you of a most
scrupulous
appraiser
who will ensure that you receive
more
than fair value for yon comical booklets."

"And who might that be, o' knight in shining armor?" said the old woman as they headed for the door.

Simon opened the door and waved her through with a bow. "To tell the truth,
" he said, "in some ways, he reminds me a great deal of myself
."

"In what ways?" said the old woman.

"In
all
ways." Simon grinned
and squinted
.
The sun was in his eyes, glinting
from the windows of the shuttered steel mill across the street.
"For I myself
am
that man.
" He pointed at the big letters "LA" on the chest of his t-shirt. "
I
am
the
Lone Appraiser.
"

Then, laughing, he led her down the street
past
the mill, flipping through the stack of comics
along the way.

 

*****

Chapter
3

Two hours later, Simon
burst into the offices of
In¢entive$
, Incorporated...in other words, the living room of
his house
on the outskirts
of
Melville.

The
living room
, as usual, was a disaster area. The
In¢entive$
crew--heavyset
brunette
Josie Coleman,
green-haired
Taiwanese
Chip Maple, and slinky angel of darkness Ankha Fedalla--sprawled on the couch and floor amid
piles of paper, pizza boxes, and crushed soda cans. It was like staring at the aftermath of a collision between an office supply store and a pizza place.
In other words, home sweet home to Simon.

When Simon walked in
carrying a brown paper sack
, he barely got a reaction from the team.
They'd been together too long
; they knew each other too well.

Simon
took a good look at his makeshift family, then cleared his throat loudly. He
was glad they were all hard at work, but he needed their attention now.
"He-e-e-e-ere's Johnny!"
He
said it like Ed McMahon on the old
Tonight Show
. "Who wants
gobs
?"

"Where from?"
Josie, dominating the couch in her bright orange t-shirt and green shorts like a giant pumpkin, kept typing and clicking on her laptop. She was in her mid-thirties, the same age as Simon, and had known him since college. She'd been with In¢entive$ from the start, five years ago; she'd taken on the role of the big sister he'd never had.
"Saint Stephen's, Amish Maid, or
Fike's?"

"Only the
best
for my loyal
staff
." Simon scooped one out of the paper
sack
he carried and held it out like a bar of purest gold. "
Glosser's Deli!"

Josie slid the laptop aside, jumped off the sofa, and snatched the wax-paper-wrapped gob from Simon's hand. "And the Lord said, 'Let there be light!'"

"You look like you could use some help with that."
Chip, who'd been lying on his back on the beige shag carpet, threw aside the sheet of figures he'd been reading and popped up from the floor. The youngest of the group at 22, he was all about everything indie--indie music, indie movies, indie comics, indie clothes. Fresh out of college, he'd started at In¢entive$ as an unpaid intern and had never left; Simon joked that he couldn't remember ever actually
hiring
him. If Josie was Simon's older sister, Chip was his beloved kid brother.

"Allow me."
Chip
wiped
his hands on his neon blue
and black bowling
shirt
, then grabbed
the sack
of gobs from Simon's grip. Chortling,
he
marched the sack
over to the coffee table,
whose glass surface was buried in paperwork and fast food debris
.

When Chip dumped the contents of the sack on
top of
the
other junk on the
table, Ankha
shot out spidery fingers capped with black nail polish and snagged
a gob without hesitation.
Tucking the phone
between ear and shoulder, she unwrapped the wax paper, exposing the gob--a clamshell of dark chocolate cake with a thick layer of creamy white frosting sandwiched in the middle.

If Josie was Simon's surrogate older sister, and Chip was his little brother, Ankha was his weirdo cousin. Always dressed in black, she was either 29 or 29,000 years old, depending on which Goth personality she was channeling on a given day. She'd joined In¢entive$ two years ago, after a fender bender with Simon; instead of wracking her for the damage she'd caused, Mr. Good Samaritan had hired her for the team.

"
So, Simon."
Chip took a
bite
of gob
and talked with his mouth full. "What are
you
gonna eat? Tofu shreds on a bed of lettuce?"

"
The sweet taste of victory is all I need.
" Simon opened the front
door and leaned out to pluck
mail from the mailbox. "
I just saved another civilian from the clutches of
Screw Lou."

"Oh, Simon." Josie shook her head
, making the brown pigtails on either side bounce and flounce emphatically.
"You didn't sneak into
FesterTreasures
again, did you?"

"It's a free country." Simon shrugged. "I
f
YesterTreasures
is where some son of a bitch is scamming little old ladies, then
that
is where the
Lone A
ppraiser
will go!"

"Just so's you stuck it to 'im good,
Boss
," Chip said around a mouthful of gob.

"Did he get out the baseball bat?" said Josie.

Simon laughed as he sorted the mail. "
Of course he did! Sadly, he didn't get around to swinging it."

"Aw, gee." Josie slumped
and stuck out her bottom lip
. "Dat's my favorite part."

"Enough about me!" Simon slipped one white envelope
in the back
pocket
of his jeans
and tossed the rest of the mail on the coffee table. "
Tell me what trouble
you've
been up to, loyal minions...and it better be good!"

Chip popped a last bite of gob in his mouth and rubbed his hands together like a mad scientist. "
Oh, it's
good
, isn't it, Josie?"

"What if we told you..." Josie leered and cackled. "What if we told you we
gave away money
to
teenagers
for volunteering at the
nursing home
?"

Simon gasped and
clutched his chest. "No!"

"And
then
," said Chip, "we
got a verbal commitment on a
sizeable donation
from a major
corporation
."

Simon
shook his head in mock disgust, though he was
secretly proud of his team
.
It wasn't always easy finding sponsors for a non-profit based in a struggling
Rust Belt
mill town.
"I
knew
I shouldn't have left
you three to your own evil devices!"
He shook his fist at Josie and Chip.

"Do you know what we did after that?" said Chip.

"We gave
more
money to
another
bunch of teenagers," said Josie, "for setting up a homeless shelter!"

"How dare you!"
said Simon. "How
dare
you fulfill the mission of this community-minded not-for-profit organization!"

Suddenly, Ankha spoke up. "Keep it down!" She shook the phone handset overhead. "
I'm on the
phone
, in case you hadn't noticed!"

"Sorry,
Mistress of Darkness
." Simon tiptoed into the kitchen.

Chip followed. "It's almost W-M time, Sime."
He reached up and scrubbed his spiky hair, a pincushion of black roots and bright green highlights.

"What time is that, Chip?" Simon opened the fridge and drew out a pitcher of lemonade. "W-M as in Whack-a-Mole time?
Water Making time? Whipping Mutton time?"

"W-M as in
washing machine
," said Chip. "As in they're delivering your new Apex front-loader from
Strayer Roland in one hour."

"You weenie." Josie laughed in Simon's face as she squeezed past him. "
You don't know how lucky you are.
You'd be such a
mess
if it wasn't for us."

"That reminds me," said Chip. "I need a raise."

"Me, too," said Josie.

"Me, three!" Ankha said from the living room.

"One raise, coming right up." Simon smiled as he pulled
four
glasses from the cupboard and filled them with lemonade.
The truth was, he
did
know how lucky he w
as; other than his
foster brother Quinn Keegan, the
In¢entive$
threesome were his best friends in
the world. Josie,
Chip,
and Ankha knew him better than almost anyone.

"So how does it feel?" said Josie.

Simon handed her a glass of lemonade. "How does
what
feel?"

"This is a big day for you." Josie put a hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "You don't realize it yet, but today will change the rest of your life."

"Why's that?" said Simon as he handed Chip a glass.

"Switching from a
top loader
to a
front loader
." Josie nodded and winked. "
Who knows where
that
could lead."

"All I know is, I can't wait to find out." Simon raised his glass. "To the start of a wonderful new adventure!"

Chip clinked his
glass against Sim
on's. "Laundry...the final frontier!"

"You're entering a
whole new cycle." Josie clinked her glass against Simon's and Chip's. "From this day on, you will never be the same."

"I
knew
I did the right thing, buying this washer." Simon sipped his lemonade. "I am
so
glad I didn't spend the money on something
boring
and non-life-changing like a trip around the world."

Josie squinted and bowed her head.
"You'd be surprised how far a washer can take you. They don't call it the 'spin cycle' for nothing."

 

*****