Craven Gets Flashed II

“Camera set at f/16 and 1/200 of a second. Distance set at ten feet. Bag full of photo plates and bulbs. All textbook Weegee. Then there’s our refreshments. Two cheese sandwiches, two Nehi orange sodas, two kosher pickles, and one helluva private detective I get to fawn over for the next few hours. My only hope is that I’m not so mesmerized by your sleuthing persona that I’m unable to focus on my true purpose, which is to record your heroics and share it with a news-hungry New York.”

“There’s nothing heroic about waiting to take a photo of a cheating husband exiting the apartment house of his current love interest, Jenny. And didn’t I tell you we had to be discreet? That camera you’re lugging around is as big as a four-slot toaster. How do you manage to stand up so straight? You should be hauling that thing around in a four-wheeler.”

“I may be five feet two, Mr. Danger, but I have the wing power of a roller derby queen from arm wrestling my dad when I was a kid.”

“You arm wrestled your dad?”

“Yeah, for the last biscuit on the dinner table. I never did get the biscuit; my dad being particularly partial to those hot buttery nuggets.”

“How very sporting of your ol' man. The only thing I ever wrestled at the dinner table was my mother’s liver and onions. She smothered it the best she could, but it still had a pulse. And it never got fought over, either.”

FLASH!

“Ah, geez, Jenny! What did I tell you about doing that?”

“I know, Mr. Danger. I couldn’t help it. Your face when you reflect on a time gone by should be on every lamppost in New York City. You should be the poster boy for the chronically pensive and courageous. It would brighten up the city and have crime on the run.”

“At the moment, chronically blind would be more like it. And getting more chronic by the minute. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, Jenny. I don’t know why I agreed to you helping me spy on this lug in the first place. It’s freezing out here and I’m on the verge of wetting myself. I should be sitting in a nice warm diner brooding about the many ways I would approach this case. The actual doing is beside the point. I’d get around to it — eventually. And now I’m back to being blind. If I had an empty cup, I could maybe make a buck or two while we waited.”

“Allow me to correct myself, Mr. Danger. Pensive, courageous and a sparkling wit that Will Rogers himself would have envied.”

“You really think so? Betty thinks I have no sense of humor at all.”

“I don’t know Betty, Mr. Danger, but I can tell that woman does not appreciate you in the manner you deserve. Does she help you off with your overcoat when you come into the office?”

“No.”

“Does she offer you a soothing hot towel when you’ve had a particularly harrowing day?”

“No.”

“Does she pamper you with hot coffee and a fresh newspaper on your desk every morning?”

“No. Dwayne from the Coffee Pot on the Corner does that. Betty needs her quiet time in the morning. Once she sits at her desk, I’m not allowed to communicate with her until an hour has gone by. She says she has to focus on why she’s there in the first place. Once that’s settled, she opens my office door, smiles, and wishes me a good morning. ‘I’m ready to put up with you now’, is what she usually says. Then we’re pals for the rest of the day.”

“Enough of that for now, Mr. Danger. I spy our target at twelve o’clock. Let me put a fresh bulb in.”

“You’re gonna flash him? He’s not even supposed to know we’re here.”

“That’s the point, Mr. Danger. He’ll never know what hit him. A half a dozen flash pictures and he’ll be walking into trash cans or an open manhole. It’ll serve him right for cheating on a good woman. And he’ll think twice about doing it again. Case over, Mr. Danger. Clear the way! I’m going in!”

I think I just found something I didn’t know I was looking for in the first place. I’m seeing much clearer now.

Photo courtesy of Wiki Pics:

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