Nick Neercassel: High Plains TPE

North by Southwest

The meeting with Mr. Marco went well. We talked and partook of a few OMs (Old Manitoba). Ms. Marco preferred Shagah No Pesada. Marco barbecued some mutton and we mixed it with tortillas and hot red peppers. When I left, I had agreed to make Marco my literary agent. I would send him a first draft for perusal in the next few months.

Hello, friends, my name is Nick Neercassel, Theological Private Eye (TPE), i.e., I work for the Cosmic Creator. The pay is lousy, the hours seem eternal, but there really is a pot of gold at the end of the celestial rainbow.

To my chagrin, I couldn't head straight east. The annual Cow Tossing Days in Dime Box were going on and anybody or anything in a 100 mile radius wasn't safe. Collateral damage had taken on a new meaning when that carnage carnival had been initiated. A detour was in order.

So I drifted north a few hundred miles until I was somewhere in the Texas Panhandle. On the way I listened to some old-timey gospel music. I heard one of my favorite gospel singers (now deceased), Kirk Harrilan, sing one of my favorite all time gospel songs:

"I'll see you in the rapture/ now and ever after/ I'll see you in the rapture/ One sweet day..."

So I was in a pretty darn good mood when I drove into East Deadwood, a small town on the high plains of Texas.

At first I thought I might be in a ghost town but evidence of life soon made an appearance in the guise of an ancient horse that held a just as ancient man. The man had whiskers down to his belt and wore a cowboy hat that must have been new back in the 19th century. I asked him:

"Is there a barbershop in town?" I had my missed my regular haircut appointment back in Goodsite when I had suddenly been sent to Alburquerque.

The old man squinted at me at for a while, then pointed down the street. Pointing seemed to take the wind out of him. He managed to pull himself together and then proceeded to ride off into the sunset (or what would be the sunset in a few more hours).

The barbershop was empty except for a middle-aged nervous guy. I didn't know why he was nervous. By design, all TPEs come off as non-threatenting. We intentionally look bland and act even blander. Blending into a crowd is a plus for a TPE.

"Welcome, sir, to the East Deadwood Hair Parlor. How can I help you today?"

"A haircut and a shave."

Things started off well. He had finished cutting my hair and was lathering my face when three burly men walked in.

"Well, lookie here, we got us a stranger in town." For some reason, the barber dropped the shaving brush and scampered into the back of the shop.

I grabbed a towel and wiped the lather off my face. "Howdy, fellas, I know why you're here."

"Huh?"

"You can't fool me. You're the town's welcoming committee and you stopped by to invite me to play a round of Disc Golf with you. Well, dadgummit, I accept." I had noticed the Disc Golf course on my way into town.

A TPE's best defense is always his ingenuity. Disarm the opponent intellectually and you usually don't have to worry about a physical reprisal.

THE END