Marva Hicks and the Men in White Hats
by Brynn MacNab
Certain legendary accounts have begun to circulate
regarding the encounter between Marva Hicks and myself,
Cecil Eitelbach. Legends being notoriously shifty
things, unreliable for stability and unaccountable to
truth, the time has clearly come for an honest telling
to be made--and maybe, when it's done, you'll be
prepared in case of finding yourself in a similar fix.
Marva Hicks was wanted by the state for armed robbery,
by the DMV for driving without a license, by her mother
for skipping out on the annual Hicks' Fourth of July
party, and by the Men in White Hats (as they liked to be
called) for twenty thousand dollars and no questions
asked. I was normally wanted by no one, despite being
smart, single, rakishly charming and a bounty hunter (on
and off) for thirteen of my thirty-four years. I kept a
low profile, professionally, and had thus far avoided
crazed revenge- or autograph-seekers. No one but I knew
the details of whom I'd taken down, or when or where or
how—and no one will. But every shady character from
sleepy Union Falls to Jaffrey clear on the other side of
the mountain knew I was good. The criminal network in
these parts is buried pretty deeply, but my name had
inched through it for thirteen years--from dirty
pharmacist to illegal Main Street eyesore, from
unlicensed homestead kitchen to false ID provider--until
the fateful day it reached the ear of the Men in White
Hats.
At 10:34am, one slushy Sunday in February, my kitchen
telephone began to ring. Normally this does not happen
unless I have recently left a message for my mother or
one of my many business contacts, and as my phone is
near a large window I answered with some trepidation,
and not before retrieving my pistol from the silverware
drawer. It was already loaded; I very rarely have
children in my home.
"Why, how do, Mr. Eitelbach," said an overly friendly
male voice--complete with cowboy-western twang. It went
on to inform me of Marva Hicks and her various states of
wantedness, emphasizing the offer of cash extended by
the Men in White Hats. "I don't mind telling you, Mr.
Eitelbach, that I wear a white hat on occasion myself.
And we are most anxious to get hold of Ms. Hicks before
her mother does."
While on the run, the caller explained, Marva Hicks had
been generally moving basement-to-basement (although she
frequented a few attics as well), conning bystanders
into letting her use this undervalued real estate.
Eyewitness accounts alleged that she carried two
suitcases: one made of gray plastic and one of purple
cloth. Whether she carried in them the money from the
bank robbery that had the state so upset, or stored the
cash at another location, remained unknown. "Not that
you need to concern yourself with that," the man assured
me. "We're after the fugitive, exclusive of the funds.
You'll find we've sent your retainer." Without
opportunity for further discussion, he hung up the
phone.
Being hung up on might not have sat too well with me,
but after concluding my breakfast I found one thousand
dollars and a glossy headshot in my mailbox. (A post-it
on the photo said, "Marva Hicks. Please find
immediately.") The recognition of my reputation that
this implied did much to soothe my ire. I got straight
to work.
Although she lived, moved, and had her being right there
in Union Falls, Marva Hicks proved a difficult woman to
quite pin down. As part of my professional--and, indeed,
personal--code, I do not indulge in ugly public scenes.
The few occasions when I found her momentarily alone,
she disappeared around some corner or through some
doorway in a swirl of ruffled skirt before I could get
close. (I do have several pleasing and artistic photos
from this phase of the investigation.)
It was during the lunch rush at Bob Michael's Hamburger
Café that Marva Hicks chose to contact me directly. She
sat down at my table and said, "Mr. Eitelbach, it's come
to my attention that you've been researching me." She
smelled strongly of vanilla, overwhelming the scents
from the nearby kitchen and indeed the smell of my own
half-finished cheeseburger.
"Has it?" I said.
"It has. I don't take kindly to power relationships, and
as we all know knowledge is power. I think it is only
fair that I should know as much about you as you know
about me. Besides," she said, leaning toward me so that
her glossy brown hair fell forward over one shoulder, "I
have a feeling you'll be a fascinating subject."
We began at this point to meet, frequently though
irregularly, and to exchange some small pieces of
information. Although she refused any attempt to
schedule these meetings (and understandably so, given my
intentions), I had only to attend any large public event
or popular restaurant and there she would be. Despite my
hopes and my best efforts (and my efforts did not at all
abate during this period), I never could get her away
from the crowd to take her in. She was a wary, smart,
and cautious woman.
Until she fell in love.
Take note of this, as there seems to be some popular
confusion on this point. MARVA HICKS FELL IN LOVE WITH
ME. I DID NOT FALL IN LOVE WITH HER. I was, and am, a
professional.
She declared her affection over hot dogs and orange
soda, one foggy Thursday lunchtime at Bob Michael's. She
licked a dab of ketchup off her right middle finger and
said, "Mr. Eitelbach, I do believe I may be in love with
you. Now have you ever heard anything sillier?"
Neither of us laughed. I believe I adjusted my tie, as
it seemed rather constricting.
"I suppose," she said, pausing to slurp through her
straw, "it may be related to Stockholm syndrome, in some
convoluted and incestuous way. Or it may be that I have
developed a false sense of intimacy on account of prying
the details of your life from your reluctant though
enticing lips. But I suspect it has more to do with your
rakish charm and that tweed jacket you wear so often on
cold days. I must admit, I have always been a fool for a
man in tweed."
"Ms. Hicks," I said, "I am extremely flattered." I
touched her soft hand in consolation. "Extremely. But
please understand, I must maintain distance from my, uh,
subjects."
"Understood," she said. "But Cecil--may I call you
Cecil?--your professional code appears to have no
restraining effect on my feelings. I can't help
hoping--don't you think you might make an exception,
just this once?"
"You are a beautiful woman," I assured her. This was
especially true now, with her brown eyes staring so
beseechingly at me. Many a lesser man would have bent to
her will, which accounts for the confusion and rumors
regarding whose feelings got entangled with whom. "But,"
I said, "a professional makes no exceptions."
"Damn your profession!" she snapped, and stomped out of
Bob Michael's, gingham-clad hips swinging. I watched her
and didn't follow, not wanting to take advantage of her
emotional vulnerability. I'd been raised to act
gentlemanly, and I didn't consider my personal charms as
a fair addition to my repertoire of tricks.
I had plenty of time to regret it. For more than a week
I couldn't turn up so much as a gossipy whisper of
information about Marva. I spent copious amounts of time
in public without even a glimpse of her. One day I sat
in Bob Michael's Hamburger Café from lunch clear through
supper and straight on to nine o'clock when Bob Michael
himself stopped by my table to say they were closing.
On the street, a taxi driver sat smoking on the trunk of
his car. He held a photograph and glanced from it to me
without much hope, then jumped up and shoved the photo
in his pocket. "Cecil Eitelbach?"
"Yes."
"Party calling themselves the Men in White Hats sent me
to pick you up." He shrugged and threw his cigarette
into the street. "The guy said you'd understand."
I looked up the block to where I'd parked. The space lay
empty; I got into the cab.
After a long jolting ride down unfamiliar roads (and
unfamiliar is saying something in a town this size), the
taxi dropped me off at my own blue Chevy--parked by a
white clapboard house in what may well have been the
exact center of nowhere.
At my knock the door of the house swung inward on a
dusty kitchen with a hallway beyond it and a half-open
door at the end of that. "Come in, Mr. Eitelbach,"
called the western-style voice of my employer.
In the back room I found a man in a white cowboy hat--in
all white clothes, in fact, down to the ornamented
leather boots propped up on the mahogany desk. "Have a
seat, Mr. Eitelbach." Two other men, dressed like the
first, stood by the door.
"Well," said I, taking the chair in front of the desk,
"it's nice to finally meet you. I didn't realize your
organization's title was so literal."
"Yes. I believe very firmly in symbolism."
"It suits you. You are fortunate to be a man who wears
hats well."
"Mr. Eitelbach, I'll be brief." He took his feet off the
desk. "It's been some time since we contacted you
regarding Ms. Hicks."
"Some jobs take longer than others."
"Had it occurred to you that we might take our business
elsewhere? We had not thought it necessary to give you a
deadline, but--"
"Ms. Hicks is a difficult, sophisticated subject. Every
successful man in my line of work learns to have
patience--"
"And yet you have been seen frequently in proximity to
the subject." He opened a drawer and tossed a pile of
photographs on the desk. "April 12, 12:38pm, Bob
Michael's Hamburger Café. April 15, 7:29pm, Union Falls
High School ice cream social. April 17, 12:11pm, Bob
Michael's Hamburger Café. April 18, 4:02pm--"
"I don't work in the public eye." I could feel my jaw
muscles, my neck muscles, and even the muscles in my
forehead tightening. "And I don't appreciate your
prying."
"An understandable sentiment. All the same, Mr.
Eitelbach, it may be time for you to change your
policy."
He raised his eyes to the men at the door, no more than
that. Thinking of it now, I have to admire the
efficiency. Those two were on me in seconds, never
uttering a sound. They dragged me outside so fast I
scarcely had a chance to struggle, and when they'd
finished convincing me of their seriousness they left me
on the hood of my car. I was grateful I could still get
in and drive away.
Their precision demands acknowledgement. I am no
pugilist, but I imagine it takes a certain level of
expertise to beat a man like that and leave him able to
drive--one eye not quite swollen shut, just barely able
to sit upright and competently operate the vehicle--and
make sure he doesn't require outside medical aid. As the
passing days turned up no unexpectedly fatal internal
bleeding, no late-surfacing concussion, no tiny
fractures that would snap into seriousness with use, my
respect for the Men in White Hats only grew. When you
make your living outside the system of ordinary laws,
you have to learn not to take these things personally. I
understood their point.
Once I'd recovered enough, I found a renewed dedication
to my work--I would bring that woman in, pretty smile or
no and emotional vulnerability be damned. I followed
every unlikely lead. I tailed suspicious cars. I
frequented ladies' clothing stores. One day I got up at
sunrise on a tip from a teenager whose parents, the kid
said, were sheltering Marva Hicks. The woman who
answered the door at the address claimed to have no
children and threatened to call the police. When a long
day's surveillance couldn't prove her a liar, I wandered
home late, too discouraged to peer into every unusual
shadow or even to sneak up to the windows of any lit
basements I passed. I stumbled into my living room,
found my recliner in the dark, and collapsed exhausted.
"Cecil," said Marva, from somewhere near the couch.
I groaned. I'll admit, it had been easier to plan on
betraying her when I couldn't find her. "What in hell
are you doing here?"
She didn't speak for a long time, and then I heard her
fumble her way across the room. Her hands found my knee.
She knelt beside my chair. "I can't keep running from
you, when all the time I want to run toward you," she
said. "It keeps me awfully confused. And speaking of
running, I'm well-nigh out of basements. Cecil, I've
come to throw myself on your mercy."
"I don't have any."
"That's too bad. I've moved in downstairs."
"Move back out."
"Come on, honey. No one knows I'm here."
"I know you're here. And it's unlikely I'm the only one,
as I'm finding lately that I seem to know the least of
anyone around."
She let me stew in my annoyance for a minute or two.
When at last she spoke, her voice was low, and whether
sad or sensuous I couldn't say. "All right, Mr.
Eitelbach. I'll tell you everything."
Her story went something like this.
Once upon a time, Marva Hicks met a man who dressed like
John Wayne, called her ma'am, and taught her about the
carefree life of a career criminal. He failed to mention
the discomfort of continual basement dwelling—mostly he
talked of guns and diamonds. Being young, innocent and
foolish, Marva took to him right away, following him
everywhere. She found out he was part of a club called
the Men in White Hats. She'd wanted to fit the pioneer
theme, so she began to wear long skirts and to tuck her
shirts in. She became the only woman in their club, and
proud of it. She was the best gun hand they had. Her
daddy had taught her how to shoot, although I bet he
never figured she'd be using his lessons on bankers and
cops.
There were only three Men in White Hats, but they got a
lot done. By the time she learned how they did it, Marva
Hicks was four years in, law-abiding reputation far
behind her. Nobody had been able to pin anything
definite on her, though; the Men in White Hats took care
of their own.
There were only three Men in White Hats. But there were
also a lot more. And there was really only one.
She saw it during a bank heist. She'd been in the back
with the manager, scooping money from the safe. A
commotion started in the front room, and she ran out to
find the place in pandemonium. A bunch of hostages had
gotten their courage together and tried to spring
something; now several people were shooting, moving, and
shouting, and there were a lot more Men in White Hats
than there should've been. As Marva looked on, the
nearest man split in two, identical, dressed exactly the
same. She stood in the doorway, watching people panic
and watching the Men in White Hats divide and subdivide.
One of them never did: he stood in the center of the
crowd, yelling orders, appearing more solid than anyone
else.
He looked at her, in the midst of it all—looked, swore,
and raised his pistol to point straight at her face. She
ran.
No longer under their protection, she'd been seen and
identified. Now she was officially wanted for
questioning--and, as I knew, also unofficially wanted by
the Men in White Hats.
"Now you know the reason," she said. "They're going
to--he's going to kill me, Cecil. He ain't human."
Well. What would you have done?
So when they--he--whoever called a few days later, I
said, "I've looked everywhere. I have worked myself to
the raggedy bones on this case, and I don't appreciate
the high-handed approach your office has taken with me."
"You just sit tight," the man said. "We'll send a cab
for you."
Marva kissed me goodbye in the safety of my basement--I
allowed it; I'm always sympathetic to a hopeless love.
Then I went out to meet my fate.
Another taxi delivered me to the same obscure house. I
found the same white-clad man in the back room--alone,
this time. I would have enjoyed feeling hopeful at this
development, but it seemed likely I'd be simply shot. I
kept a hand on my own gun, which I'd stowed in my pants
pocket. "Have a seat, sir," said the man. "You appear to
be on edge."
"I'll allow I am that. If you'll recall our last
interview perhaps you'll understand."
The man made a rumbling sound in his throat, which I
slowly understood to be laughter. "An unfortunate
necessity," he said. "You would have done the same. Mr.
Eitelbach, I tire of this inconsequential banter. We
know you can find Ms. Hicks, yet you don't find her for
us. Why?"
I kept my mouth shut. I tried not to move, and to
breathe quietly. In retrospect I'm unsure what I hoped
to achieve; I expect some primal instinct convinced me
he might forget my presence if I became inconspicuous
enough.
This tactic availed nothing. He said, "We know it's
because you don't trust us. Requiring us to defend
ourselves to you strikes me as singularly unfair, Mr.
Eitelbach. We offered a reward for Ms. Hicks's safe
return to us on the condition that no questions would be
asked. Do you recall that stipulation?"
"I do. My research since then--"
"You spoke to Ms. Hicks. She told you some ridiculous
lie about our organization, engineered for the sole
purpose of diverting you from your work. Knowing no
better, you believed her. Never mind, Mr. Eitelbach,
don't explain. After due consideration, we are ready to
remedy your ignorant condition. Mr. Eitelbach, we
respect your profession and yourself, and we are
prepared to tell you everything."
His story went like this:
The Men in White Hats were six brothers, all told. They
grew up in a very sheltered home-schooling family,
raised on adventure stories, cowboy movies, and the
pledge of allegiance. When the boys were just old enough
to fend for themselves, their parents died in a car
accident. Since then the little clan spent their time
spreading goodwill and combating terrorism. Marva Hicks
had joined them for a time. In the end she'd proven too
fickle for the cause: she'd started making fun of their
accents, their bad cooking, and the way they dressed,
and finally she'd run off and robbed a bank. The loss
devastated them.
"And the end of it is," the man said, pushing his hat
back from his forehead and leaning toward me over the
desk, "We miss our Marva. We want her at home to make us
macaroni and cheese and sing the soprano part when we do
the National Anthem together. A couple of the boys can
kind of hit alto, but that's as high as we go anymore,
Mr. Eitelbach. We don't want to hurt her. And we don't
want to have to hurt you, either. Please bring her back
to us. We fear she may be a danger to herself, possibly
even to you. She did rob a bank. She did shoot a
teller."
Then the man and the desk blurred sideways and
disappeared, and I fell as the chair beneath me
evaporated. I landed on my green kitchen linoleum and
blacked out.
Or: the man called a taxi, we sat in awkward silence for
half an hour waiting for it and when I got home I
ignored Marva's greeting from downstairs, crawled into
bed and blacked out.
I woke in my bed at 7pm with my shoes on and competing
memories. I could recall no similar experience, nor one
more befuddling.
I yelled down the basement stairs that I was going
out--and there's proof, if you need it, that I never did
love her: surely a man in love would have run right down
and poured out his tortured heart then and there. I only
said, "I'm going for a drive."
"Can you pick up some peanut butter?" Marva called back.
"I was thinking of making cookies." So I guess maybe I
should have seen she didn't love me either.
I drove pretty far outside my usual bailiwick. I don't
remember the name of the bar I finally reached, but the
evening got pretty unpleasant.
I woke, in my car, to a hellishly bright morning,
stopped for peanut butter on the way home, and found
Marva in the kitchen humming and baking. I had
envisioned myself in a righteous rage, demanding to know
the truth, the truth, damn it. In fact I believe I
promised this scene to more than one barroom confidant.
But now, hung-over and exhausted, instead of bellowing I
whined, "Marva, I don't appreciate being lied to."
She laughed. "I don't know what he may have told you,
but I never lie to men I'm in love with. It's possible
they're jealous." She kissed me--I didn't have the heart
to stop her. Then she gave me a glass of milk and a
brownie hot from the oven.
The next day I got another phone call. "Have you decided
to bring her in? We don't want to hurt you, Mr.
Eitelbach. Consider it."
I told Marva. She said, "That is troublesome. You do
what you think best, darling, I'll accept your
judgment."
What a thing to say to a person.
"No," I told the Men in White Hats, the next time they
called. "I haven't seen hide nor hair of her."
I went out daily, as if looking for her. One Monady
night, over grilled cheese sandwiches and homemade
tomato soup, I told her, "I don't know how long we can
keep this up. I need paying work, unless you want to
start using that bank money. I can't search for you
forever."
"Saturday." She smiled. "It'll all be over Saturday."
She didn't give reasons, but the Men in White Hats
seemed to confirm it the following afternoon.
"If you don't bring her in by Saturday," they said, "the
terrorists will win."
Wednesday brought threats, Friday the full sob story
again. I didn't listen too closely; I'd made up my mind.
You don't turn over a woman who cooks like that.
Even so, I didn't sleep too well. I let myself get up at
seven Saturday morning, and found Marva just getting out
the bacon and eggs. "There you are," she said. "Any
chance you could go buy me some yarn today? I was
thinking a nice true red—nothing orangey, but not too
dark."
"Of course," I said. So after breakfast I drove around
to the other side of the block, snuck through the
neighbor's yard and in through my back door. My bedroom
faces the street, so I hid in there, eased the window up
a couple of inches and waited.
"Cecil Eitelbach!" I jumped, my feet slid out from under
me and my rear landed hard. Marva stood in the doorway,
hands on hips. "What do you think you're doing? Never
mind; don't say it; I don't want to know. You can come
downstairs, but you'll hold your tongue. You hear?"
I nodded and followed, rubbing my misused tailbone.
Her suitcases sat on the steps. She took the spot beside
them and I settled as gently as I could on the other
side of her. I wanted to ask if she had bank money in
one of those pieces of luggage. The cash in my sock
drawer had grown sparse (and I don't keep it there
anymore, so don't get any ideas.) But every time I
opened my mouth she held up a forbidding palm, and I
knew I'd get neither sense nor sympathy.
We hadn't spent more than five minutes this way when a
shining white convertible with three Men in White Hats
pulled up to the curb. The two in the back jumped out,
grabbed Marva's suitcases, and swung them into the
trunk. The third came and stood halfway up the lawn,
smiling with teeth as straight as Scout's Honor and as
white as new. Marva held up her hand to keep me quiet. A
dreamy smile had taken over her face.
The two others, task complete, drifted in to stand
exactly beside the one on the lawn. The three looked
similar, but not identical, I noted. But once they stood
in line, I couldn't see so much as the edge of a hat
brim behind the first man. "Marva, honey, I reckon you
won."
She launched herself off the step to run and kiss him.
When he swung her around in his arms the other men were
nowhere to be seen.
"You've been a darling, Cecil," said Marva. She stood on
the ground again, her arm around the cowboy. "I'd leave
you the money, but there isn't any. Bank heist!" She
giggled. "The very thought! I did make you a sandwich;
it's in the fridge. And here, here's a memento." She
pulled the white hat right off the man's head and spun
it toward me like a Frisbee. I caught it. The cowboy
frowned, then laughed. "I guess she owes you. Can't say
I'm too grateful myself. Never thought she'd lick me."
They went toward the car together, and I heard Marva
say, "I hope you'll allow yourself fairly beaten now."
"Well, we'll see," the man said. "Still haven't
established repeatability. Could be a fluke."
Marva glared at him, but she got in the car anyway. She
waved to me and blew a kiss while the man went around to
the driver's side. "Goodbye," she called. "You've been
wonderful!" Then she turned back to her companion. "You
wouldn't know a fluke if it bit your nose off," she
said. "I can charm anyone anywhere better than you can,
darling, you'd better just believe it. Or next time
maybe I really will run off on you."
The man was laughing as he drove away, with the wind
tousling his loose brown cowboy hair as if he were some
kind of damn movie star.
I stared after that white convertible long after it was
gone, and then I went inside and washed the breakfast
dishes and checked the classified ads for honest work.
For lunch I had the best ham and cheese sandwich of my
life.
That's how it really was. And if Bob Michaels or anybody
else tells you otherwise, gives it some kind of tabloid
embroidery--some nonsense about flowers, about me saying
the kinds of things I'd never say, about some hangdog
look they've imagined those days I couldn't find
her--you can tell them for me they're fools and liars,
and I hope somebody does them the same way sometime.
The End
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