The Golden Paintbrush

It had been a long, late night of peering at photos and cropping images over and over, as the scratchy Dave Brubeck records droned on in the background; until finally Macro Man took a shot of cheap brandy and rolled into bed. So it was a literal rude awakening when the incessant ringing of his vintage phone made its way to his brain at 7 AM the next morning. Opening one eye as he tried to roll over towards the phone was a futile effort - he was not alone on the saggy Goodwill mattress: his cranky old 25 pound cat, "Tri-X" was spread out next to him and was not about to move - so he rolled the other way, getting one foot on the floor and pivoting to grab the phone.

"Yep?" he more or less spoke.

"Is this Macro-man, the private eye?" a voice with a mild Italian accent asked in a hurried, panic- stricken way.

"It is. Can you call back?" was all Macro Man could muster.

"No, wait! I have a missing plant. I am Lorenzo at the Willamette Valley Native Flora Circus, and my best and most loved flora act, Golden Paintbrush, has gone missing! You need to find her!" Then a long pause...  "I will pay you well!?"

Those last few words got his attention. Macro Man had not had a paying gig for some time now and his supply of warehouse chili and canned cat food were getting low. "Uhhh, OK, tell me more mister..."

They met up at a seedy java joint in Old Town. The server gal, Cindy, was at least 70, had worked there for decades, and had more wrinkles than a bag of prunes. She spoke in deep, growling spurts, reminiscent of a pit bull with arthritis. "Coffee, boys?" was the grunting translation; we both nodded and avoided eye contact with her. The circus man rambled on about his missing act as Cindy plopped down two cups of black liquid that resembled crude oil - and smelled like the YMCA gym down the street.

Lorenzo, the circus guy, gave Macro Man a photo of the flora he was supposed to find. "Here she is, bring her back by tomorrow, or we'll be ruined." All we know is that she used to hang out in the Willamette Valley and she was last seen with some smooth talking farm boys. Macro Man just looked him in the eye, winked, and walked away without a word.

The Golden Paintbrush, Extirpated

And so his latest adventure began. His mission was to find the Golden Paintbrush and pronto. Macro Man was like a hound dog though; he knew where all the seedy types would hang, so it seemed only natural that Golden Paintbrush would be close by.

He slid into the squeaky, vinyl-covered seat in his '72 VW bus, with a windshield so pitted and smacked with dead bugs you could not drive it at night. There was a hole in the floor and no passenger seat - just a crate he salvaged from a demolished building. He never had to worry about someone trying to steal this rig, it smelled so bad that even urban raccoons avoided it. All he needed now was a stiff shot of V8 (to amp up his sense of smell), his trusty army surplus binoculars, his dusty old 35mm camera, and a map of all the known trouble spots in the valley.

But first, he needed to work the street a bit and find out if there was any useful buzz about the missing paintbrush. He knew just where to start, so he pointed the old bus to the land of perpetual darkness and noise, under the city freeway interchange.

Stay tuned for the exciting conclusion, coming soon...