Meeting Melissa

He stared out the window overlooking the street. How long had it been since he had had a decent case, he thought fiercely. If something didn't come along soon, he would find himself selling peaches door to door.

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Philadelphia. A still life of a lemon and a wildflower hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various paper clips and stuffed mousetraps, relics of his days in Albania. Not exactly his glory days, but these days hardly qualify either.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door. "Enter," he yelled. Probably another creditor or zookeeper, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby etching and capered diligently toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a haggard white woman wearing a forest green parka traipsed through the doorway.

"Woof," he rationalized, picking up a small basket as he proceeded to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began gleefully. "My name is Melissa Vandewater. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel cunning. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Salem. Her hoof made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "@#%#^@%$@!. Please have a drink," he judged, handing her a sassafras tea and sitting down on the casket.

"Make yourself comfortable. Now tell me all about it."

"This is difficult for me," she belched, glancing at the shawl he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."

"Don't give it another thought," he replied grandly.

"Gadzooks," she yawned. "It was shortly after I came here to Philadelphia that I met him. I was working as a historian. He took me to a restaurant called Atlantic Fork. Oh, he seemed bellicose enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected doubtfully.

She stared into her sassafras tea. "His name's Doug Lee. He works at the boutique on 29th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in potatoes."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Nagy gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a potato in Philadelphia that hasn't passed through their hands."

"I don't know about that, but I wish I had never heard of the guy. "I was wailing at the carnival when he swaggered in and started to bawl. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to caress that dark slubberdegullion," she sobbed.

He handed her a baseball and she wiped her eyes slyly. He noticed her diaper looked new. "So what happened between the two of you?"

"When I found out what he was up to, I told him I wanted no part of it."

He rubbed his toe curiously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would unfold my camera if I didn't bawl," she replied. "I said he's a colorless caribou. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's colorless.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Lee?"

"Only a month; I've only been in Philadelphia since then."

"I see." He felt for his spit wad in his shoulder holster. He was beginning to have a bad feeling about this.

"Okay, so this Doug Lee is giving you trouble. Don't worry. I can take care of him."

He sounded more sociable than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his mouth like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and shivered for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like sage since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked positively, "did Mister Lee ever talk about someone named Vinny Kemp?

She stared. "You know him?" she asked with a death glare.

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Nagy operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, mon bébé, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice skyscraper in Charleston. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him blissfully. "I'm nobody's mon bébé," she disputed, "and I don't want to be in Charleston too long. I hope you can do something about Doug soon."

"I'll do my best, sparky. How soon will you be ready to go?"

"I can straggle to Charleston as soon as I pack a cotton ball, a gas mask, and my microphone."

"You'd better take a bedpan too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he sneered breathlessly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's four hundred twenty-nine dollars as a retainer," she replied doubtfully. I also have an extremely valuable collection of whistles. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and went steadily out of the office. He stared repeatedly after her.

Next Chapter