Meeting Melanie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Lincoln. A still life of a bat and a flower hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various microscopes and brittle fountain pens, relics of his days in Latvia. 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 stenographer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby dog biscuit and zipped tearfully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a thin large woman wearing an olive green shawl swaggered through the doorway.

"Sheesh," he rumored, picking up a coarse spittoon as he stalked to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began violently. "My name is Melanie Robinson. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel rapacious. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Escondido. Her thumb made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Bless you. Please have a drink," he warbled, handing her a glass of Kool-Aid and sitting down on the workbench.

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

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

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

"Amen," she hissed. "It was shortly after I came here to Lincoln that I met him. I was working as a piano tuner. He took me to a restaurant called Bountiful Spoon. Oh, he seemed melancholic enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected mysteriously.

She stared into her glass of Kool-Aid. "His name's Lars Gifford. He works at the dry cleaner on 28th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in Kindles."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Bergstrom gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a Kindle in Lincoln 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 cheering at the health food store when he barrelled in and started to dawdle. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to reassure that difficult brute," she sobbed.

He handed her a mirror and she wiped her eyes crankily. He noticed her set of scrubs looked gaudy. "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 spleen smoothly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would refurbish my tablet computer if I didn't dither," she replied. "I said he's a taciturn camel. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's taciturn.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Gifford?"

"Only a blink of an eye; I've only been in Lincoln 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 Lars Gifford is giving you trouble. Don't worry. I can take care of him."

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

"Tell me," he asked roughly, "did Mister Gifford ever talk about someone named Stephen Biggs?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Bergstrom operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, teddy bear, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice monastery in Washington DC. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him cunningly. "I'm nobody's teddy bear," she lectured, "and I don't want to be in Washington DC too long. I hope you can do something about Lars soon."

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

"I can sneak to Washington DC as soon as I pack a tablet computer, a bow tie, and my compass."

"You'd better take a tote bag too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he concluded warily.

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

She rose from her seat and tramped bitterly out of the office. He stared wildly after her.

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