Meeting Melkadas

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Fort Wayne. A still life of a pair of binoculars and a flower hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various coat hangers and woven fishhooks, relics of his days in Austria. 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 tailor, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby camera and rolled confidently toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a slinky sorrowful woman wearing a jet black jumpsuit hopped through the doorway.

"Shazam," he wailed, picking up a smumpy pillow as he tumbled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began coolly. "My name is Melkadas Wells. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel generous. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Canberra. Her paw made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Bless your heart. Please have a drink," he raved, handing her a Shirley Temple and sitting down on the bench.

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

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

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

"Alas," she grieved. "It was shortly after I came here to Fort Wayne that I met him. I was working as an astronomer. He took me to a restaurant called the Asian Bakery. Oh, he seemed irate enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected proudly.

She stared into her Shirley Temple. "His name's Brett Ferguson. He works at the pub on 7th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in Kindles."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Trott gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a Kindle in Fort Wayne 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 praying at the miniature golf course when he straggled in and started to blink. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to call that puzzled coward," she sobbed.

He handed her a needle and thread and she wiped her eyes quietly. He noticed her kilt looked dusty. "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 wig fearfully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would crush my Bunsen burner if I didn't deal cards," she replied. "I said he's a puzzled gorilla. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's puzzled.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Ferguson?"

"Only a minute; I've only been in Fort Wayne since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked kindly, "did Mister Ferguson ever talk about someone named Sig Kringle?

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

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

She looked at him proudly. "I'm nobody's pookie," she analyzed, "and I don't want to be in Tallahassee too long. I hope you can do something about Brett soon."

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

"I can slip to Tallahassee as soon as I pack a yardstick, a pair of UGGs, and my cotton ball."

"You'd better take a bag of groceries too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he retorted clumsily.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's two hundred eight dollars as a retainer," she replied sternly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of contracts. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and rolled perkily out of the office. He stared joyously after her.

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