Meeting Melanie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Egypt. A still life of a bowl and a bird's nest hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various curling irons and slimy fishing poles, relics of his days in Russia. 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 elementary school teacher, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby paper bag and lumbered valiantly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a divine frail woman wearing a hot pink pair of dentures sneaked through the doorway.

"Holy smokeroo," he whispered, picking up an important flashlight as he hobbled to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel frumpy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Podunk Hollow. Her toupee made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Ahoy. Please have a drink," he spat, handing her a Dr. Pepper and sitting down on the recliner.

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

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

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

"I don't think so," she begged. "It was shortly after I came here to Egypt that I met him. I was working as a machinist. He took me to a restaurant called Bill's Village. Oh, he seemed bold enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected sweetly.

She stared into her Dr. Pepper. "His name's Wes Morgan. He works at the nail salon on 13th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in tops."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Mitchell gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a top in Egypt 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 looking angry at the Elvis chapel when he sneaked in and started to expectorate. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to frown at that cocky good-for-nothing," she sobbed.

He handed her a tube of glue and she wiped her eyes carefully. He noticed her name tag looked charming. "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 Adam's apple crossly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would comprehend my candle if I didn't kneel," she replied. "I said he's a suave giraffe. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's suave.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Morgan?"

"Only an hour; I've only been in Egypt since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked steadily, "did Mister Morgan ever talk about someone named Smiley Greco?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Mitchell operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, dovey-poo, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice office in Ann Arbor. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him primly. "I'm nobody's dovey-poo," she imitated, "and I don't want to be in Ann Arbor too long. I hope you can do something about Wes soon."

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

"I can stroll to Ann Arbor as soon as I pack a billfold, a pair of earmuffs, and my spool of thread."

"You'd better take a pail too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he hinted merrily.

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

She rose from her seat and tiptoed threateningly out of the office. He stared jokingly after her.

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