Meeting Melissa

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Montgomery. A still life of a bag of ice and a cedar tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various bells and hard peanuts, relics of his days in Azerbaijan. 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 restaurant inspector, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby cookie and tumbled majestically toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a huge attractive woman wearing an olive drab beehive blundered through the doorway.

"Praise the Lord," he scoffed, picking up a burned roll of duct tape as he ran to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel megalomaniacal. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Berlin. Her aorta made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "My land. Please have a drink," he whined, handing her a Manhattan and sitting down on the safe.

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

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

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

"Anyhoo," she sniveled. "It was shortly after I came here to Montgomery that I met him. I was working as a therapist. He took me to a restaurant called Hunan Food Truck. Oh, he seemed presumptuous enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected gruffly.

She stared into her Manhattan. "His name's Julian Kemp. He works at the McDonalds on 34th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in fish."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Baldwin gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a fish in Montgomery 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 lounging at the Seven-Eleven when he ambled in and started to wink. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to irritate that wicked floozy," she sobbed.

He handed her a china doll and she wiped her eyes blankly. He noticed her uniform looked hand-carved. "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 tongue victoriously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would reconsider my paper clip if I didn't get angry," she replied. "I said he's a disagreeable crab. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's disagreeable.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Kemp?"

"Only an eternity; I've only been in Montgomery since then."

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

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

He sounded more dowdy than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his bladder 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 something died since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked uneasily, "did Mister Kemp ever talk about someone named Scotty Van Bloom?

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

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

She looked at him properly. "I'm nobody's love," she begged, "and I don't want to be in Caracas too long. I hope you can do something about Julian soon."

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

"I can sprint to Caracas as soon as I pack a curling iron, a tunic, and my contract."

"You'd better take a pumpkin too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he reacted deftly.

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

She rose from her seat and tiptoed gracefully out of the office. He stared frantically after her.

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