Eventually Sid gave me my own office to work from in his building. He also gave me food and money and he let me slide on the rent more often than not. In exchange for all this I had to promise Sid that I would no longer steal. I told him stealing was all I knew how to do, and I asked him what other profession could possibly call for such dishonest talents.

Sid suggested a private investigator, and it all clicked.

Clients started pouring in like whores at an Astroglide sale. It seemed as if everyone in the whole, rotten city wanted to know who was fucking who, or what politicians were available for the buying. Sure, I got my share of missing persons and even more boring stuff, but on the whole the sort of people who came to me had some pretty spicy affairs to settle.

That's why I had to do a double take when I saw the quiet-looking fat man in a three piece suit standing hesitantly in my doorway. He carried a brass-handled cane and the glasses he wore made him look like a nerdish bulldog. I thought for sure he was in the wrong place, so I told him that the library was down the street. He got a little offended by this.

"So what do you want with me?" I asked him.

"You are Mr. Halston Dupree?" he asked.

I nodded, but said nothing.

"Ah, good. My name is Sindorf, Elwin Sindorf, and I wish to examine and orientate myself with the inner-workings of your establishment here so that I may properly enhance my presentation to you and adequately compensate you for your time... should you choose to accept my request. Rest assured, I can offer a great deal of monetary compensation for your services."

I had to laugh. That little pear-shaped man looked as if the only thing he would want investigated was where to get the best deal on Miracle Whip.

Sensing my amusement, he said, "I have a very important case for you, Mr. Dupree--one that could make you famous--and I intend to offer you a great deal of money. Doesn't that interest you?"

"It interests me just about as much as a lump of yellow snow," I told him, "but come in anyway. Have a seat over there. You like some coffee?"

"Oh no, no, no," he said.

"It's fresh brewed," I told him.

"No, no, no," he repeated. "No coffee for me, but help yourself. I'm anxious to get down to business."

"I don't see why," I replied, seating myself with coffee in hand. "You seem to be a pretty tasteful guy, Mr. Sindorf, and I have to tell you, the kind of work I'm accustomed to is about as tasteful as a condom in the prayer box. I really don't see why you chose me."

He didn't even flinch. "A man named Sid Darnell told me you were the biggest and the best around."

That really made me laugh. Good old Sid was trying to throw a big fat flounder into my net. I had to set the poor guy straight.

"Look, this is a real small business. You got me, Mr. Sindorf? I make just enough money to keep the walls painted and the coffee machine stocked and running."

"And the bills?" Sindorf inquired.

I found myself toying with my coffee cup. "The bills are the bills, Mr. Sindorf. Sometimes they get paid and sometimes I have dinner. I usually have dinner."

Sindorf leaned forward, placing his two large fists on the hilt of his cane. "But wouldn't you like to be able to do both of these things, easily?"

"Who wouldn't? I mean, that's the American dream, right?" I withdrew a pack of Winstons from a desk drawer and offered one to Sindorf.

"I must decline," he said. "Smoking is a habit I picked up as a young man in the army, and I have since taught myself to despise the very sight of a cigarette. I've come to associate them with war."

"No shit, huh?" I said as I lit one and took a long drag.

The older man straightened in his chair. "None at all, Mr. Dupree. What I say during the course of a business conversation is always truthful. I firmly believe that honesty creates good business."

I deliberately blew a smoke ring toward Sindorf.

"Well then, if you're hard for some honesty, I guess you won't mind if I say that I can smell the odor of your lies as they seep from between your false teeth.. along with a mighty disturbing case of halitosis."

That got him. He coughed nervously, and as he put his hand up to cover his mouth, I heard him sniff quickly.

"It's just coffee," Sindorf explained after a moment. "I drink a lot of coffee. I love the stuff."

"No you don't," I said. "You refused a cup when you first came in here. Besides, I know what coffee breath smells like, and that's not it. I think you're a liar, Mr. Sindorf."

"Please, Mr. Dupree, do not be so hasty. I can explain."

I leaned forward in the chair and crushed my cigarette into an ashtray. "If you can explain, then do it--now."

Sindorf frowned. "Do you treat all your prospective clients like this?"

Enough was enough. My day had not been going well, and the last thing I needed was some Porky Pig clone giving me some yank-off. So I jumped up and grabbed Sindorf by the collar, lifting him up and out of my chair. He began to protest, but I forcefully coralled him toward the front of the office His chubby feet kicked and shuffled and ruffled up my rug.

When we got to the door, I spun him around to face me.

"The answer to your question is no. I do not treat all my possible clients like this, only the ones who seem to enjoy slinging shit at me. And when I run into people like that--people who pull my chain and babble happy horseshit about how famous they can make me--when I run into that particular kind of motherfucker I usually show him to the door and kick his ass down that flight of stairs over there."

Sindorf peered down the long stairway, and he looked truly frightened. "What have I done to make you suspect me of such dishonesty?"

"Oh come on," I said irritably. "First you start talking about lots of money and the American dream and how honest you are, then you make such an obvious mistake with the coffee story, telling me that you love to drink coffee right after you adamantly declined a freshly-brewed cup of it. All this just to cover up that garbage breath of yours. That was stupid, don't you think?"

There was a pause, and then the older man suddenly began to laugh. It was a deep, coughy sort of laugh, and I was just about to throw him out the door when his laughing subsided and he raised his hand, indicating he had something to say other than "haw-haw-haw".

Sindorf withdrew a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and began wiping his eyes. "Oh dear," he said at length, "it seems that one of my unusual tastes is to blame for all this. You see, Mr. Dupree, I do love coffee--but only a certain kind. For years I've had an absolute passion for a specially-blended coffee that is made with pecans and hazelnuts. Only the finest of gourmet import specialty shops carry this, and it is the only kind of coffee I enjoy. I have a large supply of it at my house, so when someone offers me plain old 'coffee', I simply decline. Also, I've noticed that this unusual coffee blend causes a unique form of bad breath; which you were so quick to notice. This taken into account, I hope you'll see fit to redeem your opinion of me. After all, it's not every day that one is called a 'motherfucker'; especially by someone whom he wishes to employ."

Nonplused, I replied, "Then you haven't visited my neighborhood. But regardless, come back in and we'll talk."

The tale that unfolded from that point onward was twisted to say the least. I soon found out that my chubby friend had been married not once or twice, but eight times. Yes, there were eight ex-Mrs. Piggies waddling around out there, and he was paying hundreds of truffles a month to each of them. So, Sindorf wanted to root out his problems by sniffing me out and throwing his bacon into the frying pan (I think I'm on a roll here). His story sizzled and popped with lots of crunchy action and meaty details, and without hamming it up he conveyed troughs of information on these porky women to me. Enough scenes of steamy adultery to make even an old hot dog like me turn pink.

Anyway, by the end of the conversation I was thinking of him as Elwin Sindorf and not Porky Pig. Why? Because that poor bastard had been screwed, blued and tattooed by everything with two legs and two tits from here to Schenectady, that's why. Every woman he had ever loved would sooner hump the gear shift on his Mercedes than love him back, and as I looked into his sad brown eyes I couldn't help but feel sorry for him.

And as his life began to piece together before my eyes, I couldn't help but notice that Elwin Sindorf was truly a study in contrasts. He was a loser who drank imported gourmet coffee, a fat guy who drove a sporty car, a timid bulldog in a three piece suit, and a Casanova who never won the girl. Elwin Sindorf was the kind of guy who could attract rain just by hanging his socks on a clothesline.

What he wanted me to do was fairly simple. You see, out of all his eight ex-wives the one that he loved the absolute most was number six. Her name was Donna Knollmeyer, and Elwin said he married number seven and number eight just to help ease the pain of losing her. He also said that out of all the other women, Donna was the one who came closest to really loving him. The thing that got in her way was his coffee.

That's right, his beloved pecan and hazelnut coffee ruined his marriage, because Donna is what's known as a "nuttarian" (someone who refuses to eat, touch, see, smell, or live with or near nuts). And according to Elwin, an awful lot of nuts have to be blended into his coffee in order to give it such spectacular taste, and the vats of it that he has stored at his house literally permeate the place with a most unusual aroma. He said Donna put up with it for as long as she could, and when she eventually gave him an ultimatum, his love of the coffee had grown so strong that he simply refused to part with it.

Needless to say, Donna left.

"And so you see," Sindorf was saying, "I want you to get my Donna back for me."

I nearly choked. "What?"

"I want you to strengthen her love for me while you are weakening her distaste for nuts," he said. "Is there a problem?"

"Uh, I think we could call it that," I said. "What you want is some hybrid between Sigmund Freud and George Washington Carver--you know, someone who could walk up to her and say something like, 'Might your hatred of nuts have anything to do with the possibility that your father forced you to perform oral sex on him as a young child?'--and since someone like that doesn't exist I guess you're plain shit out of luck. So just have a nice life and remember to shut the door on your way out."

And, for the first time in maybe his whole life, Elwin Sindorf really got pissed.

"No! I will not go!" he shouted at me. "I've presented a viable and handable case to you, and I--"

"That case is anything but viable," I interrupted.

"Oh really?" he said, reseating himself as if I had queued him. "Well then, Mr. Dupree, is it not true that a man such as yourself has had an infinite amount of experience dealing with the inner workings of man-woman relationships?"

"Well I--"

"And is it not true that this case would involve several standard tactics of surveillance, study and note-taking that private detectives such as yourself specialize in?"

"I suppose--"

"And wouldn't you like to know that just for once you were working to help two people love each other instead of monitoring sleazy behaviors and corrupt officials?"

"Well, ya--"

"And finally, couldn't you use an extra fifty thousand dollars right about now, Mr. Dupree?"

Damn. The man was good.

I leaned back in my chair and lit another Winston.

"Where do I sign up?"

The very next morning I found myself sitting on a park bench with a bunch of pigeons pecking around me. I had a long overcoat on that smelled like old cabbage and a hat that was maybe fifteen years out of fashion. It was pretty cold that morning and the wind took the opportunity to whip right through my tattered clothes, chilling me in all the wrong places. But that was okay. With ten thousand dollars cash up front from Sindorf, I was the richest bum in town.

A little later on I spotted who I was looking for. Donna Knollmeyer was one hot babe. She had on a pair of hot pink pants that gave new meaning to the word "spandex", and on occasion the fur coat she wore would gently part itself to reveal a bright green tube top that looked more like a rubber band that was stretched to capacity, with the tips of two pencils protruding on either side. If I had thought to bring some booze in a brown paper bag I would have taken several swigs just to brace myself.

In short, the woman could melt snow.

If I had more time I probably would have wondered why Elwin figured she really loved him, because she sure didn't look like she was mourning their break-up, but this chick moved fast. In a handful of moments she had traversed quite a distance, and I found it pretty hard to appear as if I was wandering around aimlessly at the pace she was setting. If anybody had been paying attention to me, they would have thought that I was hobbling after a wine truck wich had sprung a leak.

I followed her along the streets for what seemed like an eternity, all the while waiting for some sign or clue concerning her destination. I didn't get one, but I knew I was on to something. Why? Because the lady chose to walk block after block in the cold instead of calling a cab. As a former crook, I know that doing this serves two purposes: it makes it harder to follow you, and it doesn't leave someone behind who knows where you were going.

The sky was overcast with lots of menacing dark rainclouds, and I was just about out of breath when lovely Donna quickly ducked into an alleyway. I carefully followed her, leaving a good fifteen yards between us.

And guess where she went.

A beauty shop? No. A department store? No. A tanning salon? No. Folks, I'm telling you plain and straight that this lady, this "nuttarian", went right into a place called Big Tony's Imported Nuts. Go figure. Big Tony's was some sort of warehouse, and they were kind enough not to lock their doors, so I waited about thirty seconds then followed her in.

Immediately I was accosted by idiotic advertising signs. One of them read "No nuts is better nuts than Tony's Nuts". Another one, even more stupid, proclaimed "Without Tony's Nuts, you'd be eating pea butter sandwiches for lunch". And, of course, there was the compulsory "Try Tony's Nuts--you'll love 'em!" I tried to ignore all that and push away this sort of free association I was having, thinking about all those numbskull commercials that you see at three in the morning, but it wasn't easy. Donna had walked up some hall and she was out of sight.

At this point I guess I should have turned around and left, but my head became filled with visions of poor Elwin, living alone and beating off every night. Believe me, it wasn't a pretty picture. The guy was lonely and the guy was in love. More importantly, the guy was going to pay me fifty thousand bucks.

What the hell.

I walked down the hall, with its coarse pavement and dirty concrete walls. As I moved, voices slowly started to drift toward me. I couldn't yet make out the words, but I could tell that a man and a woman were talking.

I moved closer to where the voices came from and I was able to make out laughter. Yes. The man was laughing and the woman (Donna?) was saying something like, "His eyes might be off me but his greedy hands still grab from afar."

I was now moving through a part of the warehouse that was heavily stocked. Vat upon vat of imported nuts kissed the very ceiling, like endless rows of Roman columns. The voices were quite near me now, but I could see no one. Cautiously I worked my way between the rows, and when I felt that I had gotten close enough, I peered between the crack of two of the columns.

They were about ten feet away from me. And yes, the voice was Donna's. I didn't recognize the guy. Maybe he was Big Tony.

"He's an oddball," the man was saying. "I mean, no one else goes near that weird stuff and he buys it like it was gold."

"Elwin is like that," Donna said. "He often enjoys things that others don't care for. It's in his nature."

"Nature my ass. Sometimes I think he knows, and he's buying so much of the shit because of it."

"Absolutely not," Donna said. "It's ridiculous. Besides, don't you even know what the stuff does?"

"Uh, no. I just load the stuff and--What the fuck?"

I had sneezed.

"Who the hell's there?" I heard him yell, and before Donna could say something like "Check it out", I was gone.

That night I went to Elwin 's place.

"There's definitely something in there other than nuts," I told him.

He was sitting in an easy chair, sipping the stuff.

"What could it be?" he asked.

"I'm not sure. I didn't hear much."

"But you seem to think it's valuable?"

"Yes. They sure made it sound valuable."

And then he asked the inevitable question:

"Who's 'they'?"

What could I say? There was no easy way to do it. "Elwin, listen to me. Donna is not what you think she is. She's not a nuttarian, and I'm pretty sure she's getting a share of the profits for this thing...and you know what that probably means."

His face was blank. "What?"

"Damn it, do I have to spell it out for you? She's probably riding someone's salami--someone who's high up in the organization. They have vats and vats of that special coffee stuff over there and--"

"Sleeping with someone?" he said in repulsion. "Are you sure that you followed Donna and not someone else?"

"Yes, I'm sure. After all those pictures and video tapes you showed me after our talk last night, I'm absolutely sure."

He slouched in his chair. His face pouted, and he even put down his beloved pecan and hazelnut coffee.

"How could she do this to me?" he moaned. "I loved her, you know. I really did."

"I know," I said, trying to be as comforting as possible and failing miserably.

He looked up at me with an unsteady gaze. "If she's not a nuttarian, then why do you think she hated my coffee?"

"She didn't hate your coffee," I said, "she hated the fact that you were buying so much of it. Apparently no one else likes the stuff very much. Maybe that's why they chose that particular blend. I don't know for sure, but I can tell you that the reason why she gave you the ultimatum was so you would stop buying the coffee and interfering with the profits. She probably never expected you to chose the coffee instead of her."

Elwin looked reflective. "I was never precisely sure why I did that, you know."

"After I saw her neither was I," I said. "But now I am."

His eyes lit up. Not happy, just very curious.

"Tell me why," he said. "Please tell me why!"

I paused, weighing my words.

"Elwin," I said, "that coffee is addictive."

After more talk, I decided to send a sample of the stuff to a chemist friend of mine who also had an office in Darnell's building. The results were ready the next day.

"Well?" Elwin asked impatiently as I read the report. "What's in the coffee besides nuts?"

"Plenty," I said as I read.

"Harmful?" he asked.

I looked at him.

"Harmful," he said. "Oh great. Just great. What is it?"

I put the papers down. "Ever hear of a drug called phenmetrazine hydrochloride, more commonly known as Preludin?"

He nodded slowly. "For fat people, right?"

"That's just one of its uses," I told him. "Preludin is very similar to an amphetamine. It works on your central nervous system and it's quite addictive. Overweight people use it to help them diet, true, but it is toxic."

All he could do was swallow, hard.

"How long have you been drinking it?" I asked.

He looked quite pale. "About a year," he said slowly.

"Mmm. Says here tolerance for it develops within a few weeks. Mmm, definitely addictive. Tell me, did you notice a loss of weight shortly after you started drinking the coffee?"

"Uh y-yes, I d-did." His hands trembled.

I nodded. "And what was the longest period of time you've gone without having the stuff?"

"About a week," he said. "When Donna said she would leave I managed to stay off the stuff for a week; but that was all."

I flipped through the pages of the report. "It says here that abruptly quitting the stuff can cause extreme fatigue, mental depression, irritability, hyperactivity, and personality changes. Did you experience any of these?"

"Yes, I did," he answered. He was now staring at the half drunk cup next to him as if it had fangs.

"Well," I said, "there's no question it's Preludin. Even says here how the stuff leaves a nasty aroma."

"But why?" Sindorf suddenly asked. "Why would they put the stuff into coffee?"

"Smuggling," I said. "Very hard to detect."

"But who the hell would they sell it to? You yourself said that no one else seemed to care for that flavor of coffee."

"That's true," I replied, "but they don't intend to hook people on the coffee. They put it in the coffee because it's a crystalline powder, similar to coffee crystals. The drug is water soluble, and although buying some coffee and brewing it up can get you hooked, the real way I think they intend to sell this stuff is by concentrating it. Boiling huge mixtures of it in closed containers and making it powerful. That would put it right up there with your major drugs."

Sindorf was stunned.

"I have two questions for you," he said.

"Go ahead."

"The first question is how can I get off this stuff."

"Slowly," I said, "and with the help of barbiturates. You'll need to go to a doctor, probably stay a while in a hospital, but you can break the addiction."

He nodded.

"What's the second question?" I asked.

Sindorf leaned forward in his chair, and there was a gleam in his eyes. He slowly stood and smiled at me maliciously.

"How do we nail this bitch?"

Seven years; that's a long time. A long time to be spent married. Never mind the fact that he was married to eight different women over that period of time. That's not so important. The thing is, he was married, and marriage takes its tolls.

Now, start throwing eight divorces, lawyers, headaches, and a whole bunch of Preludin into the mixture, and you'll soon understand why Elwin Sindorf was just about as happy with his life as a crocodile is with an hors d'oeuvre.

Anyway, the point is, Elwin Sindorf needed more than just an emotional enema, he needed some big time vindication. That's why handing it all over to the cops was out of the question. You see, when someone's paying you fifty thousand bucks, you usually feel a whole lot better about taking it if you've done some actual, hard-nosed work. Besides, nailing them is always the fun part.

I decided to let Elwin take an active part in it. We worked out a plan, and bright and early the next morning he paid a visit to Big Tony's Imported Nuts. I put a wire on him, and I waited outside the place, listening and waiting for the right time.

"Excuse me," I heard him say, "are you Big Tony?"

"Na, na," the other guy said. "Tony's not around, but I'll take care of ya. What do ya want?"

"I'd like to place a very large order," Elwin said. "I'm starting my own specialty coffee shop and--"

"We don't sell coffee, just nuts," the other guy said quickly.

"Oh but you do sell coffee," Elwin corrected. "You sell that specially blended pecan and hazelnut coffee, and I'm going to purchase four thousand pounds of it."

"All right who the fuck are you?"

"Why, my name is Elwin Sindorf. Is there a prob--"

Suddenly I heard a great deal of scuffling and Elwin shouted something like "Unhand me!". Well, that was it. I made my move.

Up until that point I had been sitting in the back of Elwin's Mercedes, holding the keys to his trunk, which contained two large containers of gasoline. A box of bullets was in my left pocket and several books of matches were in my right. I was ready.

I hefted the two containers of fuel into the warehouse and across the concrete hallway. I was carrying a total of twenty gallons of gas, and I had to do all I could to keep from dragging the containers. I knew that I didn't have much time. They had surely taken Elwin into a back room for some sort of interrogation, and the floor was left open for a while. The thing was, I didn't know how soon it would be before they just put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger.

I got into the main holding area of the place, where they kept most all of their goods. Sure enough, all I saw was vat after vat marked "Pecan and Hazelnut Coffee". I quickly opened the first drum of gasoline and began dumping it all over the merchandise until all ten gallons were gone. I took the second drum and spilled its entire contents all over the warehouse floor.

Then I heard someone behind me. I spun around, and beheld a man wearing a tee-shirt that read "I'm Big Tony".

He was an immense man, and he didn't even bother to ask any questions. He just came charging at me.

I managed to sidestep him, and as he flew by I gave him a whack on the back of his head for good measure. He didn't even seem to notice it. He just stopped about fifteen feet away from me and turned.

"I figured Sindorf had back-up", he said.

"You're a smart man," I told him. "Why sell nuts?"

"Exactly," he said. "I'm going to sell drugs instead."

"Not the best career move," I advised him. And of course, he said, "Fuck you."

I lifted up a finger and wiggled it. "Tsk-tsk-tsk."

His head was turning red and veins were popping out.

"You're going to die," he said between clenched teeth. "You're going to die and so is your fat friend."

He withdrew a knife. A very long knife.

Times like that make me wish I carried a gun.

He charged me again, and even though I managed to dodge it once more, I felt the cold bite of the knife slice across my shoulder. Tony slid a bit on the gas-covered floor, but he regained balance.

I was slumped to one knee, with a whole lot of blood trickling down my arm. I still had the matches, but I couldn't light them until I was clear of the gas.

"You're going to die slowly," Tony said, and he charged once again.

This time I was ready for him.

Still on one knee, I pivoted around with my good hand and gave him a vicious leg sweep as he came by. It sent him sprawling into a pile of the gasoline-soaked vats, which toppled on him.

Big Tony was stuck.

From one pocket I withdrew the box of bullets, and I began carefully placing them all around the area where Tony was. At this point he began to yell for help, but I had all the time I needed, because everything was ready.

I lit a match.

"Stop! Stop! Please! Stop!" he yelled.

"Sorry. But cheer up. With any luck one of these bullets will blast your way and kill you quickly. If not, I'm afraid you're going to burn."

I took the match and lit an entire pack.

"You bastard!" Tony screamed. "You fucking bastard!"

I smiled at him pleasantly.

"Say goodbye to your nuts, Big Tony."

I threw the flaming pack in.

Immediately one big "whoomph!" engulfed the area. Tony started to really scream and the bullets started going off as I ran across the burning warehouse, trying to find out where they took Elwin.

That wasn't too difficult.

I spotted three or four guys running out of a doorway nearby, heading straight for the exit, which was lucky. If Big Tony had been generous enough to make them partners in the whole deal, they might have stuck around.

Elwin was tied to a chair when I got to him. He had a few bruises but he was alive and kicking.

"What took you so long?" he demanded.

I started undoing the knots. "I met Big Tony."

"Was he with Donna?" Elwin asked.

"No," I said, "but I'm sure she'll get wind of this."

Indeed, the whole city eventually "got wind" of it. Even as we were escaping, the garbage-breath smell of those damn, putrid, burning, contaminated coffee nuts was everywhere.