Meeting the boss: My employer is as secretive as Doctor Mudd. He asks me to call him Julius and prefers meeting in out of the way places. While not a young man he is certainly spry and somewhat combative, claiming he fought in Bolivia with Che. Julius’ beef with Dr. Mudd revolves around Mrs. Julius who appears to be fifty or sixty years younger then her hubby. She’s seeing Dr. Mudd on the sly. Her problem? Red fog. It follows her wherever she goes.
Julius conducts my briefing in the lobby of the Martin, an upscale boutique hotel on Lexington. He needs details on my encounter with Il Vagabondo; he’s angry that my clumsy surveillance may have tipped off the doctor, but redirects his fury once I explain about the gnats. Julius was on the verge of overthrowing an unnamed Latin American government when he was stung by a bee. His wrist began swelling and the palace guards rushed his position; he spent ten years in jail. He sees gnats and bees in his dreams.
I explain that Mrs. Julius is yet to be observed near Dr. Mudd’s practice on Horatio Street and that’s when Julius drops the big one: Mrs. Julius becomes invisible sometimes. No one can see her. This is a different twist for me.
“You will see the red fog. That’s how you know she’s close by.”
Julius pays in cash. I only mention that because a low bank of red fog is enveloping the lobby rising over the potted palms. Julius seems oblivious. He pays me with a flourish ordering me to return to the Village for another day in the Studebaker.
I walk out the door as the fog reaches chandelier level. You understand my ambivalence about the case. I’m wondering if these people are all crazy, and, if so, should I be taking their money?
Oh no. I left my spiral notebook in the lobby. I could go back or buy a new one at the drugstore. More later, signed, Arthur Murray, PI.