"come on," he said, holding my hand. "i'll dump you down in simpson's catacombs, he has a heavy duty shower down there, better than a car wash."

i put my five hundred dollar ruined outfit back on, and wanted to scream all the way back to the car. thank god the lightening had slowed down some. when we got in the car, i said: "turn the heater on, pork." he didn't question me, just did as i said. "now hand me that hip flask." he remained silent, and handed me the flask. i downed what was left and let out a mournful sigh. "whoooosh."

"you did great, baby, i jest want to tell you that." the road seemed even bumpier, my head almost hit the ceiling several times. "you know." he chuckled, "you look jest like a tar baby."

"just keep it up pork ass."

"really, you do carlee, and i'd chase you through the briar patch any ole time." i wasn't impressed.

finally, we were back on a regular road. "do you think that was terry?" he asked.

"i don't know pork, impossible to tell."

"look in that bill fold you got, honey." i pulled it out and opened it up, i could smell the stench of death. like everything else in saltpeter cave, it was soaking wet. there were eleven one hundred dollar bill inside, a passport with the name "vass" on it, a visa with the same name on it, the first name was albert.

"mean anything pork?"

"not yet baby."

pork pie pulled up in his driveway. even his safehouse was a welcome sight. as we approached the front door simpson appeared. "good evening sir, you and your tar baby should enter through the back entrance."

"fuck you buzz, we're cold and wet and in need of some strong brandy."

"wait here, i'll return," simpson said.

"you call him 'buzz?'"

"yeah, his scandahoovian name starts like that, i've always called him buzz."

"what is his real name, pork?"

"simpson."

simpson returned, and had placed clean sheets on the floor, all the way to the first office. "i took the liberty of pouring fresh brandy for you in the second office suite, sir."

"thanks buzz, hey, is all your laboratory equipment working?"

"indeed it is sir."

"spectromicrometer and all?"

"it is all quite intact, sir."

"good, want you to run some samples for us and squeeze them through your databases." simpson pulled my chair out for me. the brandy looked delicious. "give him your clothes, carlee."

gulp. "what?"

"take your clothes off so he can wash them."

"these pants are leather pork pie!"

"'s ok, he can do those too, carlee."

i took a sip of my brandy before i responded. "god guys, this hits the spot." simpson had my boots and socks off before i completed my second swallow. he was then working on my pants.

"run albert vass, buzz, see what you can come up with."

"of course, sir," he said, as he removed my sweater and was unbuttoning my black shirt." he carefully placed my dirty clothes in a bag marked 'contaminated'.

"give him the zip lock bag, baby. see what we got here, we're lookin' for terry sypes."

"i'll need a three hundred and twenty four linear connection, sir."

"what the fuck's that?"

"your friends at alliance could key that into here."

"sure, call them and i'll ok it."

"she needs a shower," simpson said.

"yeah, but i just love her when she's naked, especially muddy and naked." god, men, they're all the same.

simpson placed the zip locked bag, with the finger and hairs samples in it, in his left hand, and mine in his right. i was surprised that he even touched me, him in his black suit and white shirt and tie. we headed for the catacombs. "i believe we have everything you need ma'me," he said, as we walked down the stairs. "what flavor of shampoo do you prefer?"

"i have to wash my hair, simpson?"

"indeed you do miss, we have everything for wild cherry to........."

"vanilla, do you have vanilla?"

"yes, and i believe that will do nicely," he said. he unlocked the door to the right, the 'whirling one'. "the shower is in the back to your right, there are towels and wash clothes, soap, and i will fetch you shampoo."

"do you have a hair dryer?"

"of course we do, ma'me."

"say, i'll need something to put on after i shower, simpson."

"shorts and a midriff friendly tee shirt do miss, it's warm tonight?"

"you've been through my bags, simpson?"

"only slightly miss. i'll go and get them, are your moccasins alright?"

"they're all i brought, simpson."

the shower head was truly industrial, the biggest one i'd ever seen. mud ran off of me, i was afraid it would stop up the plumbing. i was feeling better though. "here is your shampoo, miss," i heard simpson say. at least he handed it in, rather than just barging in on me. "i brought you pink panties and a clean b and a half bra, i rather thought you'd wear bigger, ma'me."

i couldn't help laughing. "why, thank you simpson, you're too kind."

"i'll clean your boots, please find me when you are through, i'll dry your hair for you."

the vanilla shampoo smelled great. "simpson, could i have another brandy?"

"of course madam." i wished he would call me by my name.

i felt so clean and relaxed, another brandy and the horrors of the night would be over. my shower over, i sat in a straight chair by a table, crossed my legs and waited. simpson returned, placed the brandy snifter in front of me. he then looked at me, awaiting instructions, maybe. "my hair, simpson."

"of course madam." he clicked his heels and walked to the other side of the room. pamper me. i thought. simpson had to be seven feet tall, and i doubt if he weighed in at a hundred and fifty. the bastard was quick on his feet though, and how he climbed up and down those stairs, i could never know.

i was sipping brandy, and enjoying it. my hair was sopping. simpson returned with a gigantic hair drier as i was slipping in to my mocassins. "have mr. anderson take you for a pedicure madam," he said, in a low, cold voice.

"what's wrong with my feet, simpson?"

"your nails need polishing." then he turned the drier on. i was going to ask him a question, but the drier was too loud and powerful. my hair stood straight out in front of me. he turned it off. "never mind, i'll take you for the pedicure tomorrow, and have your hair highlighted." gosh, was he taking an interest in me? or was it that he didn't like my hair, or my feet. what in thr hell goes through and hundred and one year old man's mind anyway? i was getting comfortable with him anyway. "pardon me, please," he said. and he walked over to a table across the room. he opened a door to a drier and removed my black outfit, the leather pants must have been somewhere else. he removed the water soaked message i had retrieved from the cave from another machine. he placed it back and pushed a button.

"not dry enough?"

"no, it will take another few minutes."

"you from england simpson?"

"no, madam, i hail from bulgaria."

"known pork pie long?"

"fifty eight years, if memory serves me correctly." he was looking through the zip locked bag i had retrieved from the cave.

"are the samples all right?" i asked.

"yes, adequate for analysis." he didn't unlock the bag, but handed me a hair brush.

"you ever been married, simpson?"

"married?" he smiled. "heavens no, i was born into a different destiny, miss."

"taking care of others?"

"kind of like that miss, but nothing you would ever begin to understand." i suddenly felt sorry for him and admired him at the same time. he was right though, if there were any earthly reward in taking care of "pork pie" anderson, i couldn't begin to understand. simpson put on rubber surgical gloves, took the zip lock bag and carried it over to a table which contained several pieces of equipment, including a microscope. he removed the sample of hair, and used a scraping tool to transfer a small amount onto a glass slide. he did the same with the finger. he placed the finger slide under the microscope, pushing a button, a bright light came on.

"interesting," he muttered.

"what? can i see?"

"surely, but mind your eyes madam, the light is very bright."

"no!"

"squint," he said. i did as he said, but the view meant nothing.

"is it terry sypes?" i asked.

simpson smiled. "time of death is about the same, five months, i'd say."

"how can you tell?"

"cellular degeneration occurs in an arithmetical progression, rather easy to calculate."

"wow."

"nails, on the other hand, degenerate in an almost geometrical fashion, the mathematical difference in the two, or quotion, place the death at five months and a few days, shortly before the contract was put out on mr. anderson."

"that's brilliant simpson."

"not brilliant miss, elementary." i was so impressed. next, he examined the hair. "yes, these samples are from the same body." he quickly removed the slide, and put it into another machine. this one showed on a large, flat screen monitor. "oh, yes," he said. "please turn your head madam."

"which way?"

"away from the monitor, please."

"makin' any fuckin' headway down there, buzz?" pork pie's voice shouted.

"sending some aleal images to vicap, sir, yes, making some headway."

"you got carlee down there?"

"yes, mr. anderson, do you want her?"

"sure, i do, unless you do."

simpson laughed. "if you had asked me that sixty years ago mr. anderson, i may have hesitated," he answered. and i smiled. "go, girl."

"i'm outtahere," i replied.

pork pie was on the second level, he was dressed in a pair of cut offs and a very large tee shirt advertising 'harriet's place'. "buzz doing ok?" he asked.

"holding his own, he's really smart pork."

"smart hell, he knows everything."

"you look comfortable, pork, why the green socks?"

"i'm irish."

i smiled. "me too."

"hey, where you gonna sleep tonight, baby?"

"is it that time?"

"sho nuff."

"well, either on the couch on the first level, or a guest room, or with you."

"by god, i'll choose door number three, if that's ok?"

pork pie snored, loud, all night. he went to sleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, i slept only when i could block his snoring out. once he quit breathing for almost a minute. he really should consider a sleep lab study.

i felt a bony hand on my shoulder. "madam, it is six am. breakfast is waiting downstairs and we have an appointment at nine."

"simpson, does he always snore like that?"

"oh my, yes, sometimes i can hear him in the catacombs."

i put on a housecoat with cats and dogs on it and followed simpson down the stairs. gosh, he really got the exercise in a day of time. simpson was already dressed in his butler attire, fresh as a daisy. breakfast consisted of scrambled eggs with cheese bacon and sausage, toast and butter, and jelly. the coffee was home ground and smelled absolutely delicious, tasted even better. i stuffed myself.

"you didn't bring a very big choice of clothing, madam."

"sorry simpson, this trip was on the spur of the moment."

"i understand that ma'me, and your visit certainly has brought mr. anderson out of his stupor, he really needed you."

i smiled. "anything on terry?"

"not yet, probably later on today; i have picked out your attire and hung them up in the guest room on the second level, first door to your right." simpson poured some brownish liquid from a silver hip flask, into his coffee.

"where are your green socks?" i asked.

he had laid out a pair of cut offs and a light blue button up shirt, my underwear and i had my only pair of shoes on. he knocked lightly on my door while i was dressing. he handed in the clothes i'd worn down, clean and neatly pressed.

"you must drive, miss, would you rather use your car?"

"yeah, that would be ok,simpson."

"the shop is on eighty second and hillcrest, do you know it miss?"

"no, but i'll find it."

and i did. it was eight thirty. the shop was empty except for three large ladies who looked like beauty operators, white uniforms, bouffant hair styles, stiffly sprayed. "my, my, cutie's got a hot one today," one said, and snickered.

"new mistress, sweetie?"

"actually no, just a friend," simpson said with a droll laugh.

the second lady, who i gather was called queeny, raised an eyebrow. "need a complete work up simpson?"

"no, like i told you, highlite her hair, shape and polish her nails and apply a thin coat of light brandy colored polish."

"light brandy?" queeny asked, as if she were dismayed.

"please, nothing obnoxious and as coarse as your own preference, today."

"and what the hell's wrong with red, buster?"

"for you madam, it's fitting, for miss carlee, it's obscene."

i had to hold back a smile, simpson really did know my name, miss carlee. and he wasn't about to let these beauty shop fatties get the better of him. " you go buzz." i thought.

i was trimmed, polished with a machine, a light coat of light brandy colored polyurethane applied. "i like it, mister simpson, kind of matches her eyes," the less vocal of the trio announced.

"yes, i believe it does very nicely," simpson replied. "now mind the lightener. not too light, complement her nails, don't beat it into the ground," he said, as they started on my hair.

"it needs cuttin' simpson," queeny said.

"i'll be the judge of that," he replied.

"my my, aren't we haughty today," queeny retorted.

"just do your job, and i will do mine."

my hair was lightened and dried. it looked three inches longer. "can we do that in a razor shag? about an inch and a half?" he asked.

"yo wish is my command," queeny answered.

"how's mr. anderson?" the less vocal asked.

"much better mavis, now that she's here. he was asleep when we left."

"wow! it's been a while since he's slept that late."

"indeed, madam, indeed, we are very excited about that."

"she's a pretty girl simpson."

"oh no mavis, not pretty, beautiful, and a thing of beauty is a joy forever."

mavis smiled. "you like her, don't you mr. simpson?"

"in my fashion, madam."

queeny was an ass hole, but she did great razor cuts. i was a new woman.

"very nice ladies, you did fine, bill mr. anderson, he'll be delighted."

"naaa, you pay us cash!" queeny said.

"fuck you in the ass," simpson replied. i was surprised.

"listen old man, either your money or i'll take this girl!" queeny shouted, as she grabbed my arms.

simpson calmed down, he pointed his finger at queeny's left eye. "unhand her now ms. cabe, or stand warned of impending disaster."

"your finger gonna go off, simpson?"

"in a manner of speaking, ma'me."

"let her go annie, this has gone far enough," mavis said.

"naa, i want to see grandpa's finger go off." i squirmed a little, and queeny tightened her grip on me. suddenly, a beam of very bright light burst from simpson's long skinny finger, to queeny's left. queeny's hand went to her eye, and she released me. "god damnit!" she hollered. "that hurt simpson!" i ran to him.

"i could have put it out, or fried your pea brain as easily ms. cabe."

"you're serious, ain't you?"

"i do not take my responsibilities lightly, ma'me, the girl is entrusted to me. please bill mr. anderson."

"wait simpson, can you show us a little more of your power?"

"and fry your brain madam?"

"no, that hair dryer over there." she indicated a large one standing in the corner. simpson pointed his finger at it, and a second beam came from it. this one was larger, and glowed red. the hair dryer was blown to smithereens, totaled, and a small fire started. the beauty shop employees ran over to put the fire out. "holy bejesus!" queeny screamed, as they stompted the fire out.

we got into the car and i pulled out hurriedly. "simpson, that was fantastic, you are my hero," i said.

he took a swig from his hip flask. "not fantastic ma'me, basic laser technology, now drive to a shoe store, you can't go around in mocassins all the time." i drove to a 'pay-less'. "no, no dear, this won't do, linda's is over there, drive on." i parked in front of linda's. looked expensive. we got out and went in.

"none of your magic tricks now, simpson." he smiled, and opened the door for me.

"good morning sir, how may i assist you?" an older clerk asked.

"shoes, for melady, i would prefer cordovan pumps, but i suppose something comfortable and sporty, nikes, perhaps."

"an excellent choice sir, follow me, a size six?"

"and a half." simpson corrected. he picked out two pairs, one white with a red stripe, the other with a blue stripe. they fitted perfectly.

"will that be all, sir?"

"yes, this will do nicely, and bill mr. laverne anderson."

"of course sir, and thank you for shopping with us."

i parked the car in pork's driveway. "simpson, i thank you very much for everything, it's been an interesting morning." i smiled

"it was my pleasure ma'me, i assure you."

"and just where in the fuck have you two cats been?" pork pie shouted from the porch.

simpson got out and answered: "on a mission of mercy sir." pork looked at me and smiled. he was dressed in a gray suit, a blue dress shirt and a hideous gray tie with a large moose on it, and his hat, of course.

"it really worked for your hair carlee, he buy you new nails too?"

"now miss, mr. anderson knows i have no money of my own, he hasn't paid me since june of fifty two."

"oh shit buzz, listen, some cop has called for you three times this morning."

"from vicap?"

"hell, i don't know, he wouldn't talk to a mere mortal, only to simpson-the-great."

"thank you sir, i'll call him from downstairs."

i hugged pork. "he's really something pork pie, i just love him. and he cusses too."

"hell girl, he taught me how to cuss, don't let his age fool you, and don't faint if he puts his hand up your dress."

"nothing he would do would suprise me pork."

"sir, i have some bad news. the dna didn't match mr. sypes at all."

"my god carlee, the note, wonder if it's dry enough yet?"