A Far Justice by Richard Herman Page B

look. She turned and left, closing the door behind her.
    “Well,” Melwin said. “We do need to talk.”
    “Get the hell out of here before I give you a drowning lesson in the toilet.”
    “I am acting in your best interests, Mr. Tyler.” Gus stared at him, his eyes hard and unblinking. “Ah, I mean Colonel Tyler,” Melwin said.
    “You finally got that one right,” Gus said. He reached across the table for Melwin who darted for the door.
    “I’ll report this to the guards!” Melwin shouted as he jabbed at the buzzer. The door opened and he darted to safety.
    “Do that!” Gus shouted down the corridor. Two guards rushed in and Gus held up his hands in surrender. “Sorry, just exercising a little attorney-client privilege.”
    The first guard shook his head. “Please Gus,” he said in impeccable English. “We cannot allow you to hurt him.”
    “Melwin’s a manlike object, not a him.”
    The second guard snorted. “True enough.”
    “I give you my word that it won’t happen again,” Gus promised.
    The two guards looked at each other, nodded, and left, slamming the door. Gus took a deep breath, sat down, and buried his face in his hands. Ah, shit, he moaned to himself.
     
     
    The scantily clad girl walked Melwin to the door and helped him with his coat. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. The proprietress caught it and pulled a long face. It was obvious the two were very fond of each other, and who knew what the besotted Irishman would do? Marriage was not unheard of and she didn’t want to lose one of her top producers. She decided to increase the girl’s price the next time Melwin called for an appointment. “Same time next week?” the girl murmured.
    “As always,” Melwin said.
    He gave her a little squeeze and stepped into the night. The door closed quickly behind him. He stood for a moment under the light that illuminated the discrete sign that announced Anabella Haus, the best bordello in Holland outside of Amsterdam, and carefully buttoned his coat against the rain. He hurried down the walk toward his car. A shadow split off from a tree and materialized into a man who stood almost six and a half feet tall. His muscular frame blocked the path. “Mr. Melwin, may we talk?”
    Melwin pushed by the man. “And you are?”
    “Jason Tyler. I’m Colonel Tyler’s son. You haven’t returned any of my calls.”
    “This is an inappropriate conversation,” Melwin said, walking even faster.
    “Guess again,” Jason answered in slow measured tones. Melwin heard the steel in his voice and half-ran to his car as he fumbled for the remote control. He jabbed at a button and was relieved when the car lights blinked and the locks clicked open. Melwin jumped inside and slammed the door, making sure he was locked safely inside. He fumbled with the key as Jason knocked on the passenger-side window. “Please, sir. This will only take a moment.” Panic ripped through Melwin and he dropped his keys. Jason wrenched the passenger door open as Melwin found the keys and jammed them into the ignition.
    The engine roared to life as Jason shoehorned his body into the passenger seat. He seemed to fill his side of the car and handed Melwin the car’s door handle. “You need to get this fixed. Cheap German crap.”
    Melwin’s jaw started to quiver. “Please don’t hurt me.”
    “If I wanted to do that, I’d have nailed you the moment you stepped out of that whorehouse. We just need to talk for a moment.” Melwin jammed the car in gear and mashed the accelerator, barely missing the car parked in front of him. The car careened down the street, its path a perfect reflection of the panic twisting inside the Irishman. “Why don’t you park over there before you kill us both.”
    Melwin did as commanded and pulled to the curb. Ahead of him he saw the distinctive shape of a Rijkspolitie patrol car and breathed easier. “Get out of my car.”
    “My, my, a little backbone. Now here I thought I was