Munch goes to Lombardozzi's
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The blower rang. It was Munch's secretary, Effie, on the line. "There's a girl out here who wants to see you." A slight pause. "She's a knockout."
Munch clipped the end off of a Montecristo Robusto, lit it, and swiveled the chair toward the office door, phone still at the ear. You didn't need to be a private dick to know what comes next: "Send 'er in," Munch said.
Her name was Miss Wonderly. She was tall and pliantly slender, legs long, lips like cranberry sauce, skin the color of an under-cooked turkey, hair like caramelized yams. There was an appetite in her eyes.
Lucky for her, Munch had food on the brain.
"I'm not from around here," Miss Wonderly murmured softly.
"You don't say?" Munch rocked forward in the chair. "Now what can I do for you, Miss Wonderly?"
"I'm hungry," she said.
"I can see that," Munch said. "How does that concern Munch?"
"Do you always refer to yourself in the third person? How very interesting, in a psychotic way."
"One of my many charms. Stick around and I'll show the rest of them."
"Eww. Anyway. I'm in town for the night. I was hoping you could solve a little mystery for me," she purred.
It was a lovely purr, a purr that could make a man write bad checks. Munch's checking account was overdrawn as it was. That's why our hero gets nervous around things that purr -- women, cats, the Toyota Prius. Presently, our Epicurean Examiner broke into a flop sweat, forehead glistening, thighs congealing like two sumo wrestlers slathered in teriyaki, slapping against each other under a hot August sun.
Pull it together, Munch.
"I'm not a private dick, ma'am," Munch said. "I'm a restaurant critic. Ostensibly."
"I know that. It's a food mystery," she said. "Where can I get a decent Italian lunch buffet in this town?
Munch said, "I've got just the place."
With Munch driving, the two of them navigated Pittsburgh's back streets and shadows. "Where are you taking me?" Miss Wonderly asked.
"Shortcut," Munch growled, sounding not unlike Christian Bale in "The Dark Knight."
"This neighborhood looks like trouble," Miss Wonderly said.
"Trouble is my business."
"Are we in a demilitarized zone?"
"I eat demilitarized zones for breakfast."
"I think we just passed a homeless encampment."
"Homeless Encampment is my middle name."
"Eh?"
"I have two middle names, Miss Wonderly. Like George Herbert Walker Bush."
First Published December 9, 2010 12:00 am
