Semi-obscure reference: This set really needs a brown paper bag containing a pickle...

It all began innocently enough on Tuesday. I was sitting in my office on that drizzly afternoon listening to the monotonous staccato of rain on my desk-top, and reading my name on the glass of my office door: "regnaD kciN". My secretary lay snoring on the floor, her long, beautiful gams pinioned under the couch. I didn't hear him enter, but my nostrils flared at the smell of his perfume: Pyramid Patchouli. There was only one joker in L.A. sensitive enough to wear that scent, and I had to find out who he was...

"Good afternoon, Mr. Danger. I'm Rocky Rococo."

"Thanks, half-pint. You just saved me a lot of investigative work."

"Maybe yes, maybe no. Do you know what this is?"

I had to think for a minute. What cruel game was he playing? "Uh, that's a brown paper bag."

"That's correct! Now, look inside, Mr. Danger. What do you see?"

"That's easy! That's a pickle."

"Very good! Now, I think you're ready for this!"

"Why, that's nothing but a two-bit ring from a crackerback jox!"

"I'll sell it to you for $5,000."

"Hah! What kind of a chump do you take me for?"

"First class!"

"That tarnished piece of tin is worthless!"

"Worthless? Ha-ha-ha! Not to Melanie Haber..."