Chongo had heard some freakin' dumb stories before, but this one hadda be the winner. This little greasy Jewish cat named Simon Paulsky comes in with his half-corked girlfriend, a sharp lookin' dame named Magenta. She's got what looks like a couple of really nasty hickies on her neck and she's three sheets to the wind. Paulsky says she's been bit by a vampire. Right...

Chongo idly lit up a stogie. "Look, bo, I wasn't born yesterday. There ain't no such thing as vampires. You been watchin' too many movies. Don't waste my time with this."

"You've gotta help us," moaned Rhymin' Simon, wringing his hands in despair. "The cops don't believe me either, but it's true. I saw him with my own eyes. His name is...Vlad the Inhaler!" There was true terror in Paulsky's bulging little eyes.

"Yeah, okay..." Chongo shrugged, and took a long drag on his Cuban. "I'll look into it. I need $250 down as a retainer. After that it's $50 per diem, payable on Fridays. Ya got any more useful info before I get started?"

"Yes," gasped Paulsky, "this Vlad...he's got terrible bad breath..."

"Ask me if I'm surprised."

"And he appears to be violently allergic to the sound of banjo music!"

"No kiddin'?" said Chongo. He took another slow drag and blew a smoke ring. He thought back to last year's caper with that crazy, dumb singin' Orangutan, Big Daddy Malone, and his awful hillbilly rendition of Big Rock Candy Mountain.

"Allergic to the banjo, huh? Who the hell ain't?"