He got that look in his eye that meant he was about to make another wisecrack. But suddenly his face got serious. Voice soft, he said, “You may be, you may not. The point is, you’re getting picked on because people think you are—which is why I’ve been sent to work with you. Gay bashing is a special issue for me.”

“How come?”

“It’s how I met my maker, so to speak. I was walking down the street one day last year, minding my own business, when three bruisers dragged me into an alley, shouting, ‘We’ll teach you, faggot!’ They never did explain exactly what it was they were going to teach me. Last thing I remember from life on earth was coming face-to-face with a tire iron. Next thing I knew, I was knocking at the Pearly Gates.”

We were both silent for a moment. Then he shrugged and took another sip of his coffee.

“You’re taking this awfully casually,” I said, still stunned by the awfulness of what he had told me.

“Honey, I did a lot of screaming and shouting while it was happening. Afterward, too, for that matter. Didn’t do me a bit of good—I was still dead. Once you’ve been on the other side for a while, you get a little more zen about this kind of thing.”

“But don’t you want to go get those guys or something?”

He shook his head. “I prefer reform to vengeance. Besides, it’s against the rules. Why don’t we just concentrate on your case for the time being?”

“Okay, do I really get three wishes?”

“Sure do. Well, two, now.”

“What do you mean?”

“You used up the first one on that coffee.”

“I didn’t tell you to change it into Swiss double mocha!” I yelped.

“You didn’t have to. You wished for it.”

“I’m glad I didn’t wish I was dead!” I muttered.

“Oh!” he cried. “Getting personal, are we? Don’t you think that remark was a little tasteless under the circumstances?”

“Are you here to help me or to drive me nuts?”

“It hurts me that you could even ask. Anyway, the three wishes are only part of the service, even though that’s what people always focus on. I’m really here to watch over you, advise you, guide you, till we get things on track.”

He leaned back in his chair, glanced around the room, then winked at a nice-looking college student sitting about five tables away from us.

“Will you stop that!” I hissed.

“What’s the matter, afraid of guilt by association?”

“No, I’m afraid he’ll come over here and beat us up. Only he probably can’t beat you up, so he’ll have to settle for me.”

Melvin waved his hand. “I guarantee you he wasn’t offended. He’s one of the gang.”

“What gang?”