Instinct. Gregson woke up to it. It was in his blood and behind his eyes. Women knew he had it. It was a fire that made them feel warm. Gregson investigated with a scientific sense, a sensual love for what he did. On a slow day, he would move even slower, seeing things others missed. Today was different. Gregson had to move fast. He put his revolver in his pocket and hoisted a gas-powered shotgun from his safe. His red pen circled five banks on a gas station map.
“The Continental is the only one that hasn’t been hit. Maybe I should open an account.” Gregson got into his Porsche and sped down the early morning roads with his turbo exhaust howling. A motorcycle cop lit him up.
“No,” Gregson moaned. The cop took off her helmet and strawberry blonde hair fell to her shoulders.
“You’re not a young man; you should know better.”
Gregson smiled at her. “I know I’m not young; that’s why I have to drive fast; time is running out.”
She took his ID. “You were a cop?”
“I’m a PI now.”
“Well Gregson, look me up at Handcuffs and Arms; it’s where all us cops hang out.”
“I know the place; I probably drank your dad under the table.”
“I’m warning you, but the next time I catch you, I’m going to take a sizable chunk out of your pension.”
“Barbie, and I’ve heard all the jokes.”
Several went through Gregson’s mind, but he held his tongue; he had a taste for crime instead.