The eyes are the window to the soul and when someone has the evil eye, a seasoned investigator knows. Gregson saw guilt on the man’s face, like a lingering shadow.

“What’s your name?” Gregson asked.

“My name?”

It was clear the man didn’t know.

“Maybe coffee will help?” Tony said.

Gregson nodded and they hoisted the suit into the convertible.

Gregson aired out the man’s money on the back seat, so that it looked like his upholstery was dollar bills, instead of shammy leather.

“Do you have any identification? Wallet? ID? Clothing labels?” Gregson asked.

The man checked his suit, but they weren’t there. It was a puzzle that irritated Gregson like siriasis, and when he got the crime itch, he couldn’t stop scratching.

“Well… we should take you to the hospital to make sure you don’t have any hemorrhages.”

The suit piled into the backseat with his money. “Can I keep this stuff?” He asked.

“I don’t see why not?” Gregson said. “My contact in the FBI is running a trace on the bills now. Perhaps, he will tell us who you are.”

The suit was airing out, and his floppy hair blew in the wind, revealing a bald spot. He looked like an accountant who drank constantly and snorted cocaine. He glanced into Gregson’s rearview through bloodshot eyes. “I know that car,” he said in a terrified voice.

“They’ve been following us for three blocks,” Gregson said.

“Can you lose them?” Tony asked.

“Yes, but that’s not what I want to do.”

“Huh.”

“I want to bring them in closer. Murphy will run their make, model, and license plate.”

“Hold on, the window is rolling down. That’s an AR.”

Ringing…

“This is Gregson.”

“Murphy here; you know those bills you wanted me to trace…?”

“Yeah.”

“They belong to a church with ties to the mob. Maybe you cracked a money-laundering ring, and the guy you found… he’s either an accountant or a mule.”

“That makes sense, but there’s something else… a presence of evil I can’t put my finger on.”

“Call me if you need any help.”

“Will do; I got to let you go; I’m about to get shot at.

“What?”

CHUT, CHUT, CHUT… Bullets shattered the windshield. “We’re taking the side-road. Murphy just sent me coordinates.”

“But how do we lose ’em?” Tony asked.

“Let me pop the trunk. Now, go through the seat in the back and grab what you find.”

Tony squeezed through the hole and pulled out a tube. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Point it at the car and push the red button.”

Tony pulled the trigger and the car exploded. “Is it legal for you to have one of these?”

“That depends… the pen may be mightier than the sword, but it’s not better than a bazooka.”

2 thoughts on “Chapter 3 A Case of Identity

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