"Michael Dane, legal visit."
The guard took Dane through the same drill as his last visit, only this time he escorted him to a room with a different setup. No divider.
Dane was too tired to care that once again, neither of the people there was his lawyer.
It was almost funny.
The first guy Dane had never seen before. He was as worn out as his suit, with a Friar Tuck hairdo that must have been very popular with the ladies. The hard case never looked up; instead he concentrated on extracting papers from his equally worn briefcase.
The other guy was real familiar, young and cocky. A couple weeks ago he had been decked out in FBI blue, manically grinning as he shoved the barrel of a shotgun against Dane's temple. Now he was dressed in civvies, trying hard to look nonchalant as he leaned against the wall and grinned at Dane over the top of a can of diet Coke.
“Watching your girlish figure?” Dane asked. The FBI agent was about to reply when the old guy interrupted him.
"Who've we got here?"
What a line of shit, he knew exactly who they had.
Fed boy peeled himself off the wall.
"Dane, Michael Aaron. How they treating you? Would've stopped by earlier, but Jack and I have been busier than a one-legged man at an ass kicking contest lately. Why don't you pull up a chair and take a load off?"
Dane didn't move.
The burnout case pulled out a pair of bifocals and read through a folder while he talked. "I see you've met Captain Hollis. I'm Jack Pritchard with the federal prosecutor’s office. Looks like we had some trouble getting a positive ID on you."
Hollis crumpled his pop can and shoved it into his pocket.
"We couldn't pull a print until we got the layers of superglue off his fingers."
His partner raised an eyebrow.
"Beats wearing sweaty latex gloves when you're busy going through other people's shit, isn't that right?"
“The good cop, bad cop thing never gets old,” Dane responded. Pritchard just ignored him.
"Extensive juvenile record in Boulder. Charged at eighteen for Grand Theft Auto, reduced to misdemeanor. Same charge again the next two years, also reduced. Both times found with multiple false identification. Then nothing, until a year ago when you were charged in Las Vegas, where you plead guilty to a drunk and disorderly charge, reduced down from felony assault and theft.”
Pritchard leaned back in his chair and took off his glasses.
"You lead a charmed life, Mr. Dane."
"You guys lonely for conversation? You can talk to my lawyer. I'm going back to my cell."
Hollis yanked out a newspaper clipping he had in his jacket pocket.
"Looks like they don't get the paper here, Jack."
"Apparently not," Pritchard said soberly.
"Got time for a story? I think you'll like this one. It's from the Rocky Mountain News. I clipped it out two weeks ago.”
Dane tried to act casual.
“You guys have a great act. You should really think about taking it on the road. Really. It’s no Laurel and Hardy, but it’s got potential.”
