Stacks o’ Fax - The Wheelman

LENNON SAT DOWN AT THE DESK AND IGNORED THE LIVERWURST sandwich. Instead he sipped his Jack. Not his usual drink—he enjoyed a good single malt when he was kicking back off the job. Even a little Jameson to cap off an evening. But it would do. Jack was in the same liquor family. And as far as being on or off the job, who knew? At some point he had crossed a line. The job had formally ended. This was recovery.

On the desk was a stack of file folders. Lennon took the top one and flipped it open. A police report. Interview with a suspect, a thermal fax of fingerprints, then pages of typed transcript. What was this stuff?

Saugherty was a cop—or an ex-cop. He knew that much. Was this stuff freelance? He started thumbing through the pages to kill time. A lot of stuff on drug dealers. Transcripts, evidence photos. Not just one case, either. A bunch of them, scrambled together.

There was a photo here. A guy in dreadlocks with scars all over his forehead and cheeks. Looked like Seal’s uglier cousin.

Another photo: a young woman with mousy hair and a weak chin. Even though the picture was black and white, her eyes looked like they glowed.

Another photo still: an older man. Bony and gray-haired. Looked like Terence Stamp. If Terence Stamp needed a shave and a hug.

Another photo …