As we drove up to where I had left my old Civic, a man with a rumpled brown suit was looking at it disapprovingly as I said goodbye to Milt.

“I am entertaining offers, if you’re looking to buy,” I informed Brown Suit. He was an odd-looking man - thick iron gray hair tied back in a ponytail, and a long, thin face that kind of made me think of those Easter Island heads. He was long and thin but had a paunch anyway, bringing to mind those old pictures of starving kids with distended bellies from some of the charity ad campaigns. He looked disgusted at the mere thought of that car existing, let alone it being his.

“I’m going to need you to take this, uh, car off of these premises and to not return without a warrant. And a better car,” he said by way of greeting.

“And you would be?” I asked.

Rather than answering he held out a card. As the print was small and I did not like him already, I squinted at it as if having trouble reading; I know it was a tad juvenile, especially for someone with a name like mine, but hey, I am young at heart, right? “Foreskin and Scrotum, Attorneys at law?” I asked as if reading it with great difficulty.

His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, then he took a deep breath. “ForeMAN and SCANLON,” he clarified.

“And I take it you are Mister Scrotum?” I asked, almost surprising myself at keeping a straight face while doing so. Maybe it was time to go back to the boys’ poker night after all.

“Scan…” he started then stopped, took another calming breath and said: “I am Daniel Foreman. My partner is Stanley Scanlon.”

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

“Stanley Scanlon?” I asked. “Might want to stick to Scrotum.”

He did his dying fish impersonation again; he was quite good at it. “Be that as it may, you are ordered to leave these premises. If you don’t take that wreck with you, it will be disposed of properly.”

Okay, now he was getting on my nerves. I took out my wallet and flipped it open, then tapped his card to my badge. Holding the card up I said: “Paper,” and then holding up my badge: “Badge. Badge trumps paper.”

He was almost as annoyed as I was at this point and pulled out a folded document. “Cease and desist order signed by the mayor himself. This paper trumps your badge. Go away and don’t return unless you have a warrant. And a vehicle recognizable as a car.”

That was when my brain made the connection: “Is your partner the mayor’s brother?”

“Nephew. His brother’s oldest kid.”

I nodded, took the notice out of his hand, unlocked my car and opened the door. “Thank you for your time, Mister Scrotum,” I said.

“Foresk…” he began, then winced. “Foreman,” he snapped out angrily. “And you are?”

“Diamond. Detective Jack Diamond.”

His eyes widened at this. “Your parents must have really hated you…”

“Dad did. Mom was okay,” I replied honestly, and fastened my seatbelt.

“Anyway,” Mister Foreman said at this point, “any communications with the family must be made through our offices unless you have a warrant and should only happen if myself or my partner is present. Is that clear?”

“Absolutely, sir, and you have yourself a nice day,” I replied as I slammed the door. Fortunately, nothing fell off the car this time. I took a little sadistic pleasure at the blue smoke that briefly enveloped the lawyer as I drove off. To myself, I wondered two things: “why was the mayor inserting himself into the case like this,” and “was it really a good idea to antagonize a lawyer with those kinds of connections.”

As neither question would answer itself, I drove off to pick up coffee and meet my partner back at the station.