Prelude
"I'm never a bad girl, but when I am, I certainly don't get caught."
— Peggy the cashier at Publix
The snow was coming down thick, heavy, slow and steady; like a tortoise showing up the hare. The brown leather briefcase in the fat hand was getting powdered like a field from a crop-duster. So was the portly gentleman holding it as well. It was late in the day, the sun starting to hide it’s golden rounded head from one side of the world and show it to the other. He was nervous walking through the doors of the restaurant placed on the street clouded with pedestrians rushing out of work for drinks, for dinner, for cigarettes, beer or merely decompression in the metropolitan area.
A manila folder with details of a specific nature nestled next to all kinds of photos and stapled documents and paperwork inside a briefcase that contained information of the highest priority. Information that he knew could get him in front of an oversight committee full of crotchety older men who didn’t like things that were done outside of the pages of their strict “By-the-book” standards of practice.
