The older cop dropped his hand from Paul's shoulder and spoke with a certain deference. "This is no charge, mister. Just a routine look-in. Our friend here is all excited about something and—well, you know how it is."
"That's okay, officer," Paul croaked, striving to control his voice. The younger cop, taking a cue from his superior's manner, threw a stern look at the discomfited fat man. "Do you want to prefer any charges, mister?"
The fat man took an involuntary backward step, banged his heel against Paul's briefcase and instantly both policemen were staring at the floor.
Paul's eyes followed theirs. A chill went deep into his bones. That faulty catch. He'd meant to get it fixed. Now it was his undoing as a heap of banded banknotes spilled out on the floor.
The elder cop broke the silence. "Maybe there'll be some charges—maybe not—but I think we'll take a walk to the station all the same."
Paul clawed at his mind for a retort. "Any law against carrying money?" he asked trying to make it sound light.
"No law against it—no. But you've got to admit this is pretty unusual."
"Do you think I stole this money?"
The officer tipped his cap back and scratched his ear reflectively. "No, but I got a hunch it doesn't belong to you. I don't think you got any right sitting here in this bar with it. I think maybe you got a boss somewhere that might have sent you to a bank or something and he could be real nervous wondering why you don't get back. We'll just take a little walk to the station and no offense to anybody, okay?"