"Gimme a second, I gotta primp." That was Tyrone's code that he needed a few minutes to graduate from speculative forensics and return to Earth to deal with real life problems. As usual, Gloria obliged him. In exactly 3 minutes, his door opened.
"Mr. Duncan, this is Franklin Dobbs, Chairman and CEO of National Pulp. Mr. Dobbs, Mr. Duncan, regional director." She waited for the two men to acknowledge each other before she shut the door behind her.
"Mr. Duncan?" Dobbs held his hand out to the huge FBI agent. Duncan accepted and pointed at a vacant chair. Dobbs sat obedi- ently.
"How can I help you, Mr. Dobbs?"
"I am being blackmailed, and I need help." Dobbs looked straight into Duncan's coal black eyes.
The IRS, thought Duncan. "By whom?" he asked casually.
"I don't know." Dobbs was firm.
"Then how do you know you are being blackmailed?" Duncan wanted to conceal his interest. Keep it low profile.
"Let me tell you what happened."
Good start, thought Duncan. If only half of us would start in such a logical place.