Sgt. Rollins continued, “Isn’t that right, Terry?”

The name didn’t bring a flood of memories, but it did give him an idea. The more information I extract from him, the closer I get to vindication. A subtle shift.

“That supposed to be my name?” Terry said, disinterestedly.

“Terry Jones, you’re somewhat of a renaissance man: grand larceny, petty theft, a few misdemeanors as a youth. Grand theft auto, possession of drug related paraphernalia, distribution of narcotics to a minor. Assault and battery. How do you get to sleep at night?”

“Close my eyes same as you.”

“Probably too coked up to sleep. Tell me, Terry. Did one of your associates get the drop on you? Was it Twiggy Banks?”

“Who?” Terry asked.

“Robert ‘Twiggy’ Banks. Rap sheet longer than yours. You did time together – you should remember him. It seems every time you disregard the law, Twiggy is somewhere nearby. Any of this ring a bell?”

“You gonna charge me, or what?”

“Got someplace to be?”

“As a matter a fact, I’ve got a hot date.”