Distressingly, I have a few times encountered the man who blocked my path the day the woman disappeared. He calls himself the Solicitor and he has taken to lugging around a battered satchel, which, he insists, is stuffed with his briefs. During our last encounter, I was eyeing the group at the gate when he snucked up behind me and said, “I can represent you.” I was startled and I turned to see him with his briefcase and smile, both battered and useless. “Both of you. Two for the price of one.” I glanced around but there was no one else.
“I have committed no crime so I don’t need any representation.”
“Really?” He looked up at the sky and uttered a dramatic chuckle. “That is not for you to decide.” There was a full growth of hair sprouting from his nostrils and an equivalent growth on his
