CHAPTER FIVE
I was not a man who stole some cash from a*****e and was on the run. I was not also a man who had r***d a little girl of four and got busted, but escaped. Neither was I a man who had fondled the boobs of a famous singer and actress in Hollywood, and her bodyguards were after me. Those that came after me were no Cops. It all began one night, on a Sunday, which was a Super Bowl final day. The New Orleans Saints were scheduled to lock horns with the Indianapolis Colts, in the city of Miami. Like very many of my fellow Americans, I was set to see the best of soccer. Though I am not a die-hard fan of either of the sides, but I did not need to be informed that the encounter would be very keenly contested and quite entertaining. All news media, the internet not left out, were buzzi
