The doorbell buzzed. For an instant Roger looked up perplexed, he could not recall a time he had ever heard his doorbell ring. He quickly set the canister down on the kitchenette counter, mussed with his ever-present cowlick and squeegeed his hands across his face for a sense of sobriety, then went to the door and opened it. He recognized the Mutt and Jeff plainclothes cops from yesterday: the one frumpy with a red face and sweating, if I rock upon the waves the other tall and seemingly unconcerned, referring to his iphoneXXX.

“You Roger Miller?” the fat one said, as he proceeded across the threshold.

“Yeah, and you are?”

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Section 11
Section 9