“Kurt! KURT!!! You don’t understand! I think there’s a warrant out for my arrest!” I sighed slowly and laid my paper down next to my coffee. It was 7:30 in the
morning. Last night had left me drained and now I had Vincent “Cannonball” Gutticelli on the phone. “Vince, you’re a lawyer. How do you have a warrant out for your arrest?” “I can’t talk now! I have to go to the lighthouse! Do you understand?!” The lighthouse!” Then he hung up.
Vincent was the most eccentric attorney this town had ever seen. A mad genius who knew more about The Rolling Stones than they did. He could tell you Otto Dennings batting record for the 1942 Cleveland Indians. There weren’t too many people that could handle riding on the bulletin train that was Vincent’s stream of consciousness. I knew this may be a completely mundane situation, hyper intensified by Vincent’s giant brain. But it was kind of weird that lightning was flashing over the lake a few blocks up the street. In the middle of a snowstorm…