The call was collected and the caller was hammered on tequila and Mexican Gold. I hadn't heard from Anonymous in almost thirty years but he babbled on like we had just spoken last week. Now he wanted to write a book about his wild and insane life. How he had joined the Navy because he had been running dope on some dude's turf and had been forced to take the guy out after things went sour. That he had been witness to the murder of a federal agent while stationed in Hawaii and had wound up seducing the sexy female agent in charge of the investigation. That he had been locked up in a maximum security mental hospital, escaped, and had been forced to flee the country because a vicious prison gang had a contract out on him. And finally, that he was in the government's witness protection program because he was in possession of incriminating photographs of some really big federal honchos. By the way, when my phone bill came, the collect call was from some Cantina in Tijuana. Anonymous still hasn't paid me back.