The airport security office served as a poor interrogation room, but Dayton International wasn’t exactly a bustling hub of anything. Agent Lefleur sighed and angled his hulking frame into the room. The chair creaked warily as he plopped down across from the suspect.
The man smiled, a lopsided grin on a boyishly round face.
Agent Lefleur grunted, “Simon Argyle Harmsworth?”
“Right, that I am.” Again he grinned. Lefleur squinted as he tried to place the accent, either London suburbs or maybe more North, but watered down.
“aka Uncle Simon?”
“aka Lucky Dances?”
“aka Sir Pants?” At this he chuckled causing the simmering agent to snap, “You find this amusing?”
“No, no, no, my good sir. It’s just, that last one isn’t an alias. It’s a joke, between me and my mates.”
Federal agents are not known for their sense of humor, and Lefleur was no exception.
“On account,” Simon continued, “of my saying, ‘oh pants’…cause I’m trying not to swear.” His grin did not help his situation one bit.