“There’s a way to recognize these people,” he leaned his head forward and spoke quietly. “On the fifth day of the month, wear a gray glove with no fingertips on your left hand and a squashed top hat all day. Be seen in public places, like a mall. Someone will approach you.”
“Maybe I’ll try that,” I said.
He leaned forward, his voice nearly a hoarse whisper. “They have a target. A couple. They call them The Paisleys.”