Trezlan kept feeling like the wig should itch. It was one of those things that always bothered him about wearing it as a disguise. Modern wigs don't itch, they don't even look like a wig, they attach to your head and blend in, you only know its not your hair because obviously you don't have it. But the desire to scratch is still there! Trezlan had seen other men with wigs do the same thing, it was really the only way to tell outside of really weird looking hair that couldn't be real, the scratching. He had been trying to resist the urge to scratch ever since he'd gotten the call to help Therod. He almost laughed at the irony of the descendant of the lady who threw him in jail a lot, winding up in jail because of someone Trezlan's former wife in some weird way.
The Deliah connection was alarming. He didn't know many of her former mercenary contacts, let alone one that would hold a grudge to seemingly kill herself and blame it on someone else entirely, but he was sure when he got to the jail he'd figure things out, why have a plan when you can just make one up on the fly?
The only other concern other than how he was going to actually prove that Deliah was dead. Was how his fake ID would hold up. He'd always had various different fake id's over the years, but using one was always a dangerous gambit. In a way up until it didn't work he'd just as likely wind up in a cell next to Therod. So with trepidation he approached the front desk of the police station and flashed his id.
"Thomas Lorzine, you're holding my client Deliah Cash?"
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