Dr. Detective: Private Practice

He was a dark, lean man, who never knew when to quit.  He had the kind of face that haunted you until your eighteenth birthday.  The kind of face that seemed to not even exist the more you stared at it.  He was the kind of guy that would throw you from the roof of a twenty-three story building right onto a pretzel stand and then say, "That pretzel needs salt."  His gloves are clean, but his record is dirty.