I was born to be a dead-end sign at the crossroads for trouble. I could always see it coming from a distance, not knowing which way it would go, dust vortices of the devil, howling women, men braying for blood with their steely machines, children laughing at a madman. I would let the trouble get real close, before I ran. That's how I played the game, and I'm still around to tell the tales.
Faking money is the easiest way of making it. A perfect counterfeiting machine for any currency is sought after by the underworld. A globetrotting detective is hired by a sinister client to seek it out. The trail begins from the murderous Pak-Afghan border, hopping across Asian and European capitals, in a battle of wits with international mafias. The money is an illusion but the corpses are real.