As stakeouts went, John's last one had been fairly routine.

Gallons of bad coffee.

Heartburn from greasy, overcooked fast food.

Candy bar wrappers strewn throughout the unmarked car.

The backseat was a homeless person's dream with a week's worth of the New York Times and The Wall Street Journal.

Lackluster conversation.

Combat naps.

Walks around the block to stretch cramped legs, relieve bursting bladders and to get a little fresh air.

John's nerves had been stretched to the breaking point by the end second day. He had even contemplated committing a minor crime just so he could get away from his temporary partner for more than fifteen minute intervals.

Greg Medavoy had proven to be a walking case of nervous habits and odd idiosyncrasies. A less patient person would have choked the living shit out of him ten minutes after getting in the car with him.

It had made the hours go by agonizingly slow.