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.