"How y'all doin?", Mike slurred, shuffling along the sidewalk littered with old candy wrappers and cigarette butts, hoping to attach himself to a group of homeless guys heading for the food giveaway.

There were four of them, neither one of them looking like they'd crossed his path over the past few weeks; a comfortable disguise for Mike to fit in while keeping an eye out for Albert and Rick.

"Fine…fine. We're feasting today.", one of the guys answered and turned around briefly, his weary eyes lighting up at the thought of food, his bony cheeks scuffed up with dirt and old scratches.

"I know, I know! I can't wait!", Mike countered enthusiastically, trying to ignore the stench on his face coming from some dust and grime he'd found in an alley and covered his cheeks with, hoping to fit in better.

Hindsight, some make-up might have been the safer option but he was short on time, alas, he had to take a chance on diving into questionable matter.

"Did you…did you guys hear that them cops are sponsoring it?", a toothless man with a long, wiry gray beard to the left of his new-found group said, his sinewy arms showing through his torn shirt, the dirt-stained overalls he wore three sizes too big.

"Yeah, why would they be doing that? Probably put something in the food. Rat poison. Or diarrhea meds.", a chubby, short guy to the right speculated, his relatively clean clothes and clear skin making him the oddball.

Other than missing his left hand, Mike couldn't be sure why exactly he'd fallen into the homeless scene altogether, but at least, out of the five of them, he looked to be well groomed and cared for.

"Nah, they probably just want to do it for…you know…goodwill and such…", he countered, hoping to drive out any mistrust, satisfied to see the other guys nod.

"They sure need to. Bunch of pricks. Gonna take a lot more than just some chili for us to respect 'em. Bunch of arrogant punks pushing people around just 'cause they can."

Stifling a headshake at the often-present cantankerous attitude toward police; Mike let his eyes drift over a few other groups slowly meandering toward the Basilica, the inviting smell of beans and ground beef seemingly filling the city blocks.

From afar, he could see Hassejian's broad frame bent over a box of plates and silverware, setting up a dozen or so rows of tables for the arriving crowds. Lessing stood by Father Tenpenny, discussing the game plan and hopefully passing on the word that Mike and Steve would "unfortunately be unavailable for the event".

Glancing up at the big clock on the tower of the Basilica, he sighed unperceptively.

By now all patrol units would be in place, Steve and their support from Vice well hidden somewhere in the vicinity, a few minutes from the official begin of the event.

Hopefully, if all went according to plan, in an hour give or take, that giant mousetrap would finally come down on their illusive suspects.