His entire morning, aside from a twenty-minute reprieve for a funeral escort and a brief traffic stop, has been eaten up with his nose in his cell, researching everything he could find on Hatchet Harry.  He even downloaded two Kindle ebooks.

He turns around and drives by.  The man waves at him, then walks inside with an armload of boxes.  Kevin shakes his head.

How many times have I called the FBI with tips that turned out to be nothing?  Hell, I was almost fired over one!