If Ray had been clever enough to bag himself a nine to five job, he’d be tucked up in bed right now, sleeping like a baby. As it is, he’s stuck in the Goat, freezing his ass off with Kowalski and Chicago’s Score Sports Radio for company. Not that the game is live. Or any good.
There are, however, two positives in this situation that Ray can see:
One, there’s no Dief breathing down his neck, quite literally. Although he’d be glad to see (for himself) Kowalski getting his fair share of wolf hair all over the backseat.
Two, he has more chance of staying awake since he’s pretty sure Kowalski doesn’t know any Inuit stories.
These are his positives. He can work with these. He shifts awkwardly in the seat, still trying to find a comfortable position and squints through the windscreen at the house they’re supposed to be watching. Nothing. Huey and Dewey saw nothing. Now they’ve taken started their shift and wow! Look at that! Nothing.
Pulling his coat tighter around him, he wriggles again and heaves a sigh, flicking off the radio. The game sucks anyway. Much like his seat, in Ray’s opinion. He knew they should’ve brought the Riv, there’s more room. But if something goes down, he’d much rather the Goat get riddled with bullets than his Riv. Fourth one’s a charm and all.
He knows he’s in trouble when he’s actually hoping for a trigger-happy maniac to jump out the bushes. Maybe he should try striking up some kind of conversation, stimulating though it may not be.
He glances over at his partner and frowns a little. “Shouldn’t you be wearing glasses?”
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