Ken and I were ahead of the lunch crowd and got a table in the back of the dark, wood-paneled dining room. "I hope Mike sits next to you," I said as we took our seats. "He's that big—" "Three hundred at least." "That's not tiny." "I knew a guy who worked a surveillance with him once, said Mike brought this feed bag of beef jerky along, like five pounds of the stuff. Went through that in the first hour, then spent the rest of the night bitching about how hungry he was. Guy said the longer the surveillance went on, the less he liked the way Mike looked at him, started to feel like he was out with the Donner Party." Ken smiled as he leaned back from the table, stretched out his long legs, and crossed his feet at the ankles. "What's your best surveillance story— Or worst experience, rather. Those usually make the best stories." "That's easy. I was in an unmarked car by myself not long after I switched to narcotics and started working with Joe.
