The agent is probably going to grab a bite to eat. Now that her guard is down, you can flee the scene. You quickly sneak out and begin letting the air out of her tires first though. You cannot be followed. A bike cop rides by as you start the second tire. He asks from the street if he can help, but you don't have time to respond as you jump into your car and peel out. Shit.
You floor it down a few sidestreets, but the cops still figure out your location. Now you're really getting tailed. What do people do when they're getting chased? Didn't O.J. drive to his house? Is that a good example? He was good in The Naked Gun. Whatever, no time to think.
You're going sixty through the parking lot of your apartment. A few cops are still loitering around and investigating Keith's drug raid. You honk your horn as you fly past. You crash into Keith's living room, and the drug dogs immediate smell the remnants of cocaine on your clothes.
"Really, Holmes!" I dropped into my seat, shocked. "You are remarkably tall! What are you, six foot six? Six foot eight?"
As the 19th century diver approaches a giant clam, a flash of brilliant golden light flares from within the shell. I emerge in a swirl of bubbles and do the timeless universal underwater hand signals for the following: ZODIAC KILLER, KKK, BLOOD OF YOUTH
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