The Browning automatic pistol was trained on the nearest Milford police cruiser. Sweat broke out on Munchie's forehead. Below, police yelled for him to drop his weapon.

"It's not my fault!" Munchie yelled desperately. "I've got cognitive dissonance!"

"Yeah, and all I wanted was the goddamn weather forecast," Remo said. "Boo-hoo for you."

A tiny squeeze on Munchie's back and the killer's finger tightened on the trigger. A single shot pinged harmlessly off the hood of a parked police cruiser.

That was all the gathered police needed. Weapons' fire erupted from the parking lot. Shots sang up at the man with the gun on the ledge.

Unfortunately, the killer was so fat none of the bullets that struck him managed to penetrate any vital organs. Lead piercing blubber, Munchie bounced and jiggled in place.

"Ow! Ow! Eee! Ouch! Ow!" Munchie yelped as bullets pelted his ample frame.

"Ah, hell," Remo said, shoving Munchie off the ledge.

The killer dropped three stories to the ground. Just before he hit the pavement, he was screaming something about a repressed childhood trauma and a molesting neighbor. Then he and his entire sackful of excuses went splat.

On the roof Remo turned to the invisible army that had trailed him all this way. They were still hovering nearby.

"Was that good for you?" Remo asked the air. The air didn't respond.

With a sigh Remo hurried from the roof and the area before he could be discovered.

In the supermarket parking lot down the street, a tired-looking young woman with five kids had parked next to his rental car. She was stacking groceries in the back of her minivan. Four of the five kids were screaming and fighting.

"Let us give you a hand with that," Remo said. He helped the woman load her groceries in the van. Once they were done she shook her head in exasperation.