We used to be the best. We caught crooks, beat up bad guys, and occasionally, back at the station, we would even take turns giving wedgies to criminals. There was no stopping us—until John retired. John was the cop in charge of screaming through a megaphone, “Step outside with your hands up!” whenever we were outside a criminal’s house. After he left, the whole precinct fell apart. We would end up going to a hooligan’s place, and we’d just sit outside for hours. Hours would turn into days and days would turn into weeks. One time, we waited four whole months outside this mobster’s house just twiddling our thumbs, not knowing what to do. “Maybe we should knock on his door,” the sarge would say to me. “Na, it’s just not right,” I would say back. Then, we’d go back to waiting. Finally, the mobster came out of his house and said, “Hey, what’s the deal?” No one had ever come outside without John telling them to, so we asked him to wait a second because we weren’t quite sure what to do. Instead, he just got in his car and left. We never saw him again. There were 42 cops parked outside his house, but none of us could do anything. Gee, I sure miss giving wedgies.