It was stakeout nine thousand and fifty-six, and Ray just knew that, yeah, if something didn't happen soon, if someone didn't show their sorry ass, he was going to lose it and combust.
With one last stroke of the sandpaper, I stepped back from the door and reached for the tack cloth. My shoulder and forearm ached, not unpleasantly, as I wiped away the dust to prepare for the final coat of varnish.
Five years down the line, old friends and enemies must reunite to face down the Apocalypse once more. Some things change, some things remain the same, and no one will ever know of the great lengths they have gone to this one last time.