Dewey and Moe drive downstate

to visit Tom Bridges.

Tom has a place on Shelbyville Lake

where they hunt turkey in the spring,

catch fish in the summer, and watch the Superbowl

in February, which is a month ill-suited

for much else, at least in downstate Illinois. 

Dewey's leg is healed, but it hurts.

He's doing rehab three days a week to stretch 

the scar tissue and regain full mobility. It's one thing

to get shot in the line of duty, another to get caught in the crossfire

of two banger's. It's all bad, but Tom and Dewey and Moe

intend to  kick back, watch the game, drink too much, and that's all good.

They make an unlikely trio. Moe is a street cop, five foot six

on a good day, unflappable. Tom is a retired Chicago Police detective,

is six-eleven, no matter what kind of day, owns a gentleman's club,

is devoted to his wife and restoring the Illinois prairie,

and we know Dewey is a U. S. attorney working on the Griselda Blanco case.

Unlikely or not, they all have something in common,

the satisfaction and sense of futility in fighting bad guys.