The first offender was Alvin. They should’ve guessed this wasn’t a good omen (not to be confused by Good Omens, since this is a whole other type of Armageddon)- but Alvin was a real-life Jason Bourne, so it was okay, right? Hint: no.
They were on a “date”: a fast meeting between cases, usually involving beer. So, there they were, in a bar far away from the district- because they made sure not to be seen, but couldn’t keep it in their pants there- when somehow, with his turn of the century devices (or pure luck, now that God seemed to have left them), Olinski creeps behind them and pats Antonio on the back, making him break the world record in vertical leap from the scare. Hank, on the other hand, was stoic, except for one eyebrow that wouldn’t stop twitching.
Hank smiles, “Hey, didn’t know you knew about this place.”
“Didn’t know you came here.”
“Yeah, it’s quiet, away from the noise. It’s perfect.”
It was, Antonio thought, sipping his beer.
“Wanna join us?” Hank asked, eyebrow still twitching, and avoiding Antonio’s gaze. Which was something along the lines of Schwarzenegger just came in riding a moose, stark naked, and turns out he shits rainbows and candies. Aka, a very ‘WTF’ look.
“No, man. Don’t want to interrupt. See you tomorrow,” With that, he waves and leaves.
Antonio took a relieved sigh, “What was that?”
“Trying not to blow our cover.”
Little do they know; Alvin is more than Jason Bourne. He’s Sherlock Holmes.