The heat from a blazing Arizona steak house was no deterrent for someone as determined to escape as Harold "Roscoe" Denton. Flames licked at his face. He knew that if his lamprey awoke he'd regret placing its briefcase-sized tank so close to his dinner. Again. So, instead he stabbed it with his steak knife, ate it quickly, and headed for the door. But Sheriff Tomlin was glaring at Roscoe. "You again?!" he growled, leaping over "the unclear pronoun," Roscoe's peculiar nickname, which had originated under mysterious circumstances. The rotund sheriff's shotgun was aimed backwards as usual. Smug in his lucky red underpants, he squeezed the trigger. The door behind him exploded before Roscoe could duck for cover. "Whoops," giggled Tomlin, "hope you're insured!"
Meanwhile, in Toledo, Roscoe's insurance agency was also on fire. Sheriff Tomlin