The inspector waited determinedly as he rang the door bell a third time. He knew someone was home because he could hear the faint sound of one of those noxious courtroom shows on a TV. While standing there it crossed his mind that he should just sit down in one of the white wicker chairs arranged so invitingly on the porch and simply wait the guy out. The home, like all the homes in this newer pastel painted neighborhood, with its neatly manicured landscaping and freshly mown lawn indicated its owner was attentive to all the necessary upkeep.
Suddenly the door opened. The man standing there looked like an everyman, no unusual features. The inspector got right down to business. He introduced himself, flashed his ID and asked “Are you Mr. Talent, Mr. One Talent?” The man nodded his head reluctantly “Yes . . .what do you want?”