Back in Truman's office, Harry leafs through the latest copy of The Overly Literal Press (the paper that announced something about an "Asian Man Killed!!!" a few weeks ago), which this time too clearly elucidates, "No Clues to Killer" with the same photo of Jonathan above it. The other story on the page trumpets the hard news that "City Board Issue Nears Approval," which I guess means that the sidebar noting "Maddeningly Fake Newspaper Made On Commodore 64's Print Shop Companion Expected To Pass Without Comment" was moved to the front page where it so rightfully belongs. There's a knock on the door and Hawk accompanies Hank "Lam Chops" Jennings inside. Hank is on crutches, and he hobbles in to ask just what the big deal of his breaking parole is. Truman has a series of unambiguous responses, none of which I would have been able to conjure on my own volition. Go, Harry! Here are some now. "You crossed the border into Canada. You consorted with drug dealers at Dead Dog Farm. You tried to kill somebody." He did? He did II: Guilty Boogaloo? He did III: The Wrath of Yawn? I don't remember much of any of that. Harry plays lawman: "I'm charging you with the attempted murder of Leo Johnson." Hank doesn't seem so concerned, producing the alibi that he was at the diner the night of the non-murder, but Truman retorts that an eyewitness put him at the crime scene with a gun. Unflinching, Hank notes that Truman "seems serious about this," so he offers up a compromise by which he will give Truman "information leading to the arrest and conviction of Andrew Packard's murderer." Harry borrows Katherine's cliché generator, responding to Hank's plea for a deal with such scintillating dialogue as "No deals" and "You're through, Hank." But Hank's still got one more incompletely-thematically-developed six-spotted domino up his sleeve, as he threatens Harry that he should be more interested in gathering information on dead rich guy Andrew than not dead felon Leo, seeing as he possesses the information of "who pushed the button on Andrew," and that Harry "is sleeping with her." Is that a crime? Oh, wait. She's twelve. It is. Hawk kicks the crutches out from underneath Hank's, er, armpit, and he pitches forward onto Truman's desk. I'm going to go ahead and guess that this took place before police brutality became the polarizing political issue it is today. I don't think the good guys are allowed to do that anymore. Truman gruffly insists that Hawk "get 'em outta here," and also would like for Hawk to "GET 'EM OUTTA HERE!" The Overly Literal Press carries the story: "Truman to Hawk about Hank: Get 'em Outta Here."