(Chicago, IL) 20 years ago former bounty hunter Jack Walsh was very unpopular with the Chicago police department. Today however Jack and his diner, Jack’s, are very popular with not only the Chicago police department but also the entire Windy City.

“Damn it if Jack doesn’t make the best sandwiches on the planet,” said Chicago police chief Jimmy Murphy. “I can’t get enough of the Jimmy Serrano. I love the ham, the turkey, the roast beef, the layers of swiss and onions smothered with mustard and squeezed into a warm roll. It's the best with a glass of milk.”

“I can’t complain,” said a reflective Jack Walsh. “Ever since I opened this place, in a very respectable neighborhood, life has been good. Wow, I just can’t believe it’s been twenty years already.”

“I told him not to do it,” said Jonathan Mardukas, a white-collar criminal and long time friend of Jack’s. “I said if I were his accountant, I would advise him against opening a diner. But like Jack, he didn’t listen to me and I’m glad. I only hope that one day, when I’m not wanted by the federal authorities, I can be his accountant.”

Jack said, as he’s said many times, that Mr. Mardukas is welcome to be his accountant anytime. “My customers hear the stories and are dying to meet him.” But until that day Walsh’s customers can meet Mardukas in person, they'll have to make due with the breakfast special that bears his nickname, The Duke. “It’s basically just chorizo and eggs,” added Jack. “It’s very popular.”

Jack’s whole menu is very popular, and it reads like a rogue’s gallery of the owner’s former life. There’s the Eddide Moscone Ministrone, The Moron Number 1 Burger, The Moron Number 2 Burger, The Red Wood Salad, the Litmus Lasagna and many, many others.

But there’s one dish that has become a Chicago legend. It’s the most popular by far, and it’s named after Jack’s best customer. “The Agent Foster Grant,” said Jack while slipping on a pair of the famous sunglasses. “It’s a giant chili bacon cheeseburger. Alonzo loves it.”

10 P.M.

It’s the end of another long day and Jack is shooing away customers with a broom. We’re all out of chili, come back tomorrow he says. As the OPEN sign flickers off, Jack closes the register and pours himself a shot of Wild Turkey. He smiles and starts to toast another day of serving fine food to a better class of people. But as the glass reaches his lips, Jack leaps across the counter to rush outside.

“Marvin, look out!” screams Jack. But it’s too late. It seems that Marvin Dorfler, Jack’s assistant manager, has backed the delivery truck into Jack’s car, again. “Twenty years and that son-of-a-bitch still can’t drive…Well, looks like I’m walkin’.”