By Straitjacketed
Constable Jim Johnstone put down his book and sighed inwardly. He was bored: bored with the rain drumming on the tin roof of the tiny two-man watch hut, bored with the task he’d been allotted – sitting night guard on one of the more remote Royal Canadian Mounted Police supply warehouses, which had been broken into in recent months – and, most of all, bored with having to play nursemaid to Hank.