Blissfully unaware of the turn the pair's conversation had taken, Edgeworth strolled down the dark, nearly empty street at a leisurely pace. The lot where he had parked his Benz was a few blocks away. Already his enthusiasm for sticking it to the (suspected) mafia members was fading, replaced by the soothing prospect of heated seats and the plans he was making for work the next morning. It would be one of his early days; he had fifteen depositions to go over before he would allow himself to even think about breakfast.