[As it happens, he is. They do come upon a kitchenette eventually, and while Mista doesn't find anything the Pistols would like, he does find some cookies. Which he steals when the clerk is busy fussing anxiously over whether ghosts are lactose intolerant. He's humming when they emerge back into the front room, pockets full of snacks and followed by the bread-and-cheese-bearing clerk.]

All right, well, I guess we'll leave you to it. [He shoots a jaunty salute to the clerk, who blanches slightly, juggling his armful.]

You don't want that writ?

[Aww, he's sad he won't get his bribe . . . Mista gives him an incredulous look.] Are you kidding? Get a writ from a haunted cop? No way. You have a great day, though. C'mon-- [uhhhhh shit he doesnt know this girls name] C'mon, let's go. [#nailedit]