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A cop sits in the parking lot of a bar on a bitterly cold snowy night. The door opens and a man, obviously dead drunk stumbles out. Falls flat on his face and can't seem to regain his feet. He crawls in the direction of a car, making slow progress. The cop rubs his freezing hands together, knowing he's just about to make the collar that will send him to a warm cup of coffee and the obligatory reports for the rest of the shift. This guy is clearly a menace on the road. The bar door opens again and more people stumble out, but nowhere near as bad as the poor soul still crawling to his car, so the cop ignores them. More people leave as the bar closes. Finally the lot is empty and the drunk has reached his car. Painfully hauling himself to his feet using the bumper and finally the hood, he reaches into his pocket for his keys. The cop pounces! He handcuffs the suspect and produces the machine for him to breathe into so as to establish level of contamination. The little light glows a steady green. The cop is flustered when his prisoner speaks in a clear and articulate voice: I'm the designated DECOY.