BLACK OUT
Matt gave him a dirty look. "I think you just shut off the power for the entire building, dumbass."
Woody's response was to ignore him and fumble at the power box. Breaker box. Fuse box. Box-that-controls-electrical-stuff. Whatever it was usually called. Matt didn't know. He wasn't exactly good with electricity and mechanics and plumbing and the rest of that crap that men were supposed to know about. And for the first time in his life, he was regretting that. Or maybe he just regretted that Woody Hoyt was the only other person there to work the box thing.
He squinted at the other detective in the scant light (of which there had been more, but then Woody had flipped a switch or pushed a button or something and the lights had gone out and he was pretty sure Woody hadn't just shut off the power for the building, but the power for the entire block). He could make out the dark outline that was Woody just barely – and what was that? He reached forward and grabbed a chunk of Woody's hair. Woody batted Matt's hand away but didn't bother commenting, concentrating instead on the dials and switches inside the box. Matt rubbed the stuff he had gotten out of Woody's hair in his hand, and laughed. "You've got chalk in your hair, Hoyt."
Woody finally turned to him. "Do you want me to do this or not?"
Matt pretended to think about it. "Not. You're going to electrocute yourself. Let's just call the power company."
But now it was a matter of pride. Woody jutted his chin out stubbornly and grabbed a screwdriver they had found while stumbling around in the basement of Matt's apartment building. Matt took a large step away from his friend, paused, and then took another step away. Woody was too close to electrocution before he started poking metal objects into electrical currents.
They wouldn't be down here, risking near-certain death (which always seemed like such a weird phrase to him; if you were risking something, then there wasn't really a certainty at all, was there?) by electricity if they had just gone over to Woody's place to watch the game. He had reminded Woody of this about ten times as they had tramped down the nine flights of stairs to the basement (he had also pointed out that the power was working in the rest of the building, including the elevators, but Woody hadn't wanted to get stuck in one if the power failed everywhere). Woody pretty much refused, and insisted on hanging out at Matt's instead of his place. He didn't say why, leading Matt to wonder what exactly Woody had in his apartment – or who.
"There!" Woody suddenly said, jabbing something with the screwdriver. The lights around them flickered on (giving Matt a nasty shock, as he had been pretty sure the basement had no lighting). "All fixed!"
Matt shook his head. "I still think we should have gone to your place."