Gumshoe never liked the night shift. He only volunteered to do it when he was low on cash. Lately he was very low, what with all the pressures of having a girlfriend and all.

Maggey. He still couldn't believe things were going so well with her. He thought she'd be sick of him by now, but no, after a year long relationship she was still around. Sometimes he'd allow himself little daydreams of marriage or kids, but those were both a long ways off, he knew. He isn't that big a fool.

"Detective!"

"What? Who? Huh?" Gumshoe quickly sat up straight and began shuffling papers around his desk, trying desperately to look busy and not like he was daydreaming of his girlfriend, no sir.

"O'Keefe couldn't make it tonight, so you'll have to head out on patrol." It's the Sergeant. A short, rather stumpy looking fellow with red hair, a bushy beard, a huge forehead and big teeth. He would bare them whenever he smiled. It was usually a sign to start running in the other direction. Right now though, he was frowning, which was to be expected - he worked nights, after all.

"Yes, sir," Gumshoe replies, standing and removing his coat from the back of his chair, trying desperately to keep his mind on the Sergeant and not on Maggey who had bought him this new coat which was very comfortable and-

"Detective!"

"Where? Why? How?"

"Stop staring off into space and look at me!"

Gumshoe looked down. He was rather tall, and the Sergeant was rather short. For some reason this angered the Sergeant.

"You'll be ridin' with a partner tonight!" He barks, crossing his arms in front of him. "New kid, about as clueless as you. You oughta get along fine."

"Yes sir!" Gumshoe salutes, hoping to make the Sergeant feel better, but he just takes it as a patronizing gesture.

"Don't just stand there, get going!" He shouts, his face quickly turning as red as his beard.

"Yes sir!" Gumshoe squeaks, quickly running off to the police garage.

Gumshoe finds his partner waiting next to his police cruiser, fidgeting nervously and fiddling with the badge stuck to the front of his uniform. He's a young kid, maybe twenty years old, with short hair and a dark complexion - at least one of parents was probably Hispanic. He's still a little babyfaced, and when he speaks, it's with a fairly high pitched voice. It's pretty clear he still has a lot of growing up to do.

He salutes briefly when Gumshoe walks up. "Senior Detective Richard Gumshoe?" He asks a little loudly.

"Sure am," he replies, allowing himself a little chuckle at being referred to by his full name and rank. "What's your name, pal?"

The kid was a little disarmed by Gumshoe's friendly demeanor and nonchalance. "Flatfoot, sir. Frederick Flatfoot."

"Alright then Freddie, you'll be ridin' shotgun with me tonight," Gumshoe says with a grin as he walks around to the driver's seat. The night shift usually had him down, but thoughts of Maggey and an opportunity to be nice to a rookie had raised his spirits.

As Flatfoot climbs into the car, he says, "Sir, forgive my impertinence, but regulation 03-LX states that officers should refer to each other by last name or rank only!"

Gumshoe gives him a weird look and scratches his head. "Does it?"

Flatfoot opened his mouth, but hesitated. "Uh, I think so..."

Gumshoe shrugs his broad shoulders. "Well, it's been a while since I read the ol' rule book, but if that's the way you want it, then okay, Flatfoot."

He turns the key in the ignition and starts the car, pulling out of the garage and onto the street.

"Where to, sir?"

"Stop callin' me that," Gumshoe commanded. This kid was reminding him vaguely of Maggey and that was not where his mind needed to be right now.

"Yes sir. I mean Detective!" Flatfoot quickly corrects himself.

"This your first patrol, Flatfoot?" Gumshoe asks.

"Uh, well, yes..." Flatfoot looked a little embarrassed. "I've mostly done clerical work at the station."

"Then we'll stick to low crime areas. Wouldn't want you to get overwhelmed on your first ride."

"Oh, no sir! I mean Detective!" Flatfoot loudly corrects himself, speaking quickly. "I'd like the opportunity to dole out some justice!"

"So do we all, pal," Gumshoe says knowingly, "but it ain't just gonna leap out in front of you, ya know?"

Suddenly a woman darts out into the middle of the street. Gumshoe slams on the brakes, stopping inches short of hitting her. She doesn't look back, doesn't notice them at all. A lanky man in a ski mask and leather jacket sprints out of an alley to the right, zooming right by the police cruiser in the middle of the street, chasing after the woman.

Gumshoe stares, mouth agape as the crook catches up to her, grabbing her around her neck. Flatfoot opens his door and stands up, pointing accusatorily.

"Halt, in the name of the law!" He shouts, his words echoing off the buildings on either side.

The punk curses and pulls a gun out of his pocket and points it at him. Gumshoe leaps across the passenger seat and tackles Flatfoot to the ground, just as he begins firing.

"You crazy or somethin'?!" He shouts over the echo of the gunfire. "Call for backup!"

Flatfoot nods and crawls back into the car, grasping for the radio.

"Station, this is car 101, requesting backup at-" he pauses, looking back at Gumshoe. "Where are we?!"

"36th and 5th!" Gumshoe shouts, gun out and ready, back against the wheel of his cruiser.

"Backup at 36th and 5th! Shots fired! We have a code...uh, a code..." Flatfoot looks back towards Gumshoe again. "What's the code for a hostage situation?"

"What does it matter?! Just tell 'em!" Gumshoe shouts back as a shot ricochets far too close for comfort. All of a sudden, the shooting stops. Gumshoe waits a moment, then chances a quick glance towards the shooter.

The punk is running into the alley, dragging the lady along with him. He kicks down a door and heads inside.

"Backup will be here in a few minutes," Flatfoot sighs, relief palpable in his voice.

"Can't wait, pal," Gumshoe says curtly, standing and wrapping both hands around his gun's grip. When situations got sticky, he was all business. "He's got a hostage. You can stay here or you can cover my back. Your choice."

He stands and runs for the other side of the street. Flatfoot wrestles with his decision a moment before he curses and runs after the Detective.

Gumshoe enters the building slowly through the alley door. He remembers it; an arson from a few weeks back, an old abandoned building that some pyromaniac had decided to use to entertain himself. He guessed it was a pet shop a long time ago from the cages and shelves throughout the place. Dust and soot hang thick in the air, stifling his breath. Glass from shattered aquariums crunches under his feet. The only light is cast by the bright streetlights outside, filtering in through blackened and broken windows.

He hears Flatfoot enter in after him. He can practically feel the kid shaking from ten feet away. He hoped things didn't get any hairier.

"Don't move man!"

Well, shit.

The crook comes out from behind the counter. He's got the lady by the neck, and he's got his gun to her temple. "Throw down your guns or I blow her brains out!"

Flatfoot quickly throws down his pistol. He even raises his hands. Gumshoe grimaces. Slowly, he raises his gun.

"H-hey, what're you doin'? I said t-throw it down!" The crook is stuttering. He's scared, big time. "I'll do it, man!"

"Let the lady go, pal," Gumshoe says slowly. "There ain't no way out of this."

"Back off, man!" He presses the gun further into her temple. She cries out a little. Gumshoe can't see her face through the dark, but the silhouette and the voice sound vaguely like Maggey.

He frowns angrily. She is not what he needs to be thinking of right now. It's not her, he knows that. She's safe at home, asleep. But a little voice in the back of his head says it could've been her. And next time she's walking down the street, taking a shortcut to his apartment, she might run into a creep like this, with a knife or a gun. They might not ask politely for her purse, either. They might just attack first.

He squints through the darkness. He can see the crook, see his arm holding the gun, see his other arm around the lady's neck. She's a bit shorter than him. This gives him a chance. It's stupid, and it's reckless, but this guy was desperate and cornered now. Desperate, cornered crooks are always the most dangerous.

He looks down his sights. He sees his shot, and he takes it.

"Just what were you thinking?!" The Sergeant shouts at him.

"I was thinkin' about savin' her life, sir," Gumshoe lies. He figured the Sergeant wouldn't be pleased to hear whose life he was actually thinking of.

"By shooting at her?!"

"He was aiming for the perpetrator, sir!"

"Shut up, Flatfoot!" The Sergeant briefly turns towards the rookie sitting on the couch next to the door of his office. He promptly shuts up and stares at the floor.

The Sergeant plops himself back down in his chair, leaning back and surveying the Detective standing before him.

"So you see a punk with a gun and a hostage, he takes potshots at you, you radio for backup, and instead of waiting for it, you rush in blindly, find the guy with a gun against the lady's head, and shoot him."

"Well..." Gumshoe sighs in defeat. "That's about the size of it, sir."

The Sergeant isn't frowning anymore. He's regarding him oddly, peering up at him from his chair.

"Detective, what you did was stupid and dumb and foolish and extremely dangerous for you, your partner, and the hostage-"

Gumshoe's shoulders tensed up and he shut his eyes, bracing himself for another pay cut.

"-not to mention bold, courageous, and downright heroic."

Gumshoe's eyes shot open, his eyebrows flew to the top of his head and his eyes were as wide as dinner plates.

The Sergeant laughs, a loud, booming thing that frightens Gumshoe more than anything. "Reminds me of when I was a beat cop! Not enough of the force these days are willing to take action when it needs to be taken! They're all gettin' soft, workin' to solve crimes rather than prevent 'em in the first place!"

The Sergeant stands, walking around his desk, hands behind his back. "You did good tonight, Detective. The lady's alright, the perp'll live to see his prison sentence, and that old clinker of a cruiser is so full of holes we can finally send it off to the scrap yard! Now we can get a new one! One with leather seats and an air conditioner that works!"

He smiled, but he didn't bare his teeth. Gumshoe felt a little relieved, but was still quite stunned at this sudden and unheard of bout of happiness from the Sergeant. "Uh, thank you sir?"

"In fact, you've done so good I think I'll raise your pay and make Flatfoot here your new partner! He could learn a thing or two from you!"

Flatfoot stands and salutes, eyes straight ahead. "I would be fully in favor of this, sir!"

"I wasn't asking for your permission, Flatfoot," the Sergeant growls.

"Of course not, sir!" Flatfoot manages to stand even straighter, which Gumshoe didn't think was physically possible.

The Sergeant turns back to the Detective, his bushy beard twitching into a smile once more. "Nice shot, Gumshoe," he says, clapping him on the upper arm and walking back to his chair. "Dismissed!"

Gumshoe saluted and left the Sergeant's office, Flatfoot following close behind.

"Detective, I want you to know how excited I am to be your partner!" He exclaims once they're out of earshot. "Seeing you take that shot was amazing!"

"Yeah, I suppose it was," Gumshoe says distantly, still trying to process what had just happened.

"I hope someday I can be half the cop that you are, Detective!" Flatfoot says a little too loudly.

Gumshoe spun on his heel to face the rookie, putting on his angry face and leering down at him. "Look pal, what I did was driven only by the circumstances, alright? I don't want you goin' off and tryin' to be a hero and gettin' yourself shot up, is that clear?"

Flatfoot nods furiously. "Of course sir. I mean-"

"Just call me Gumshoe, okay pal?" He sighs.

"Yes...Gumshoe." Flatfoot had to practically force the word out.

"Good," Gumshoe straightens up and takes a deep breath. "I'm goin' home now kid. See you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow...Gumshoe," he says with a wave at Gumshoe's retreating back.

As he walks, Gumshoe considers the events of the past few hours. Admittedly, he had felt a surge of pride after he took down the crook, but he had scolded himself for it. It was a lucky shot, he knew, the bullet passing through his arm and embedding itself into his shoulder. A few inches up or down would have made all the difference. Might not have tore enough muscle to make him unable to pull the trigger, might have cost the woman her life. But what other choice did he have? Let the guy get away? He could have gotten out of that pet shop easily, killed the woman and made a break for it. That wasn't something Gumshoe was just going to let happen.

But apparently the Sergeant had admired his daring and - he couldn't believe it - raised his pay. Maybe now he could afford to take Maggey out somewhere that didn't have a dollar menu.

Gumshoe was grinning like a madman as he arrived at the lobby of the station. Maggey. Finally, she was exactly where his mind needed to be.