Hi there. Kill me later. Let's just say I uh, went on one of those Indian 3-day, 3-night trip into the woods to find myself. Yeah... that sounds good. I'll do better from now on. Honest. : )

"Seven"

It was nearing 4 o'clock in the evening. Detective Tod Brennan and his sidekick, Charlie, occupied the last office at the end of the hallway in the Las Vegas Police Station. Charlie bore a hole in the ground with his eyes while Brennan paced the room, footstep after footstep, channeling every fiber in his being into the case at hand. Concentration possessed him. He ran the facts once more through his mind, going over every last detail, looking for clues to catch his man.

Two officers, dead. Two suspects at large. One department vehicle, wrecked, by a high-explosive with a homemade timer. Two arrests were made prior to the incident: one man, one woman. Twenty witnesses to apparent acts of vile disturbance of peace, et cetera, et cetera. …And now they were on the lamb, Brennan thought grimly, grinding a toothpick to the stub.

Brennan's eyes fell on his loyal sidekick. "We'll get 'em, boss," Charlie said firmly from his rigid seat on the edge of a desk. "We always do."

"I know, Charlie," said Brennan, a man of steel and justice. "I know."

Meanwhile, not twenty miles west, a well-known journalist and his partner in chaos moved stealthily through the streets of Vegas, high on what have you and having the time of their lives.

"Yowee!" Duke squealed. He leaned gratefully on a wall to support himself while he laughed all hysterics.

"Hey," said Josie, stumbling over to meet him. "Hey Duke. The sun's going down."

He looked up. "By God, it is. What time is it, Greenhorn? Quick!"

Josie's wandering eyes found her watch and she smiled. "Six something. It's too dark to read."

(This, of course, was some ill-effect of substance abuse, for Vegas had never been brighter. The millions of white-bright light bulb sparkled from above their heads and stretched down in beautiful, straight chutes toward the horizon and beyond. Then again, the psychedelic light chapter of their drug frenzy had perhaps simply not arrived yet.)

"Jesus Christ, is daylight savings time still around?," Duke exclaimed, not knowing what we know, and sent his arms swinging in all directions. He slid to the ground, then lapsed into a serious moment, before bursting into a giggle fit once again. He shook his head. "NO! We need to get to the stadium, Greenhorn! There's not much time left! Our very existence depends on this, goddamnit."

"Right."

"Double Time! Knees high!"

Duke fell forwards, stumbling a little faster than he had been. Josie followed obediently, marching forwards like a Hitler recruit. But the Sports Center was still a good five miles away, and the pair would soon find themselves distracted in the great maze sin city. And here was it came now in one great wave of confusion: a white Cadillac had just rolled to a halt by the curb, the window came down, and a head appeared. It was a great round-faced man with a lumberjack beard and wino spots dotting his nose.

"Need a ride?" He asked in a great thundering voice.

"Uh…" Duke said. Josie shoved him, seeing the opportunity if he didn't, and like that they were riding in the back seat of a fine leather-seated automobile with a fellow called Keith and his great booming voice. He wasn't a bad guy, just a friendly alcoholic that enjoyed talking to anybody and everybody—strangers especially. A new challenge, I suppose is how he saw.

Anyway, good jolly Keith told them a story about how he wrestling a bear up in Ely, Minnesota, that had apparently escaped from this traveling circus, and how that circus' chief clown gave him his father's prized possession in return. He never told them what it was. After his story, he kindly dropped them off at the corner of where Duke had asked. Unfortunately for the pair of misfits, they would never remember Keith or his kindness, only an ominous vision of a half clown, half-bear that haunted the mountains in Ely. And unfortunately for their mission, Duke had by this time forgotten their task and had instead directed to a restaurant that he remembered had good meatloaf. Josie was too interested in her thumb to care.

"This is delicious," Josie commented.

She and Duke sat at the finest table Duke's memorable restaurant had to offer, and ravished their meatloaf in seconds. They paid with napkins they'd stolen at the entrance, and slipped out the back. The perfect crime …had they not been seen and reported by the dishwasher, Benny.

Speaking of benny, Duke had decided at a whim to buy four tubes of Benzedrine from an old friend two blocks from the restaurant. He had insisted that he and his apprentice needed as much energy as possible for the task at hand, which he soon after remembered and they were on the sly lamb once again, headed toward the Sports Center at top speed. About a half-mile further down the line, Josie realized that one of her shoes was gone. This was a bad sign, Duke realized. He knew better than to leave a shoe behind; it was a clear give away of their position! So the pair had to double back and find it.

Josie checked her watch again. It was a quarter to seven. She told Duke, who panicked. They wrestled the flip-flop of the nearest tourist and sprinted. Time was running out; the laughers, and mescaline, and tea had worn off. All that was left was the energy-rush of the benny tubes, meatloaf and all the rest. There was work to be done! The Sports Center lay before them, surely, just beyond the Riviera and the great talking palm tree. If only they could make it there on time, infiltrate the stadium and manage to take enough notes to cover an 18,000 word article for Sports Illustrated… then, things might just fold out. It seemed easy enough.

They had reached their kingdom of heaven.

"Detective Brennan? I've got some new leads."

Tracy Jasper's voice crushed Tod Brennan's train of thought. His eyes whipped around to his office door, where Tracy's head peeked out from behind the blinded window. It had been a long day.

"What have you got?" He asked. His forehead showed a great crease from years of serious police work.

"There have been a lot of calls about domestic disturbances, loitering, and property destruction along about Hampton Avenue."

"That's not so unusual, Tracy. Where's the beef?"

"Pretty unusual if three out of five callers stated they saw a woman in a suit and weird man –both Caucasian."

Brennan raised his eyebrows.

"That's not it, Detective. We just got another sighting from a guy down at Malone's Steakhouse. We got lucky on this one; he said the pair slipped out without paying."

Brennan was amazed. He looked at his co-worker like he'd found his Juliet. "Tracy, that's our man. We've got 'em." He punched his palm in excitement.

Tracy blushed, and smiled. "Do you want me to dispatch somebody? I think Allen is near Hampton—"

Brennan shook his head. "No, no, no. These are mine. Go get Charlie and tell him what you told me. We're heading out pronto."

Tracy nodded, pulled her head out of view, and closed the door with a thud.

Brennan looked around his office. The window behind his desk was open to let in the night's cool breeze; the lights outside made it seem like dawn all over again. Of all the places to work, he had to choose the one where sleep came uneasy. The detective ruffled his hair before standing up and reaching for his coat and gun. It was time for a rundown.