"Lucy, why do you look so tired?", he was going to ask, tomorrow. "Because I was up all night doing what you told me to do, you bastard", I would reply. If I wanted to be fired. Without severance pay. Fine, I wasn't going to say it.

Finding a locksmith who respected the badge enough to refrain from telling me to commit the sin of Onan - is that clean enough for you, Pat - took about a third of the night. Finding one that was willing to do more than say "I wish I could help, but it's 11:30, you funny, funny person" took another third. The remaining half was going to be spent watching the one guy who was willing to take the job do it, and yes, I know that doesn't add up right, I don't care. No matter what the clock said, this night was lasting a week, so when you think about it, I was really coming up short on the fractions.

OK, so I wasn't. Shut up. God, I needed to get to bed.

"Ladies first", the locksmith said, looking at the dark and narrow streets ahead without enthusiasm. "Of course", I told him, "that's what I'm here for, sir." We turn corner after corner, I look up, and then I see that bed is going to have to wait.

A line of guns on the balcony. Snipers? "Get back", I whispered as loudly as I dared, pushing the smith back as I got myself out of the line of fire. Bad, impossibly bad. I knew these people, maybe only in passing, but well enough to know the truth. Bringing a chess piece down really hard was as aggressive as either the resident or her mother ever got. No way were they going to go terrorist or commando or whatever on us. If we had a small army up there, ready to kill whatever came in view, it could mean only one thing. We should have come sooner. Mother and daughter were either being held hostage, or, more likely, dead. That Meg woman was a screamer, wasn't she? You could tell that she had to be. Killing her would have been the path of least resistance, and perps weren't all that ambitious.

Great. I was going to get fired over this for sure. "What's ...", the smith started, still winded from being slammed into the wall. "Calling for backup. Sorry, sir. Are you all right?"