Dana glanced at her briefly-illuminated watch: Three, already? Or maybe ‘only.’ Only three.
"Are you sure they’re here?" she asked the man sitting beside her. He nodded once in a swift jerk, like a flipped switch. "It's just," Dana continued while they stared at the house with its peeling blue paint, "We've been out here eight hours already, and we haven't seen any movement at all. So Lucifer know we're looking, or this is an abandoned house."
"You should be used to stakeouts, officer," the man said. He spoke with her partner's voice, Mike's voice, but the movement of the lips she saw out of the corner of her eye didn't match the words. Once again, Dana wondered whether he—it—was speaking English, or whether he was really speaking at all. She scraped her thin brown hair up off of her forehead—damp with sweat, despite the chill that permeated the car.
"You should be used to stakeouts, officer," the man said. He spoke with her partner's voice, Mike's voice, but the movement of the lips she saw out of the corner of her eye didn't match the words. Once again, Dana wondered whether he—it—was speaking English, or whether he was really speaking at all. She scraped her thin brown hair up off of her forehead—damp with sweat, despite the chill that permeated the car.
"That's not it," she said. "I can keep a watch as long as I have to, but my shift starts in an hour. You had me up all last night; we didn't see anything then. That makes a week.” She breathed out hard through her nose, began to turn toward him, and then turned back toward the house. “You, you need some new leads, bud. And—I need some sleep."
"He's here," came the badly-dubbed words. Mike's eyes remained fixed on the dark house. Dana stared almost as hard as he did.
"Sure, you can just tell that. I buy it. I’m already taking so much on, on faith, so why the hell not. But you need to obey our laws, right?" A hard nod, though she knew the answer to that one already. "And you need a lot firmer probable cause than I do. So we can't go in. Staying out here isn't doing us any good. If you get either of us in trouble with the chief, I'm not going to be as free to help you." Something shifted in the planes of her partner's face.
"Fine," Mike's voice said. "I will return you home."
"No time," Dana said as she twisted to kneel on her seat. She fished in the back for her blue jacket. "Drop me at the coffee shop down the street from the precinct. You head straight there after you leave me."
Dana walked into the precinct forty-five minutes later. She carried an extra large coffee in both of her small hands.
"Hey, slacker!" She turned, and then she tried to smile back at Mike. The expression didn't quite escape the black bags under her eyes; he didn't seem to notice. "One of those for me?" She stared at him.
"Do you really need it?" she asked. Mike tilted his head to consider this. If she hadn’t been with him—kind of—on all of these informal stakeouts, she wouldn’t know he’d been out from seven to three or five for a week solid. Or that he hadn’t gone home last night at all.
"Nah," he said. "I feel great!" Dana gritted her teeth. Thanks, Satan.
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