"God[i]DAMNIT[/i], Sleepy! I'm up to my eyeballs in paperwork, and you two seem hellbent on givin' me more with every case!", Police Chief MacStache pulled a report out of the drawer and slapped it on the table, "I mean, what in the hell is this report supposed to be!? You ran over Kurt Cobain?"

"The [i]shambling, bloodsucking corpse[/i] of Kurt Cobain, actually. Important distinction."

"I don't care if it was the Queen of motherfuckin' Sheba! It's bad enough that you two chucklefucks are takin' up valuable broom closet space, but you seem to think that you gotta waste the precinct's goddamn time while yer at it!"

"But that's what-"

"I DON'T CARE IF IT'S 'WHAT REALLY HAPPENED', YA BIG DUMB BASTARD!", He jabbed a finger at the report, "You really think the commissioner is gonna believe your reports!? I mean, look at this shit! 'Unfortunately, the body disintegrated during processing due to being left in direct sunlight'? Really? You think anyone's gonna buy that?"

"Well, yeah, it's a little hard to swallow, but-"

"Yeah, I know, I know. [i]'But that's what happened, Chief!'[/i] [i]'I dunno know what you want us to do, Chief!'[/i] [i]'That son of a bitch was askin' for it, Chief!'[/i]", MacStache looked down at his desk, pinched the bridge of his nose, and took a deep breath.

"Look, Sleepy, I know you and the kid are tryin' yer hardest. Hell, two of ya might just be the best damn beat cops this city's ever had, but I can't keep coverin' for ya, understand? I got a career ta think about, the wife and kids ta take care of...", he sighed, "I got priorities, alright? Just- try an' keep it normal, just 'till things blow over. Commissioner's been ridin' my ass about the Siberians lately."

"I'll do my best, Chief.", Sleepy mumbled. He fidgeted as he leaned against the wall, "[i]Sooo...[/i]"

"Yeah, yeah.", MacStache grumbled tossed Sleepy a set of heavily-worn car keys, "Yer squad car is down at the impound lot."

"Thanks, Chief.", said Sleepy, catching the keys as he opened the office door.

"And quit usin' it to run things down!", the Chief grunted, "Fenders can't take it."

"No promises!", Sleepy called as he jogged out the door.

"Bastard.", MacStache grunted as he withdrew a flask from his desk's bottom drawer. His wife had told him to quit drinking, but hey.

No promises.