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Operator: Rewritten

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In the tiny town of Groverfield, a serial killer is on the loose. No one in town seems to know who it is, and dozens of detectives have already resigned from the case over the last two years with little luck in finding an answer. Now it falls to amateur detective Eddie Valliere to find out if the prime suspect, Lochlier Lyall, is truly to blame, or if there's something more sinister happening. But he'll have to be careful, because something about Groverfield just isn't right.

Allison H. Pierson
4.0 1 review
Age Rating:


Eddie Valliere hadn’t been in this line of work for very long at all.

In fact, he’d only just very recently joined this line of work after completing the educational requirements… And he’d only barely managed that.

He shuddered to think of all those low-C and high-D grades that just barely scraped him past and got him his degree. But, oh well. Who cared if his grades were low once he hit college? He’d worked himself to the bone to be considered a prodigy all through the rest of his schooling and he felt, righteously, that he’d earned the right to slack off for a couple of years.

D’s get degrees and all that.

And, of course, after that he’d gone right back to working himself to the bone, despite everything he’d done in college more or less telling him that he shouldn’t and probably didn’t have to.

He’d been on the force with the Columbus Police Department for a little over two years, now, and he’d just gotten his Detective’s shield yesterday.

Oh, he could not wait to put on that brand new, shiny gold badge.

Here it was, right here, in his hands after all that hard work and a couple of near-death experiences. It was gratifying to have finally gotten it at all, and it would be even more so to finally be able to wear it. It felt like he’d been waiting weeks instead of a few hours.

He’d barely slept, he’d been so excited.

He’d only gotten more antsy when he’d heard through the grapevine that the Detective Sergeant already had a case for him.

“Eddie!” There was a viciously loud knock on his door. He jumped, then cringed. Rufus. Of course. He’d barely even turned to the door before the man continued, “Eddie I’m-better-’n-you Valliere, you quit polishin’ that damn sparkly new badge a’ yers ’n get yer ass out here!”

A groan left his lips, cheeks heating a little bit at the jab ― which, regrettably, wasn’t necessarily even wrong ― as he sat that beloved new shield down and started to head for the door.

He threw a glance around his apartment as he went.

As usual, the place was a mess. Littered from bedroom to kitchen with loose papers (some blank, some not), cigarette butts that had fallen from his wide variety of ashtrays, and maybe, just maybe, a few dishes he hadn’t gotten around to picking up and at least throwing into the sink to be washed the next time a cleaning frenzy hit him.


If cleanliness was next to godliness, he guessed, he must be a heretic.

He popped the door open a fraction on reaching it, frowning through the crack at the tall brunette on the other side, “What do you want, Rufus?”

Of course, Rufus being Rufus, he was wearing his usual shit-eating grin and loose, open flannel shirt as he stood out in the hall. “Well,” The southern Illinoisan drawled, with some mock offense, before laughing, “I’m here t’congratulate ya, Ed. Obviously! Didn’t get the chance yesterday, y’know.”

“Consider me congratulated,” Eddie sighed, a little flatly, as Rufus continued to laugh, and popped the door open a little wider to lean on the frame, because this was obviously going to take a while.

That man… He always seemed to be laughing when nothing was funny.

“The hell are you even laughing about, anyway?”

Sometimes, he had to admit that he wondered why Rufus had ever moved here. To Ohio, let alone to Columbus… He’d never gotten a straight answer when he asked. But, you know, as much as he hated to admit it, he was glad the guy was here. He reminded him of home ― you know. Back in southern Illinois, in the very same town where Rufus had grown up. Still, it made him wonder. Why had Rufus moved here?

Why had he moved here, for that matter? He was sure there had been a reason…

“You,” Rufus said, grinning wider somehow. Eddie was half-surprised that his cheeks didn’t split right open, but that feeling, and the minor amusement that came with it, were far overshadowed by his annoyance at the response, “Ya graduated top a’ the class when ya were sixteen, the damned val-eh-dictorian―” How in the hell was his accent getting thicker? “―, ahead a’ e’ry other person. ’N then ya laid ‘round yer ma’s house for some two er three years a’fore ya headed off t’ college ― ’n lookit ya now! Already got yer shield ’n everythang. Ain’t even 23 years old yet.”

Rufus reached forward to give him a firm clap on the shoulder, overly friendly as always and all the more annoying for his efforts. Eddie had known him long enough to know there was an effort. To be annoying, specifically? Maybe not. But there was definitely an effort, nonetheless.

“I fail to see the humor,” Eddie sighed, rubbing absently at his mildly throbbing shoulder and watching Rufus give the vaguest wince in response to that action, “Is that really all you came here for? I need to get ready for work.”

He was, after all, currently dressed in a baggy pair of sweatpants he’d bought in college and a thin, ill-fitting black tank-top. And his hair was messed all to hell from his nervous fidgeting and ill-fated attempts to get some sleep. He was even still barefoot.

So, you know, he was not at all ready to head off to work.

And he should have been getting ready twenty minutes ago, but he’d gone and distracted himself with that damn badge.

“I was plannin’ on takin’ ya on down to the Precinct, actually,” Rufus snorted, shit-eating grin fading into something a little more lax and a little less smug, “Just be quick, yeah? I’ll be in my truck.”

And, without another word or even an acknowledgement from Eddie, he turned and headed off down the hallway, then the stairs.

Although Eddie was somewhat hesitant to admit it, he was genuinely thankful that Rufus had come to give him a ride. His personal vehicle (a poor little old beat up Chevy Malibu) was currently in dire need of a visit to a mechanic, and his cruiser was still in the Precinct parking lot.

… A mile and a half away.

Really, he wasn’t at all sure how the hell he’d managed to get his 2003 hunk of junk back home last night, but he was sure that if Rufus had waited until he got to work to “congratulate” him for his promotion instead of showing up unannounced on his doorstep with intent to give him a ride, he’d have been walking that mile and a half here in about… Five minutes?

Made him wonder if Rufus realized his car was in pretty bad condition right now and had decided to come pick him up for that reason alone.

For all he acted like an idiot, Rufus was generally somebody that could be called, fondly, smarter than the average bear. It was just as likely as not that he’d figured it out and decided to be nice under the guise of it just being him following a whim.

Shaking the thoughts away, he hurried through changing into his work clothes, happily fixing his shield on as he went, before yanking on some socks and his shoes. He paused, momentarily, in front of the mirror in his entryway so that he could try and make his hair look even just slightly presentable… Without much luck. Not surprising. Nothing short of a good wash would fix it now.

He swallowed hard, fiddling with his tie a bit, and decided he probably better get his ass downstairs before Rufus spontaneously changed his mind about giving him a ride.

Despite the decision, he lingered just a moment longer to stare at his new badge. He’d been waiting for this day since before he’d even joined the Police force. Since before he’d even gotten his degree. He was proud as could be that the day had finally come.

That reminded him, though ― he still needed to tell his parents about his promotion. It had slipped his mind yesterday, being low priority and all, though, and he had no intentions of doing it today. He’d get around to it when he felt up to it ― he wasn’t exactly on speaking terms with his dad at the moment and he didn’t have the time or the energy to call his mom, bless her poor heart.

After all, he hadn’t spoken to his father in going on a year. Last time they’d spoken, his father had more or less called his entire career a waste of time and told him that he’d never even get his shield. That he’d slacked off too hard in college and “little boys too weak to do their own chores’ll never get anywhere in a career like that.”

He’d been so angry by the time that the call was over that he’d ended up spending the rest of the afternoon at the shooting range emptying clip after clip after clip into the targets, all the while imagining his dad’s face on them.

… Not his proudest moment, he’d admit, but it had certainly made him feel better at the time.

He shook his head to clear away the annoyance and mild disgust, forced a smug smile, and snapped a picture of himself in the mirror. Might as well have ready proof for the skeptical old bastard when he eventually got around to telling him.

That done, he strapped his gun holster to his hip, made sure his gun was loaded before slipping it into the holster, then grabbed his keys and stuffed them unceremoniously into his jacket pocket. He hesitated just a moment longer, running through his morning checklist under his breath to ensure that he had everything he needed.

“Good, good,” He muttered, patting his thighs partially from habit and partially to ensure he had his phone, “Didn’t forget anything. That’d be a hell of a way to start off this part of my career.”

He gave one good half-shudder at the thought, flicked off his living room light, and stepped out of the apartment.

Usually he wouldn’t bother to lock the door on his way out ― he lived in one of the better neighborhoods in the city and everyone here knew he was a cop, so the rest of the building generally held the idea that he was paranoid and hated taking risks. But, well, he actually had a bit more at stake, now, didn’t he? Way more chance of someone trying to get the drop on him.

So he locked the door and tried to ignore how weird it felt. The way that it felt like there was genuinely some kind of significance to locking his door for once.

It was such a ridiculous and out of place thought that he almost laughed.

Snorting, he shook his head again and half-jogged down the stairs and out into the parking lot, where Rufus and his big, idling blue pickup truck sat waiting.

The truck itself may as well have been a relic from the Paleozoic era ― thing was older than either of them were, clocking in somewhere around thirty years old in comparison to Rufus’ 25 and Eddie’s 22 ―, with flaking baby blue paint, leather seats, and the frankly stunning ability to get about twenty-eight miles per gallon after years of work on it from Rufus. Eddie’d been riding shotgun in this cockroach of a truck since he was fourteen, so it was familiar and easy to him to swing the passenger door open and hop into the seat. Rufus gave him a grin of greeting and hardly enough time to strap in before he was shifting gears and trundling out of the parking lot.

By the time they arrived at the Precinct, Eddie had almost begun to outright fidget again. Only Rufus’ presence in the vehicle with him made him refrain. No need to get overly antsy while alone in the guy’s car with him. They’d known each other too long for that. Rufus would chase down an answer like a bloodhound.

But that didn’t stop Eddie’s anxiety at all. Just stopped him from acknowledging it too much externally.

He was still sort of freaking out a little.

Like, what if Sergeant Finley really did have an assignment for him? And, more horrifying than that, what if he fucked it up? He’d never been on a solo assignment before, so the likelihood was a lot higher than he liked. A lot of his success in prior cases came from the nearly overzealous assistance of Detective Aldape, who had been his partner pretty much since day one. Kylie was a bulldog when she was on a case, and he had always appreciated having someone with as much work ethic as he had on his side.

Still, the point was that the likelihood of fucking up was very high.

God, would he be mortified if he did, though. He’d never be able to show his face in Ohio again!

He paused on the front steps of the Precinct to smoke an anxiety cigarette even as he found his throat getting dry from all the nervous swallowing he was doing. He snuffed the cig after blowing through it entirely too fast, made his way into the building, and paused to get a drink on his way to clock in. He’d hoped a cold sip of water would help, but it did very little.


It was fine.

He was fine.

And he had scarcely stepped foot into his new office (his!) before the Detective Sergeant was rapping his knuckles on the doorframe.

“Valliere,” He barked, “Just in time!”

If Eddie wasn’t already well-aware of the fact that the man was just naturally loud and wasn’t trying to be intimidating, he’d probably have quit a long time ago.

“Sir?” He asked, turning to him and automatically standing up a little bit straighter.

“My office,” And the wink that followed was… Disarming, to say the least. “Got an assignment for you.”

Eddie had to physically restrain himself from jumping for joy, and also from straight up losing the cereal bar he’d eaten at five this morning out of the sudden influx of nervous energy he experienced at that phrase.

This was great! Dana hadn’t lied to him!

But also, well, you know.

This was horrible. Dana hadn’t lied to him.

And he was so anxious he felt like he was going to vibrate out of his skin.

“Yes, sir!” He said, instead of any of that.

The Sarge just nodded and left his place there in the doorway, marching off to his office.

In his haste to follow him, Eddie ended up tripping on a box full of his things. He landed pretty much flat on his face, just shy of having his upper half out of the room and just shy of having bitten his tongue.

He laid there for a second to gather his thoughts, bearings, and bruised pride, then slowly got back to his feet. Once upright, he carefully (and balefully) nudged that little death trap of a box out of the way. Then, sighing, he spared a moment to make sure he wasn’t bleeding or anything. Thankfully, he hadn’t landed hard enough to hurt himself.

Still, he proceeded with significantly more caution this time and all but tip-toed to the doorway.

Then he walked, back straight, to Sarge’s office like it hadn’t even happened.

“Take a seat, Detective,” Sarge said when he entered, not seeming at all bothered by the delay. Once Eddie had done so, he continued, “Now, I realize that it’s hardly even ten minutes into your first day in this position. I realize you’ve never worked in the field without a partner. That’s why I’m hesitant to give you this case.”

The redhead swallowed, fighting not to outright fidget. He felt lightheaded.

“... But,” Sarge sighed after a second, “You’re smart, Valliere, and you aren’t one of the naїve little shits who takes every single law and violation of it at full face value. You think. You give a shit. And we need someone like you on this case. Someone fresh. We’ve had at least moderately experienced men on it for years and none of them have accomplished jack shit in the long run.”

“Wait,” Eddie blinked, “Really?”

“Yes,” Sarge said, a little tiredly, “Really.” He plopped a folder onto the desk between them, clearly having been fiddling with it before. “You’re familiar with the Operator, yes?”

The younger man nodded, slowly. He’d heard of the case, of course ― or, rather, the various cases attached to the name. There’d been talk ever since he had come to Columbus, pretty much. Murders, mostly, where the Operator was suspected to be involved. It was pretty high-profile stuff, in the grand scheme of things. Not something a rookie detective was usually tossed into head first.

The Sarge nodded back at him, flipping the folder open. “I need you to investigate a woman named Lochlier Lyall.” He made a vague motion toward a picture attached to the file, “We have reason to believe she’s involved with, or may actually be the Operator, but not enough evidence to charge her or move on to different suspects. As you’re probably aware, the Operator is suspected in the deaths of upwards of 20 people in the last three years alone, and it’s getting to be fairly dire that we catch them before anyone else is killed.

“We’ve tried to prove or disprove Lochlier’s involvement for years with little luck, but everything you can dig up will probably be more than we’ve got now, frankly.” He sighed again, “Even with some of the best minds on the force chasing down leads, we haven’t managed much. They’re always looking for proof of guilt exclusively, it seems. I haven’t read a damned note in this file that isn’t proof of possible involvement or tinfoil hat-level conspiracy.”

Eddie leaned in a little closer, examining the file. One of the first notes he caught sight of denoted Lochlier as having a “sweet, motherly” demeanor, which appeared to be enforced by several detectives having initialed next to it. So that was either the best and most consistent ruse he’d ever seen, or watching her was probably unnecessary… And to be honest? He really wasn’t sure which was more likely.

The second note he noticed made him wrinkle his nose.

“Sir, you expect me to surveil a woman living in Groverfield? They hate cops down there!”

He’d never even been to Groverfield before ― there was enough talk of the little town being so horribly unwelcoming to police cars and police officers that some of the residents would outright kick you out of their store, if not threaten you with bodily harm, that he’d never wanted to risk it. He especially wasn’t wild about the idea now that he was a detective, considering that generally painted a bigger target on any officer’s back.

Sarge, however, didn’t seem bothered, “Our previous detectives have had no problems. Folks down there seem pretty fond of detectives, but who knows why the hell they would be… They seem to think that a regular police badge and a shield are really different things.”

“If you say so, sir,” Eddie sighed, weighing his options. Groverfield wasn’t an ideal place to be spending all his time, but… “Count me in.”

“Good man,” Said Sarge, with an obvious hint of relief in his voice, “I knew I could count on you.” He pushed the file across the desk to him, “You can head out whenever you’re ready ― we’ll be funding you generously to cover most of your living expenses during the case. Obviously your best bet is staying in town until it’s done.”

“Thank you,” He said, a little relieved to know he wouldn’t have to dig into his savings in order to do this.

By all means, he’d have enough money to do it, given that he’d been holding onto at least half of the leftovers of every check he’d gotten since he’d started work during college.

It was something his mother had taught him ― “Every little bit counts,” she’d always said. And she was right. Right now the account was set up to be his house fund in a couple more years of saving.

“You should prepare yourself,” The Sergeant suggested, “You’ll be down there a while.”

Eddie nodded again, joking, “Sure hope I’m still getting my paycheck.”

Was he worried about it for real? Maybe. But he kind of always was and he was just paranoid enough to worry that being compensated would mean forfeiting his check. Product of growing up around his dad, he guessed, as well as an occupational hazard, that he ended up this paranoid.

“You are,” Sarge rolled his eyes.

Eddie just laughed as he stood, collecting the folder, “I’ll get ready then. Am I headed for a hotel, or…?”

“For now,” Sarge confirmed, “We’ll arrange something better if you don’t find anything significant within the next two months or so.”


He strode back to his office, surveying the mess for a moment. He needed to get unpacked ― couldn’t leave until that was done or he’d just get horribly distracted thinking about it at inopportune moments. For obvious reasons, that would be extremely unhelpful, so… Might as well get started.

And that was why, roughly an hour later, Rufus popped his head into the office and found him sitting amidst a pile of empty boxes. He had to admit he was really kind of disgruntled. Unpacking was always like that, though.

“Havin’ fun down there, Eds?” Rufus chuckled, stepping in a little further to lean against the doorframe.

“Something like that,” He tossed a glance around, huffing at the thought of having to pick up and break down all of them. None of them were very big, so the issue was more about the amount, “I hate unpacking.”

Rufus snorted and pushed off the door so he could pick his way over to him through the mess, “Looks like yer done though, at least.” He patted his head and Eddie fought not to frown or otherwise react to that. “Heard ya got a case already.”

“Yeah,” He looked up at the, currently, much taller man, “Down in Groverfield.”

Rufus grimaced sympathetically, “Good luck, Ed. Don’t die, ya hear?”

“I’ll do my best,” He rolled his eyes, then stood. He gave Rufus ample time to move out of his way… And yet still almost headbutted the guy in the chest.

Only at the near-impact did Rufus stumble back a little with a disgruntled frown. The look was quickly replaced by his usual smile, and Eddie wished he wouldn’t always do that. Act oblivious and stupid and, worse, pretend he wasn’t annoyed when he obviously was. He’d known Rufus since he was four. They’d grown up together, done dumb shit together for years, even graduated together despite Rufus being two years older than him. He knew the guy too well to not notice him faking nice or acting dumber than he was.

“In a hurry?” Rufus asked, with just a hint of annoyance still in his voice before he gave a slight shake of his head.

“Little bit,” Eddie shrugged, turning to scootch some shit across his desk and uncover the case file so he wouldn’t forget it. “Just gotta pick up all these…” He turned back to Rufus, trailing off and blinking. “... Boxes?”

But they were all already stacked in the corner.

Rufus grinned at him knowingly.

Eddie chose not to call too much attention to it. It wasn’t worth the headache.

“Anyways,” Rufus drawled, still grinning, when he didn’t mention the boxes, “If you’re headed down to Groverfield, try ’n steer clear a’Lochlier Lyall ’n any a’her buddies. They’re s’posed t’be pretty nutty.”

“That’s gonna be pretty hard, given I’m supposed to be watching her.”

Rufus winced, then scowled, then shook his head and rolled his shoulders, “Ah… Put’cha on that case, huh? You’re screwed on that front, then. Just…” He trailed, scratching the back of his neck, “Don’t piss ‘er husband off, yeah? Yer best off keepin’ ‘im happy with ya. Last I heard, he’s suspected in the murders a’ two detectives who were on the case a’fore ya.”

“That’s… Nice.” He sighed, turning away as he ran his hand through his hair, effectively tousling it again despite having gone out of his way earlier to try and fix it. He sighed again. “Any tips on how to not piss him off?”

“Don’t mess with his wife.”

And he didn’t say anything else.

When Eddie turned back around, he was gone, and when he popped his head out of his office, he was nowhere to be found.

… Must have gone back to his office, he thought, and tried not to question it too much.

Questioning Rufus never ended very well ― usually it ended with a migraine and a strong desire for a whole pack of cigarettes. He wasn’t exactly looking for a migraine today.

Or any day, but especially not today.

Instead, he chose to start breaking down the boxes and tucking them into the bottom drawer of his desk, which was where he’d been keeping them in his old desk. And while he worked on that, since it was busywork for his hands more than anything, he started compiling a list of what he needed to pack for this. Clothes, obviously. His gun, badge, keys, phone, and money for groceries were clearly a must as well. His laptop would be a good idea, too. Maybe some extra packs of cigarettes out of his freezer so he could avoid buying new ones. Was there anything else, though?

Nothing came to mind immediately.

And so, before 8AM rolled around, he had headed out to his cruiser to drive home and pick up his shit. His laptop was moved up on the list of priorities when he reminded himself that he liked to keep meticulous notes and that the notes would be greatly appreciated by his bosses.

Then, parked outside his apartment building, he took a moment to open up the file. No time like the present to read what information he actually had on her.

Enclosed in the envelope were various snapshots of the subject going about her daily life. The official picture enclosed was her driver’s license photo. Other than that, the file had some basic information about her on the first page. The usual necessary junk, such as age, name, height, and weight…

Name: Lochlier Lily Lyall (Lock-lee-ear)

Age: 27

Place of birth: Springfield, IL

Home town: Vandalia, IL

Current Residence: 23 S London Road, Groverfield, OH

Hair: Black

Eyes: Blue

Height: 5’3’’

Weight: 134lbs

Alias(es): The Operator (possible); Loch (Lock); Lochy (Lock-ee); Dr. Lyall

Occupation: Clinical Psychologist

Notes: Has a tendency to express her anger verbally, especially toward Detectives who conduct themselves in any manner less than generally polite. Possesses a sweet and...

Okay. Well, the occupation certainly made her apparent demeanor make a lot of sense ― if she was any good at her job, she’d come across as sweet, maybe even as motherly. “Sweet and motherly” were disarming, comforting, especially when put together. He’d bet she was a mom friend, too ― developing a motherly attitude took either years of practice with friends and family or having an actual child. And knowing she wouldn’t take kindly to “anything less than generally polite” was helpful. He usually did his best anyway, because that was how his mother raised him, but that just let him know to be watching his tone and his actions even more than usual.

Flipping through the rest of the file mostly showed other notes that the detectives had made about her, along with an unsettling number of printed out photos. Some of the notes, the most detailed ones, were print-outs as well. Then there were sheets of paper with handwritten ones that were sporadic at best.

… He could read them later.

A last, cursory glance revealed her husband’s name to be Tobias Lyall ― he featured in many of the pictures they had of Lochlier, usually right at her side or very close behind her. He looked like he might still be in a rebellious stage (or just fond of unnatural hair colors) because he’d obviously dyed it blue. He really seemed like a cute guy, objectively, and the vague body language he could pick out from the pictures said the guy was always very interested in his wife. Probably loved her very much, Eddie would guess, especially if the looks on his face were specifically because of her, which… Well. It certainly seemed like they were.

Shaking his head, he stuffed the file into his glove compartment.

He slipped out of his cruiser and made his way back up to the apartment that he’d only left maybe an hour and a half ago. He was almost taken aback by the fact that the door was locked, but it didn’t take more than about four seconds for his brain to register that he’d locked it himself before he left. He shook his head again, muttering some commentary about his dumb brain under his breath as he dug out his keys to unlock it.

He gave his apartment a quick and very cursory clean-up before he set in on working ― cleaned the dishes, at least, and picked up the papers scattered around the place. Put them all in one big stack and threw them on the coffee table to be sorted at some later time, probably weeks from now. Whatever. At least they weren’t all over the place now.

Then, he set to work packing for the trip.

His suitcase he packed full to bursting with clothes ― he’d like to avoid having to come back for more, if he could, since it was a decent drive between here and Groverfield ― without much mind for whether it was casual or decidedly less so. It wouldn’t really matter, in the long run, would it? He couldn’t possibly be expected to wear button-downs and slacks the whole time. He’d die if he had to wear that crap every single day.

He found himself yawning more and more as he went through the motions. Packing was almost worse than unpacking, in that respect ― it was boring. It was repetitive and it was boring and he was tired anyway. Like, really tired.

He shook it off for the time being, dropping a notebook and some other assorted junk into his pile of things to take with him, along with the unopened pack of pens he usually kept on his dresser just in case. Then he pulled out, well, every pack of cigarettes he had in his freezer.

That was something else his mom had taught him, another money-saving tactic.

Putting them in the freezer kept them fresh longer, so he could buy a couple of cartons when the prices were low and hold onto them for a while, until the prices were too high to justify buying any new packs. Then he could break out the frozen ones. He had a… Decidedly smaller collection than he’d like, admittedly. Had a bad habit of just not feeling like running to a store or gas station to buy more, and so just reaching into the freezer.

He yawned again after sorting the assorted junk and cigarettes into a bag, huge and intense enough to make his eyes water. He really needed sleep ― he’d had maybe six hours in the last two days, and even if he had a tendency to not sleep the recommended amount he knew that the two and a half hours he got last night were not enough for this. His productivity was going to suffer something fierce if he didn’t get some rest.

Throwing a glance at the clock, he chewed his lip and wondered if Sarge would get mad if he just took a quick nap...

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