The chief groaned and put a hand to his balding crown, glinting with the rays of the morning sun peeking through the windows of the Detroit Police Agency, “We’re crunched for time, team,” he said to the detectives sitting before him in his office.

Detective Sychoph leaned forward in his chair, glancing from the chief to the rest of his weary colleagues, “Crunched for time.”

“We have twelve hours to find the murderer, search his house, and find the victim’s car,” the chief continued in a monotonous, fast voice.

“Very crunched for time,” Sychoph added.

“Problem is, we can’t ID the murderer.” The chief ran a handkerchief over his bare dome.

“Keeps slipping out of our hands,” Sychoph said quickly.

“We need to keep our eyes open,” the chief spoke encouragingly.

“Open eyes,” whispered Sychoph.

“Keep our minds open.” The chief glanced to the door as an officer knocked on the opaque glass, “What are you doing! Get outta here! Can’t you see we’re busy!”

“Very busy,” Sychoph punctuated.

The chief sighed deeply and rolled his eyes with a shake of his head as if the entire world were meant to vexate him, “Anyways, I want each of you working on a different part of the case.”

“Divide and conquer,” spoke Sychoph.

“If we don’t close this case today,” the chief continued, “We’ll be in big trouble.”

“Deep, deep water.”

The chief interlaced his fingers, “We can’t lose this case, otherwise we’ll have been crushed.”

“Tricked.”

“Out-kahooted.”

“Bamboozled.”

“Landlubbered.”

“Scallywagged.”

“Licked.”

“Beaten.”

“Destroyed.”

“Annihilated.”

“Had.”

“Blasted into oblivion.”

The chief nodded his head once, “Do you all understand?”

The detectives lazily nodded their heads in annoyed, save for Sychoph, who stared at the chief in divine admiration.

“Good, dismissed,” ordered the chief. The detectives filed out of the room; Sychoph, however, walked up to the chief, looking upon the police veteran in awe.

“You were fantastic, sir,” Sychoph said humbly.

“I always am, Sychoph. Keep up the good work.”