What a fine eye for detail this woman had. Nevertheless, she had the common sense of a duck swimming in a pond filled with cement. It was definitely possible that Arietta was going to a party and did in fact feel guilty.

It was equally possible that she simply wanted to show up to her probably-dying mother in clothes that didn't look like they'd been imported from a thrift shop in Bolivia and she just felt sad because her mother was, again, probably dying.

But hey, Johnny wasn't the Lord High Inspectoress. What did he know?

Tracey led the way out of the hospital and to the car. As they approached, she stopped suddenly with a gasp. The zombie strolled past and elbowed her out of the way.

Bugger, the crime here really was through the roof.

A small, grimy faced street urchin had unscrewed the back liscense plate of the car and was going to work on the front one, taking care to avoid the anti-theft device. Tracey half-raised her musket, but Johnny slapped it out of her hands. You couldn't just pop a kid because he was lifting a piece of metal. The boy's head snapped up, dark, unkept hair partially falling down around his eyes. He snatched his purloined treasure from the dusty ground and took to his shoeless heels.

In an instant, Johnny raced after him, the edges of his jacket flapping in the breeze. There was no contest; he was several times faster than the little bastard. Johnny ran up beside the boy and held out a muscular arm, stopping abruptly. The boy ran into it and fell over; it must have been like running into a iron bar.

Johnny picked up the liscense plate and flung it back to the car like a frisbee. Behind him, he could hear Tracey flouncing over. Damn. He picked the boy up by the scruff of his neck and muttered, "You better beat it, kid."

The kid, looking sore, angry, and confused, wisely took the advice and disappeared into an alley.

"Street Arabs," he heard Tracey mutter. She walked up in front of him with a condescending shake of her head. "I would have arrested the boy, but we have much bigger fish to--"

"Yeahyeahyeahyeah," Johnny cut in, brushing past her once more. "Enough. You're welcome." He felt no elation at the takedown; it was just a kid, after all. Hopefully, he'd feel better once they'd arrested someone that wasn't a preadolescent pickpocket.

A minute later, they were back in the uncomfortable squad car and speedily sneaking along to Tracey's "trusted assosciate." Johnny glanced at his watch and made a few hasty calculations. He'd be reverting to skeleton form within the hour. With luck, he'd be able to stay out of sight long enough to switch back to a fleshier image immediately. He pulled his iPod out of his pockets, put the buds in his ears, and pressed play.

No point in listening to Holmes here, eh?

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Kellson (Deceased). Johnny Bones (Only Technically Deceased).A witticism goes here.