The cell was large, but it may as well have been a stockade for the guys. They had been placed in the drunk tank, more as a scare tactic than anything else. Compton felt that things would go a lot smoother if they could see the inside of a jail, even as a tourist, for an hour or two. That would be just enough time (he hoped) for Jones to track down some answers, one way or the other.

As for the guys, frankly, they were appalled. The two cots on the opposite walls were both occupied by semi-conscious adults. A single, uncovered toilet faced the thick, wide door. The painted concrete floor had the gentlest of slopes that started at the cots and ended in the middle of the floor, where a foul-smelling drain was inset. Sitting down was out of the question, so they paced and chewed their fingernails.

Larry, bless his heart, was still trying to salvage the situation to their advantage. The other three were preparing for a life behind bars.

"Mom's going to shit," said D.J. He leaned against the doorframe, fatigue showing in his stocky frame. "Dad'll kick me out of the house."

"Well, now you can get that place you always wanted," Burt pointed out.

"You're really not funny right now, you know that?"

Turk said, "Your folks may be independently wealthy, Vaughn, but my folks are going to freak out. My dad's a deacon!"

"What does that have to do with anything?" said D.J.

"Their church is very strict," Turk answered, as if that brought the discussion to a close.

"Maybe the new owners won't move in for a week," Larry said, a feral gleam in his eye. "All we have to do is get out of here, and then..."

D.J. shook Larry by the shoulders with both hands. "Croft, snap out of it, all right? Save the big plans until we can actually get out of here. That's what you need to be working on right now, Larry!"

"Yeah," said Turk. "Because, see, I blame you for this."

Larry shook his head. "You're an idiot."

"Who's fucking idea was it in the first place, Larry, huh?" Turk shouted.

"Down 'n front, ashhole," mumbled one of the drunks. The other one farted, and the sound was like nickels dropping on a snare drum.

"We have so got to get out of here," said Burt. He turned to the farter. "Anymore outbursts like that, and I'll have you killed in your sleep, buddy."

The farter snorted and was still.

"Burt, don't talk to the losers," said Turk. "Well, the losers you don't know," he amended.

"We haven't lost," said Larry. "This is just a set-back. If you guys had just gone with my story in the interrogation room..."

"Your story?" D.J. was incredulous. "I thought we were going with my story."

"I could have sworn we didn't have a story," said Turk.

"You guys are a bunch of fucking idiots," said Burt.

They all looked at him. "Come again?" asked Turk.

"You are!" Burt shouted. "You're a pack of morons. Lying to cops? Over what-digging in a field? Christ, as if they really cared about what we were doing. All we had to do was tell them we were horsing around, digging for treasure, or something, and they would have let us go. But you saps were so into your cops and robbers, cloak and dagger bullshit, you had to try and lie and be coy, and so now we're cooling our heels in the drunk tank in Tempe, while the cops are piecing together everything else. We'll probably get tagged with vandalism and trespassing when they get the owners on the phone, and now we'll all have class C misdemeanors on our records. Fucking idiots!"

Burt's friends stared, open-mouthed. "Where did all of that come from?" said Turk.

"Yeah, what gives you the inside track, you little putz?" asked Larry.

Burt looked away. "My dad's a cop," he said. "That's not, like, the coolest thing in the world, so I never mentioned it."

"What?" Turk yelped. "Like we would have said anything. Come on, man. Where's he a cop?"

"Chicago," said Burt. "It was a real issue when I was in high school, so I never told anyone about it when I got to college."

"Nothing to be ashamed of," said Larry. "My dad sells insurance."

D.J. had a strange look on his face, a cross between wonder and ire. "So, let me break this down, to see if I've got it straight: you've had first-hand knowledge of what we're up against the whole time, and you could've jumped out and said something, but you didn't, and so now we're sharing crash space with the leader of the butt-trumpet band over there? Did I miss anything?"

"No," said Burt, wincing, because he knew where D.J. was going.

"Then who's the fucking idiot?" D.J. said quietly.

No one spoke for a minute.

"I have a proposal for the group," said Turk, slowly. "A maybe new way of doing things from now on." Everyone was listening. "I think that, if there's someone in the group that can take care of something, whether he knows a skill, or has dealt with something similar, he should be able to take the lead in a situation without the hassle of the rest of us. And that also means, if one of us isn't really sure of what we're doing, we shouldn't act like we do." Turk didn't look at any one person as he spoke, but he glanced at each one in turn. Everyone felt the impact of his words. "No more assumptions, from here on out. How does that sound?"

"Sounds good," said D.J.

"Okay," said Larry.

"Sure," said Burt.

"You got a cigarette?" asked the mouthy drunk.

Burt walked over to calmly explain the situation to the drunk. When he came back, Larry said, "I think I can get us out of here."

Turk perked up. "Really?"

Larry said, "Maybe. But, it'll be, well, a compromising situation. But it's a good bet."

"Okay," said Burt. "Now, what are you talking about? Someone to lie for us?"

"No," said Larry. "You said we would be charged with misdemeanors, right? Those are always fines, right?"

"Depending on the judge, you can get time served. But for us, this early on a Sunday morning, it's fines or jail time, yes," said Burt.

"Okay, well, I can get us some money. I think I can. It's a shot. And no one's parents need to be involved. But if I do it, we all have to chip in and help pay it back."

"Sure," said Turk.

"Of course," said D.J, relieved that his father's credit card was out of danger.

Burt nodded. "I'm for that. The old man'd shoot me, he found out I got busted in Arizona."

"Okay," said Larry. He exhaled slowly and composed himself. He walked to the payphone and read the instructions on how to make a collect call. It was expensive, but there was no other way. He dialed the numbers, waited, and said "Larry Croft" when the machine told him to. Then a person answered on the end of the line, and Larry said, "Hello Holly."