Buzz swallowed loudly, his heart pounding through his shirt as he watched Detective Lassiter stomping around the precinct, on the warpath like Buzz had never seen him before.

"Where the hell are my sneakers?" he was snarling at anyone who happened to be in ear-shot.

Buzz gulped again, his forehead starting to break-out in a nervous sweat. He could already feel the tiny beads of perspiration dripping down his face and neck…and he knew it was only going to get worse.

He always sweat when he was guilty.

"Someone stole my damn shoes out of my locker!" Lassiter bellowed, now standing in front of the door on the other side of the station, his arms firmly crossed over his chest as he glared at everyone in the building. "They're my squash sneakers! And no one is leaving this precinct until I find them!"

His foot was tapping angrily on the ground, clad in nothing but white tube socks.

Buzz groaned and closed his eyes, his life flashing before them.

He knows…he thought frantically, wondering vaguely how his life had come to this.

He knows…

Oh, God! He knows!

"Buzz," a gentle voice pierced his racing thoughts. "Are you okay?"

His eyes snapped open again as she shook his head emphatically at Detective O'Hara.

"No!"

"What's going on?" she laughed, shaking her head in amusement.

Clearly, she didn't fully appreciate his dire circumstances.

For a moment, Buzz didn't answer. He watched with wide eyes as Detective Lassiter ripped apart a rookie's briefcase.

"Get back here!" he snapped at the poor young man, who had been trying to sidle out of the precinct without being noticed. Detective Lassiter snatched the briefcase away from him and turned it over, spilling the contents out on the floor. He quickly sifted through the various papers furiously with expert precision, but it didn't do him any good.

His shoes weren't inside.

When the rookie was finally permitted to leave the station, Buzz realized with terror that in a few minutes he would be on the receiving end of Detective Lassiter's wrath.

"I'm dead," he groaned, wiping the back of hand across his forehead, smearing the beads of sweat into a damp patch that ran from the top of his head to his chin.

"What? Why?" Detective O'Hara asked, suddenly looking concerned.

Buzz looked both ways cautiously before answering, making sure there was absolutely no one else who could hear him.

No one else who could point the finger at him…

"Because," he whispered confidentially, his voice sounding hoarse even to him. "I stole Detective Lassiter's shoes."

Detective O'Hara's jaw nearly hit the floor and her eyes bulged out of her head at the revelation. "You what?" she choked, the look in her eyes a painful mixture of pride, bewilderment and sympathy. "What the heck were you thinking, Buzz?"

"I don't know!" he moaned, running his fingers nervously through his hair. "It was a joke! I thought it'd be funny…"

"Why on earth would you think that?"

"Well, Shawn said--"

"You listened to Shawn?" she snorted, raising an eyebrow at him as she clucked reprovingly. "Buzz. You know better than that."

"I know…" he sighed.

She smiled sympathetically at him, stepping in closer as she cast her still-fuming partner on the other side of the room a side-long glance. "So…" she whispered, her eyes glinting. "Where are they? The shoes, I mean. What'd you do with them?"

He hesitated, glancing around one more time before answering. "They're in my locker," he told her finally, his voice so faint she could barely make out the words.

"Your locker? He's going to search the lockers in about two minutes. You know that, right?"

"Yeah…"

"You're so dead, Buzz," she sighed, spreading her arms helplessly. "I can't help you."

"Can't you sneak them out for me?" he pleaded, looking like a puppy who knew it had piddled on the rug. "Please? He won't check your bag! You're his partner! There's a dumpster down the street…he never has to know…"

Before Detective O'Hara could answer, however, Detective Lassiter looked over at them from across the precinct. His eyes locked with Buzz's. Buzz grinned and waved, trying to look cool and unaffected, but the overly-innocent gesture just made Lassiter scowl as his eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"McNab!" he shouted, pointing angrily at the officer as he stormed across the room. "What the hell do you know about my shoes?"

"Your…shoes, Sir?" Buzz stammered, his eyes wide as he took a step back. "I don't--"

Lassiter cut off his protests with one sharp look, clearly not believing a word of it. "Interrogation Room A," he ordered gruffly, motioning at the room. "Now!"

"But, Sir--"

"Move it, McNab!"

"Yes, Sir!" Buzz jumped, quickly following Detective Lassiter into the interrogation room.

Detective Lassiter shut the door behind them, coolly walking into the room.

"Take a seat, McNab," he said sternly, kicking a chair out from the table.

"Yes, Sir," Buzz cleared his throat as he quickly sat down, his knee nervously bouncing up and down as the detective circled him, his eyes burrowing into his skull like a red hot iron.

"You look nervous, McNab," Detective Lassiter continued, taking off his jacket and tossing it over the back of another chair. He put his foot up on the chair and rested his elbow on his knee as he leaned forward commandingly.

"Nervous, Sir?" Buzz squeaked, turning pale. "I'm not nervous."

"Really?" Detective Lassiter demanded, his voice growing low and dangerous. "Then why the hell were you grinning and waving at me like an idiot?"

"Uh…because I like you, Sir?" Buzz stammered, not sounding convinced himself.

"That's a damn lie!" Detective Lassiter bellowed, dropping his foot back to the floor and bringing his fist down on the table with a resounding bang. "You don't like me! You're guilty as hell, McNab! It's written all over your face! You stole my damn shoes! Just admit it!"

"I--"

"Do you know what the sentence for petty larceny is, McNab?" Lassiter pressed on, not waiting for Buzz's denial.

"Uh…I think it's a small fine…"

"That's not the damn point!" Lassiter shouted, his ears turning red in rage. "What the hell did you do? Sell my squash sneakers on the black market? You sick--"

"I didn't sell them, Sir!" Buzz insisted truthfully. "I swear! I--"

"Who put you up to it?" Lassiter demanded, slamming the table again, his face twisted into an angry, red pretzel. "I want names!"

Buzz opened his mouth, ready to come out with the whole story, but at that moment the interrogation room door opened again and Detective O'Hara stepped in.

In her hand was a pair of stark white sneakers.

Buzz gasped when he saw them, his lower lip starting to tremble. Detective Lassiter spun around, glaring at his partner.

"What the--?"

"Carlton," she cut him off firmly, tossing the sneakers on the table. "Are these what you're looking for?"

For a long moment, Detective Lassiter didn't answer. He just stared down at the sneakers, his eyes narrowing into confused, enraged slits.

"Where the hell--?" he started finally, but once again couldn't get the thought out before his partner cut him off.

"They were on your desk, Carlton," she rolled her eyes. "You probably put them down and forgot about them."

"I did not!"
"Then where did I get them?" she demanded, returning his challenging glare with one of her own. "Are you going to accuse me of taking them, too?"

"I don't know where you got them," he muttered bitterly, picking them up and examining them. "But they weren't on my damn desk!"

"You can't prove that," Juliet pointed out. "So, next time, check your desk before you accuse poor Buzz of something."

Detective Lassiter looked down at his shoes, then at his still-glaring partner, then over at Buzz, who looked more stunned than he did.

Finally, he scowled and stormed out of the room without another word.

When they were finally alone, Detective O'Hara turned to Buzz, smiling gently at him.

"You should keep your locker locked," she told him, heading for the door. "And for God's sake, next time Shawn tells you to pull a prank on Detective Lassiter…don't listen!"