Like I always say, there's no dispute a little maniacal chainsaw-wielding can't solve.

Mike didn't care anymore. He didn't care that he'd probably spend the rest of his life in jail or on Death Row. He didn't even care that he was being completely irrational. All he cared about was that he had missed a full week of activities thanks to that interfering blond and her hulking, raven-haired hero. Now he'd never get the chance to perfect his paradidle, or learn how to grind away a pontil mark with finesse.

Brant and Lesley owned him exactly $103.95 for those missed sessions, and they were going to pay with their lives.

Mike veered off the main road and his windowless van came to a screeching halt up on the curb. He jumped out and grabbed his Ryobi 18" chain saw from the back and headed for the elevator, leaving the back doors of the van wide open. The rugs he had bought previously were in the back, but he knew he'd never make it out to put them to use.

The elevator doors opened, and he got on with a woman who eyed the chainsaw nervously. Mike hummed along happily with the Muzak until he reached his floor. As soon as he stepped off, he gripped the anti-vibration handle and started it up. The chainsaw roared to life. As the elevator doors were closing, he turned and smiled at the woman inside, and then headed for Lesley and Brant's apartment.

Mike hesitated for a moment outside their door, and then struck. He buried the chainsaw into the middle of the door and laughed as it cut like butter. It was designed to cut logs up to a 36" diameter. Those two inches of cheap veneer never had a chance.

The inertia-activated chain brake stopped the chain automatically, and he reached inside the gaping hole, unlocked the dead bolt and stepped inside. Lesley was huddled against the kitchen cabinets as she had been the last time he broke in, screaming at the top of her lungs.

He walked slowly toward her, laughing as he approached. He raised the chainsaw above his head to strike, and suddenly felt a stinging pain from behind. He turned, and Lesley could see the red dripping down his back.

Miller was standing in the doorway with a gun aimed at Mike.

"Don't move or I'll shoot again."

Mike reached behind his back and then looked down at the red liquid between his fingers. He smiled and then lunged at Miller with the chainsaw. Miller popped off a few more rounds, which did nothing to impede Mike's progress. Just as Mike was bearing down on Miller, Lesley struck from behind with a frying pan.

Hinkle walked in, clutching his chest and gasping for air, just as Mike slumped to the floor. Once he had caught his breath, he crouched down to handcuff him and assess his wounds. He dabbed at his back and rubbed the sticky red substance between his fingers.

"Paintballs, Marv? Seriously? You brought a paintball gun to a chainsaw fight?"

Miller looked slightly embarrassed. "What? Chief confiscated our weapons when we quit the force. What was I supposed to do?"

Hinkle shook his head as he approached Lesley, who was shaking and still clutching the frying pan.

"Everything's gonna be alright now, Ma'am. You ever need anything, don't hesitate to call."

She looked down at the business card he handed her:

HinkMill Detective Agency
Private Investigation and Personal Security

Miller quickly snatched the card and handed her a new one. It was exactly the same, except that it said "MillHink" instead.

"And you can keep the chainsaw," said Hinkle, already down the hall. "I hear it's great for chopping wood in the winter!"

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