I stumbled blearily into my house on Saturday morning with a full on hangover, wanting nothing more than to sit on my sofa and play some Onimusha 3. It had been a long night of heavy drinking and live punk music, and I was definitely ready for some downtime. I was able to relax for what seemed like only a few minutes but was probably more like an hour when my doorbell rang. Confused, I looked out my window and saw a police car.

Great, I thought to myself. I'm hung over and reek of alcohol and cigarettes. Wonderful. WHAT THE HELL IS A COP DOING HERE? I quickly ran through the night before. My designated driver, Nils, had been stone cold sober until we got back to his house, and there had been no incidents involving motor vehicles. The small party at Nils's place had been quiet, and as far as I knew no neighbors had been disturbed. Satisfied that I hadn't done anything jail-worthy, I finally got up to answer the door.

"Ummm... hi," I said intelligently to the officer standing outside my door. Clearly I intended to dazzle him with my sparkling wit.

"Is Ricky here?" the cop asked.

"Ricky?"

"Ricky," the cop confirmed.

"Ricky?" It was as though I thought that if I repeated the name enough it would start to make sense. It didn't.

"Ricky." The cop had his hands on his hips and was giving me a steely look. He was apparently getting tired of this Repeat The Name game.

"Umm..." I wracked my brain one more time. "I don't know a Ricky."

The cop gave me a look. "You don't know Ricky."

"No. I don't know Ricky."

"Are you Rebecca?"

The cop's unprofessional attitude was really starting to irk me. "Yes."

"And you live here?"

"Yes."

"And you don't know Ricky." The cop's skeptiscism was very clear.

"No," I replied a bit waspishly. "I don't know a Ricky."

The cop wasn't finished. "Sandra said he would be here."

I thought briefly about repeating the name a few times, but I decided against it. "Sandra who?" I demanded.

"Sandra *****," the cop snapped back.

"I don't know any Sandras, either," I said, exasperated. "Maybe next door?"

I waited at the door as the cop walked over to the other side of the duplex to talk to my neighbor. Apparently he had as little luck there as he had on my side of the duplex because (lucky me) he was on his way back over. I waited as he positioned himself once more on my porch.

"You don't know a Ricky or a Sandra," the cop said finally.

"No," I said firmly. "I'm sorry I couldn't help you."

"Because," the cop continued as though I hadn't said anything. "If Ricky was here, I'd have to take him to jail."

Oh good. "Well," I said brightly. "I'm very glad I don't know a Ricky then."

The cop gave me one last look, then turned around and got back into his car. I closed the door, and went back to playing video games, but the encounter disturbed me. Who was Sandra, and why would she tell the cops that 'Ricky' was at my house? Who was Ricky? And why was Ricky going to jail? The more I thought about it the more it bothered me. I might make a quick phone call to the police station today to see if I can get any information about what's going on. >_<