Luke wouldn't necessarily go so far as to say that he and the Marshal had an understanding. She was too stringent of a woman to really be spoken of in such terms. But the did know each other, he and Marshal Darrow. He'd hesitate to call them good times since generally the times that they encountered each other involved her hauling his ass to the clink for one (minor! very very minor) reason or another, but still! He was a good jailbird! He made good conversation and sang to her, even! And weirdly, despite his not-terribly-infrequent presence on the wrong side of the bars she kept so clean (seriously, they were some clean jail bars, he'd complimented her on it before), he was pretty sure she thought that he was a good person.
Which was to say, maybe she would let him off? Maybe? Just this once? He tipped his head up, his eyes big and pleading. "I swear to Ceddon I just fell asleep," he said, his hands spreading slightly. "I didn't mean to be late. I wasn't trying to... slip the needle or anything. Honest!" His left foot tapped a jittery rhythm against the cold ground. "It won't happen again. Really."