Цитата #1002 из книги «"Этаж смерти" with W_cat»

“Sure,” the guy said. “You heard about the Foundation?”

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He shuffled a form from another drawer and checked his watch to enter date and time. He slid the form across to me. A large printed cross marked the line where I was supposed to sign. He slid me a pen. I signed and slid the form back. He studied it. Placed it in a buff folder.

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WE KISSED A LONG HARD KISS IN THE STATION HOUSE LOT. Then we got out of the car and went in through the heavy glass door. More or less bumped into Finlay rounding the reception counter on his way out.

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This fat guy was a surprise. He looked like a real asshole. Opposite to what I’d seen so far. Baker and his arrest team were the business. Professional and efficient. The fingerprint woman had been decent. But this fat police chief was a waste of space. Thin dirty hair. Sweating, despite the chilly air. The blotchy red and gray complexion of an unfit, overweight mess. Blood pressure sky-high. Arteries hard as rocks. He didn’t look halfway competent.

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“I don’t understand that situation,” he said. “I put him together with another guy, and he was meeting with him up there, but wouldn’t they have shot the other guy as well? I don’t understand why they only got one of them.”

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