Detectives: Erin
Taylor and Murphy leave the silent pyro by the window, turning to their last suspect, who waits patiently in the common room.
The two detectives let their suspect limp to the dining area, shoving aside the dirty plates to make room. Murphy closes the shades, Taylor hits the overhead lights.
“I’m going to get right to it,” Murphy says, taking a seat. “What do you know about the explosions that have been heard from town, Mr...?”
“McInnis,” Erin says, taking his seat, “An I‘ve been makin’ the explosions, yea. ‘s my job. Reliable Excavation an’ Demolition.”
“Point taken,” Murphy chuckles before straightening out and hardening his tone once again, “but this facility is supposed to be defunct. Most of the citizens of Teufort thought this was derelict.”
“As you could probably see, with a Demolitions expert here at Reliable Excavation an’ Demolition,” Erin pushed, “we’re not.”
Taylor scribbles on his pad.
“No, you’re still blasting within the residential zone, according to the blast damage just outside.”
“Unless it was an accident,” Taylor suggests.
“But then, if you’re demolishing in the mining area, there’s no need to have explosives on site here,” Murphy finishes.
If Erin was wearing a false eye, it would have fallen out. They’d done their homework, which he hadn’t taken into account.
“Well,” he stammers,”I was just testing out my new batch of dynamite. I make it meself. I don’ trust the commercially available stuff ya see.”
“You don’t buy American?” Taylor quips.
“Back up there,” Murphy says, leaning in, pen quivering. “You just...you just said you manufacture unlicensed explosives in this facility.”
“safer than stick...” Erin murmurs, “an it cuts back on expenses.”
He leans back in his chair putting his boots on the table. With his head in the dimmer light, his perspiration is a bit less obvious.
“You’re awfully uppity for being under arrest,” Murphy retorts, taking out his badge and cuffs.
“On what grounds?” Erin says sitting upright once again. “I thought was a questioning...not an arrest.”
“Too bad for you,” Murphy says, with a devilish grin “like they’ll question us arresting a negro like you .“
Erin stands upright, his face bitter and menacing as he grips the table.
“Yer pushin’ me over tha FUCKIN’ line! You think you can waltz in here an degrade me? Arrest me?” He pushes the table aside, yelling “Who the hell do you Mics think you are?”
Murphy flings up an arm as the table goes flying, hand going to his revolver. Taylor is already a step ahead, lunging forward with a sharp jab at the Scotsman’s nose. Erin reels back with a shout, blood streaming from his nose, and Taylor follows through by tackling him to the ground.
“Officer!” Murphy barks, knotting a hand in Taylor’s collar. “Back away from the suspect.”
His orders fall on deaf ears. The two men are locked in their fisticuffs.
At first, it all blurred together. A haymaker to the face and then he was on the ground one of the cops on top of him raining punches onto him. He flails desperately to grasp and hold the officer’s arm. He finally catches hold and the blows stop.
“Fuckin’ psychopath!” Erin shouts, spraying blood into Taylor’s face.
The Demoman’s flailing arm catches Taylor hard against the ear. The officer hears ringing, feels blood down his cheek, and Murphy’s hand on the back of his shirt.
“What the hell was that, Taylor?” Murphy snaps incredulously. “We can’t take him in like this-what were you thinking?”
“I thought he was going for a weapon,” Taylor explains loudly over the ringing in his ear.
“Well now you’re going for police brutality, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, we nearly had him!” Murphy sweeps his badge and cuffs back into his pocket, grabs Taylor by the scruff of the neck.
“Let’s go and get you cleaned up back at the station. And you-” Murphy turns to the Demoman. “You just stay outta trouble. We’ve got an eye on you.”
