"WHAT'S HAPPENING?!" The lieutenant is forced to yell over the futuristic music blasting from the speakers. "HOW THE HELL ARE YOU DANCING WITH THAT BROKEN LEG OF YOURS?"
"You didn't stop at all, did you? You're just obsessing about *other people's* sexuality now." ("Yeah, but...") "... but am I? I'll spare you another *20 hour mind-project* -- yes, I am. Now let's get back to work."
("You and me, we're on the same wavelength. It's why we're always finishing each other's... sandwiches.") "That happened exactly once, and only under extreme duress."
"Do you know what the worst part is, detective? The more time I spend with you, the more I feel myself *becoming* like you..." (Are there more terrible words to hear from your half-brother?)
"No, I can't... We can't walk around with you looking like this." His hand has already risen mid-air, but he stops. "Okay, fine. Go ahead. If you want to look like a walking mid-life crisis, then who am I to interfere?"
"No. Of course not. *We're* not peones. But *if* we were... and one of Madre's drivers were to be stealing from him -- then it's a good peone's job to find out who that is." (He's surprisingly good at this. Not bad at all... Look at him lurching.)
"Fine, if only to end this discussion: Theoretically, if I were a juvenile delinquent -- if I were to already be down that path -- I think 'PISSF****T' is the stronger of the two statements."
"Work *with* Pryce?" A crooked smile quivers on his lips. "I'm flattered, but I don't know if I..." (Would fit in? Am crazy enough? Can take the stress? He doesn't know how to finish the sentence.)
Through the sudden sharp pain in your head, you hear the lieutenant mumble something to himself. ("Fucking hell" and "Why me?" you hear through the white noise.)