File :1235946577.jpg-(92 KB, 300x266, Fiery2.jpg)
"Let's get this straight, felt. I don't like you. I don't like what you've got going in this city." I reached forward and grabbed the dirty mupp by his matted scruff and pulled him as far forward as my partner's makeshift bonds would allow. "Tell us where the girls are, and we might just release you to the authorities. I understand the local police chief goes a big soft one for fuckers like you. If you just-"
I was cut off again by a hellish string of cackling, bordering on a wild scream. Disgusted, I threw the felt back into the chair and retreated to the shadows where the light from the single dangling light-bulb was faintest, wiping an unidentifiable residue from my palm. The felt continued to giggle quietly to itself, a taint of hedonistic madness apparent on the edges of his voice. A shiver ran down my spine.
"I say, G, perhaps another persuasive approach would be necessary." My partner was diminutive as far as his kind went, but he had a heart of gold and a passion for justice. Thanks to him, we'd hit a lead on a local pleasure slave cartel, responsible for smuggling young girls to their affluent, over-seas clients. All we knew was it was run by a meatsack, name of Jareth. Beyond that, we were clutching at straws.
As brave as D was, he didn't have the heart for the more effective forms of interrogation. The kind of questioning that was required when you dealt with the dirty felts that would not, could not respond to reason. That was where I came in.
With a swift kick, I sent the mupp's head spinning across the room. It slammed into the wall with a dull thump before falling to the ground and rolling a few feet. It's body began convulsing violently. The head was dangerously silent.
"Ready to talk, scum?"
More insane laughter.
This one was getting to me.