Kane snorted quite audibly, "broken birds that you would just love to hold under the running faucet for awhile."<br/><br/>He leaned forward and tapped the folders, "don't think you can fool me with pretty words and a flippant gesture here and there DeLorca. You and I know damn well your games wouldn't fly many other places, and I know some of the ones you play and keep much closer to your chest would probably put you right next to these men. Now unless you want your ass watched far more heavily than before, and I can do that with barely two sentences out of my mouth and a few pieces of paperwork, I'd advise you keep that attempt at being silver tongued to yourself."<br/><br/>Kane's body stayed rigid as he stared across the space of his desk at DeLorca, he wasn't glaring and even rigid he didn't seem on edge, just stone cold serious and not brooking any opposition on any side. He slowly slid his body back onto the straight back of the chair, tapping the cigarette almost idly into the ashtray as he watched the man across him. With his free hand he flipped open the top folder revealing the almost innocent face below the contents, the fabled cop killer, seemingly one of those broken birds DeLorca favored so damn much.<br/><br/>His gaze flicked back to DeLorcas' face, "you and I know full well that these men are not ready for the outside world, no matter how much we keep them in here, or if you somehow managed to stop making an even greater embarrassment of an already embarrassing field. Even with the best staff and care, the most optimistic numbers would show single digit percentage for the men that come through here being 'cured.' I don't care if you fix these men, if you make them ready for the outside world, that's their prerogative to themselves and whatever imaginary friend in the sky and clouds they talk to in the dead of night."<br/><br/>He stood up, flipping the folder closed with a flick of his wrist, "I just don't want you making the animal in them come out at every moment. They are beasts in a cage, but I need them tranquilized, not seething and raging. That's your job and the only reason you're still here under my command is the fact that when you finally manage to get your head out of your ass and away from your constant preening, you actually manage to fulfill that job description. I'll mince no words DeLorca, I don't like you, I don't even respect you, or your profession for that matter. Your job only exists because I'm forced to have it and for that matter, you are the only one who could possibly do the job I know needs to be done."<br/><br/>He stubbed the cigarette, "things becoming a bit clearer for you?"