Marlowe grins at that and shrugs as he feels the nylon ties begin to tighten into place... he subtly flexes his forearms, then attempts to distract the officer with an over-the shoulder comment in the hopes of getting the cuffs placed on the thicker, flexed muscle, and hopefully worked off later.<br/><br/>He was glad the officer hadn't frisked him yet... his zippo and a pack of Marleys were squashed into the hip pocket of his jeans.  "You blokes want a drink?"  The knee pressing his spine elicits a soft couple of pops-- "Ah, damn, like a Chiropractor, that was... hey, let it be given in evidence that I offered you tea..."  the weight of the officer becomes a little heavier at that... "ooooh, shite.  OK, no tea-- fuck."<br/><br/>He notes the other 5 guns trained on him.  "Nice shoes."  He scans quickly, looking for any details that could get him out of this.  Any distraction, any offer.  But agents aren't like a street cop or two.  He'd been pinched by the Hounds once, and they were no-smiling bastards.