Marlowe watches the suit.  "You must be the boss..." he states flatly, meeting the man eye-to-eye with a level gaze, trying not to let his searing hate for bureaucrats seep through.<br/><br/>He notes the Japanese woman's choice of a syringe.  He hoped it was just sodium pentathol... at least he'd heard of that before.  He picks up a can of the cola from the table and whispers to the suit-- "haven't slept yet..." offering a sly wink.<br/><br/>He turned back toward the room, popping open the soda while resting his cigarette in his lips.  It bounces about when he speaks.  "Well... I think it was Tom, but it was a little hard to tell from the ass-end... he had a beard, shaggy... brayish-brown, his face was wrinkled and pale... and he was wearing a stained, torn green coat-- the insulated type-- with brown trousers--"  he walked toward the officer against the far wall-- "and I tried not to, but I got a rather unfortunate view of his bum when he was struck by a virulent... seizure."  He rolled his eyes.  "Let's just say that the valley was wide."<br/><br/>If the officer laughs, or shows any reaction except to put his hand hear his gun, Marlowe will go for his lead arm, wrap it in an arm-bar, and pull the sidearm from the officer's holster.<br/><br/>If the officer doesn't flinch, he'll raise his coke in salute.