The detonations bounce Marlowe off of the couch to the floor, with the Gatorade still in his hands and a wide-eyed, half-shocked amazement.  After a few blinks and a head-rattle, he's able to see past the spots and hear the officer's barked orders over the ringing in his head--<br/><br/>He spreads his hands slowly, holding the Gatorade loosely between thumb and forefinger, and emits a soft cough.  He stares down the barrel of the submachine gun, and with mild dispassion he slowly lifts his hands at his sides and raises his head to face the officer.  "If this is about the library fines, the check's in the mail..."