Marlowe stands just within the doorway with a blatantly skeptical stare.  He flickers his gaze across the faces, particularly the one in the suit, flanked by white-coats.<br/><br/><em>They're coming to take me away, ha ha... </em><br/><br/>This was getting downright freaky.  Nothing about this was making sense, which caused his head-- fuzzy and sore, sensitive to light and sound since the flash-bangs earlier-- to ring, reel.<br/>Forcing control, he nodded, picked up a pack of cigarettes, and poured a cup of the same coffee that the officer drank.  Smacking the cigarettes soundly against the table to pack them, he peeled the pack open, drew one out, and struck it alight with the zippo from his pocket (acid-etched surface emblazoned with an ace of spades) before turning back to the room.  He moved to a chair, sat gingerly, and crossed his legs, one foot across the opposite knee.<br/><br/><em>This is -not- an interrogation,</em>says his rationale.  But he has no choice.<br/><br/>"This is inhumane, gentlemen."  He flicks his eyes across the young asian woman.  "And I didn't order Chinese."