'Oh you stupid ...' He ran for the interview room, grabbed the handle and twisted. Locked. The whole door shook as something slammed into it from the other side. Logan aimed a kick at the lock, shouting,'I NEED BACK-UP HERE NOW!' The door didn't give. He tried again and this time it exploded inwards. The interview table had been ripped from the floor - the bolts that were meant to hold it down sheared off half way. It lay on its side surrounded by smashed audiovisual equipment. A huge pink fist rose behind the tabletop, then plunged down again. Logan scrambled through the wreckage. Insch was on the other side of the table, straddling Wiseman's chest, pinning his arms to his sides; he had one hand around the butcher's throat, throttling the life out of him. Another punch. Wiseman's head bounced back off the terrazzo flooring, bright red spurting from his nose. Insch punched him again. More blood. He raised his fist for another go, but Logan got there first, grabbing the inspector and hauling him backwards. They crashed into the wall just as a pair of prison officers burst through the broken door. Wiseman coughed, sending a spume of blood into the air. It spattered down around his face in little neon droplets. He raised his hands to his face - wrists still cuffed together - and retched. Insch struggled, arms and legs lashing out, but Logan was wrapped around him like an octopus. 'Calm down!' 'I'LL KILL HIM!' A foot went soaring past Wiseman's head. 'KILL HIM!' The prison officers charged, and between the three of them they managed to haul Insch into the corner, forced him over onto his face and twisted his hands up behind his back. 'GET OFF ME!' Logan staggered to his feet. Wiseman was lying on his side, coughing up blood and bits of teeth. His face was a mess - nose flattened, one eye bright scarlet and already swelling shut, lip split, a gash on his forehead. Insch roared again:'I'LL FUCKING KILL HIM!' Logan glanced round. 'Will you shut him up?' One of the prison officers braced themselves against the wall, holding on for grim death. 'What d'you think we're trying to do?' Wiseman's shoulders were shaking - not surprising given the going over Insch had given him ... And then Logan realized he was laughing. The crazy bastard was actually laughing. The butcher forced words out in a red froth of blood and spittle. 'You're fucked, Fatty. You hear me? Fucked!'
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