**

”It’s bugging me, grating me
and twisting me around
yeah I’m endlessly caving in
and turning inside out…”

“Marshall, it’s me”.
“Hey there McCutcheon, how’re you doing?”.
“Fine”.
“How’s Carmen?”.
“She’s…. She’s getting better, Marshall. That’s not what I called for, anyway”.
“I know you don’t call me for jabbering”.
“Did you find where he’s staying?”.
“Not yet”.
The mere idea that son of a bitch is yet to be found makes me boil.
“I thought it was easier” I say through my teeth.

”’cause I want it now
I want it now
give me your heart and your soul
and I’m breaking out
I’m breaking out
last chance to lose control…”

“If it was that easy, he would be in jail already” Marshall answers, chewing his cigar. I can almost sniff its unpleasant smell through the phone.
“More than thirty days are not enough?”.
“Obviously not. This kind of things requires time. And patience. Also, I find your lack of faith in me quite disturbing”. He’s trying to ease the tension of this call, but it’s not working.
“Marshall, I’ve already paid you in full and I want results. Now” I state, shutting my eyes and trying hard to suffocate my anger.
He sighs through the receiver.
“Shane… You paid me to discover who that gunman was, which I did. But, as I already told you, I’m not about to give you any chance to kill him with your own hands”.
“I thought we made a deal about it” I retort.
“And we did!”, he exclaims, “But our deal doesn’t include a cold blood murder, and you know it”.

”yeah it’s holding me, morphing me
and forcing me to strive
to be endlessly cold within
and dreaming I’m alive…”

“Give me something to deal with” I say, and when he doesn’t answers, I point out.
“Give him to me for fucking ten minutes, and I swear, I swear on God, he will carry on with his miserable, useless life”.
“Shane, I don’t really think you can trust yourself right now, about this”.
“Fuck you, Marshall”.
“Gladly, but let’s be realistic: how can you swear something like that, when I feel your blood boil without even seeing your face!”.
I exhale deeply and try to regain control of my senses, of my voice.
“I think you should work on yourself first, and try to be a bit more detached”.
“I thought you were my private eye, not my therapist”. I smile bitterly.
“I am far from being a shrink, but surely I’m becoming your friend, and I’m just telling you what I think it’s right for you. And for Carmen”.
I don’t reply.
“…Shane, I will be by your side and we’ll settle the matter. But there will be no shed blood. Not with me. Not for you”.