Norman Osborn loved it white. His wrist, his skin, his shirts.
  A white-maniac.
But before anything else he loved his nose white.
   The cocaine oozed in flaunting his nostrils like a pepper spray.
     He was beyond relief.
"Feels so good. " He said, half-blind, "Get my jacket Justin."
    Justin the chauffeur moved out. As silent as a serpent.

***
"So, this is the deal. Everyone is gut. See officer. We all gut. Gut gut. "
Scott eyed the man. His voice didn't match his short frame.
     The man was built like a toddler basketball player, with a freckled moustache and a dazzling shark teeth.
     "Yeah. Where are the people? "
Robertson looked around making sure there weren't any snipers.
"Polishki, bring the prisoners. " The short man called.
    As they waited, Scott asked, "Why did you kill the lady? "
"No hard feelings officer. We give you the prisoners, Slovak is ours. No hard feelings. "
"Well for God's sake, why are all you Russians jerks? " Robertson smirked, giving a finger to the short man.
"We come in peace. "
Feeling he couldn't help it, Scott pulled a gun to Slovak's head.
     ***
"Where's my jacket, Justin? Justin? " Norman Osborn threw his hands up indifferently, "Alright, I'll get it myself. "

***
"Are you crazy? " The short man winced.
"Scott, calm down." Robertson pleaded.
"I ain't doing so, not until this pigbrain tells me why he killed her. "

***
"Justin? Justin? Where are you? " Norman Osborn called. He disliked begging anyone.
    ***
"Scott, don't let him get to your head! "
"No.  I want this little piece of shit to tell me why he killed a helpless lady. "