8
DISILLUSIONED
He opened the door and stepped into the Spartan furnished interrogation room, nodding to his partner silently. His partner was a massive hulk of a creature with short, carrot colored red hair. Hair which absolutely revolted at the thought of being combed. The red haired giant grimaced, frowned, and tilted his head toward the man sitting across from him.
He eyed the suspect, lifting an eyebrow curiously.
Mister Average American.
Roughly five foot ten. Brown hair. Brown eyes. Dressed in faded, comfortable looking, old, blue jeans and an off white pullover for a shirt. Like him, the guy needed a shave. There were bags underneath his eyes from lack of sleep and deep emotional trauma. Trauma reflected in the whites of his eyes.
"This is Frank Gorman, Turner. Husband to the
