Swearing was one of the things Lt. Manning did with great enthusiasm. Another activity he tended to perform energetically was Destruction of Property, and there was a loud Whumpf as he planted his foot on the underside of his desk and shot it an impressive distance up into the air, followed by a terrific crash of papers and pens and ink and old coffee cups and other desk things, not to mention the heavy oak desk itself, smashing into the floor. Pieces of Manning's work slid across the floor or fluttered slowly down in the air like dust or butterflies, lending a gentle touch to the whole affair, the Captain noted sourly.

Manning glared at the drifting papers with wide, bloodshot eyes that spoke volumes of his temperament. His massive chest heaved in and out, up and down, like the implacable force of nature it was. Clenched fists the size of small hams were trembling visibly and turning white, and the Captain rather fancied he could see a spot of drool on the Lieutenant's bottom lip - it was really all too cliche, the Captain thought.

"Manning!", he barked. "Calm down this instant!"

Manning's face screwed up tight and deep lines formed around his nose, seeking familiar patterns in the skin. His bushy eyebrows bunched down in the center until they seemed about to cover his nose, and he seemed to be exposing more teeth than most human beings possessed between his tight lips. Filthy, large, and often broken teeth, stained a sallow yellow by years of coffee and tobacco and not much of an attempt at cleaning.

The tension evident in Lt. Manning's posture was enough to disturb the Captain somewhat, and he altered his stance unconciously, wondering if this would be the time when Manning finally snapped and attacked him. The Good Lord knew it had seemed inevitable on occasion in the past.

The great grandfather clock against the south wall ticked alone for while, as the officers held their breath, waiting to see whether Manning would get himself under control again. Probably have a betting pool going, the Captain mused. The last of the floating papers settled down silently on the debris-strewn floor.

Finally, the Captain's short patience reached its limit. It was time for Manning to shit or get off the pot. "Well, Manning?" he asked with a touch of contempt, any fear hidden deep down inside.

The Lieutenant closed his eyes and took a series of short, quick breaths, almost hyperventilating, and then roared, "FUCK!" at the ceiling. He shivered once and then visibly relaxed, although he continued to stare defiantly into the Captian's eyes for a few more seconds.

All around the room, the half-dozen or so policemen breathed audibly and then returned to their deskwork, several hidden glances and subtle gestures indicating that the Captain's betting pool guess had been correct. "Really, Lieutenant. Clean this mess up at once." The Captain's tone had lost most of its snapishness, but was still undeniably firm and superior. The Captain never acted in any way which could be considered apologetic, as a stiff rule.

Manning snarled and began moving around the room, collecting scattered materials. One detective who was obviously having trouble repressing laughter handed him his wooden chair, which had rolled several feet when the Lieutenant had stood up. The detective cleared his throat nervously as Manning looked into his eyes and jerked the chair away.

The desk was righted with one thick arm, and Manning began dumping papers and writing utensils in rough positions on the top. He gave the desk one final sulky whap with his booted foot and then dropped himself into the chair, which protested loudly and threatened to collapse into bits. Manning had a glare for the chair as well, daring it to give way, and then turned his attention to one of his desk drawers. He jerked at it angrily, but it was obviously stuck. Gutsy thing, the Captain thought. I wouldn't risk aggrivating Lt. Manning again so soon. Manning's lip twitched as he pulled, but he took one long, forced breath, and began slowly wiggling the drawer back and forth, eventually prying it open. Manning always seemed to have the worst luck with inanimate objects. It was probably karma for the way he treated them.

The Captain sniffed and returned to his deskwork, occasionally stopping to watch as Manning snapped pen tips or ripped paper or spilled ink and had to start over again. Manning's hair was cut shorter than was currently fashionable, a ragged few inches of dark, sweaty brown fringe around a head that looked like a block of marble. Lt. Manning's face was as rectangular as was humanly conceivable, and only a neck as immense as his could have held it straight all day. His nose was large and somewhat bulbous, and its unnatural angles and ridges spoke of the countless times it had been broken in various pub-fights and alley-brawls. His small, dark, deeply set eyes hid under a granite brow, giving a mostly false impression of intense stupidity. Manning could be deadly clever, when the mood took him.

The trend continued down to the rest of his massive frame, giant bones covered by thick slabs of bunched muscle and occasional scars. Lt. Manning drank too much not to have excess gut, but the rest of his body was in surprisingly good condition. Manning preferred a highly physical lifestyle.

Manning was hell on criminals, which was why he had made Lieutenant on more than one occasion. This city had a desperate need for the kind of police work Manning performed so naturally. He was also hell on office equipment and partners and hellishly bad at paperwork, which was why he was always demoted back down in the ranks. There was another betting pool on whether or not he would last out the month. Today's outburst would no doubt shift some odds around.

The Captain frowned faintly. Manning might not care for deskwork or stubborn furniture, but he had other, more substantial reasons to be aggrivated. Such as the fact that his neice had disappeared rather suspiciously over a week ago, only one of dozens of such missing persons cases in the last month, and the detectives in charge of the case had turned up nothing. The Lieutenant had asked several times to be put on the case, and the Captain had refused adamantly. This was not Manning's kind of case. This needed cold, clear thought, and gentle, delicate questioning, not rough-housing and intimidation. Things had escalated yesterday afternoon when the two detectives had sauntered in cheerfully and reported no news, and subsequently began taking part in the latest in-house gambling. The Captain was more than a little bothered by their attitudes, but Manning had gone berserk, screaming about them being on the take and offering to beat the both of them to death right there in the station. It had taken a restraining effort by six men and a shouting match with the Captain before the Lieutenant could be convinced to take the evening off and cool down. No doubt he'd destroyed some pub instead, but that was not the Captain's primary concern.

The real problem was that Manning was right. Diggs and Hobson were, in fact, on the take, and were also involved in a number of petty crime schemes around the city. And the Captain could do nothing about it. Like every dirty cop in the city, they had connections to the Mayor, and that meant they were beyond recrimination. Every day, the Captain and the few honest policemen left in town schemed and fought to remove the tiniest part of the corruption and decay that this city seemed built of. And every night they went home and screamed or drank or cried to their wives because they knew that all their work was being undone and buried in the filth.

What this city needs is a rain of fire, straight from Heaven Above, and burn the whole damn thing out of the Earth. This city is a disease, the Captain thought to himself, not for the first time.

The Captain looked at Manning again, who was now muttering to himself and scribbling in his notoriously bad handwriting on a peice of paper stained with coffee and ink smudges. Manning is a nuisance. And if I had two dozen cops like him, I could give this city the Biblical disaster it deserves.

Turning over the latest paper in a stack of bureaucratic nonsense, the Captain's eyebrows hunched. After a few minutes, he began to smile.