(The Police Station. JAKE sits at his desk, his head in his hands. He takes a swig from a whiskey bottle and then puts his head back in his hands.)
TOM Detective.
JAKE Tom.
JANE Detective.
JAKE Jane.
STU Detective.
JAKE Stu. TOM Hittin’ the bottle pretty hard.
STU Drinkin’ like a fish.
JANE Sumptin’ on your mind?
JAKE No, no. It’s this damn arsonist. TOM Yeah, he’s making you look pretty bad.
STU Cripes, I wouldn’t want to be you.
JANE No leads, huh?
JAKE None. Real professional jobs, all of them. And done with such precision.
TOM And malice.
STU Bloody anarchy.
JANE Hope he fries, the flaming bastard. TOM Ain’t no reason for a man like that to live even.
STU Sick is what it is.
JAKE I dunno. You know what really gets me?
JANE What?
TOM What?
STU What?
JAKE The unmitigated gall. Coming to my town starting fires. We work hard to keep order.
JANE, TOM, STU We do.
JAKE The size of the balls on this bastard comes to my town lighting fires. Chaos. The streets full of screeching fire engines. The danger of speeding traffic. The heat of the fire itself. Little old ladies crossing the street. Fire hoses. Ladders. The whole thing leaves a bad taste in my mouth. What kind of person causes such chaos? It’s sick.
JANE You’ll get em, Jake.
STU Don’t worry.
TOM Hang in there, slugger.
(The phone rings.)
JAKE Hello. I’ll be right there. (hangs up the phone.) If you’ll excuse me, I got a fire downtown I got to get to.
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