SLAM!
Cobb slammed a thick stack of files onto the table.
He stood there, his chest heaving violently.
His broad face was flushed red, and the veins on his forehead bulged, pulsing with his heartbeat.
He looked at Davis across the table and said, "That's right. That evaluation report is disgusting."
"Arthur Vance is a bastard, a Vampire who'd sell his soul for money. If I ran into him on the street, I'd want to punch him out too."
Cobb jabbed a finger at the photograph on the table.
"But, Davis, that doesn't change one fundamental fact."
"Luigi Randall killed someone."
"He took a gun, pointed it at a living human being, and pulled the trigger."
Cobb looked around the room, trying to overwhelm the wavering jurors with his logic.
"If we can just pick up a gun and kill someone because an insurance company is crooked, or because someone is a bastard, then what's the point of the law? What's the point of the police? What's the point of us sitting here?"
