You can read the part 8 here.
Max: Chief Inspector, requiring permission to enter your property! A sealed door shrieked open, a testament of the buildings history, and a short, stocky and bold bearded man stepped out.
Chris: Hi, I'm Chris. I run the place. How may I help you chief?
Max: If you don't mind we would like to see your books!
Bosa: Up to two years back-she added!
Chris: Wow, wow, wow. Easy there, can I see a warrant?
Before Bosa had a chance to utter the forbidden words, Max reached for his pocket and pulled out a transparency which when swiped showed numerous pictures.
Max: Here you go! As he turns his left wrist towards the owner so the transparency faces him, the fingers of his right hand were meeting his palm. As soon as the owner wanted to assure himself of the legitimate documentation, Max delivered a strong right uppercut which placed boldie in the corner.
Max: I want it now-he screamed at the top of his lungs and then spoke in a submissive tone- please!
Chris, while spitting out a mixture of teeth and blood with tears in his eyes, started wiping his mouth with his sleeve. His arms shook as if he just finished using a drilling hammer. He reached out to the screen and a self generated list shows up. The screen was dusty, with trash all around it, which just depicted the laziness and slobber of its maintenance crew.
Bosa: Jack Mims, I got him! He is the only listed though! Chris, who was with him? she inquired aggressively.
Chris: His entire crew! Those types of delinquents travel in packs- he mumbled while coughing blood.
Max was getting irritated with empty responses given to him so he decided to snoop around. There were black square shaped boards, often called bass traps, on the lower and top corners of the control room. On the producers desk you would find various open-bottled drinks, cigarette stubs and even some intravenous powder. But what was strikingly odd was the unopened box, delivered the day before and a number of box cutters laying around everywhere. For what purpose?
Bosa: Max, come here. I showed him the picture and he said that he has never seen him. Look at the wall. There is a picture of every big shot artist that came through these doors. And for some reason our guy is on the wall too.
Max: Hmm, plus there is a large unopened box in the back. Content seems expensive, and an entire manufacturing series of box cutters.
Bosa: Well, box cutters are for splicing tape. This is the only studio in town still doing so.
Max: OK, Chris. I do not want dentists to completely reconstruct your jaw so please tell us the truth. Max pulled out his gun enraged and pointed it at the owners heart. Your brain can be saved but your heart, really hard.
Chris: OK, OK, listen. He paid me not to tell you guys anything if it ever come to this point. He covers his tracks and have them appear leading to someone else.
While Max was interrogating the studio owner Bosa seemed distracted.
Bosa: What happened to the Amek 9098i?
Chris: I have sold it three days ago to some collector! His eyes shifted to the ceiling and his nervous tick appeared-unstoppable chatter. He continued: Crazy fellow, always doing two or more things at once. It just seems like he couldn't concentrate on one thing. And since I had debts to pay, his offer could pull me out of a ditch and get a more modern, cheaper console. No more splicing tape, thank god.
Max: Back to Joei please-he interrupted the story tales of a lonely housewife.
Chris: They split the cost of the session. This is his fingerprint readout. He handed him a Flash Drive.
Max: Let's go to cross-reference it at the lab.
Max turned to Bosa, and as a synchronized duo, right before the left through the door they stated:
Max & Bosa: Send us the bill for the dentist.
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