[He almost yanks away again on instinct. All that stops him is the fact Kabal is almost as unsteady as he is, and the hall isn't a safe place for either of them to be.

Len listens to Kabal's story with slitted eyes, bullshit detector cranked up to max.

He does believe Kabal could've been a cop. That's the problem.

Len doesn't trust cops, but on some level he respects them. They play the same field from different sides. Without law there would be no crime, and without crime there would be no law. You can't break rules if they don't exist. Len loves the sirens and chase almost as much as he loves the money and infamy.

Crooked cops, on the other hand, are bottom-feeding hypocrites. They swan around in uniform flashing their shiny badges, stealing from the same people they swore to protect, and going home to beat their wife and kids after a long day of acting like saints on domestic assault calls.]

My old man was a cop. Biggest dirtbag you ever met. The only thing he liked better than getting drunk and beating the shit out of his wife and kids was power-tripping on the job.

[Finally, Len looks away. Doing his best attempt at being aloof in spite of the fact Kabal's thick arm is wrapped around his waist.

At least it sounds like Kabal didn't screw the bisexual-cannibal-deer-lady.

Len doesn't want to catch anything. That's all.]

What did you expect to find at the end of a trail of blood, a rare steak?