Private Number Page #6

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Michael?

What are you doing?

Don't worry.

I'll make it quick,

not like the others.

No time

for tittle-tattle.

She can't live.

You have to finish

what you started.

Kill her! Kill her!

You have to end it!

Kill her! Kill her!

Connor Lucas,

this is the police!

The place is surrounded!

Come out with your hands up!

I repeat, come out

with your hands up!

Kitty Kat!

Kitty Kat.

Michael.

Michael. Michael, don't.

Michael, don't,

don't, don't, don't!

Connor Lucas, open up!

Michael!

Connor Lucas, open up!

No!

Come out now!

Let's go!

Go! Go! Go! Go!

No!

You are a waste

of skin and bone.

Like to drag you

behind my squad car

through downtown

real slow like a parade.

You're a piece of sh*t.

We had some trouble

connecting the dots

in these crimes

from all the jurisdictions.

But the puzzle pieces

fit perfectly now.

I got a question

for you, Connor.

Yeah.

Do you ever think about the

families of your victims?

All the time.

That was half the fun.

There's nothing I'd rather do

than put you down

like the rabid dog you are.

Save the county

the cost of your trial.

Do it.

But unlike you,

I don't fancy myself

a judge, jury, and executioner.

No, you're just a p*ssy.

You're a f***ing embarrassment.

You got your little brown

shirt and your khaki pants

and your big shiny badge

and your pistol.

You can't shoot to kill.

You have no idea

about the thrill,

about the rush

of taking a human life.

Only two people know that,

two people,

God and me.

You're insane.

All that's left

is to flush you away forever

like the piece of sh*t you are.

Are you sure

about that, Sheriff?

Because I'm

just getting started.

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