"Oh fuck you, I'm not whinging," he said, draining his glass.
James got up, unsteady on his feet, and rested against the armchair. "Is this why you're training me. To cut down on the numbers of murdering fuckers? Except Homicide doesn't go in until after they kill. We clean up the mess. Oh, I wanted to get into the task force, actually do something, but Dad already said that it doesn't like it and Moody shut it down. So what exactly do I do when they won't even put me in the damn task force? I'm too close to the case, it's too personal. I've been training like crazy. I couldn't even open my fucking eyes with the migraines and now that I can possibly stand a chance, they don't want me involved. So tell me how I'm putting it to use, because I don't see it."