"Hey-- you're not supposed to be in here," a man shouts, getting up from his desk to poke his head out into the hall. "You can't be in--" He stops mid-sentence, seeing Rodeo and the gun in his hand properly now.
"Shut up," Rodeo warns, lifting Crow Jane to point it towards the suit's skull. "Get back in your goddamn office and shut your mouth, ya hear me? This ain't gotta involve you."
"Are you kidding me?" the man snaps, lifting his brows. "Do you know where you are? Do you know where I work?"
"It ain't justice you serve, partner," Rodeo says cooly. "Get back. I ain't sayin' it again."
The lawyer-man seems to consider for a moment, and then finally he steps back-- only to start shouting at the top of his goddamn lungs.
"He's in here! He's in--"
The man never gets to hollerin' the rest of that sentence, because Rodeo's stepped in front of the fucker's door and fired off a shot into his face. The yelling and the shot are more than enough to attract attention though, and Rodeo hears doors bursting open as others come shooting out to the sound of the commotion. Rodeo growls out a curse and starts running, barreling towards the eggshell-painted steel door at the end of the hall he has no doubt contains the holding cells. He's nearly there when bullets start flying, zinging off tile and burying walls as they miss them. Rodeo spins around, firing at the patrolmen on the other end of the hallway, forcing them to take cover in doorways as he empties Crow Jane's clip down the hall. His back hits the door and he steps forward off of it, taking out another clip from the pocket of his sweatshirt and switching the magazine to keep firing down the hall. He takes one hand off his weapon to take the ID card out, holding it out to Nate.
"Get the door open," he requests, not daring to turn around and look at it himself to figure it out and give the pigs a clean shot at the back of his head.