Quinn turned an absolutely incredulous look at the redheaded bitch who called herself a detective. He glanced over his shoulder and saw that 'the kid' in question was cowering and crying like a good little piece of cannon-fodder before turning back. Just in time to watch Angelica get a fist full of Payne's shirt. "Hey!" he barked out with none of the authority of the law bit with all of the authority of every single tough guy, every wise guy, ever goodfella he'd ever known working the strip in Vegas. He could feel his steam rising. Who the fuck did this bitch think she was? "Angelica, you are the worst cop I have ever know," he spat out. His hand shot out and he curled it around her wrist even as the stitches started to pop and rend in Payne's garment. "I know coke-sniffing, kiddie-raping corrup sons of bitches on the force who I'd follow the lead of before I'd swallow an order from you. Have you ever broken up a domestic fight once in your miserable life?" His grip squeezed tighter around Angelica's wrist and he practically breathed fire out of his dark eyes as he got right into her face.