"John!" he cried and pulled his partner's arm back mid-swing. "That's enough!"
John looked back at him, a crazed look in his eye. "He doesn't deserve any better," he said, spittle forming at the edge of his mouth. John threw another punch at the suspect sitting on the old wooden chair in the dank basement. He felt his knuckles crunch. It hurt but it didn't stop him.
Heaving and sighing, John propped up the man who was nearing unconsciousness.
"Where is the girl?" he asked.
The suspect smiled, blood flowing.
John smacked the grin off his face.
"Where is she?"
"She's gone," the man said, cackling, spitting up red.
John pulled his gun and pressed it against the man's head. His partner reached for him, but he was too late.
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