It was even odder than he'd imagined it would be, watching the Scarecrow get mad. Or pretend to get mad. That was probably what was making it weird- his roommate's perfectly accurate rise in tone, the expression scrunched up like an old newspaper, the way he was jabbing his finger at him as though poking out an optic were a reasonable course of action, all witnessing from behind the screen of knowing how fake it was. If they were lucky the people around them, Rosemarie included, would even buy it, so long as they didn't ham it up too much.

Which, as it turned out, was going to be more difficult to do than to say; the truth was, it was kind of therapeutic to shout it out, even over some mystery business that didn't exist. He'd built up a lot of frustration last night.

"Well, maybe if I wasn't always covering for you, I'd have a better rep," 'Richard Browning' retorted scathingly. "At least I can do my-" wait, he couldn't say 'slagging'- was he hesitating?- "-damn job!"