Cooper was scared. More accurately, he wasn't exactly scared of Reed. He was more scared of the fact that Reed wasn't scared of him. Clearly, the man was completely unhinged, all of his ridiculous self-righteousness having gone to his head. His bit about wanting this to go "without some idiot threatening violence" was somewhat undermined by the moaning of the man out in the hallway. You know, the one Reed had punched for absolutely no reason. Still, he had to fight the panic rising up in him and act like he was in control.

"Scars don't impress me, pal, if you were that fucking good you wouldn't have been shot in the first place," he found himself saying. Did he own any scars? He couldn't remember. Probably not. The logorrhea continued, like it usually did when he was agitated. "Christ, listen to yourself! All I'm trying to do is keep my friend safe, and you're acting like I've put the gun up your ass and pulled the trigger! Or if I put the gun up your ass and just left it there. Whichever one is worse, both sound equally unpleasant!"

He waved carelessly around the room as he worked himself up. "I mean, come the fuck on, dude! All this mysterious petty bullshit about Mari and 'a friend' and shit like she was some kind of perfect angel, too good for this sinful fucking earth, on a white pedestal. Do you even fucking know who she was, man, who she really was? Huh? She used drugs, for starters. Habitually and for recreation. And you ought to see the fucking church she went to! I mean, Jesus, dude, what planet are you on? Why are you on my case, anyways? I'm going out of my way to try and find out who killed her and shit. Detective work, fool! I'm the good guy here!" 

With that, Cooper plopped down into one of the chairs, sulking. This guy just didn't get it at all.