A Likely Story


jacob_icon.gif zachery_icon.gif

Scene Title A Likely Story
Synopsis Jacob and Zachery meet up to discuss options concerning one dead woman, a questioning, and the promise of pretty green bills.
Date September 7, 2008

A sports club in East Harlem

Sports bars are not suited for everyone. Like people who are not really used to that whole… socializing thing. People like Zachery. But he's found his way to a quiet corner, and his hands have found themselves around a cold glass of something or another, which will hopefull take the edge off things a bit. He's not looking forward to seeing the person he's supposed to meet in here— hell, he hasn't even taken off his coat.

Truth be told, sports bars aren't Jacob's cup of tea either. The attorney is out of place from the very moment he walks through the door, but his superior height makes it all too easy for him to catch sight of his intended target. He bustles his way through the groups of people and is soon sliding into the corner booth, seating himself directly across from Zachery. "What happened?"

"… Hello to you too." Zachery frowns, eyeing Jacob while he pulls his drink a little closer. "Apparently Miss Carter's death is big potatoes." He states, dryly. "Had a few visitors yesterday. Five of them, actually. One of them Homeland Security."

For a short time Jacob just ends up staring at the man on the other side of the table. He knots his fingers together, propping his elbows up in front of him with a frown. "You'd better have told them nothing. What happened?"

"I told them nothing." Zachery replies, with a wry, almost grin. "That is, I didn't tell them anything that wasn't already in the paperwork. Which was outright perfect, by the way." He stops there, and looks away for a moment. "Don't you, ah, want a drink? You might need one."

The lawyer's voice comes out in a growl as he drops his forehead down to rest against his upturned knuckles. "I might need one, yes, but I don't think I'll indulge. If they bring you in for questioning, you call me and you don't tell them so much as the time. You have my number." This is officially a Bad Day for Jacob.

"It's very likely." Though still looking very much out of place, Zachery appears more worried about being in /here/ than said questioning. The fact that he does have a drink might help a bit, too. "Hey, I have a… I have a question. Matt Parkman." Okay, so it's not /really/ a question, but he'd like to see what Jacob's face does after hearing the name. Maybe as a measurement of how worried he should be.

If Zachery wants a reaction, that's exactly what he's going to get. Jacob's head suddenly dips and he clutches at his hair with frustration, letting out a little 'auuuugh!' of annoyance. "Don't let him near you if you can help it." The things Jacob has heard about in regards to that particular agent - well. They serve well enough to make him that much more anxious. "…Alright. Assuming we get through this, there'll be a very large bonus in it for you. Lots of zeroes at the end of a large number. Just. Just think about /that/ when they've got you."

"I do like zeroes with large numbers in front of them." Zachery replies fairly blankly, before cracking a very happy grin indeed. "I can do that. I'm very good at thinking about that." He lifts his glass, but before actually drinking anything he mutters, "Can't help but wonder how much /you/ are paid for this thing."

"Use it to take a holiday in Morocco or something. God knows I'll be off as soon as I can get." Jacob drags his hands town the front of his face, finally cupping his cheeks between his palms with a thoughtful expression on his face. "How much /I/ get paid? Mister Miller, I get paid enough for the risk to be worth it."

Zachery huffs, finishing the rest of his drink. "Well, I suppose that's good to know, then, eh?" He really, really couldn't care less, if it weren't for the part where he was promised money. Useful, useful money. "Suppose I'll give you a call when the big 'n bad shows up, then. Just one question— what would you like to me to tell them when they ask about the woman's organs looking like a badly burned batch of haggis?" No, really. This is genuine curiosity.

Jacob glowers for a moment, then leans back in the booth with a sour look on his face. "I have no idea what you should tell them. Make something feasible up that doesn't involve me and doesn't involve the existence of individuals with extraordinary abilities. Microwave accident? Swallowed a curling iron? /You're/ the coroner."

"Ah, yes. I'll make it something nicely generic. I can just see it now—" He holds his hands in front of him, as though envisioning a likely sequence of events; "She had a hot pocket all ready, it was… it was horrible. She slipped, bounced off the fridge, knocked off the microwave in her stumbling around and fell, subsequently ingesting the small but highly dangerous mini oven." He pulled a sullen face, hands dropping to the table dramatically. "She failed to reach the power chord in time. The electromagnetic waves were, eventually, I'm afraid… the death of her." After a second, his grin reappears even brighter than before. Oh so trustworthy.

That seems like an entirely reasonable tale. Except for where it's not. But Jacob believes that, hopefully, Zachery will be able to come up with something a little better. He frowns at the other man, furrowing his brows. "I suggest you not be quite so flippant about this. Don't trust Parkman, and don't trust anyone else they happen to have in the room with you except for me."

"Of course." Zachery can't help but chuckle, but nods in agreement. "I've seen plenty of odd cases. I'll think of something. In the meantime, before you arrive- silent as the grave, me."

September 7th: Someday
Previously in this storyline…
Interdepartmental Cooperation
September 7th: How To Leave A Petrelli Speechless
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