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| Scene Title | Gumshoe |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Kristen and Russo hire a P.I. to help them get some much needed answers. |
| Date | December 12, 2010 |
Studio K — Kristen's Office
Earlier in the week
«Dirk, why don't I have any numbers for P.I. firms in my planner yet?»
The voice over the secretary's speakerphone causes the petite man to cringe and scowl at the black handset as he raises a solitary finger to make a point. Like she can see it through the wall. She might be able to though, so he lowers it quickly, just in case. "Kristen, why don't you have men's numbers in your planners yet? Somehow I think these things are correlated. Am I right, or am I right?" The breathy chortle of the blonde man is monotone and drawn out over a long vibrato. Smacking his lips, he clucks his tongue and begins typing quickly into the laptop on his desk. "I'll get on it. Just don't rush me," because he'll spend the rest of the day riding his children's sized scooter up and down the hall while Kristen is in meetings…
«Dirk…» The warning of impending Christmas bonus doesn't need to be voiced, it's there, silently looming over him like a carrot while the whip is at his back threatening to crack down on him without even a 'how do you do, sugar?'
"Awww… You know what they say K? All work and no play makes Dirk a dull pansy. And we all know I'm alllll man. Come here and look at this muscle…"
Today
The offices of K Studio are bustling with activity, deadlines for shows have made it necessary to have nearly all the staff called in on their day off to finish calls and make sure that everything is perfect. Rating are going up which means it's a good time to be in television. Practically everyone is there, like a regular business day, bustling to and fro as they scurry to get their work done before dinner time.
The only door in the entire building that's closed is the one at the end of the hall. The gold placard on the door practically invisible from the amount of post it notes and different things piled on it. Apparently whoever works in there would rather people know what she does than who she is. Though who she is… that's sort of important too.
Just to the right of her door is a small workstation, manned by a thin blonde man checking his nails rather than answering the ringing phone. Sure, he glances at it, but with a little but of a sneer, he turns away to look up at the stranger coming down the hallway. Kicking his feet off his desk, Dirk proudly stands to his full height of 5'3" and lifts his chin. "Welcome to K Studios, how can I help… you." That last word is cut short, but the man's lips are still pursed into the little 'o' shape as his head angles lightly and his eyebrows raise up in question.
The man that saunters down the hall, moves casually. Looking from toe to head, he wears leather boots, fitted dark jeans, light blue button down that is not tucked in, black leather jacket and Aviator sunglasses. He's got a satchel over his shoulder which clearly has a laptop in it and some paper. He moves towards Dirk and stops in front of the desk. The man listens to the question and nods his head slowly.
"Tristan Rainmayr. PI. Someone need assistance?" His voice is deep and has that tone of no nonsense. He looks around the office, taking in different things around the place. The level of cleanliness, organization. The workers and how they speak. The color of paint on the wall and type of doors. He's silent as he assesses everything.
Clapping his hands together as a bright smile pastes itself on his middle aged face, the blond man points his long index finger toward the post-it laden door. "Heh heh. Well, my man, you've come to the right place. The wizard is behind curtain number one, please ignore the little dog it doesn't like to be stared at. Don't call her Dorothy either, she hates that and she'll take away your scooter privileges."
Taking two quick steps toward it, the secretary raps his knuckle against the heavy oak in two short knocks before turning the handle. "Miss Reynolds~? You have a visitor~" His song song voice is nothing short of aggravating, to the woman inside the room and all the people outside as well.
"Well?" Either a tripod is making its way to the door or.. No, it's a woman, with a cane. "Mister Rainmayr? Or should I call you detective? I… dunno how this works."
The woman that comes to the door is a petite specimen, taller than her secretary but a much slimmer build, if that's at all possible. Dressed impeccably in a business jacket and silk blouse, those are offest with a pair of fashionably destroyed jeans. The pairing, as one's eyes travel downward, makes more sense when her footwear is revealed. One flat sandal and a boot, the kind that's worn when someone's broken their ankle. "Come on in, Kristen Reynolds… I hope you found the office alright? Coffee?"
Rainmayr lifts a single eyebrow as he watches the man talk about Oz. "Well, you -are- an talkative one. Do you come with an on/off switch?" Then his boss is coming out of the room and he turns to her and bows his head. "Call me whatever you want as long as you pay me, ma'am." He puts a hand flat against his own chest. "Tristan Rainmayr, at your service." He grins slowly. "Well, met Mrs Reynolds. I don't drink Coffee but if you have water…" He moves towards the door. He looks at her ankle and then the cane. He glances over to Dirk and before bringing his eyes back to the office.
There's a firm rap at the door, but the knocker doesn't wait for an invitation. Instead, the door opens and Bradley Russo peeks into the office. Invited or not, he's here. And as usual, he's making more assumptions than he ought in entering the office. Not that such assumptions are out of line here all things considered. His appearance is professional when he's here, particularly in his black suit and bright blue tie. In his hands he holds a pink collar for some small animal. "Hey— I just wanted to check in whether you managed to get rid of all of that— " Brad stops mid-sentence as Rainmayr comes into view. His mouth opens to speak only to shut moments later while his chin juts forward in an expression of mild irritation that melts into apology moments later.
"K, I'm so sorry. Dirk— " what exactly did Dirk say, "— well he implied you'd have a few free moments to speak to me around this time… I didn't mean to interrupt a meeting." His lips purse slightly as his jaw relaxes, like it or not, this is his reality when it comes to Kristen's assistant.
His hands, and subsequently, the collar, are stuffed into the pockets of his suit pants while his tie is left slightly askew. He's waiting mild acknowledgment before backtracking out of the office.
"Miss… Reynolds," the brunette corrects, her smile faltering just a little as she closes the door behind the P.I. "Glad you could make it, I sort of have an interesting thing I need to get someone to look into." She turns and keeps her back to it as her eyes wander over the man's frame, appraising him with a small tick of her eyebrows. They squint at the corner when she looks up into his face again and widens her smile, a little more friendly at any rate.
"Water? Of course, I'll have Dirk go get you so— " And without much of a warning to let her hobble out of the way, the door smashes into her and sends the tiny woman flying across the room toward the private eye. She catches herself from falling flat on her face by gripping Rainmayr's arm and steadying to a stand again and then turns with a glare toward the door. "WHA— … Oh, Brad. Come on in…"
It seems that at least one employee can't seem to incur the wrath of the producer and he just barged through the door. "Tristan Rainmayr," Kristen begins as she lets go and smooths out the man's jacket with the flat of her palm. "This is Bradley Russo, host of The Advocate. Brad, this is Tristan Rainmayr, a private investigator, came highly recommended." He didn't, but what the television star doesn't know won't hurt him.
Rainmayr turns his eyes to the man that comes in without invitation. His arms going out reflexively. He wraps them around the woman before she falls then writes her. All this without moving his body too much so the motions look odd. He looks over Russo from behind those Aviator glasses. Each look hidden behind dark lenses. He doesn't make a move. The man like a statue just seemingly looking right at Russo. His jaw clenches before his head turns back to Kristen. "If you have other appointments…Miss Reynolds."
Rainmayr tilts his head down as the woman flattens out his leather jacket. "I would recommend you attempt not to touch me in the future. Adverse effects have been recorded." A little dry humor from the PI. He glances back to Russo. "Well met Mr Russo." The man could seem slightly gruff. He moves over towards the closest water source by himself. He serves himself too.
A hand is run through Brad's hair as he issues Kristen a sheepish smile, like it or not the apology is written across his face. He steps further into the office and quirks an eyebrow at Kristen, a silent acknowledgment that he's in her space and will do his best to behave himself in here, on-air talent or not. But then, that's what it means to carry a friend for so long.
Evidently they know people who recommend private investigators? The things Brad doesn't know really don't hurt him. "Hey," Russo extends his hand to the PI— only to retract it after the pseudo-joke, a little more unsure— and issues the man a very toothy, very charming, very television grin. "Pleasure to meet you." He glances at Kristen and then back to Rainmayr, and then ah-ha! He remembers why they'd needed a private investigator in the first place.
He crosses his arms over his chest before finding himself a seat considering the nature of this meeting. "So, have you investigated many government facilities Mister Rainmayr?" Nothing like getting to business.
The warning earns the producer lifting her hand from the jacket and holding it a few inches from the P.I. uncertain whether he's making a joke or if he's actually serious. "Adverse affects… Duly noted!" There's a gleam in her eye as she turns to Brad and turns that flat palm into a finger gun and shoots the host. "Adverse affects, good sign."
Placing the butt end of the cane back on the floor, she limps back behind the desk and slumps down heavily into the large leather chair. "Have a seat Mister Rainmayr, Tristan… Call me K," she doesn't mention why she doesn't want him using her full name but it's likely that Russo can guess. "Brad, I hadn't actually had the chance to tell him anything yet… but please, if you'd like to conduct the interview, I'll take care of the visuals. You've always been the better spokesman anyway."
Rainmayr takes a long drink of some water and pours himself some more before making his way back over to the ground. He looks at Russo and lifts a brow. "My job is to investigate. I believe what I investigate is no matter. I have resolved all investigations I have taken. That is the number you should be most concerned about, Mr Russo." He looks over the man. He turns his face back to Kristen.
"Let's just say, K, that I will not stop until you have the information you require. Those 'adverse affects' are very useful when investigating people and organizations." He grins slowly and tilts his head. He moves and sits in the offered seat. He looks up to Russo. "Mr. Russo, tell me what has happened, what to investigate, then pay me." He grins. "Then it shall be done."
Holding up his hands defensively against Kristen's 'finger-gun,' Brad shakes his head. Moments later, his hands are returned to his knees while his attention diverts to the topic on hand and the importance of calling his producer 'K'. "Your name is…" Brad grins a little broader as his eyes flit to Kristen, "Tristan." He stifles any personal merriment while leaning back in his seat and turning to face the boss again, "Well I can't really deny that. You're a vision." With a wink, he readjusts his position and takes a deep breath, this could be a long-winded explanation.
"Look, Tristan. We're a news-based program, we get the occasional tip-off, and we followed a lead that suggested several evolveds were killed execution-style by government officials in a parking garage." Brad raises his eyebrows. "Naturally we investigated. Only we we were thwarted in that investigation by a military man, Colonel Heller. He caught us, claimed this parking garage was US government property and had an agent escort us away." Brad's eyes narrow, "What we'd found… the blood stains from the luminol… Look, something went down there and this man, Heller, he wants to cover it up."
Brad presses his lips together as he quietly hmmms to himself. "We can't let him. We want to expose it on air such that we can't be taken off the airwaves. But to expose it, I need evidence. Lots of evidence. There's nothing worse than a reveal gone wrong. It looks bad on the studio, on me as a journalist— " if that's really his role these days, "— and we go to jail." He swallows hard, "As it stands we could go to jail anyways. I'm sure you're aware we're living under martial law. That means we could disappear with the slightest accusation of terrorist activity. No lawyers, no trial, just poof.'
Brad's eyebrows knit tightly together as he leans forward and laces his fingers together, "So you see, Tristan, we're in a bind here. We need your services to get us that evidence. We don't trust the cops to get this done. And I sure as hell don't trust the military to investigate itself. This isn't about ratings either. This is about real life justice for something that happened. Riots or not, it was a hate crime. Look. I want more than just info on this site itself. Heller was strange. We want to know everything you can find on him. And believe me, we can pay you very well for it…"
Not discussing monetary matters at the moment, Kristen picks up a remote control and presses on button to activate a projector near Russo's head that's pointed at a whiteboard on the opposite side of the room. Faint marks on the whiteboard show that it's normally used to track ratings, programs of various types, and different bits of data pertaining to entertainment. Now, it's wiped clean and on it, the blown up images of everything Russo has just been outlining lights up on it.
"According to the tip, five people were lined up and executed against this wall." Kristen picks up right where Russo leaves off on the details, using a little laser penlight to point where she wants the P.I.'s attention in the images. "As you can see, the graffiti does a lot to hide the bullet holes. We only found two before we were caught, the first person to come up on us was a member of FRONTLINE. He seemed pretty interested in crime scene until Heller peeked out of the shadows and after that he was all business. Honestly, I didn't know if we were going to be lined up next or not."
The images on the wall show a bullet hole and the luminol glow of a splatter that was probably once inside someone's head. Another one is a hand print between the splatter and the next bullet hole. The last image is another splatter that runs a straight trail down to the concrete flooring of the parking garage. By the looks of the photographs, they were all taken in a hurry.
Rainmayr lifts his brow. "Mr. Russon, if you mock my name again, I'll break your arm." Deadpan. Joking? A little twitch of his lip. He pushes himself up from his seat and digests what the man says quietly. He starts to pace. "So, what you are asking of me is to go against Colonel Heller when I myself am an evolved and he kills evolved?" He stops and faces them. His jaw clenches. "It's going to cost a lot of money." He mentions simply.
"The parking lot is most likely already sanitized and the evidence is gone. What you require is more concrete paper trails and workings from Col. Heller." He turns and listens to Kristen. He moves over to where the pictures are projected and he watches the images pass. He shakes his head and rubs his forehead. He mumbles under his breath and puts his hands on his hips as he looks over the pictures. "I need copies of all these pictures. I need to study them." It's definitely not a request. His eyes travel over each piece of information that he sees. "I, also, need all information you can give me in a report." He turns to them and frowns. "One question though, why?" He looks between them both. "Why investigate this? Why not let it die? Crimes happen all the time. People are murdered every day. Why are these five people so damn important that you are willing to possibly die and send another man into the fires?" The question is sharp. He removes his glasses and shows his pale blue, tired eyes. "Answer those first."
"I wasn't actually making fun of your name…" A glance is given to Kristen, "I was just amused by something else," namely his producers reaction to the implicit name-rhyming. Brad's eyebrows arch as his eyes flit towards Kristen a moment. He leans forward in his chair in an effort to catch Tristan's gaze, seeking eye contact to further the seriousness of his message, "Look," he clears his throat. "The world has gone to hell. Lively debate isn't permitted. It's no longer 'okay' to disagree with the status quo. We are, essentially, entering into a totalitarian regime."
Russo swallows hard as he shakes his head, "And, as the American people, we'll go no further. No more. No further. The line must be drawn here. When civilians are murdered without due cause by a power who can't even be deemed responsible, we've crossed far too many lines here in the last few years. If we let this slide, their blood is on our hands. The riots were horrible, but if the governing power is worsening the situation, only more can happen. Discrimination shouldn't be tolerated. Too often terrorist activities are blatantly ignored, particularly if they transpire against evolved people. I've had enough."
Russo's eyes narrow, "They could've been anyone. Teens. Children. Their stories deserve to be heard. Their stories deserve to be displayed. We need to know what happened. Besides… this isn't a crime. This is martial law. The law extends to protect them. The American people deserve to know what their laws are permitting."
"He's not making fun of your name… He— " Kristen sighs and shakes her head, closing her eyes and rubbing the fingers of one hand across her forehead. "He just figured out why I don't want you to call me Kristen, because our names rhyme. Kristen and Tristan…" A sharp glance is slid in Russo's direction and she purses her lips sternly, "but we're here for business, serious business." With that, her hand comes down and she places her flat palm against the desk. The images disappear off the wall with a soft click of the projector and she slides a little closer to her desk to lift up the screen of her laptop.
A few quick clickety clacks on the keyboard and she's looking up at Tristan with a deadpan expression of her own. "Crimes happen all the time, that doesn't make them right. This isn't just any crime, this is an execution. Five evolved people lined up against a wall and shot without so much as a charge laid against them and due process. This is the United States of America, Mister Rainmayr, and no matter how scary it gets out in those streets it's our job here to make sure that people are aware of what is happening. If it means that I'll get lined up against the wall and … " She swallows loudly and frowns a little before continuing, "Lets just hope it doesn't get to that."
She grows solemn for a moment and risks a quick flit of a glance toward the television host, nodding. "Salary, expenses, whatever you need you'll get it. Cash, so there's no paper trail on this end and a contract stating that you're a security consultant for the studio. This isn't about just any story, this is about the truth. When we asked Colonel Heller about it, he claimed that it was a field hospital. Tell me, Mister Rainmayr, how many field hospitals do you know of that execute people with a bullet in the head? That's what I want to know. If this was on the up and up, Colonel Heller would have told us that they'd been taking care of terrorists, but he's hiding something."
Rainmayr listens to each one and stands with his hands on his hips thinking for a long time. "I am going to be the devils advocate here." He gets that off the table. "Open your eyes. People are being murdered all over the world for stupid reasons. From the length of the bridge of their noses to their hair color…these people are no different." He mentions quietly. He turns to Russo. "I'll address you first, Mr. Russo. The worlds gone to hell since the first world war. No change there. Lively debate? Martial law? Status quo? Seriously?" He shakes his head. "Maybe the government is so afraid that the changes have been made to protect the common people from monsters like me." He grins a little.
"You don't speak for the American people, Mr. Russo. You speak for yourself. Your program." Beat. "You draw that line and you will be lined up against that wall. Civilians and military alike die all the time by people who are never found responsible. I bet there are over 10,000 corpses buried in the earth of this country that no one will ever find and even if someone is still looking…no one will be held accountable. What about their truth?"
"Discrimination -must- be tolerated. Trust me because I do it every day. Discrimination is only fear of the unknown. Stupid people discriminate. I pity them." He sighs and rubs his forehead. "Attacking an evolved group or person isn't terrorism, okay. You're a journalist, pick out the right word."
Then he turns to Kristen. "Yes, serious business that I presume will get you both dead." He shakes his head. "Executions happen all the time. Look what happened to the Romanov's. People called that a blessing." He finally nods his head. "You are right. It's your job to inform the people what is happening, not cause mass paranoia and hysteria by unleashing a can of worms you can't possibly attempt to control." He sounds tired now. He moves to a farther away seat before sitting slowly, as if he's just run many miles.
"I will do this job for you both, Mr. Russo and Miss Reynolds. Not only because I see your passion for it…but I agree with a single point you mentioned. It's about the truth. The truth is a passion of mine. In fact, it's where I'm skilled most. I can uncover the truth of any thing without violence." He grins a little. "Though sometimes, I need to book it out of a place before violence is dished out against me…" He shakes his head. "No matter."
He leans back and puts his head against the wall. "Are you ready to die for the truth? Are you ready to show the public the face of a killer and watch the world go mad? If you are ready for the ramifications of the actions you request of me then I have one request… When the news hits those TV's, the Internet and the Print, you leave me out of it. You erase all knowledge of me and you never reveal my involvement to your grave."
Brad straightens in his seat. Oddly, he doesn't react in a volatile manner, instead he manages to remain easy-going through it. "I know I don't speak for the American people but for too long more has been swept under the rug. Democracy fails when governments hide their practices. And while this has been habitual way to thrive, lines need to be drawn. I don't know why we're doing what we're doing if the aim isn't to open the eyes of the average American, especially now." He clears his throat, "There was a time when I thought neutrality was my particular goal, but after what happened on November eighth and the ways in which the current administration handled it— the American people need to watch their government closer than ever before."
Concerning terrorism, however, Brad strokes the little bit of stubble growing on his chin, "I was actually specifically referring to the terrorist groups who are targeting evolved. Humanis First is a terrorist group. Their discriminatory practices are terrorism: they are organized, trained, and pushed to obliterate all evolved. So yes, attacking evolveds can, and often does refer to terrorist activity. In essence, I did pick the right word. What Humanis First pulls is tolerated more than the practices of pro-Evolved terrorist groups like Messiah. Like it or not, anti-evolved sentiments are fostered in office more than they ought."
He smoothes his jacket at the last questions, his gaze flitting over to Kristen as his eyebrows arch. "In all honesty, Mister Rainmayr, I'm not concerned about losing much— even my own life— to the truth here, after November 8, 2006 I have little left to lose. But Kristen won't take the fall for this one. It's on my shoulders. I aim to do the reveal during live television so we're not easily silenced and what truth we can get out there we will. And you don't need to worry about me mentioning your name. I'll take it to the grave with me. And, for the record, there's still ways to get out news without it relating to anyone." Not that those ways are in Russo's repetoire… but they do exist.
"Mister Rainmayr," Kristen's voice takes on a rather authoritative tone, one that's presumably used to speak to people when she wants them to really listen to her. "I can cross the street and get hit by a car. I can go to a club and get trampled while people are running from the police thereby breaking my ankle. Violence happens all over the place all the time and no, not every story is reported, not every criminal is punished but look around." She places both hands on the desk in order to push herself to a stand. Hobbling a few steps without her cane, the woman comes around to the front of her desk and leans against it, crossing one ankle over the other.
"I'm not evolved, I'm a normal plain jane run of the mill common … " her hand raises in swirls in the air as though she's searching for a word, it fails her. "My point is, why is it alright for people to hate evolved so much? You don't see the government cracking down on Humanis First, why? It's not because they want to clean up the evolved mess first. We had a guest on the show a few weeks ago that said we're making baby steps in an entire field we don't understand. Is it because we understand Humanis First that— " she holds both of her hands up to make finger quotes, "— we're putting them on the back burner? Don't second guess our motives in this, I'm looking to hire someone that wants to take this issue as personally as we do, because that's what's going to get the job done right."
Rainmayr looks at Russo and listens to him. "I think you need time to think about your actions before you take them. She will take the fall. This whole network may loose everything for your truth. Everything you do, Mr. Russo, is being watched. How long do you think you have on the air before they decide to cut the feed? I'd say after you start offering the truth… less then 15 seconds." His eyes speak of experience. "Can you show the truth in that amount of time? If it's associated with Miss Reynolds in anyway… since you both were removed from the property you both will be on a list to eliminate. I know how this works." He holds the arms of the chair and keeps his eyes on Russo. "Each action you take will ripple out and touch everyone you care about or have ever cared about. If this news story is as big as you think it is, then shit's going to hit the fan."
He looks to Kristen and shakes his head. "I never said it's alright to hate anyone or anything…though don't you think your rage and hate for Humanis First is just as… horrible as their hate for evolved? Hate begets hate. I don't hate anyone or anything. It's too much work that I wouldn't be getting paid for." He stands up and moves over to her. "My soul purpose is truth, Miss Reynolds." He looks down to her and points to her seat. "Sit down before you hurt yourself." He orders her. "I am going to be frank with you both. You want someone of passion, I can see that. Passionate people make mistakes. People searching for truth with a clear head will not expose the wrong people or endanger others. I am that man. I am an Evolved and I think you both should see what I do. It's not flashy and it's not fun but I think you both will appreciate the … coincidence." He looks to Russo. "I volunteer you, Mr. Russo, if you wish of course."
Rainmayr doesn't move from here he is standing but he keeps his eyes on Russo and doesn't move. The man is like a statue. Barely breathing. Barely moving.
"We want the truth regardless. But yes, we will consider our actions before we take them. As far as losing anything I've cared about, that's… that already happened." And no one knows his connection to the Ryans' family, something he'd like to keep that way. "Frankly, Mister Rainmayr, shit needs to hit the fan if this country will ever return to its formerly lofty glory." Her presses his lips together as he turns to face Kristen, a silent unuttered thought that she may or may not read.
"Uh… sure, I guess? I, like Kristen, am unevolved." Or unmanifested, as the case may be. "Uh… what do I do?"
Kristen sort of complies with Rainmayr's request for her to have a seat by lifting herself up and sliding back to sit on the top of her desk. It's hers, she can do what she wants to it. She stares hard at him for a few minutes before holding out her hand. A sharp look to Russo and a slight shake of her head is her denial of his 'heroic' action in taking this bullet. "No, do me." That's not supposed to sound like an invitation of more than a demonstration.
"I think we're all doing our own little bits of misunderstanding," she says gently. "Brad and I have been doing this sort of thing for a very long time. This is what we do… but we need information in order to put the right spin on things. If the military is shooting people simply for the 'crime' of being evolved, and don't try to tell me that it's not looked at as a crime, then it's the media's responsibility to let the people know what's going on. Yes, shit is going to hit the fan but if we're doing our job right? Then it'll make an impact and the only people who fall are the ones who ordered the execution and the cover up."
Rainmayr moves over to Russo and looks at him. "I'm sorry for Truth." He says quietly. He removes his glove and holds it in one hand while his other hand reaches out to grab Russo's bare hand. He stops and looks over to Kristen and shakes his head. "No…" He says quietly. "You need to ask the right questions." His eyes lock with the other mans while his hand finally touches Russo's. "Tell me, Mr. Russo. Who did you loose and why did it hurt so badly?" He doesn't remove his hand but holds the hand more tightly.
There's no resistance on Brad's part at the touch. No real concern in terms of what he's saying, even if this is usually a sensitive topic. "My mother. My fiance. Both at once." His lips twitch with some unuttered emotion as his head shakes a little, "And it was my fault. I encouraged them to go to that bridal shop in the square. I pressed them to bond. Mom thought she was losing me. Linda want them to be close. I thought it could be the glue. The monstrosity of a wedding. Well monstrosity to us. She'd wanted to elope. I just wanted them to bond. Lina was one of us even before she was. They'd already bonded before. I'd been at it for months."
There's a momentary frown at the memory rather than sharing it, "I will never get over my own selfishness in it. I should've let them figure it all out instead of pressing for more. I'm a selfish bastard. Literally. Never knew my father."
The question immediately causes the producer to frown, not for concern over her host but for the simple fact that this is the one thing she doesn't want to hear about. "N— " but Russo is talking before she can even get her objection in. Her brown eyes grow wide and she's pursing her lips into a thin straight line. Reaching over, she presses the intercom button on her phone. "Dirk, I need you in here please?"
She flips it off before her secretary can even make an objection. With a very slight smile, she drops off the desk and moves around it to collect her cane. "I just caught a glimpse of the time— " One finger makes a gesture toward a clock that's almost too subtle to be seen. "I have a show that's going to be aired, I'll have Dirk finish up the rest of this for me… He can get you whatever you need to start. I'm sorry, I hope you understand."
Kristen's always been about the hard truth, at least professionally. Personally, there's some truths she would just rather remain under the rug.
Rainmayr listens carefully and frowns a little. He pulls his hand away and starts putting on his glove again. "Interesting." He looks over to Kristen and slowly lifts his left eye brow. "For a woman who wants Truth, you tend to limp from it rather quickly." He grins slowly. "If you wish to hire me, Miss Reynolds, text me our next meeting place and have cash ready." He looks to Russo. "Your secrets are safe with me, Mr. Russo. Now you know what I can do… am I the man for the job?"
Snapping out of his persuaded state, Brad nods a little, "Yeah. I think the job's yours." There's a distinct pause as Russo sends Rainmayr a lopsided smirk as he rises to his feet. "K, I'll… see you later." While reliving some memories are hard, there are those secrets Russo makes no effort to hide.
Brad's real secrets, however, remain where they are. Hidden away in his alcoholic psyche just looking for a time or place to come out…