Paid By The Hour


deckard_icon.gif nisha_icon.gif

Scene Title Paid By The Hour
Synopsis Deckard wastes Nisha's time and Kain's money being annoying because there's this thing where it's easier to get people to hang out with him when they're being paid to. For some reason.
Date February 5, 2008

Shooter's Bar

For once, Deckard isn't seated at the bar. He's done Nisha the kindness of selecting a booth off to one side, close to a back corner, with the back of her seat facing the majority of the open part of the pub. Presumably so that she doesn't have to look at it. Deckard's already made a fair amount of progress across the table from her, with two empty glasses perched on the table before him and another that's halfway empty. There's no telling how many have come and gone before that, but Nisha's well-to-do enough to ensure that the girl waiting on them swings by to take care of the booze exchange pretty regularly.

He's in a suit again, of more dubious quality than the one he was sporting before. A dark shade of charcoal, for all that it fits him better than some of his more recent and generic buys, it's faded into a dustier shade around the shoulders and various other joints and seams. No telling how long he's had it, or what it's been through. "Anyway," he's saying, currently without a slur, but probably not for too much longer, "anyway, you never actually said anything about whether or not you think I actually did it."

"Do you really care what I think?"

Nisha is utterly and entirely bored. She sits with an elbow propped on the table and one side of her face in her hand, fingers spread. The bar is just another bar/restaurant chain, sure, but by Nisha's standards it is pedestrian and dirty. Who knows when it was that this table was last properly washed? At least the waiter is friendly, in her high school/college sort of way. Too bad that her subtle flirting with Deckard isn't going to win her anything in the tip department.

Foregoing any actual nourishment on the menu, Nisha watches the martini in front of her more than actually drinking it. She looks out of place, but not too horribly. After all, Deckard called her after business hours. Jeans and a blouse are enough, but the quality still stands out.

"You are…the person who has been tasked with keeping me off of death row," says Deckard with just enough of a pause to insinuate that he's not sure whether or not it was a for real question. He doesn't look bored. Quite the contrary, he's actively engaged in this conversation, and more significantly engaged in the sports of 'Bothering the Lawyer,' and 'Costing Kain Dolla Dolla Billz.'

He doesn't look too terrible, either. The bruises and scrapes leftover from his stay on the Invierno have faded, as has some of the gauntness about his face. He's thin but not skeletal, and sturdy enough to put down what he's already put down without passing out. "Unless you're really one of those who got into the field purely to make money, it seems like your believing in my innocence might be important."

Nisha straightens her posture and looks across the table coolly. "I believe in the American judicial system, and I play my part accordingly." Religions may look down upon their devils, but where would said religion be without the antagonist? Every case has a guilty party - someone has to stick by them to make sure the justice game is played.

"Is that why you called me?" Nisha asks, a smile threatening to slip onto her face, masked as shocked annoyance. "To see if I could look past the mountain of evidence against you to the real you inside? The you that was in some fashion irrevocably damaged as a child, or the you that rattles around inside his own skull?"

"First of all, that's not an answer I want to hear if you think I did it and believe that I should rot in solitary until I'm shot up with rat poison that works the first time some of the time." Deckard ticks up one finger, as if keeping count, though the conversation is such that he's really only going to get up to two. Meanwhile the waitress comes by to take away his two spent glasses, but he's so busy eyeing Nisha across the table that he doesn't even try to see down her shirt when she does it. Lost opportunities.

"Second," up goes finger #2, "I don't care what kind of person you think I am. I don't care what kind of person anyone thinks I am. What matters to me is whether or not you think I started a fire to cover up a four way execution-style homicide."

It takes Nisha a moment to respond. If she mentions anything in that file directly, it could come back to bite her in the ass, even if it has to crawl through the neighbor's yard first. "Fingerprints alone aren't enough to pin you, unless you had no other reason to be there." Or they were on an object that was incriminating in and of itself. Nisha's voice is soft now, and she's thankful for the din of the bar at least.

"The fact is, Mister Deckard, that I don't really know you all that well. Though I do know enough to know that the average person who would sit on your jury, should you ever be so unfortunate to have one, would likely take one look at a description of your character and believe anything the prosecution says. These people whose opinions do not enter into your judgment process may one day hand a judge your death sentence to sign."

Nisha Kotetcha - lawyer, business consultant, and public relations.

"I didn't say we were going to win if you believed in my innocence. Just that I think it's important that you do." By contrast, he doesn't take long to reply at all, fingers tapping idly around the rim of his latest glass while he watches her. He doesn't blink much, and at least within the confines of this conversation, he seems immune to the creepy social retardation generally implied by a lot of direct staring.

Especially when you have the shadow of a leer to go with it. Yeah, Deckard is a winner. "Purely hypothetically, what would you recommend I do to sway a jury presented with a description of my character? Shave? Wear a tie?"

"That's all really up to you, Mister Deckard. I'm your lawyer, nor your valet." Nisha smiles, but it is a slightly strained expression. Kain really didn't know what he was throwing her into when he arranged all of this. Or perhaps he did and didn't care.

For a man who doesn't care what other people think about him, the fact that Deckard is so adamant at winning truly-spoken words from her is something Nisha finds interesting. She is silent for a moment, watching him as if he would eventually betray some deep secret. After a moment she nods. "No, you didn't set a building on fire. If you had, I have a feeling you'd be more remorseful."

Deckard's glass hand lifts to scrub at the back of his head, and his brow takes on a knit that borders upon suspicious. "Is that a joke? Do lawyers make jokes?" Hard to tell whether or not the question is genuine. It cold be!

Nose wrinkled either way, he doesn't wait for her to answer before he starts scuffing sideways out of the booth. "Whatever. It's been an hour. You can go. I have to piss, anyway." To the men's room!

February 5th: Terrible-Genie
February 5th: Something For The Pain
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