The Offices of Thalia Trimble, Private Eye - vol 1

Your response does not bring any visible relaxation to Isabel. She takes her time trying to find the perfect words before continuing. "Kate Lawson is dangerous. I hope I don’t need to tell you that. If you continue to support her and hand over all the evidence you uncover, a whole mess of people are going to end up dead as a result. I don’t think you’re ok with that.

"If you switch sides, no one will die. Give me everything you uncover and I will work with my associates to... alter the evidence to put all of the blame on Kate. The murders, the attack on you the other day. She will be held responsible for all of it. Andrew will walk and a very dangerous woman will be put safely behind bars. I realize this is not a perfect solution and you may not be comfortable with everything I propose, but this leads to no bloodshed and the best possible outcome for as many people as possible."

Thalia watches Isabel carefully throughout this speech, keeping her own face and body language as loose and neutral as possible until she has a better read on the other woman's intentions.

"Isabel, from where I'm standing, everyone but Andrew who's involved in this tech-genius edition of Egos Gone Wild deserves to be safely behind bars. So I'll ask you this: What makes Kate more dangerous than the people responsible for murdering an entire family for the purpose of framing Kate's brother?"

Again, Isabel is slow to respond. Her eyes shift about in thought. You do not get the indication that she is trying to be outright deceitful. Cautious about what words she chooses would be closer to the truth. "Anyone associated with this company for long enough is dangerous. Yourself included." She pauses again for a long time as she contemplates just how much to tell you. In the end, she has already said too much and doesn’t haven’t much to lose by disclosing more.

"The original plan didn’t call for murder or for Andrew to be the patsy. Everyone involved wanted to take Kate down. The plan was to make it look like she was using her brother to run experiments considered too dangerous for Lloyd Laboratories away from their watchful eyes. This is one of the few cardinal sins at this company. This may be hard to believe, but Andrew proved harder to control then we anticipated. The Lawson's are a stubborn lot. Additional outside agents were contracted who... escalated things in a way I was not prepared for."

All of this rings true as far as Isabel knows it. You can see the relief she feels in getting it off her chest but she is also filled with shame for being involved in an operation that led to three innocents being murdered.

"Clearly my hands are not clean of blood, but I never wanted anyone to die. I cannot speak for my associates. In all likelihood, some of them are every bit as bad as Kate. All I can offer is a chance at a positive net gain of good by taking her down and setting Andrew free."

Thalia takes a long, deep breath. This has become much more complicated... and it was already plenty complicated to begin with.

She drops the mask and allows Isabel to see her very real worry. "Isabel, there are already other innocents that have been put in danger because I've been lied to almost every step of the way. Believe me, I buy that Kate is dangerous and should be taken down. That doesn't necessarily mean that my helping you and your associates equates to no more innocents getting hurt. And I can't take it on faith.

"Look, I think your intentions are good. You want to prevent more innocent bloodshed. So do I, more than anything. That seems like a good foundation. Can we start there and see what we can build from that?"

Isabel nods several times. "That’s the best I can hope for under the circumstances." She presses the button for the elevator and the doors open. You both step inside. "If you need to talk to me you’ll have to do it using Kate’s phone booth relay system. All messages are filtered through me before reaching Kate so that she is only bothered with something important. Establishing a more direct line of communication between us would only tip our hand. I believe this goes without saying, but try to keep your messages coy. A lot of her men are very loyal and wouldn’t hesitate to go over my head directly to Kate if they think something is amiss."

The doors open and Isabel motions you forward. When you look at her she is showing the bright wide and welcoming smile of the tour guide you entered the facility with. "Have a pleasant evening, Ms. Trimble. If there is anything else you need, please don’t hesitate to call." The smile fades to reveal a worried and exhausted woman a split second before the doors close, leaving you alone in the parking garage.

You make your way back to your car and do not see any obvious sign of being followed. They are either sending top brass goons to tail you or have backed off for the time being.

You walk through the door to Nathan’s pub a short while later. Located in close proximity to the courthouse and the University of California, San Espero School of Law, this has long been known as a popular location for practicing lawyers and law students to blow off some steam. Contrary to the general reputation of lawyers, it is also one of the safest places to have a private conversation. It is an unwritten rule that everything said within these walls is off the record and if anyone ever uses anything overhead against someone else, they would be blackballed by the whole community.

Dylan sees you a few moments after you enter and waves you over to the booth he is seated at. He’s already nursing a beer and half way through eating a cheeseburger. "Sorry for my poor manners. I didn’t know if you wanted anything to eat but couldn’t wait. Busy day, skipped lunch. You know how it is, I’m sure. So what’s up?"

As her butt hits the cushioned seat of the booth, Thalia suddenly becomes aware of two things: she's weary and sore to her very bones, and she's starving. Flagging down a server, she says, "Two more, for me?" indicating Dylan's beer and cheeseburger.

The order placed, she sags back against the booth and rubs her face. "Well, let me see. I've discovered that my client was convicted of triple homicide because he was framed by enemies of his powerful and evil sister in a plot to destroy her reputation and career. That she had the means, financial and evidential, to prove his innocence and didn't even try. That she or her enemies or maybe even both have had my phones, office, and apartment bugged since... I don't know. Since I first contacted her? Since I first visited the brother?

"That the sister's executive assistant is in bed with her enemies trying to take her down because she's 'evil and dangerous,' but those enemies also hired contractors whose creative license resulted in that aforementioned triple homicide, so it's really a question of perspective when you're throwing around words like 'evil and dangerous.' Oh, and that new pager I told you about is from the sister, and it allows me to detect whether a line is tapped before I make a call, as well as plugging me in to a direct relay system to contact the sister. And the executive assistant, who is apparently the conduit for passing the messages on to the sister. Also, it's possible that the pager is bugged and serves as a locating beacon. That's just speculation, but it seems reasonable. Don't worry, I stuffed it down into the front passenger seat of my car and parked three blocks from here."

She pauses and says, "I'm sorry, but I can't wait. I could really use a drink," and picks up his beer stein, taking a hefty pull before setting it back down in front of him.

Dylan stares at you wide eyed; burger raised halfway to his mouth. He holds this position and expression for so long that ketchup starts to drip from the burger onto his plate. He ends up putting the burger back on the plate and sliding deeper into his seat. "By all means, help yourself. You sound like you could use the drink... You know, I am starting to have second thoughts about being your legal representation." He offers a smile and holds a hand up to let you know he is just joking.

"That is... that is a real mess. Look, Thalia, I know we don’t know each other that well, but feel free to unload some burdens on me. I’ll admit I was a bit taken back at first, but it is part of my job to hear people out in great detail. But I don’t mean this as Dylan Saunders, the lawyer. Just regular old Dylan who is kind of worried for you. I don’t imagine pulling the plug and getting out of this is an option, but you need to disconnect yourself from these psychopaths as soon as possible."

Thalia laughs, a brittle sound that brings to mind a sign reading, Break glass in case of obviousness.

"I'm pretty much screwed in every possible direction," she tells him, "but what I'm really worried about is all the people I've gotten involved." She reaches out for his stein again and takes another pull, then sets it down in front of herself (might as well just claim it now) and puts her head in her hands.

When she looks up at him again, the glibness, the self-assurance, and the bravado are all gone. It's as though she's climbed out of a suit of armor, leaving only a petite young woman with large brown eyes filled with worry and fear. "They've had me bugged, Dylan. That means they've been party to every conversation I've had with you, my friends Cyn and Jamal, even the kids you sent to help go through the files. I have no secrets from whoever's been listening. And worse, I thought Kate was coming clean with me and I laid some things out for her. I told her I was worried about all these people, and she offered to have her security team look out for you all. I haven't just put my own neck into a noose; I've roped in all the rest of you."

She drains the last of Dylan's former beer, sets down the empty stein, and abruptly pounds a fist on the table. It's solid wood, well-made, so it doesn't make as loud of a sound as it might have. "I have never screwed up this bad, not even in my rookie year, when I first hung out my shingle. I'm not just in over my head - I'm standing on top of people, and it's over all of our heads. I'm not even sure what my next move should be. I know for a fact that my client is innocent - I've seen the evidence - but I can't get my hands on it, so I can't prove a thing."

The server brings Thalia's beer and Thalia asks him to bring another for Dylan. She pushes the new stein toward him. "And anyway, I'll be lucky to still be alive in another day or two anyway. The best I can hope for is to find a way to disentangle the rest of you, so I don't take you with me."

At that thought, she reaches over for his beer and takes a pull from it before setting it back down in front of him with an apologetic shrug.

Dylan’s eyes narrow as you talk. His face starts to shift from concern to something more closely resembling anger. When you finish talking he slams his closed fist down on the table, causing a small amount of beer to spill out of the mug. A couple of people look your way but quickly go back to minding their own business after Dylan gives them a nasty look.

"That’s the best you can hope for? Screw that. I think you and I have a lot in common. Mainly that we’re goddamn winners. We have the odds constantly stacked against us and we still march forward and kick the odds in the balls. Doesn’t matter what we have to do. We find a way to win."

He returns to his normal calm demeanor and manner of speaking. "We need to develop a strategy. We got two sides fighting for dominance with you in the middle, right? It sounds to me like you have at least two options:

"One - Pick a side, hand over everything you got, and do what you have to in order to make sure that side wins while demonstrating your value so they can’t cut you loose the second the checkered flag flies.

"Two - Distract both sides to give yourself more time to scramble and gain resources. You got contacts on both sides? Set up a meeting with everyone in one place, but don’t let them know the other side will be there. Maybe even toss a metaphorical grenade into the mix to see what happens. If these people are as insane and power hungry as you say they are, I figure that will keep them plenty distracted long enough for you to get your hands on anything else you need to see this through to the end under your own terms."

It's a rare moment when Thalia lets her guard down with someone she barely knows, and even rarer that she lets them see her fears and vulnerability. She's actually a little shocked at what she's told Dylan, putting it down to the stress of her encounter with Isabel, the beating she'd taken during yesterday's battle, and the fact that she is apparently cornered by a variety of bad guys, most of whom she's never seen or even has names for.

So when Dylan not only doesn't make her regret her oversharing but actually turns it into an all-for-one-and-one-for-all kind of pep talk, she has a very vivid impulse to reach across the table, grab him by the loosened tie, and pull him into a long, eloquent kiss. It takes her a couple of seconds to realize that he's stopped talking and that she's staring at him as she imagines all the things that kiss might have to say.

It's at this point she realizes that she's downed over half a pint of beer within minutes on an empty stomach. Idiot.

Fortunately, the server solves both of her immediate problems - empty stomach and inappropriately long silence - by arriving with her cheeseburger and a fresh beer. She takes a bite from the burger in a manner reminiscent of a big cat tearing into a wildebeest, not feeling too bad about it since he'd started eating without her. It's a good burger, but frankly, it could taste like roast turd and she'd probably eat with as much enthusiasm, she's so hungry.

Once she's gotten a couple of bites more or less chewed and fully swallowed, she drinks a modest swallow of beer to wash it down so she can speak like a civilized person. "Okay, I like the way you think. You're right, those are both viable options. I gotta say that Option Two has significant appeal, because I'm kinda over this whole 'rich and powerful geniuses get a pass for bad behavior' thing. However, before I go the metaphorical grenade route, I do need to ascertain that my client's sister really is as much to blame as her assistant made her out to be."

She takes another bite, chews, and swallows. "Look, Dylan, there's something you should know about me. I have a gift. I can tell, with crazy-good accuracy, when someone is lying. I can sometimes extrapolate what they're scared of, what they're worried about, what they're trying to hide. My most recent convo with the sister gave me the feeling she was leveling with me. Or at least, that what she was choosing to tell me was true, even if it wasn't the whole picture."

Over the course of the rest of the meal, Thalia tells Dylan the rest of the story. She avoids speaking the name Lawson or specifics like the name of Andrew's prototypes, but does tell him everything that Kate had told her about Fisher and Bradford and Kate's role in killing the sonic whatsis prototype and the fact that someone had financed having one or more outside labs produce a bunch of sonic guns that had later been used against Thalia. That Andrew had received a suspicious amount of intellectual aid from one Carson Chang about developing the mucous for the Sticky Gripper. That she had determined that one of the two Sticky Grippers being kept as evidence at Lloyd Labs is almost certainly the one used to kill the Andrew's neighbors.

"And here is where I reiterate that your Option Two still has significant appeal, counselor. Because the one that I have determined is the murder weapon is documented to have been in the sister's possession for the last five years. Obviously, that's damning. But it doesn't explain why she is keeping it as evidence that could be used to prove she's a murderer. Why not throw it into an incinerator or something? Why keep it if she's guilty? Doesn't add up."

Dylan's look gradually changes from determined to quizzical as you silently stare at him after he finishes talking. He brushes it off and listens closely to everything you have to say. More than a couple of times he goes to take notes only to realize that he has neither pen nor paper, and probably shouldn’t be taking notes on this subject anyways.

After your final question, he leans back into the booth; staring at the ceiling as he thinks it over. "I am hard pressed to think of many cases where the murderer willingly holds onto the murder weapon. I have to agree that that part makes no sense. Then again, these rich and power types aren’t usually very fond of getting their hands dirty. If the law needs to be broken, they pay someone else to do it, just like the assistant says happened. If that is the case, the rich and power might want to hold onto the murder weapon just in case the spotlight gets shined on them. Then they still have the option of throwing the minion who did the deed under the bus.

"In my experience, those minions are just as quick, if not quicker, to turn on their employer then their employer is to throw them under the bus. If you could get a hold of them and make them believe they were in trouble, they would surely start singing and you’d know for sure which scary evil person hired them.

"The murder weapon was probably only in the minion’s possession for a very short amount of time. I have no doubt the perp would want it back in storage within hours of the murder occurring. Hacking their surveillance system is out of the question. Far too difficult. But getting your hands on the security tapes of any nearby bodega is a possibility and may give us a look at the minions with the weapon."

"Good idea. It would have to be the kind of business that keeps tapes for months, not the ones that record over them every few days. I'll check out what all is near that parking garage.

"Another thing - the executive assistant seems to be as caught in the middle of all this as I am. She was trying to recruit me to turn on her boss, but I got the feeling she's just trying to survive, as well as trying to prevent more murders. If there's something we need that she could get without raising suspicions, she might help us."

Finishing the last of her burger, Thalia sags back against the booth, nursing the rest of her beer. She gives Dylan a look of appraisal. "So, what's your story, counselor? I usually take more time to get to know people before I drag them unwittingly into a web of deadly intrigue. Sorry that I haven't had copious free time for that in this case. You mentioned you were friends with Emilia in law school. How'd you come to be so knowledgeable in the ways of minions and whatnot?"

"That would be thanks to my lovely parents. My father is a Don in the New Orleans mob and my mother is part of the Deadly Viper Assassination Squad." He tries to hold a straight face for as long as he possibly can, but eventually it devolves into laughter. "Sorry, I couldn’t resist testing out your abilities. I guess it doesn’t take super powers to see through that one.

"I grew up on the east coast. Born in Portland, Maine. Parents were both teachers. Believe it or not, I came to San Espero to be an actor." There is no lie detected here but Dylan does look a tad embarrassed. "Turns out getting the lead in a high school play doesn’t quite mean you have the chops to make it out here. I got interested in Law at the same place I met Emilia. Intro to Ethics. She was pre-law and by the end of the semester, so was I.

"As for my knowledge of how criminals and minions work..." He looks a little embarrassed again. "Working in my field leads to some time around criminals and you start to pick up on how they operate... but I am also a huge film buff. I mean come on, I wanted to be an actor, right? So full disclosure: I’m basing some of my theory on film character study. I’ll understand if you want to throw my theories out the window, but you have to admit Scorsese knows mobsters better then they know themselves. Not everything on the big screen is false."

To her surprise, Thalia laughs in genuine merriment at that. "I suppose he does. I admit, I'm out of my depth on this one. My practice doesn't usually take me to the heady heights of high-stakes corporate espionage and evil genius powerplays. Movies are as credible a reference as I have available, too."

She squints at him, following an unexpected train of thought. "Frustrated actor, huh? Maybe you could help me streamline the search for surveillance footage around the parking garage. I mean, if you're cool with doing a little playacting that kinda-sorta implies that you're a police detective."

Dylan laughs and takes another drink from his mug. "Wait, are you serious? You did catch the part of my story where I said I was a failed actor, right?" He keeps thinking about it and it is clear that he is interested. "It would be fun to stretch those acting muscles again though. What the hell. You think it will help, I’m your Brando." He shakes his head in disbelief at the direction the night has taken. "Hard to believe we just met a few days ago. If a friendship with you continues to be this eventful, I am going to have to develop quite the caffeine addition just to keep up."

Thalia smirks and waves to the bartender, ordering them each a cup of coffee. "In my experience, businesses aren't always keen to share their surveillance tapes with a private investigator. It generally takes a lot of wheeling and dealing, or else leverage, and I don't have time for that kind of research. But if there's a cop involved - or someone they've concluded is a cop - and the chance to help in an emergent situation, that changes the dynamic a little."

Two cups of coffee arrive and Thalia pours some sugar into hers. "So the way it works is, we walk into the business, you looking tired but serious, me borderline freaking out. You tell them you've been working the case of a mugger who targets young women and that he's just struck again. I'm the distraught latest victim. I'm the first one who's seen the guy's face, and so you need to see surveillance footage from X date - the night of the murders my client was convicted for - because one of the other muggings occurred inside that parking garage, and maybe their cameras caught the guy as he went in, before he put on his ski mask."

Stirring the coffee, she elaborates on the ground rules. "You don't identify yourself as a police officer; as you know, that's a felony. It's all about creating an impression and letting them infer. You use your last name only, no title - 'Evening, I'm Saunders. I'm working a case and need your help.' Then you mention the muggings and say I'm the latest victim. Don't worry, I'll sell it. If they ask inconvenient questions, such as demanding to see a badge, I'll hit them with the hysterics to try and distract them."

She eyes his clothing. "Lose the vest; very few police detectives are that dapper, and you're not that kind of cop. Also, we'll add some dark shadows under your eyes to sell the fact that this case is kicking your ass. I've got a makeup kit. I'll make it look like I've been roughed up, too."

"Oh, do I come off as dapper? Good to know." He unbuttons the vest and slides it off; leaving it on the seat as the two of you prepare the rest of your looks. Dylan takes a sip of coffee but lets some of it drip onto his shirt and then dabs at it with a napkin. When he puts his suit jacket back on and loosens his tie even more, he starts to look a bit more the part of the overworked detective.

On the drive over Dylan practices a number of different voices and uses a comb to rework his hair. It is too long to give him a classic police officer look but he makes it look passable. He leaves his glasses in the car.

Once again, you park a few blocks away and the two of you walk to the destination. You decide that a dry cleaner across the street from the parking garage looks like it would have a good angle of what you want to see.

Dylan straightens his posture, making himself look taller, and keeps his arms held out a little further to the side then normal. It doesn’t exactly make him look big, but slighter bigger if one only takes a passing glance. His face is very serious as he walks through the front door, holding it open so you can follow. He strides up to the man working the register. Dylan’s head slowly scans the entire room, and he stretches his neck up and over the clerk to see back behind him. The dry cleaner gives him a puzzled look.

"Can I help you, sir?"

"I certainly hope so." Dylan responds in a register slightly deeper then his normal voice. He speaks slowly and with deliberation. "Name’s Saunders. I've been looking into the string of muggings that’s been plaguing the neighborhood. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you about it." The dry cleaner looks surprised.

"No, sir. I’m not aware--" Dylan cuts him off.

"Don’t worry, I am sure you are doing your part to keep the locals safe. No one's here to accuse you of standing idle while thugs prey on the innocent." He places his hand on your shoulder and pulls you closer. "I’m sorry to say, she just lost her wallet to this dangerous mugger not 20 minutes ago. Go on, tell him."

Once you finish recounting the made up tale, Dylan continues. "Now luckily, she’s a sharp girl. Got a good look at the guy. We have reason to belief the mugger hides outs in the parking garage," Dylan motions out the window towards it, "to scout for his victims. Unfortunately the owners of the parking garage don’t seem to think it is their responsibility to do the bare minimum to protect their neighbors; so they don’t maintain their security cameras." He shakes he head in disgust.

"That’s where you come in, friend. See, your cameras look that direction, don’t they? And you care about protecting the innocent, don’t you? You don’t want anyone else to have to go through what this poor girl did, because you’re not some kind of inhuman monster." He gives you a signal to ham it up a bit. "So is there any way you can help my friend here? There was a mugging on X/XX right outside that parking garage. Is there anyway I could get a copy of the security tapes so we could review it and try to ID the crook that attacked this poor woman and so many more like her?"

---

Dice Pool Limit: 5

Threat Rating
Get those tapes --- 5

Thalia nods with approval at Dylan's efforts to get into character. Meanwhile, she runs her fingers through her hair, mussing it, then uses her hands to smooth it a little, capturing the muted vanity of a woman in the grip of trauma who can't help reflexively trying to look presentable.

She grabs her own t-shirt at the front, near the collar, bunching it harshly in her fist and twisting it, pulling and stretching it out of shape. When she releases it, Dylan notes that the wrinkled misshapen appearance certainly does suggest that someone has manhandled her.

She waits until they're driving to their target neighborhood to start using her makeup, adding a little fake tissue to one cheekbone to make it appear swollen before covering it and some of her actual skin with rouge, reddening it. When she's done, it really looks as though someone had belted her in the face. She adds a subtle "bloody lip" effect, then turns to Dylan once he's parked the car and brushes some gray powder under his eyes, creating just the right suggestion of too many late nights.

As they enter the dry cleaner's, Thalia seems to shrink, becoming frail and timid. She hugs herself and stares at the counter while Dylan goes through his (pretty impressive) fake detective spiel. When he calls on her to tell her story, she flashes a glance that the clerk and tells her bleak little tale of predatory violence in a halting, hoarse voice.

"I t-tried to pull my wallet out of my purse, but I was sh-shaking. I was too slow, and he... he hit me." One hand drifts up to her "welt" reflexively before she pulls it back down to resume hugging herself. "He grabbed my purse and dumped it out."

When Dylan asks the clerk for the tape, Thalia's eyes rivet themselves on the clerk, burning with desperation. "Oh, please. Please! You have to let us see them. You see, he grabbed my hand before he ran off. Took my mother's ring. It's all I have left of her, and I didn't think. I just... grabbed at him, and pulled up his ski mask. I saw his face, and he said, 'That's gonna cost you extra,' but then someone saw us and yelled and he ran away."

She didn't use the disguise specs for a reason - her big doe eyes are the perfect asset for a task like this. She steps toward the counter, putting one hand on it as though it's as close as she can manage to reaching for the clerk's hand. "Please. He has my ID. My h-home address. If I can't pick him out on the tape, he might be waiting for me when I go home tonight, or maybe tomorrow."

By the end of the act the poor dry cleaner has been through the emotional ringer. He enthusiastically agrees to let you view the security footage and lifts up the counter so you can both walk into the back office. It takes him a few minutes to find the correct tape from the cabinet where piles of VHS tapes are stacked. He slides it in the VCR and hands Dylan the remote control.

"Thank you, son. You’re doing a good thing here." The man puffs out his chest, proud of his good deed. A bell is heard out front and he excuses himself to deal with a customer, leaving you and Dylan to watch the tape in private.

Once the dry cleaner is out of earshot Dylan lets out a big breath of air. "This is exhilarating but nerve wracking." He flips through the footage, slowing it down whenever someone exits the parking garage. You guys start to lose hope when suddenly a man appears that instantly clicks with both of you as the one you’re looking for.

Early 40’s, shaved head, strong build. He is dressed in dress slacks and a plain white button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up. The top couple of buttons are undone, revealing tattoos rising up his chest and around his neck. He carries a black suitcase that is the perfect size to transport a sticky gripper prototype.

"I know that man," Dylan says, almost inaudibly. He waves his hand around in circles next to his head, trying to stir his brain into placing a name to this face. "Oh come on. Christopher.... Igor... no.. Ivan... Ivan something... Ivan..."

The name comes to you first. Christov Ivanovich. Former Russian mob enforcer turned freelance. Rumored to have literally torn a man’s arm off and used it to beat him to death.

Thalia's shoulders slump and she huffs a frustrated sigh. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me!
she hisses, keeping her voice low in case the clerk comes back in. "Christov Ivanovich? *That's* who they hired? Then this couldn't have been a case of the hired muscle getting unexpectedly creative... could it?"