The Offices of Thalia Trimble, Private Eye - vol 1

The corrections officer escorts you into the long room which separates the public from the convicted with a thick sheet of bulletproof glass. He points you over to booth number four where a scared looking middle aged man in an orange jumpsuit waits to talk to you.

You take a seat and pick up the phone which allows you to hear each other. The moment he starts talking you can hear the pain and desperation in his voice.

"Thank you so much for coming down here. No one will listen to me. I swear I didn't do what they said I did but no one seems to be willing to actually look into it. I didn't kill that family! I know I don't have much to offer, but I heard that you are one of the good ones. Someone who is willing to help. I'll do anything if you look into my case. Please tell me you'll help." You watch this man closely. His eyes are watery, lip twitching, hand shaking. There is no hint of deception from him. Just fear.

You think back to what you know of his story from the newspapers. Andrew Lawson is a freelance biological engineer and inventor. He recently started marketing an invention which wasn't getting a lot of good press because it was... well... kind of squicky. He created a series of appendages which resembled octopus tentacles which could be applied practically anywhere on the human body. These tentacles are able to receive signals from the human user through electrical currents picked up through the mucus membrane they are covered in and generally constantly dripping all over the place while in use. The user can easily manipulate the tentacles just like an octopus and use their suction cups for a variety of tasks which Mr. Lawson sees as being highly practice in countless industries that currently use very expensive mechanical machines.

Lawson was taken in on murder charges after a family that lived across the street, and often complained about the loud and frankly kind of gross experiments Lawson did late through the night, was found murdered in their home. Mother, father, and their sixteen year old daughter where all found with their windpipes crushed and clear markings from suction cups around their necks.

Mr. Lawson's inventions had never really brought in much money. He wasn't able to afford a lawyer and had to rely on a public defender who had just passed the bar exam a month prior. The jury made their decision in about 20 minutes and Lawson was sentenced to life in prison.

The first time she'd come to visit an inmate, Thalia had been a nervous wreck. Well, truth to tell, it was a lot more than just the first time. Just hearing the locked doors slamming and locking behind her as she makes the long trek into a lockup is invariably unnerving, triggering an irrational fear that maybe, just maybe, they'll decide not to let her back out.

But now, so many of her cases have started from a conversation with a person in lockup, it's starting to become old hat. She's now over that paranoid fantasy of being trapped.

Mostly.

Holding the phone to her ear, Thalia's eyes and brain team up to slow down the visuals. She watches his eyes, cheek muscles, and lips for the fleeting expressions that often betray what a person is really thinking or feeling, regardless of their words. She sees nothing contradictory. Likewise, his head movements and body language all support what he's telling her that he is - an unfortunate man who's been wrongly incarcerated for a heinous crime. "I've been framed" is a well-used joke when making light of the protestations of arrested, and sometimes convicted, criminals, but in Lawson's case, it appears to be true.

"Mr. Lawson, I believe you. But before I make a decision about taking the case, I need you to tell me as much as you can about why someone would want to discredit you this way? More than that, why would they take the extraordinary step of slaughtering a whole family just to get you publicly denounced and put away?"

"Well I mean, my work was very important. If-- no, when it took off, a lot of businesses and powerful people would find themselves losing out to my Sticky Grippers!" Even without your powers it would be obvious he was lying. You could be blind, deaf, and in a coma and still be able to figure out Lawson didn't believe a word he was saying. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I said that. I never sold a single one. My invention is great. It works and has many useful applications, but I am the single worst salesman in San Espero. I've tried to tell myself to 'fake it until you make it, Andrew' but I still get laughed out of every business meeting.

"The truth is, I'm a nobody with no enemies. None of this makes any sense to me. People could have licensed my product. Cheap. I really cannot stress just how desperate I was. I would have done anything to make a sale." His eyes go wide. "No, no, no! Not anything. I wouldn't kill anyone, if that's what you were thinking. I just mean any bad deal to get my foot in the door. 90% equity in my company? Sure, whatever. Just please buy my product... I have no idea why someone would do this to me."

Thalia lets Lawson careen through lying to confessing, maintaining a stoic silence. She considers it an act of unmitigated compassion that she doesn't actually roll her eyes.

When he's finished, she says, "I see. Well, Andrew, I'm afraid I can't take your case, on account of having absolutely nowhere to start. I mean, by your own admission, no one was interested in your product, no one has anything to gain from taking you out... From where I sit, that makes it most likely this was some astronomically unlikely but random coincidence that someone used an octopus-adjacent tentacle weapon to murder your neighbors. Sorry I can't help. Good luck in your future incarceration endeavors."

She removes the phone receiver from her ear and starts to hang up, keeping her eyes on Lawson for a sign that he's ready to tell her whatever detail he's so far omitted, by design or accidentally.

Lawson's jaw drops and his eyes go wide. You can see his brain racing as it tries to come up with something to keep you there. Anything that will give him a chance. At the last possible second before you hang up the phone, something finally dawns on him and he motions with great need for you to put the phone back to your ear.

"I have loans. A pretty good amount of loans, actually. Do you think that maybe the banks would do something like this so they could get their hands on my patents? Is that something people do? Oh my god, what if they were using their muscle to sway people from working with me so they could pull off this little scheme?" He looks up with confusion. "That doesn't make any sense, does it? I mean, if they really wanted to they could have easily gotten their hands on my invention and reverse engineered it. I loaned the things out to pretty much anyone that showed any interest. Like those kids who wanted to make a monster movie or something. Never did get my early gripper prototype back from them. Goodness am I ever bad at this whole business thing."

Thalia, being a professional, suppresses a sigh. She actually thinks Andrew is bad at this whole life thing, not just business, but that's not a productive thing to say.

"Okay, so this prototype you didn't get back from the kids - what's different about the later versions? Like, could someone tell from looking at the marks the suckers made that it was that particular prototype that made them?"

Andrew scrunches up his face as he is deep in thought. "Perhaps. See the thing is, I've made a lot of prototypes. Lots of small and some big changes from each version to the next. You know Thomas Edison failed several thousands times before he got the light bulb right! The important part of trial and error improvements is tracking those changes. With an invention as complicated as mine, there are a lot of variables involved. You need to track everything so when you have a setback, you aren't sent back to square one. My lab notes should contain the information you need in order to understand all the differences between the version the kids used for their movie and my current working model."

Finally connecting the dots; Andrew looks side to side to make sure no one is listening and then quietly asks, "Do you think those high school kids could be responsible for this? Oh my god..."

"I don't think anything yet. Could be someone stole the prototype from them and that's why you never got it back. I'll look into it." Thalia is jotting down notes in her little notebook now. "What are the names of these high school kids? And where can I find your lab notes? I assume the cops took everything from your lab as evidence in the case."

"I don't remember all of their names. I might have it written in my notes. Oh man, I really hope I did. But the one I spoke with was Reuben Phillips. He is a bit of a geeky kid who lives a block or two over from me. He reminded me of myself when I was a kid. I was hoping if I loaned the grippers to him and his friends, I might be able to recruit him as an intern. He, uh... umm. When I asked, he said he wasn't interested and that his parents warned him to stay away from people like me. I'm not sure what he meant by that." You are able to tell that Andrew knows exactly what Mr. Holmes thought Lawson was interested in with his teenage son.

"The authorities confiscated everything. My life's work is probably in a landfill right now or sold off to the banks to cover my debts. This is all such a nightmare. But luckily, my lawyer has a copy of all of my lab notes. Emilia Howard. She should be able to help you clear my name. I know I can be a little scatter brained, but she knows this case backward and forward."

"Good. That's good." Thalia writes all of this furiously in the little notebook, underlining Reuben Phillips' name and adding Father - pedo concerns?

She's never heard of Emilia Howard, but any lawyer a guy like Andrew can afford is probably not a heavy-hitter. "Okay, I'll get in touch with Emilia right away. Now, Andrew.." She looks up, tucking the notebook into a pocket, and makes eye contact with him."I get that you're in dire straits with regard to finances and... well, job prospects and all. And I do sometimes take on pro bono work when the cause is just. But working a case entails expenses, so I need to know - is there anyone in your life who'd be willing to front some cash to help me get started? A loved one, a close friend?"

Somehow Lawson's already sullen face deflates even more. "Well-- I mean, yes. My financial situation may not be the best right now, but my sister Kate will most certainly step in to help if it means my name will be cleared." You get the feeling that Lawson believes what he is saying.

"She can be a little hard to get a hold of though. Kate is the head of R&D at Lloyd Laboratories and keeps a very, very business schedule. This whole ordeal has... hurt her career a little bit, I think. You know how office politics can be right? She, uh, hasn't had time to return my calls lately." Everything reads true except for the last sentence regarding Kate not having time to return his calls. This is an outright lie. "But I am sure if you called her office and explained the situation she would be willing to talk to you." Andrew is quite uncertain of this statement. No super powers needed to see that.

"I'm sure she will." Thalia smiles at Andrew. The guy might be lying, but he's mostly trying to delude himself, not her. He's been convicted of murder and has no legitimate reason for hope. The last think she wants to do is kick the chair out from under his feet.

"Okay, I have all I need to get started. Look, Andrew. I know things are rough in here. Try and keep your head down and your mouth shut, okay?" The likelihood of this singularly undisciplined man being able to live up to that compels her to add, "And if you get in a situation that you need some help, look up a guy named Constantine Blake - Big Con, they call him. He owes me a favor. Tell him Thalia said helping you out makes us square. But only go to him if you really, really need his help, got it? I don't like wasting markers."

"You mean you're really going to take on the case? Oh my god, thank you so much Ms. Trimble! You have no idea how grateful I am." His face goes a little white when you mention Big Con, but he nods in acknowledgment. It is clear that he is familiar with the felon and absolutely will not be bothering him if he doesn't have to.

The same correction officer from before leads you out of the visitor area and you collect your personal items before leaving. You mentally review the information Andrew provided as you walk to your car. You start up the engine and the dashboard clock reads 2:35 PM. Which lead will you be pursuing first? Or do you have any personal tasks to attend to before getting to work on the case?

Eyeing the clock, Thalia decides that it's more urgent to look up Emilia Howard than anyone else. Wherever she finds her, Emilia can probably give her a phone number for Andrew's sister and she can call to see if the woman will meet her for a drink.

She looks for a phone booth that hasn't had the phone book stolen out of it and finds Emilia's listing. She finds the address and calls ahead to make sure the attorney can meet with her before heading to her office.

Emilia Howard's secretary keeps you on hold for a few minutes, but eventually says that Mrs. Howard will be able to meet with you around 3:30. When you arrive, she eventually invites you into her office closer to 4:15.

Mrs. Howard is in her early 30's and you immediately get the impression that she is not the type to waste time. Papers are stacked high all over her desk and the ground surrounding it. Her eyes show just how exhausted she is, but she tries to put on a smile when she asks if you would like anything to drink.

"I'm told you are here about a client of mine." She moves a few sheets of paper around until she finds the one she is looking for. "Mr. Andrew Lawson?" She says the name as if this is the first time she has ever heard it. "I hope you understand that I am limited by client confidentiality in how much I can comment on Mr. Lawson's case. How exactly can I be of service?"

Thalia declines a drink with a smile and sits in the offered chair in front of the desk.

"Mr. Lawson has retained me to look into his case, see if I can find any evidence or leads the cops missed. He told me that you would have a copy of his lab notes. I need to see everything you have; if you have any copies of the evidence that was presented at the trial, that would be extremely helpful, too."

Ms. Howard listens and nods along as you talk. At the mention of Lawson's name her eyes shoot up and to her left giving off the impression that she is trying to remember something. It soon becomes evident that what she is trying to remember is the very existence of Andrew Lawson. She holds up a finger as if to say 'please hold' once you finish speaking, giving her the chance to skim over a few of the papers in front of her. Something she reads finally lights the bulb over her head and you see real recognition for the first time since you entered the office.

"My apologies. I am rather new to the job and my case load can be overwhelming at times. I'm not sure if it is hazing the new guy or if San Espero is in desperate need of more public defenders. I know this isn't an excuse, but I did not have a lot of time to prepare Mr. Lawson's case before going to trial. If we're being perfectly honest, I was only made aware of the case minutes before we entered the court room. A motion to delay was denied and-- You spoke with Mr. Lawson, yes? Then you know as well I do that he does not do much to help himself.

"But putting his sham of a trial aside; I have since had a small amount of time to review some of his notes. The judge and jury thought the case was open and shut, but something has never sat right with me about it. I haven't read everything Mr. Lawson wrote. Not even close to it. If words could be hoarded, he would certainly be guilty of that. I'll have my people contact Mr. Lawson and get the OK to release the files to you. Assuming everything goes smoothly, I could get copies to your office by lunch tomorrow. While my knowledge on his case is regrettably limited, is there anything else I can do to assist?"

Thalia listens to the attorney's response with disappointment, though not with surprise. She'd been crossing her fingers for a little more involvement in the case; Lawson was one of those clients who could either annoy you into ghosting him or trigger feelings of protectiveness like a lame puppy. But public defenders are invariably overwhelmed with cases, so she'd known that this hope was a variety of pipe dream.

"That all sounds great, thanks. Would you happen to have a phone number for Mr. Lawson's sister, Kate? I know she works at Lloyd Laboratories, but I was hoping for a home number."

After either getting the number or not, she stands and shakes hands with Mrs. Howard over the desk. "Thanks so much for your time. Oh, and it's not hazing," she says with a sympathetic smile. "If anyone tells you it'll get better, keep your guard up with them - they're selling something."

Emilia looks over her paperwork and shakes her head. "I'm afraid I only have her work number. And even that I would have to get Andrew's permission to give out, since it is it is a direct line. I wish I could be of more help." She does not look you in the eye as she says it. Her eyes are busy scanning the sheet again and again. She's lying.

The lawyer gets up to see you out of the office and you receive a genuine smile of gratuity at your warning. She suddenly stops and holds up a finger telling you to wait. Emilia grabs a business card and a pen. She quickly scribbles a phone number onto the back before handing the card to you.

"I am always in the market for a talented PI to give me an edge in the courtroom. Sadly, I cannot rely solely on the evidence the PD digs up. That's my personal number on the back. Give my admin a call and we'll work out the details to get you on retainer. Have a nice day, Ms. Trimble."

You don't need Emilia's hint to clue you in that she did not write her own number on the back of the card. Your powers see through the 'lie' without issue. Sure enough, when you dial the number you are greeted with "Kate Lawson speaking."

Thalia thanks Mrs. Howard and promises to call later to work out a retainer arrangement, just as she's meant to. Anxious to call the number sooner rather than later, she decides not to drive to her office and instead goes to a downtown coffee shop that she knows has a working phone booth.

She orders a Coke in the bottle and waits as the woman behind the counter pops off the cap with a bottle opener. The graceful lines of the glass bottle are cold and slick with condensation. She carries the bottle to the phone booth and closes the door, pulling Emilia Howard's card and setting it down. She puts in the required change and dials the number, taking a swig from the bottle as she waits for someone to pick up.

When Kate Lawson answers, Thalia says, "Ms. Lawson, my name is Thalia Trimble. I'm a private investigator looking into your brother's homicide case. I'd really like to speak with you. Is there a chance we could meet for a drink this evening?"

"Why yes, of course. Name the time and place," she says without a moment's hesitation. As soon as you give a name and time, she thanks you and hangs up the phone without seeking any additional details. The woman sounded remarkably stoic given the reason you were calling her. How do you want to handle the meet up?

"Great! How about the Zimbabwe at seven o'clock?"

The arrangements made, Thalia hangs up and thinks, taking another long drink of her Coke. Finally, she picks up the receiver, pumps in some more change, and dials her friend Cynthia Belmont.

"Cyn, I'm on a case and I need a favor."

At six-thirty, Thalia pulls behind a Volkswagen Beetle parked across the street from the Zimbabwe, a trendy bar with an African theme, if you aren't too picky about cultural accuracy. She waves at the woman sitting in the Beetle, who returns the wave with a cutesy wiggling of fingers while looking in the rearview mirror. A professional photographer, Cynthia sometimes lends her talents to her best friend when Thalia has a need for photographic backup. Something about the unquestioning ease with which Kate Lawson had agreed to this meeting suggested trouble. Whatever happens, Cynthia will capture it on film.

Thalia gets out of her car, carrying a large bag that contains a .38 revolver - so far, never fired, other than on a range - a couple of scarves, a ball cap, and her glasses, among the other things one expects to find in a woman's purse. She doesn't look back at the Beetle as she crosses the street and enters the Zimbabwe.

The hostess shows you to your seat and you wait. Unlike Emilia Howard, this appointment is right on time. A perfectly polished luxury sedan with darkly tented windows pulls into the Zimbabwe parking lot at five of. A large man in a suit gets out of the passenger seat, but the driver and who you presume to be Kate Lawson stay in the car. You see a brief flare of light glinting off Cynthia's camera lens as she takes photos of the vehicle, but it is gone before anyone else could have noticed it.

The man in the suit gets pointed in your direction by the hostess. He walks toward you with perfect posture and a gait that is almost robotic. "Ms. Trimble. Please follow me. I believe you have much to discuss with my employer."

Well, it's not like I wasn't expecting something like this, Thalia thinks. She gives no outward sign of discomfiture to the goon (she supposes he's a bodyguard, but that's just "goon" by a more dignified name) and follows him out to the car. She doesn't look at Cynthia's car, but she doesn't have to look to know that she's taking more photos as she and the goon leave the bar and cross to the parking lot.

The well dressed goon opens the door and ushers you inside where Kate Lawson is waiting. She does not smile or even acknowledge your presence. She does at least slide the pencil she was using into her appointment book and places it on the seat next to her.

"Thank you for joining me Ms. Trimble. And for not putting up a fight in regards to the change is venue." She raises one finger to the air and twirls in around in a 'let's go' motion. The driver receives the cue and pulls the car into traffic. From your vantage point there is no way to get a look at whether or not Cynthia pulled out to follow without giving it away that you are looking for something.

"I hope you will understand my need to discuss this sensitive matter away from prying eyes and ears. There are many who have already tried to leverage what my brother did against me. I don't need his name popping up in the papers again in a negative way. It could derail my whole career."

"I wasn't married to Zanzibar," Thalia says. "But you could have simply told me to meet you at a place you found more discreet. And just to be clear, this is not a shakedown. I'm legitimately looking into the case."

She eyes Lawson and adds, "I gather, from what you just said, that you believe your brother's conviction was righteous? That he was guilty?"

Your first comments bring a smirk to Kate's face. "And risk the location being leaked, or you being followed? I think not. This is more secure." She gives you a nasty look when you ask if Andrew is guilty of the crime. "Of course not. My poor stupid brother could never murder anyone. He felt bad about slaying monsters while playing Dungeons and Dragons as a kid." You pick up no indication that she is lying or trying to mislead you. If anything, you get the impression that Kate is the type to always be brutally honest, even when she shouldn't be.

"Being the sister of a murderer is bad for anyone's reputation but it isn't the main problem in my case. People have used my brother's failures against me. They try to spread the idea that my family cannot be trusted to keep our inventions both safe and secret. Andrew's trusting nature is what did him in. He should have never gone public until his creation was perfected. Instead that dolt told anyone that would listen about what he was building and even let them use the things completely unsupervised. I don't know what he was thinking."

Thalia takes all that in and thinks for a moment.

"Okay, but if you knew he was incapable of those murders, and that his conviction would negatively impact your career, why didn't you hire him a slick defense attorney, give him a fighting chance to beat the rap? I've met his public defender. She seems earnest and a straight-shooter, but she was drowning in cases. She couldn't possibly have provided the kind of defense a sensational case like Andrew's required."

"I weighed my options and deemed it would be less damaging to have Andrew take the fall. He was already tried in the court of public opinion and having him in the spotlight for months on end during a trial would be bad for everyone. The quicker this whole thing blew over, the quicker people would forget about it and my enemies would no longer be able to use my brother against me as political ammunition. Judge me all you want, Ms. Trimble, but Andrew made his mistakes and is now paying the price for his reckless behavior. Whether or not he did the crime he was convicted of in inconsequential."

Pretty consequential to him, Thalia thinks.

"I don't judge, Ms. Lawson. You looked out for your own interests over those of your brother. That's your right, and your business, no question. But think about it - wouldn't it benefit your reputation if your brother's name was cleared? I think the cops did a lazy jab that barely counted as a criminal investigation. They didn't follow leads that I can already see and I've only had the case for a few hours."

She pauses just long enough for Lawson to take a breath to respond and continues. "But investigations entail expenses. If you'll agree to fund the investigation on your brother's behalf, I'll keep your involvement entirely confidential. I'll get to the bottom of what happened, and I believe I will be able to prove that he didn't kill that family. My rates are reasonable; I'm not angling to gouge you. If you refuse, I can do it pro bono. Funding will just make things easier and faster."

In regards to your first comment, Kate adds "The police force in this town has never been properly trained to deal with the particularities of life in San Espero. It has only gotten worse since a former cape was elected mayor."

Kate Lawson nods along as you speak and appears happy with everything you have to say. As much as someone like her ever shows any positive emotion. "I am glad that we are on the same page, Ms. Trimble. Whatever funding you need, you will have it as long as things stay quiet. Keeping this out of the papers is of an utmost concern. The very second I hear my family name being mentioned by the public, I will pull the plug and make sure your firm is inundated with so many frivolous lawsuits that your family will be debt until the name is stricken from the earth.

"Anything you find comes to me before anyone else hears it. Nothing written. Verbal communication in the manner that we spoke today. If we need to talk, contact me by the same number you previously called. Never call my office. Never contact or speak with anyone at Lloyd Laboratories for any reason. If you are approached during the course of your investigation we will be unable to deny that you are working for me, but only ever imply that you are looking into matters related to a contract dispute. If you so much as hint at any other story, the previously mentioned threats will be carried out in full. If we have an understanding, there should be no further questions and please get out of the vehicle."

The car quickly rolls to a stop and one of the goons is there in seconds opening the door for you to exit.

Thalia isn't sure what relevance this comment has to the conversation, but it certainly illuminates Kate's attitude toward powered people. She files it away as an interesting and potentially useful bit of knowledge of her client.

Well, the underwriter of the case. Andrew Lawson is her actual client.Thalia hides the combination of anger and amusement that rears up in her at this high-handed treatment. She quickly explains her fee structure ($50 an hour up to $400 per day, plus expenses) and gets out of the car. She hands her card to the goon holding open the door.

She doesn't overtly look for Cynthia's car as she surveys where in the city Lawson has unceremoniously dumped her.

Kate Lawson reaches next to her and grabs her appointment book when you start talking numbers. Even though she is nodding her head, it is clear that she has already mentally moved on. "Yes, of course. I'll have five grand wired to your account in the morning. When that runs dries, I'll send more."

Looking around you see a few familiar landmarks which indicate you are in a popular tourist area of town. There are many shops, street vendors, and even a group of people dressed up as popular superheroes who are taking photos with tourists for money. It is a safe part of town, but far away from your office.

Cynthia drives right by you, but you know she'll be back in a few minutes after she completes a trip around the block to throw off anyone that may be watching. She reaches over and opens the passenger door for you when she returns. "How'd things go? You get the nuclear launch codes from Dr No?" Cynthia jokes and then asks if you want to get a bite to eat.

"Absolutely," Thalia says in answer to the question of food. "Since we're in the neighborhood, let's go to Theo's. He still owes me for getting his money back from those scam artists."

She settles into the passenger seat of the little car. "And no, no nuclear launch codes. Just a five thousand dollar advance and a threat to ruin my existence to the end of time if anyone finds out that I'm working for her. Hey, did you happen to see anything interesting while you were watching the Zimbabwe, or while you were tailing us?"

Cyn gives a long whistle at the mention of the advance. "That's some pretty decent walking around money. So I guess dinner is on you, right?" The drive to the restaurant is a quick one. Cynthia finishes bring you up to speed on what she saw along the way. When you arrive she cuts the engine but stays in the vehicle until the conversation is finished.

"Honestly, I think she low balled you on that amount. I wouldn't be surprised if she spent that much money on this short meeting with you today. When you walked into the Zimbabwe nearly every eye in the joint was on you. I wish I could say it was because you are so dang cute, but it was clear that a lot of those folks were paid to be there. Oh they tried to pretend like they weren't focused on you, but when I get these pictures developed you see the tell tale signs of people keeping tabs on someone. And if I needed it confirmed, it certainly was when you left. Nearly half the restaurant cleared out before I even got pulled out of the parking lot. I don't know who this woman is, but I would take her threat seriously if I were you."

"Hell, no. Dinner's on Theo. Like I said, he still owes me."

Frowning as she listens to Cynthia's report, Thalia heaves a long sigh when it's done, letting the breath billow her cheeks a little.

"That's a lot of surveillance for one little girl detective, doncha think? Thank goodness you weren't too busy to come watch my back tonight." Reaching out, she gives Cyn's arm a light squeeze of gratitude.

She rubs her face with both hands, thinking. "She claims to be worried about her reputation and good name, which is why I'm supposed to keep our connection on the down-low. But she also insisted that I bring everything to her before I make any other moves. That sounds less like a sister searching for truth than the villain of the piece making sure her frame-up stays intact. She wants to hear my report, go around cleaning up all the untidy leads I find, and then have me fitted for the best coffin the rest of her five grand can buy."

"Pssh. I don’t care if Theo still owes you. After today, you owe me. So I’m still holding you to buying the next time you aren't served like royalty." Cynthia’s face grows more serious with concern as you continue.

"I really hope you're overreacting but I can’t help but feel worried here, Thalia. It seems like you’re getting involved in something really serious. Well, all triple murders are serious, but you know what I mean. If you need me to back you up, all you have to do is call. I’ll drop whatever I have going on. It’s going to take more than one super scary absurdly rich and powerful possible sociopath to scare me out of helping my friend. If you go and get a second one after you though, I’m out. I have to draw the line somewhere.

"What is the game plan overall? You don't have to fill me in too much if you are worried about my safety, client confidentially, blah, blah blah. But do you know how the great and wonderful Kinesic is going to tackle this caper?"

At Cyn's use of "Kinesic," Thalia grits her teeth and stifles a sigh. Her friend has been dying for Thalia to officially come out as a named - and costumed - super for years. She'd even made sketches, which Thalia had confiscated. Cyn had probably just made more, though, and kept them to herself.

"Look, I'm no martyr, Cyn. You're right, the threat level of this case is an order of magnitude higher than I was expecting when I asked for your back-up, or I would have taken better precautions."

Cynthia slows down and turns into the parking lot for The San Espero Bar & Grill, a name that is used only in signage and advertising. Everyone who frequents the place knows it as Theo's.

As Cyn slips the Bug into a parking space, Thalia says, "As for my game plan, I'm going to assume I'm being watched all the time. Step up my game on disguises and losing a tail. Otherwise, I'm putting anyone I interview in potential danger."

She reaches into a pocket and extracts her notebook. "I won't get Andrew's lab notes from the lawyer's office until sometime tomorrow, so for now, I only have one lead - some high school kid named Reuben Phillips. I'll need to proceed carefully; the last thing I want is any of Kate Lawson's goons getting to a kid."

Once inside the restaurant you and Cynthia drop all work talk and have a pleasant meal. Cyn gives you a hard time for not having heard the latest single by Panic Unlimited that apparently has been playing on heavy rotation all summer. "If I have to hear that song one more time, I’m stuffing my ears with cotton. But in all seriousness, Thalia, put the hair down and live a little from time to time. It doesn’t have to be all work all the time." She looks from side to side making sure no one is within eavesdropping range. "I want you to put on the cape more than anybody, but sometimes you gotta put yourself first and let others worry about themselves or you’ll go nuts."

Theo comes over once you are finished and thanks you again for your prior assistance before ripping up the check. You hop back into Cynthia’s car and not more than a minute down the road she notices the tail.

"How do you want to play it?" She asks while taking frequent glances at the rear view mirror.

Shit, shit, shit, Thalia thinks. So they had seen her get into Cynthia's car. That means she's put her closest friend in the world in serious danger, before she herself had even realized things were going to get this hot.

Mentally scanning a map of their vicinity, Thalia says, "Just act like you don't notice anything. But turn right at the next light. We'll head for Branfield Mall."

Cynthia does as she's told and the Beetle pulls into the mall complex about twenty minutes later. "Park somewhere in the Meyerson's lot," Thalia says, referring to one of the large anchor department stores. As Cyn is pulling into a space, Thalia says, "Okay, we're gonna get out, laughing and talking like we're just going shopping. We'll spend thirty minutes going from store to store, and then we're going to go to the restroom and do a quick-change. Ready?"

They get out of the car, loudly engaging in a good-natured argument about a leather jacket and which of them owns it and which has permanently borrowed it. As they approach the doors to Meyerson's, Thalia peers at the reflection to spot their tail and whether anyone is following them on foot into the mall.

You see a car as it pulls into a spot fairly close to the one Cyn parked in. It is a dark vehicle with slightly tented windows. Inside are two men in black suits. They are not actively watching you as you enter the mall but you are reasonably sure this was the tail that Cynthia spotted.

The rest of the plan outlined to Cynthia goes off without a hitch. Without being obvious, both of you keep a lookout but are unable to spot anything out of the ordinary. Still not 100% sure that you have thrown off whoever was following you, the two of you head to the restrooms by the food court to change up your appearances.

As they shop, Thalia says quietly, "Since they didn't leave the car, I'm betting they have someone already inside. All they had to do was tip them off about who to watch for, what we're wearing. Must be using radios, walkie-talkies, something."

They spend about half an hour, during which Cynthia buys a blouse. They visit four different stores during this time, and at a nod from Thalia, head for the restroom.

They've done this before, so there's little in the way of talking. They enter adjacent stalls. Thalia picks out an emerald green t-shirt and a floppy hat and hands them over the wall to Cynthia, who removes her own shirt and stuffs it into her shopping bag. She also ties her blonde hair into an impromptu knot at the top of her head, leaving little to show under the hat.

Thalia is already in possession of the nondescript white blouse Cynthia had purchased, which replaces the shirt she's wearing. She tops it off with a denim jacket she'd brought in her bag, and stuffs her dark hair under a mousey-brown pageboy wig. She completes the look with her prize possession - what she likes to call her Disguise Specs. At a glance, they are ordinary wire-frame eyeglasses. In practice, they transform the outward appearance of her eyes.

Using a compact mirror, she inspects her eyes. Gone are her huge brown doe-eyes, replaced by smaller watery-blue ones. As she assesses them, she mentally dials them in - slightly closer-set, lighter lashes and eyebrows, and a hint of bloodshot.

Cyn raps twice on the stall lightly. "Heading out."

"Bye," Thalia says simply. Cynthia leaves the restroom. She's heading to a pay phone to call a cab, which will take her to a coffee shop on the other side of town. Thalia's cab will take her to a dive she's never frequented except for this purpose. The plan is to phone the coffee shop from the bar and ask them to page Gloria Dunlop. (This was a the name of a girl from high school they'd both hated with white-hot passion.) That will tell Cyn that Thalia made it. Cyn's job is then to phone the bar and ask for Pete Stamos (the unapproachable guy they'd both crushed on in, yes, high school.) Once both them have thus checked in, they will be free to take cabs home.

Yes, this leaves both their cars parked away from home overnight, but it can't be helped.

Thalia waits ten minutes before leaving the restroom. It's showtime.

You exit the restroom and immediately spot one of the dark suited men walking around the food court. He isn't making any effort to hide the fact that he is looking for someone. His neck cranes over the crowd as he scans back and forth. At one point he looks directly at you but quickly moves on as the disguise works to perfection. You play the part with practiced precision and your heart rate barely even increases as you casually walk away.

Shortly there after, your cab arrives. The driver is the sort that speaks in grunts and it suits you just fine after the long day you've had. He circles around the parking lot toward the exit which affords you a look back at where Cynthia had parked. The dark sedan that the men drove is still parked a few spots down but there is no sign of either man. It seems like they may have been working alone and were completely obvious that you were onto them. You are left wondering how long they waited in the parking lot before deciding to go inside and look for the two of you.

---

"Pete Stamos! Got a call for a Pete Stamos," the barkeep shouts over the music pumping from the jukebox. Someone had just put some coins in and played that Panic Unlimited song Cyn was telling you about. You can't help but smile as the terrible but catchy song plays.

Your thoughts drift to your bed and how good it will feel to slide under the covers after a long and stressful day. No doubt tomorrow will bring forth many new challenges but at least for now you can be happy to have a few solid leads and know that your friend is going to get home safe.

Thalia breathes in deeply and releases the air slowly, almost like she's doing a tai chi exercise. They'd done it - they'd shaken the tail and made it to safety.

She goes back to the phone booth and calls another cab, watching for it from a grimy window. When it pulls up, she slips out of the bar before it's finished rolling to a stop and tells the driver to take her to an address a block from her apartment.

Now out of the cab, Thalia surveys the street as she walks the block to her place, looking for signs of anyone watching her building. If she sees any, she walks on past, turns the corner, and goes up the alley to enter the apartment building through the back.

You carefully scan your surroundings without giving away that you are looking at all. There is an eerie silence on the street for this time of night. You expect to hear sounds of TVs through open windows, couples arguing, that dog across the street that never seems to stop barking. Instead the most dominate sound is your shoes on the concrete sidewalk. You don't spot anyone actively keeping a lookout on your apartment building, but that hardly means that there isn't anyone there. In the end, you decide it is safe enough to head through the front door.

The front lobby is also empty except for one man getting his mail. You recognize him as living two floors down but can't recall his name. Beyond pleasant hellos and goodbyes you have never had a real conservation with the man. He closes up his mail slot and turns just as you start your stride to the elevator. The two of you make eye contact for a moment.

Thalia returns the man's smile and nod. She considers checking her own mail, but it suddenly hits her that she's really beat. It's been a long day, full of tension, and now that she's safely home, she wants nothing more than her bed.

The mail can wait.

She waves at the man to hold the elevator and jogs the rest of the way. Slipping in, she pushes the button for the seventh floor, leans against the back wall of the elevator, and thanks him for holding it.

You share a quiet but not overly awkward elevator ride before the man exits on the 5th floor and wishes you a pleasant evening. After entering your apartment and locking door you find that there is a blinking light on the answering machine. Thankfully it is a short message from Emilia Howard telling you that the transfer of the document has been approved and you should expect copies of everything delivered around noon tomorrow. You quickly get ready for bed and ultimately are not sure if you fell asleep before or after your head hit the pillow.

You wake up the next morning feeling fairly refreshed. The morning paper contains much of the same old thing. It doesn't appear that the rest of San Espero had a very exciting day. While Crowfall is experiencing a heat wave, the west coast is pleasantly cool for the summertime and expected to stay that way for at least another week.

With at least a few hours of spare time until the documents arrive, you start to plan out what your approach to the day will entail when a ringing phone interrupts your thoughts.

"Hey Thalia. Hope I didn't wake you," you recognize the voice of Jamal McBride on the other end of the line. It has actually been about week since you last heard from him and the early morning call comes as a surprise as he is a bit of a night owl who likes to sleep in.

Thalia sits up a little straighter in her kitchen chair and sets down her mug of coffee.

"Wake me? In what universe would that happen?" She pauses. "Everything okay?"

"Nah, I'm good. Just checking in, seeing how you doing." It is clear from his voice that everything is not ok. The silent pause clues him in that you aren't buying the act for a second. "I should know better then to try lying to you. How you haven't gotten recruited to the CIA by now is beyond me." He takes a deep breath before continuing. "You know I hate asking for help but I'm a little out of my element here.

"People in your line of work have big networks of colleagues all over the place, right? Do you happen to know anyone in Chicago? A PI that could look into something for me?" He pauses briefly but doesn't quite give you a chance to respond. You get the feeling that he wants to lay everything out on the table if only to get it off his chest.

"My mom and sister live out there and she... my sister, she apparently has been acting a little strange the past few months. Mom keeps telling me and I've been brushing it to the side telling her everyone changes in college but... I'm starting to get worried too. They had some big blow up a couple weeks back and my sister cut off all communication. I figured it would blow over but I still can't get in touch with her. I finally got through to some of her friends and they said my sister dropped out of school and won't talk to them either...

"I'd fly out there today to look for her but I wouldn't even know where to start. I need someone on the ground out there that knows the city and the people. I know if I can get a hold of her we can straighten this all out. Man, this isn't cool laying all this on you first thing in the morning. I'm sorry."

Thalia grimaces as Jamal tells his story. Cases like that are hard on everyone in the family. She wishes she could tell Jamal she'll handle it herself, but the Lawson thing is just too time-sensitive, and besides - she doesn't know Chicago well enough for Jamal's needs.

"Wow, Jamal. I'm really sorry to hear about that. And I'm flattered that you think I'm so well-connected that I have a massive global network of investigators at the ready. However, I do happen to know a P.I. in Chicago; our paths crossed a couple of years ago here in San Espero when he was tracking down a runaway teenage heiress who came out west to find herself. He found her instead. His name's Marshall Loomis. Here, let me grab you his number."

She flips through the pages of her address book and reads him Marshall's office number and the address. "Hey, keep me in the loop on this, okay? If there's anything I can do to help, you know I will."

After Jamal thanks her profusely and they hang up, Thalia calls Marshall's number herself and leaves a message. "You said you owe me one a couple of years ago, remember? Well, you're going to get a call from a Jamal McBride. He's looking for his sister. I know you probably have a lot going on, but if you take on his case without delay, I'll consider us square, okay?"

Hanging up, Thalia grabs her bag and "goes to work," meaning she leaves her apartment, walks a few steps down and across the hall, and opens the door with opaque glass and modest stenciled lettering saying, Acumen Investigations.

Thalia assumes that the space that's now her office was originally intended to be a storeroom or something. It has electricity, a tiny bathroom with a shower stall that your average broomstick would find comfortable, and a "kitchenette" the size of a postage stamp. As an office, it's perfect for her needs, but as a living space, it's clearly not up to city codes. About five years ago, Thalia had discovered that the landlord was renting it out off the books. She was desperate for an office but couldn't afford one, so she did the logical thing: she blackmailed the landlord, agreeing not to turn him in to the city if he rented the space to her - legitimately, but for a song - as an office.

She drops into the chair behind her desk and takes out her little notebook, reviewing the notes she took yesterday and making a list of the questions to be answered, people to be interviewed, and tasks to be performed. The first order of business is to wait for the messenger to deliver the case materials from Emilia Howard's law office.

Jamal thanks you again and again and promises to keep you updated. It is painful to hear the uncertainty and exhaustion in his voice that is usually filled with joy and confidence. He tells you he's going to call Loomis right away and then try to get some much needed shut eye.

When you speak with Loomis he already seems to be aware of the situation. Or at least others that have experienced similar behavior from loved ones. "College age kid cutting off all contact and dropping off the map? Seems to be a common occurrence in the city at the moment, I'm afraid. You're certainly sending your friend in the right direction by contacting me. Who knows, maybe his sister is the missing piece of the puzzle that helps me break this thing and I might end up owing you even more than I already did. Thanks for giving me the heads up."

---

A few hours later your concentration is broken by the sound of men loudly joking around outside and a series of car doors being opened and shut. Curious, you get up and head to the window to look down at the street. There you see two cargo vans and several men unloading a series of long cardboard storage boxes that are most commonly used to store paper documents. They are moving them from one van to the other.

One of the men is young and dressed in a wrinkled shirt and tie. He has a clip board and is indicating to another man where to sign. This gentlemen is dressed in a very fine looking suit. From the looks of him, you get the feeling that if you opened the window you'd get a whiff of obnoxious cologne even from way up here.

The ones loading the boxes into the second van are all wearing black windbreakers with the words 'Acumen Investigations' written on them. When you look closer at the van you can see a fresh decal with the same hastily thrown together design. It's not even the same font used on your door. Whoever these impostors are, they did not do their research but it seems to be good enough to fool this intern looking kid who was sent to deliver the documents.

Throwing open the window and leaning out, Thalia shouts loudly, "Stop! Those men are not affiliated with Acumen Investigations! I'm Acumen Investigations! The police are on their way right now to sort this out. Don't give them those boxes!"

One of the things that makes Thalia's office not up to code for a real living space is the lack of access to the fire escape. Jamal had been horrified by this and had vowed to make sure she had egress in case the building caught fire while she was working in her office. He'd demonstrated how his invention works and had urged Thalia to try it herself, to get comfortable with it, saying it was no different than a moderately frightening amusement park ride. Thalia doesn't like amusement park rides, so she contented herself with watching Jamal demonstrate it several times and praying that there was never a fire.

Cursing, she reaches behind the tall secondhand bookshelf next to the window and pulls out what looks like a fancy four feet long ladder with clamping hooks on one end. She affixes the hooks to the window sill and they automatically tighten. Swearing again, she pushes her body through the window awkwardly and gets one foot on a rung, then the other.

When she's entirely clear of the window, her right hand is clutching the special sensor-equipped grip on that side. Taking a deep breath, she steels herself and grips the one on the left--

And the ladder is suddenly extending downward. FAST. Jamal was right, it's exactly like one of those horrific amusement rides that people inexplicably adore. She leans against the ladder, holding the handgrips as tightly as possible, because Jamal had said the harder you hold them, the faster you go, and she needs to get to the street before those goons get all those files.

Just when she's starting to think, Hey, Jamal never told me how to stop before I paint the pavement with my blood, the ladder abruptly slows, coming to a stop two or three inches from the pavement. With an effort of will, she releases the ladder's handgrips and takes a shaky breath before turning to run toward the two vans.

Though she feels she's lived a short lifetime since opening the window, in fact it's been less than half a minute.

Every head snaps to attention as your voice projects down from the 7th floor. The young man with the clipboard looks confused and starts to question what is going on. The fake employees of Acumen Investigations jump right into action when they realize the jig is up. The men loading the boxes double time it to get the remaining boxes into their van as fast as possible. The well dressed man snatches the clipboard and shoves Emilia's intern to the ground.

Your feet hit the ground and you instinctively roll your left when you hear a strange warbling sound coming toward you. A split second later there is a smacking sound heard against the brick building in the area you were just standing. You watch as visible waves of air vibrate outward from the impact zone. Turning toward the entrance you see two more men in A.I. windbreakers who are aiming a black plastic weapon with a wide cone shaped barrel. As best as you can figure, it is some kind of sonic based weapon. Unfortunately it is not yet clear what being hit by this weapon would entail.

The well dressed leader of the group tosses the clipboard to one of the men carrying boxes and then reaches inside his jacket with both hands. In his left emerges one of those sonic blasters and in his right is a walkie-talkie. "Send in the back up." Engines rev from down the street as the leader takes aim on the cowering intern.

---

Dice Pool Limit: 5

Threat Ratings
Mooks - Impostors: 10

Optional Side Objectives
(One Round Time Limit) Prevent the intern from being shot: 2
(3 Round Time Limit) Prevent the impostor van from getting away: 5

Every protective instinct Thalia possesses is ignited when the imposter leader aims the gun at the hapless intern. She'd come down the ladder carrying nothing, so threatening him with her .38 is out. Glancing around, she notes a disappointing lack of makeshift weaponry at hand. The lone contender is an abandoned basketball lying against the wall of her apartment complex.

She does another dive-and-roll to avoid another shot from the sonic whatsis, grabbing up the basketball as she gets back to her feet. She runs toward the well-dressed man, shouting, "Over here, officer! He has a gun!" in an attempt to distract the gunman. He reacts predictably, looking around for the cop and - crucially - moving the gun as though prepared to stow it. Now that it's not pointing at the intern, she launches the basketball at his head without slowing her approach.

He turns at the last second as he detects the ball in his peripheral vision, taking the impact to his nose instead of the side of his face. The clipboard clatters to the curb as blood spurts from his nose, and he raises the gun semi-blindly in her direction. But her keen senses had already anticipated this and she's already prepared with a tai chi form, lightly gripping his wrist in her hand and using his momentum against him to continue his arm's upward motion. Getting her leg slightly behind him, she uses her weight to overbalance him as her other hand plucks the gun from his grip, and he winds up falling backward over her bent knee.

"Kid! Get in the van!" she shouts breathlessly to the intern.

The leader of this group of goons lands with a thud. His hand clutches at his chest as the air rushes out of his lungs. All of his men momentarily stop dead in the tracks in the confusion of the unexpected turn of events that has taken place over the last few seconds. The men loading the truck snap out of it first and slam their back doors shut before running over to collect the last of the boxes from the other van.

The intern hears your command but seems powerless to act in any meaningful way. He stares at you like a deer frozen in headlights for a moment before crawling on his hands and knees underneath the van that you told him to get in.

The men that were guarding the front door rush across the grass with sonic whatsis (as they will forever now be called) aimed at you. They both pull the trigger and the sonic beams seem to combine mid-air to create an ever expanding cone of sonic force. As the cone quickly widens to an undodgeable size, you do the only thing that comes to mind and fire off your own blast with your recently commandeered sonic whatsis. The blasts going opposite directions collide and blunt the force of each other. You feel a wave rush through you which brings a slight sense of vertigo and makes your mind go a little fuzzy. This thankfully passes after a second or two.

Simultaneously from each end of the block two additional cargo vans come screaming down the road. It wont't be long before the back up that was called in joins the fight.

---

Dice Pool Limit: 5
Thalia --- 3 HP

Threat Ratings
Mooks - Impostors --- 10

Optional Side Objectives
Prevent the intern from being shot --- Success
(2 Round Time Limit) Prevent the impostor van from getting away --- 5

As her head quickly clears from the whatinGod'snameWASthat, Thalia notes that the intern seems, for the moment, safe. She aims the sonic whatsis, at the two men grabbing boxes from the delivery van and fires the gun, then dashes toward the driver's side door of the fake Acumen Investigations van, throwing it open and climbing inside.

She wants to scream Yes! as she notes that the keys are in the ignition, but there's no time for celebratory utterances. She yanks the keys from the ignition, pounds the locking mechanism on the driver's side door, and pushes herself across to the passenger's side and out the door, locking that one too as she kicks it closed. The keys she shoves into her pants pocket as she exits and raises the gun to fire at the approaching van that she's facing.

The first shot blasts right into the box one of the men is carrying. It flips in the air, throwing loosely paper-clipped together documents all over the road. The mook quickly gets to work picking up as much as he can and jamming it back into the box with little care for keeping the contents in good condition. His fellow box loader curses when he gets to the driver side door and finds it locked. He drops his box to the ground and brings his elbow hard into the corner of the window, causing it to shatter into millions of pieces. With little regard for his own safety, the man climbs through the broken glass and into the car where he wastes no time ripping the paneling beneath the steering wheel apart so he can get to work on hot wiring the van.

You raise your sonic whatsis to fire at the oncoming van but never get to squeeze the trigger. One of the men that was guarding the door strikes you square in the jaw with a rock solid right hook. The force of the blow sends you flying backwards into the passenger door of the van which dents upon impact.

Tires screech as the vans pull up onto the scene and several more men enter the fray. As they round the corner you see that these men are not dressed in suits or mock up 'Acumen Investigations' jackets. Head to toe they are covered in black. Black slacks, combat boots, jackets, gloves, and balaclavas. They appear to be armed with larger rifle sized versions of the sonic whatsis you currently hold.

The man that struck you in the face gets a little cocky as he is joined by his allies. He takes his time walking up to you and slowly rising the weapon directly in front of your face. You notice that he uses his thumb to spin a series of dials on the side which you presume control various functions of the weapon.

---

Dice Pool Limit: 5
Thalia --- 2 HP

Threat Ratings
Mooks - Impostors --- 10

Optional Side Objectives
(1 Round Time Limit) Prevent the impostor van from getting away --- 3

In her studies of tai chi as a martial art, Thalia has learned to take a punch when necessary, but she realizes now how much she's relied on her ability to anticipate attacks to mitigate much of the impact. This time, she'd taken most of it with her jaw and left shoulder as she dented the van door.

Rolling with the momentum, she realizes she still has the sonic whatsis in her hand. She feigns injury, standing hunched against the van door, and whimpers a little to get them all to underestimate her. (It's not hard to whimper; her jaw hurts from that punch.) While she's hunched over, she glances at the sonic gun and quickly decides that there's a dial for range and one for force. She can't immediately tell what the third one is for, but she thumbs them all to the highest setting.

"P-please," she whimpers, sniffling. The tears in her voice are sold by the single tear rolling down one of her cheeks. She knows her huge, brown eyes are luminous with unshed ones dying to burst the dam. "Please don't."

She doesn't need a mirror to know that she looks winsomely vulnerable, because she can see it to some degree on the face of every one of these goons.

She holds up her hands, the sonic whatsis dangling by the grip. "I won't fight anymore! You can have the files. Just don't hurt me." She is breathing hard, gasping really. Her hands are shaking.

"Toss the gun over here," one of the jackboots says.

Thalia cowers at his voice, turning toward the van as though trying to burrow her head into a pillow.

With a snort of derision, the cocky guy moves toward her. "All right, take it easy, little girl. Nobody's gonna--"

When he reaches for her sonic whatsis, she drives her other hand up under his chin. The car keys she'd taken are fanned between her fingers, and they pierce the flat of his bottom jaw, tearing as she slashes. He screams and tries to pull away, which she uses to her benefit, coming with him and spinning around and releasing him into the crowd of jackboots, knocking him and one of the jackboots to the ground. As one of the ones still standing grabs for her, she anticipates it and dodges, grabbing his arm to pull him toward her and into a quick pair of key-punches, one to his solar plexus and one to his gut.

The one next to him is on her now, only she'd been able to see him coming, too, and she slides out of the grapple he'd attempted and rakes his face with the car keys before driving a knee into his groin.

Knowing the guys on the ground will have regrouped by now, she dive-rolls on the street to make it harder for them to aim and comes up in a crouch, aiming her turned-up-to-eleven sonic whatsis at the van being hot-wired.

And fires.

The sonic whatsis vibrates as you can feel the power inside it building to ludicrous levels. Just before it fires you think to yourself that turning all the dials to full blast might have been a mistake. The force of the blast propels you backwards into the air and through the plate glass window of the shop across the street.

You're not sure whether you blacked out, and if so, for how long. Every part of your body aches but the pounding inside your head is by far the worst of it. Your ears ring as if you've spent the past two weeks with your ear pressed against the speakers at a heavy metal concert. Your vision is horribly blurred for nearly a full minute before it starts to return to normal. You struggle to get to your feet and look across the street at the utter carnage the sonic whatsis unleashed.

The cargo van with the fake Acumen Investigations logo is on it's side and thrown 10 feet closer to the apartment building. Actually, just part of it is. You spot what remains of the engine and portions of the hood lodged into the brick walls of your apartment building. Broken glass is everywhere. It looks like nearly every window on the street has been blown out.

The intern seems to have been shielded from the worst of it. You watch as he crawls out from under the other van with just minor scrapes and bruises, but sporting the 1000 yard stare of a war veteran.

The goons that were sent after you have sustained varying levels of injuries. Those closest to the blast point are out cold. A few are trying to get to their feet or crawling towards wherever their weapons fell. Most of the men from the last van to arrive on the scene were on the outer edge of the blast radius and look to be in pretty good fighting shape besides clearly being deaf. One of them is screaming instructions at the top of his lungs but no one is able to hear a word of it. These guys must be getting paid a hell of a lot to not give up after all this.

---

Dice Pool Limit: 5
Thalia --- 1 HP

Threat Ratings
Mooks - Impostors --- 10

Optional Side Objectives
Prevent the impostor van from getting away --- Success

You know, a five thousand dollar retainer doesn't really seem like overkill anymore, Thalia thinks.

What the hell is she going to do now?

Incredibly, she's still holding the sonic whatsis, somehow. Looking at that third dial, she now sees two cone symbols - one wide, one narrow. It was set to the widest possible configuration She leaves that one as is. Then she dials down the gun's range to about half (the original goon leader had used it at the lowest setting, probably intended for near point-blank range) and thumbs the power setting back to about one-half full power. Her spine might not survive another kick like the last one.

Crunching around in the broken glass of Stan's Stereos, she sees that her unplanned entrance has wrecked the window display - a college student mannequin lounging in his dormitory listening to music on an outrageous sound system no college dorm would likely even allow. The college student is now sprawled on the floor, his giant headphones askew. "Mind if I borrow these?" she mutters. She can't hear herself too well, so she could be yelling for all she knows. She puts on the headphones, hoping to protect whatever might be left of her eardrums, and climbs back out the broken window and onto the street.

The hearing loss suffered by the goon squad is definitely working in her favor. They're busy enough trying to coordinate their actions without effective communication that they really aren't paying attention to her. Maybe they even think she would have been too damaged from the impact with the window to be up and about yet.

God, I love being underestimated.

Her sonic whatsis now set (she hopes) to fire a wide enough cone to get lots of the goons at once, at decent range, and with heavy but not world-ending force, she crouches behind a parked car and fires at the middle of the pack of goons who are standing or moving, hoping to cast a wide, destructive net.

It looks like a behind the scenes look at a Hong Kong action flick as several men are lifted up into the air and flung backwards like they are being pulled by wires. They land in a collective heap and are definitely down for the count. One of the men with a sonic rifle sees his comrades go flying by him and panics. Completely deaf and unsure where the enemy is, the man decides the best course of action is to fire wildly in all directions.

The men around him that notice this hit the desk in hopes of avoiding friendly fire in this battle that seems to be ramping up the chaos by the second. By now the intern has realized that the fight is not over and has taken off sprinting away as fast as his legs will carry him.

A shadow quickly passes over where you are standing. Looking up you see a news copter with a harnessed camera man leaning out to catch all the action. Of course they would get here before the cops. Well, they say all press is good press. Kate Lawson might not agree, however.

---

Dice Pool Limit: 5
Thalia --- 1 HP

Threat Ratings
Mooks - Impostors --- 6

Swearing under her breath - at least, she thinks it's under her breath; between the headphones and the temporary hearing loss, who knows? - Thalia decides she needs to wrap this up quickly. Fortunately, the guy firing blindly everywhere is giving her some help keeping his cohorts out of her hair for a few seconds. But that news coverage... that's just not cool.

On her sonic whatsis, she dials the cone range to its narrowest, dials up the range a bit to ensure she can reach the chopper height, and cuts the power down. The cameraman is aiming at the mayhem and the moron firing in all directions, and the chopper itself is facing away from her. No one will see her if she acts now.

She aims the gun at the news camera, then pulls to the side so she's firing a few feet in front of the cameraman. The idea is to catch the camera with the edge of the cone and knock it out of the guy's hands. She fires.

Then she resets the gun to the previous settings and fires another wide shot at the remaining six men who aren't out of the fight. With any luck, this will put an end to this incident and let her move on to the next problem: securing the Lawson files.

The poor cameraman never sees it coming. One second he is hanging off the edge of a helicopter with a wide smile as he captures a spectacular battle and the next he's shaken to his core by the strange warbling sonic noise beaming past him.

A keen observer on the streets might feel like the world is slowing down around them to enable them to catch all of the action that takes place in the four seconds. The sonic beam fires true and lifts the camera up out of the cameraman's hands. He desperately reaches for it but the harness strapped to the helicopter keeps him in place and he has to watch as his $10,000 camera falls to its demise.

Down on the ground, you swing your weapon around to the next group of targets while simultaneously changing the settings in one clean smooth motion. The sonic whatsis fires the second you have the group in sight; leaving them no time to react before being tossed into the air by the blast.

Out of the corner of your eye you catch one of the men getting back to their feet. There is no time to get your weapon trained on him before he'll fire. Thankfully, right as their finger starts to apply pressure to the trigger, the camera lands on their head and breaks into millions of pieces which fly off in every direction.

You hear a beeping down coming form your sonic whatsis. Looking down, you see that there is a flashing indicator reading LOW BATTERY. A moment later it goes dark and you feel the weapon shut down.

There are only a couple of men still standing. Adrenaline is keeping you going right now but you know it won't last forever. You've taken just about all the damage you think you are capable of handling and now it looks like you're going to have to finish this the old fashion way.

---

Dice Pool Limit: 5
Thalia --- 0 HP

Threat Ratings
Mooks - Impostors --- 2

"What the hell is going on?" Stan, of Stan's Stereos, is yelling behind Thalia. Her hearing must be returning, because she can just make it out under the headphones. Pulling them off, she hands Stan the sonic whatsis. "Hang onto this, and get back inside the store. Don't worry - I'll make it up to you," she adds, gesturing vaguely at the broken plate glass window.

Then she darts out across the street, dive-rolling if anyone seems about to draw a bead on her, trying to keep other parked cars between her and the remaining two goons. They are grouped close enough together than she can keep them both in sight, which makes it much easier to anticipate their actions and adjust her movements accordingly.

Spotting a sonic rifle on the ground near one of the unconscious goons, she veers suddenly toward it. One of the goons levels his gun, but she's prepared with a countermeasure: she's already been twirling the headphones by the cord, and now she lets them loose. The headphones fly toward the goon's rifle.

Dive-rolling again - and crap, is she gonna feel this tomorrow - she grabs up the discarded sonic rifle from the ground, lifts it, and fires at the remaining attackers. The second one is helping her out a lot by charging toward her, putting himself close enough to the other one that she's pretty sure he's within the cone range even if it's on the narrowest setting.

The last mook is blasted into the air and comes down on the hood of a cop car just as it rounds the corner. The driver slams on the breaks and the car screeches to a halt. The cops stare out at the carnage before them with a look of pure disbelief. Even in this town they weren't expecting to find all this when they got called to investigate what was described to them as a public disturbance.

You scan the street for signs of any additional threats but are finally able to breath a sigh of relief after confirming that everyone is down. And that's when the cops draw their weapons on you.

Standing behind their open car doors, each cop has their pistol drawn as they shout orders over each other. They just got here and have no idea what has happened. They see piles of unconscious bodies, thousands of dollars of property damage, and a woman holding a rifle. Even with your damaged hearing it is clear what they are trying to communicate and you drop the weapon.

The cops close in rapidly and you let them cuff you and place you in the back of the squad car. When the EMTs arrive a few minutes later they berate the cops for putting a clearly injured person under arrest before they received medical attention. The cops begrudgingly help you out of the squad car, remove the handcuffs, and allow the EMTs to get a look at you. This doesn't stop the officers from shouting questions at you while the EMTs look over your wounds though.

---

Thalia --- 0 HP

Threat Ratings
Mooks - Impostors

Thalia is too tired - and too deafened - to even bother trying to explain what happened to the cops. Letting them cuff and stuff her into the black-and-white at least relieves her of responsibility for the scene temporarily, giving her a chance to rest a little and organize her thoughts.

Once she's sitting on the bumper of the ambulance, letting the EMTs fret over the numerous lacerations, scrapes, and bruises she's sustained in the fight, she is trying to explain that she's hard of hearing right now and to please just let her tell the story instead of shouting questions she can't hear. Fortunately, that's when the intern shows up again.

Thalia can't hear a lot of what he says, since he's pitching his voice for people who hadn't sonic-blasted themselves across a city street, but she can tell from his face and body that he's telling them the straight, unvarnished truth. As she watches, the cops start to relax a little in their attitude toward her. Some of them even glance over at her with something like admiration.

When the intern is finished, she says - well, yells - "My name is Thalia Trimble of Acumen Investigations. My office is right up there." She points to the window, from which her Extend-O-Ladder is still clamped. "All of these file boxes are legally under my care. I have to secure them." She points to the overturned, wrecked van. "Most of them are in that vehicle. A few are still in the other van. One box got opened and spilled during the fight. My client's legally protected privacy is at stake. I need to ensure that none of the files leaves my possession and that no names are disclosed, to anyone."

Then, for good measure, she adds, "Also, one of these guys shot down a news camera while he was firing wildly."

The cops listen to what you have to say and tell you that they're going to need a minute. By now, the EMTs have wrapped up as best they can. Shockingly, you don't have any broken bones and they expect you to be back to normal in a week or two. They can't comment on the hearing and suggest that you might need to see a specialist, but you can feel it getting better already. You have no doubt your ears will be ringing for days but aren't expecting permanent hearing loss.

The intern thanks you profusely and then gets to work gathering the documents that got lose on the street. Out behind the caution tape you see your landlord has arrived and is very animatedly shouting about the damage done to his building. It doesn't seem like he has spotted you yet so, at least for the time being, he does not know you were involved.

One of the cops comes back and you can tell from the look on his face that he doesn't have good news. He gets uncomfortably close so he doesn't have to shout. "I know you're not going to like this but I spoke with my superiors and they consider everything here evidence. I called this--" he checks his notes, "Emilia Howard and confirmed that you are legally in possession of these documents. That's fine. We don't want to take them from you but we need to see to it that they are secured until we are sure they won't be needed as evidence. Once we confirm the rest of your story, you and the documents will be released. Do you need a ride down to the station? We shouldn't have to hold you up for more than a few hours. Scout's Honor."

Thalia thinks quickly. If she refuses to cooperate, she risks alienating the SEPD at best and being taken formally into custody at worst. But she can't just consign herself to possible detention for hours without making some arrangements first. She reads the officer's name from his uniform.

"Look, Officer Greeley, I don't know how much help I can be to you when I can barely hear," she says, shouting even though her hearing is improving pretty steadily now. Having everyone on the scene think she's mostly deaf could prove useful. "But I'm certainly willing to cooperate in any way I can. I'd be happy to accept a ride to the station from you, if you're the one offering. But first, I need to go upstairs and lock my office. I also need to provide Ms. Howard's intern with documentation that shows I accepted delivery of the files and that they were then confiscated by the police. Need to dot the i's and cross the t's legally, you know."

Greeley looks uncertain, but the essential logic and reasonableness of her request wins out and he nods. She slides off the ambulance bumper intending to limp a little to reinforce her image of walking wounded, but she finds she doesn't have to fake it at first. Already, her muscles are beginning to tighten from the sudden and prolonged overexertion from the fight followed by sudden cessation of movement. She knows from experience this will ease pretty quickly, but it's a sobering indicator of how close she came to losing this battle to save the files.

And now, she might lose them anyway, to the police.

Hobbling over to the intern, she extends her arm for a handshake and shouts, "Thalia Trimble. Glad to meet you, under less threatening circumstances."

He smiles and shakes her hand, shouting back so she can hear. "Richard Selmer. Thanks for stopping that guy from blasting me with... whatever that thing was."

Waving that off, she shouts, "Can you come up to my office? I need to give you a receipt for the files."

He readily agrees, and she hobbles to the entrance to the building, trying to keep Richard between her and the landlord. Avoiding a confrontation with him right now seems like a good idea. She notices that Officer Greeley speaks to another cop, the supervising officer on the scene, and then follows them into the building and onto the elevator up to her floor.

"We'll just be a moment," she shouts at Greeley with a smile, then ushers Richard into her office and closes the door. "Let me find that receipt pad," she shouts again, then drags Richard into the tiny bathroom in the office. The look on the intern's face is equal parts concern for his safety and slight hope that he's about to experience a situation suited for a Penthouse letter.

Pitching her voice in a low whisper - which she can now hear, just barely - she says, "Look, I don't have a lot of time, so listen carefully. I will give you a receipt, but I need you to ask Emilia to pick out an attorney she trusts and send them to the police station as my representation. I'm worried about those files getting leaked. Tell her to ensure that the originals are extra secure back at the firm, because someone is suddenly very interested in them. Also, I'm going to write a note with a phone number and exactly what I want you to say to the person who answers."

Then she leaves the bathroom and hurries to the desk, opening and closing drawers for the sound effects. "Ah, here it is," she yells, picking out the receipt pad from a perfectly organized drawer. She scrawls a receipt explaining the unusual chain of custody for the file boxes, and a note for Emilia to ask Richard for further details. She seals them in an envelope with Acumen Investigations letterhead, then scrawls another note on plain notepad paper with a phone number, the name Eddie Ramirez, and the words, Get eyes on Reuben Phillips immediately. High school kid, lives within a block or two of this address. She lists Andrew Lawson's home address prior to his enforced relocation. Could be in danger. May need intervention. No voice messages - if you can't reach me directly, coordinate with Cyn.

A polite knock - well, polite for a cop knock - lets Thalia know that Officer Greeley is getting a little concerned, and she smiles at him as he opens the office door. She hands the envelope to Richard, with the folded note for Eddie behind it. "Tell Emilia I'm sorry for all the trouble. I'm sure we'll get this all straightened out downtown."

Holding up one finger to Greeley, she trots over to the window and retracts and stows Jamal's Extend-O-Ladder, closing and locking her office window. Remarkably, its glass is intact. Seven floors must have been high enough to avoid damage.

Grabbing her bag and a thigh-length lightweight trench coat, she smiles at Greeley again as she leads the way from the office, locking the door behind them.

Greeley gives Richard an odd look, forcing you to turn toward the intern. He has a big goofy smile, sweat dripping down his face, and he awkwardly gives the officer an enthusiastic thumbs up. "All set, sir!" You really hope this kid is up the simple tasks you laid out for him.

When you get back downstairs, representatives from the UN Task Force are on the scene. They are looking over the sonic weapons and taking measurements of the damage inflicted. Uniformed officers are busy loading your documents into a police van. Greeley leads you to his squad car and opens the passenger door for you.

On the way he has you go over the details of the incident again. You get the feeling he is looking to see if your story changes at all, but you have no problem reciting everything.

At the police station you are taken to a private office instead of the expected interrogation room. For the next 15 minutes, officers are coming in and out with the boxes of documents which they neatly stack near the far wall. You can see an officer has been posted outside the door as a guard and Greeley let you know he’ll be back once everything is cleared up. In the meantime you were free to look through the documents. He requests that you ask the officer guarding you if you need to leave the room for any reason.

The boxes weren't being brought in with any sense of organization so it is hard to tell where you should begin. Finally able to see all the boxes up close, you can tell that it is going to take a whole lot of man hours to get through all this.

One of the documents you look through is a detailed record of all the versions of Lawson’s ‘Sticky Grippers.’ All 216 of them. It tracks the prototype number, changes that were made, notes on issues that needed to be addressed, and the ultimate fate of the individual prototypes. Sometimes Andrew continued tweaking the same prototype and considered each new iteration a separate version. Other times he started from scratch. When a prototype was retired he notes what was recycled for future use and what components were not able to be salvaged.

The main issue encountered across all versions was getting the mucus membrane to properly send and receive electrical impulses from its host in order to allow them to manipulate the appendage. He encountered problems including: long lasting rashes, minor burns, connection interruptions with the host, nausea, dizziness, distorted vision, inverted controls of the grippers, involuntary loss of bladder control, skin discoloration, and many more similar issues.

At the time of his arrest, Andrew had 3 working prototypes. Version 180 was loaned out to Reuben Philips for his monster movie 10 months ago. Version 11 was gifted to his sister Kate over five years ago. Version 216 was found in Andrew’s lab.

A note appears at the very bottom of the record indicating that all prototypes would be taken into custody by the Task Force for safe keeping. A second note amends this and states that Lloyd Laboratories would be taking custody of the prototypes. Neither note makes mention of version 180 directly and whether or not it's location is known. It just says "all prototypes." It is unclear whether the unnamed author of the note overlooked version 180 being loaned out or purposely did not mention it.

Before you can dig into any additional documents, there is a knock at the door. Officer Greeley lets himself in and is followed by two men in suits. "I may not have made myself clear earlier, Ms. Trimble, but you are not under arrest. We’re only looking into what happened and trying to confirm everything is kosher. Nevertheless, I’ll leave you alone so you can speak with both of your lawyers."

The lawyers stare each other down as Greeley leaves and closes the door behind him. They take their seats across from you at the table and introduce themselves.

"Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Trimble. My name is Dylan Saunders. I went to law school with Emilia. She filled me in on the situation but did not inform me that you already had representation."

The other, much more stuck up looking lawyer, clears his throat and introduces himself. Sort of. "I see that you have at least kept the documents mostly secure. My employer will be happy to hear that. Have you done an inventory to ensure that nothing is missing?"

Dylan raises his hands to his side as if to say ‘what is the deal with this guy?’

Smiling warmly at the lawyer who failed to introduce himself, Thalia says, "I'm so glad that you came to check up on things. Please do tell your employer that I've done a thorough inventory and everything seems to be in order. The police tell me that the files will have to be kept here for a while, after which I'll be free to claim them if they are deemed unneeded as evidence in the attack at my apartment."

She has him by the elbow now, subtly steering him toward the door. This seems to have caught him off-guard, because he doesn't immediately object. "In fact, please tell your employer how grateful I am that she's keeping such close tabs on what happens to me." She laughs lightly, making a joke: "In fact, maybe her operatives watching out for me could intervene a little sooner next time someone sends goons to rough me up."

She opens the door and says to the officer posted outside, "Hi - this gentlemen is here on behalf of my client. We've sorted out what we needed to discuss, so if you wouldn't mind, I'd like to speak to my attorney, Mr. Saunders, alone now."

Kate Lawson’s lawyer tries to object but the door is shut before he can say anything. You briefly hear him talking with the guard outside before he relents and it sounds like he agrees to leave. Dylan Saunders is leaning back in his chair with his leg crossed over his knee and is enjoying the show. As you walk back to your seat, he reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a packet of gum.

"Would you like a stick?" He holds it out to you as he folds another stick of gum over into his mouth. "That was impressive, I must say. I’ve seen that guy at the courthouse a few times. Name escapes me, but damn that guy is a shark. You made him look like a guppy. Kind of makes me wonder why I’m needed here at all.

"The way Emilia laid everything out, it sounded like you were either facing some kind of wrongful imprisonment, were concerned about your rightful property behind being confiscated, or needed someone to support you for all the damages caused during what I am sure was an epic battle. So tell me; how exactly can I be of service, Ms. Trimble?"

Sliding onto a seat with a grin, Thalia gratefully accepts the stick of gum. "Thanks. I get a lot of mileage out of being underestimated. People generally take one look at me and think I'll be easy to push around."Thalia gives a delicate snort and hooks a thumb at the door. "If that guy's employer has her way, it could end up all of the above. But the short version is this: I was hired by a convicted murderer to find evidence that he was wrongly convicted. He was represented by your friend Emilia. Guy's sis has money, so I was curious why she hadn't set him up with a something other than a public defender - not throwing shade, Emilia seems great, just way overloaded with cases.

"So I go to see said sister and get a fat retainer practically without asking. It comes with a stipulation that I bring everything I turn up to sis as soon as I find it, and that if anything ends up in the press, my life, career, reputation, and unborn future children will be as a burnt cinder."

She pauses to let him take that in. "Right after that very pleasant chat, I find that I'm being followed. I lose the tail, but the next day - that's today - I'm in my office waiting for Emilia's office to deliver the case files and discover that a bunch of guys posing as representing Acumen Investigations - that's me, by the way - have tricked the intern and are loading the files into their van. Hijinks ensue, by which I mean the imposters turn out to be thugs armed with sci-fi guns that they turn on me and the intern. In the course of the altercation, windows up and down the block are shattered, the ground's festooned with unconscious goons, and part of the engine block of the imposter van winds up embedded in my apartment complex wall."

She leans back, in her chair, chewing the gum (cinnamon, unusual choice, but nice) and wraps it up. "So I'm really not sure what sort of representation I'm going to need. I don't know if the cops will release these files to me for sure, but if they won't, that's going to be a problem. I don't know how long I will be able to keep this out of the papers, and if I can't, Big Sis is gonna try her damnedest to flush my life down the toilet. Maybe all I'm really looking for is someone who can document the real story to send to the cops in the event of my untimely sonic boomage. At the very least, I might need help with not being held liable by my landlord for the unplanned engine block art installation."

Dylan’s face gets serious as you tell your story. He nods along and stops for a long minute to ponder once you finish. Without saying a word, he gets up and knocks on the door. When the officer opens it he asks, "Can I get a notebook and a pen?" and then turns to you, holding one finger in the air asking ‘give him one minute.’

The officer returns with what was asked for and Dylan closes the door before retaking his seat. With no sign of joking around he asks you to repeat everything you just said from the beginning. He takes amble notes throughout and asks for clarification at a few key moments.

Once you are second finished with the second telling, Dylan again leans far back in his chair. He taps the pen over and over again on the table as he thinks.

"Whoever is responsible for this is obviously very rich and very powerful. If you’re my client now, then my number one responsibility is to make sure you are not assassinated. It sounds like making all of this as hush hush as possible is where I need to start. A big ask considering it looks like the second Great War* broke out in the middle of the city.

"I’m going to talk to the officer in charge of the investigation and then I’m going to reach out to some contacts in the major news outlets. I am pretty sure I can get them to hold off on releasing any information regarding who was involved in this incident. Frankly, I don’t think they know who attacked you yet, but keeping your name out of the paper is my priority. I’m going to get to work on that right away. Anything else I should know or that you want me to look into?"

He starts to pack up his things. Dylan’s face is very determined. He seems like the type that loves tackling an impossible challenge.

When Dylan requests a second pass at the story and takes notes, Thalia knows that he's decided to take her on as a client and that what she says to him now is privileged. Therefore, her second version includes the names Andrew and Kate Lawson and Lloyd Laboratories, a detailed description of the sonic whatsises and their effects, and the fact that she has stashed a depleted one with Stan of Stan's Stereos. She also gives him more detail about her own actions during the fight, although she leaves out shooting down the news camera. Not because she doesn't trust him, but because it's probably better for him if he isn't knowingly lying if he pushes back against someone trying to blame her for that.

When he asks if there's anything else she needs him to take care of, she says, "Yeah, actually. When I met with Kate Lawson last night, I had a friend taking pictures of the people coming and going at the bar where we were supposed to meet. I walked into the bar and Kate's bodyguard took me back outside for a rolling meeting in her car instead, but my friend says half the bar patrons left when I did. I'll have her send copies of those photos to your office. It might be useful to compare them to any photos we can get of the crime scene or the booking photos from today's festivities. I'd really like to see if there are any faces in both sets of photos."

Looking at the boxes of files, she sighs heavily. "Also, if you know anyone who'd like a temp gig helping me go through these files, feel free to have them call my office. I'm a one-woman show, and this is definitely going to be more work than I can do on my own."

She thanks Dylan again for his help, pockets his card, and returns her attention to the files when he leaves. If there were only three working prototypes when that family had been murdered, then the murder weapon had to be version 11, version 180, or version 216. She looks for and finds the detailed descriptions of the documented issues with each of these prototypes. Whomever had used one of the prototypes to kill the family would presumably have sustained some symptoms or effects - the rashes, burns, skin discoloration, etc.

After writing down the symptoms and side effects list for each of the three prototypes, she finds the file detailing Andrew's condition upon arrest, perusing the text descriptions and studying all photos that had been taken. If his conviction was predicated on the idea that Andrew had used his invention to kill the family, then his body should have borne evidence of having used one of the prototypes. Absence of that won't be enough to overturn his conviction, but it sure does make convincing supporting evidence.

Dylan takes down Cynthia's information and lets you know that he’ll get back to you. "I fully expect you to be out of here in no more than another hour or two. They don’t have any real reason to hold you and from what I’ve overheard it is crystal clear that you were not the aggressor. I'll talk to you soon."

Left in the room by yourself once again, you start to dig through some more of Andrew's notes.

V.11 - This version required the user to insert their arm into the device. It was like a glove that goes all the way up to your shoulder. It essentially replaced your arms with octopus tentacles. Being partially encased in the unit required less mucus to create a good connection. However, Andrew notes that the user’s body temperatures rose considerably when using this version. The excessive sweat leads to mucus being washed away. The mucus at this stage needed to be applied by the user prior to putting the device on and the tight fit of the gripper made it impossible to reapply while in use. As the sweat washed mucus away, the device would stop responding and eventually shut down. There is also one notation of a minor incident involving electrical shock. Nothing serious.

V.180 - Like all models version 12 and up, this one did not require the user to insert their arm into the gripper. It could be attached anywhere on the user’s body and was capable of secreting its own mucus. In an attempt to stop the rashes and skin discoloration of earlier versions, this model changed up the formula for the mucus membrane. It did remove the side effects from wearing the device but also drastically reduced the quality of the connection between the user and the device. Frequently the gripper would not respond to any attempts to get it to move.

V.216 - The latest model appears to have fixed most of the issues regarding side effects of wearing the device. Rashes, discoloration, and blurriness to full blacked out vision did occasionally occur but only when wearing the device for extended amounts of time (6+ hours with a break in connection). This was accomplished with a more mild formula for the mucus, but one that was secreted at considerably higher levels. The main downside to this was that the gripper was constantly dripping mucus everywhere the user went.

At the time of arrest, Andrew did not show any signs of the skin irritation. This is not entirely surprising, if he was working with V.216 which did not list these as the defect which needed work. It seems like he was always trying to balance functionality with side effects.

When he was arrested he had the device attached to his chest. Both Andrew and most of his apartment was covered in the sticky mucus which had dripped over everything he owned. Andrew was cooperative but highly disoriented and confused.

In his mug shot you can just make out where the gripper was attached by a red outline. It did not look like the issues described for other versions in his notes. It was more similar to marks left after the alternative medicine practice of cupping therapy. The marks were already clearly starting to fade.

Andrew described his whereabouts the night of murder as being at home in his lab working on the gripper. He was testing whether the increased mucus secretion had any effect at limiting how well the grippers could grip. He spent most of the night easily lifting heavy objects and carrying them around the lab without any issues. He admitted that he was wearing the gripper at the documented time of death, but swears he was in his lab testing their functionality at the time.

The detectives on the scene noted that the murder scene resembled Andrew's home, in the sense that vast portions of it were covered in the mucus membrane substance. They didn't think to check the streets to see if a path of mucus lead from one house to the other until the next day, and by then they were unable to find anything. But judging by how much mucus they found at both scenes, they came to the conclusion that Andrew must have taken the gripper off at home, put it in some kind of container, gone across the street and put it back before he killed the family. They were unable to locate a container in Lawson's possession that would fit this narrative.

Sighing, Thalia groans, "Of course it's not going to be that easy." Whoever had actually committed the murders had either somehow used Andrew's latest prototype or had the foresight to plant a bunch of mucus at the scene to sell the idea that prototype 216 was the murder weapon.

She digs back into the boxes, this time looking for photos of the crime scene and from the medical examiner. She studies those with a clinical detachment, paying special attention to the details of the marks left on the bodies.

Then she searches for anything in Andrew's extensive notes that describes or shows the suckers on the prototypes, particularly photos or descriptions that deal with the amount of force the gripper applies, whether there are deviations in force between one sucker and another - anything that could provide a clue as to which prototype was actually used in the murders.

You manage to locate the police report on the murder which includes far more crime scene photos than anyone should really look at in one sitting. The teenage girl was the first to be murdered. She was in bed and died of asphyxiation caused by strangulation and choking on the mucus membrane from the grippers. Photos of her show marks left by two rows of circular suction cup markers going around the full diameter of her neck. There is also a smaller trail letting up to and around her mouth. The detective assumed that the murderer covered her mouth with the gripper to keep her quiet.

The mother and father died in their bedroom down the hall. It happened later than the daughter; somewhere between five minutes to an hour. Both parents died within minutes of each other. There was more of a struggle.

Officially, both murders are listed as death of asphyxiation caused by strangulation. There are no signs of mucus or suction cup marks around or inside either of their mouths. The marks on the father look identical to those found on the daughter. The pictures of the mother are a bit different.

The bruising on her neck is more widespread and irregular. The suction cup markings are also much less prominent. The medical examiner noted ‘strangled by hand? Tentacle used after death?’ She shows the most obvious signs of having fought back. Multiple finger nails are broken. Under some of the unbroken nails they found an organic material of unknown origin. It was not human flesh and was theorized to be from the gripper as she tried to tear it off. The gripper was turned over to Lloyd Laboratories before a sample test of the material was done to compare with what was found under her nails.

Unfortunately, it appears that the overall design of the tentacles and their suction cups are fairly constant from the original to the latest prototype. Based upon the Giant Pacific Octopus, the suction cups were aligned in two rows and varied in diameter from a few millimeters to several inches.

Mechanically, the suction cups are grouped into 5 distinct sectors along the tentacle. The user can vary the grip levels of each individual sector, giving them a wide range of control over the gripper.

Looking back at the daughter’s photos you notice the suction cup markings are very uniform. Equal pressure applied across all sectors. The father’s show much more variety. You can distinguish different amounts of pressure applied by different sectors. In contrast to the daughter, it looks like the murderer might have completely lost grip at some point. There are suction cup markings that overlap other markings, indicating that it lost grip and then reapplied in a slightly different position. The markings on the mother are back to being uniform in pressure, but as previously stated, are much less pronounced.

There is a knock on the door and a moment later Officer Greeley enters. "Alright, you’re free to go. We’re not sure who those guys are that attacked you, but it is clear that you didn’t start this fight. You have some very highly funded enemies, Ms. Trimble. Try to take care of yourself and let me know if you have any information that you think would help us zero in on who these guys are. I called you a car and I’ll have my men load up your files. Anything you want to discuss before you go?"

Thalia, steeped in the gruesome images of death by strangulation, is grateful for the interruption, which is probably why she responds with a grin and a cheeky, "Thanks, Greeley. You're a peach." Before he can think of a way to respond to that, she adds, "Hey, did you happen to work the Andrew Lawson investigation?"

"Lawson? Afraid not, Ms. Trimble." He ponders the name for a moment longer. "That was the mad scientist who murdered that family, right? I, uh, never quite had the stomach for homicide. From what I heard, it was a pretty open and shut case, even if no motive was ever produced." He shakes his head in sorrow. "World gets crazier everyday."

He gets ready to lead you out, but suddenly stops and blocks the path. "Is this case somehow related to your incident today?" His face is back to serious detective mode as he mentally tries to connect the dots.

Thalia laughs. "That would be a trip, wouldn't it? Talk about your crazy connections! No, I ran into a friend a couple of weeks ago who was talking about that case. He kept insisting that there were a lot of inconsistencies in the evidence, thinks that just didn't add up. I told him he was crazy, of course. I dunno - I guess being here at the station just brought that conversation back to mind."

She thanks him for having the files sent back to her office, then stops and looks seriously at him for a moment. "Hey, Greeley, in case I haven't said so already - and frankly, it's hard to remember what I might have said when I couldn't actually hear my own voice before - thanks for listening to me and making sure I got a fair shake. I appreciate it."

Greeley gives you a look that says ‘what kind of idiot do you take me for?’ but ultimately decides to let it go. You get a good overall feeling from this guy. He seems dedicated to the job and wants to make a difference. Letting it slide may be his way of acknowledging that you are in a better position then him to solve this crime.

"Sure thing, Ms. Trimble. You take care of yourself, ok?. And if you remember anything else that might be of help to us here, just give me a call." He leaves it at that and walks you out. A police van is waiting and within minutes uniformed officers have filled it with your files. They drive you back to your place.

Back at your apartment you find caution tape is still blocking off the entire street and cones are preventing anyone from getting close to the damaged part of the building. Luckily the damage isn't bad enough to require everyone be out of the building while repairs take place. The officers on sight ID you and let you into the scene after confirming you live there. You direct the officers to move the documents into your office.

While holding the door open for a cop carrying four boxes at once, your heart almost skips a beat after hearing voices across the hall inside your apartment. From this distance the voices are faint, but you hear at least two people conversing. A man and a woman. The longer you listen the more you pick up on a jovial tone and... laughter? Cyn’s laughter! You shake your head for not recognizing it was her earlier.

Opening the door you find Cynthia sitting with her legs folded under her on the couch. Dylan Saunders is sitting on the arm of the couch next to her. They appear to have gotten into your store of wine while you were held up by the police. Cyn’s pictures from the day before are spread out on the coffee table before them.

They both look up as you open the front door. "Thalia! We, uh, didn’t think you’d be back so soon. Not that I’m not glad to see you or anything!" Cynthia’s face is a little flush and she decides to put her glass down on the table rather than finishing it. She gets up off the couch and hurries across the room to give you a hug.

Thalia stands in the open doorway staring at the two of them. Granted, Cyn has a key and a standing invitation to show up whenever she likes and let herself in if Thalia's not home, but... showing Thalia's lawyer official case photographs over wine?

Can lines be crossed if you haven't drawn them yet? Thalia thinks maybe it's time to break out the ol' boundaries pencil.

Still, she returns Cynthia's hug with sincerity. "Everything okay? I was worried they might have come after you. Did you get your car back?"

She'd intended to ask Cyn for a ride to pick up hers, assuming it hasn't been towed yet, but the flushness of her friend's face suggests that would be a bad idea.

She finishes supervising the loading of the files into her office, thanks the cops, and locks up. Back in her apartment, she figures she'd better grab a glass of wine while there still is some. Glass in hand, she plops down between Dylan and Cyn just to be a pain in the ass and says, "So, whadda we got here?" She leans forward to look at the photos Cyn took at the Zimbabwe.

Over the next half an hour or so you slowly get all the details of what went down while you were at the police station. Dylan had his people get in touch with Cynthia to request the photos from the other day be delivered to the office. He then got to work on keeping you out of the papers. This actually went pretty well. Both the police and the major local news outlets agreed that releasing your name could put you in further danger. It was decided this information would be withheld until all parties could agree that the danger was contained. By then, Dylan felt like it was unlikely any additions to the story would be newsworthy anymore.

Dylan also arranged for some local college students to stop by tomorrow to assist with going through the notes. He signed up one chemistry, one biology, and one criminology student who will all be receiving course credits, and have already signed non-disclosure agreements regarding what they read and who they are working for.

Cynthia called his office just as he was about to head out to try and meet with your landlord. Cyn was worried about you and the lack of details she received regarding what was going on. She also explained the situation about both of your cars and how it would be difficult for her to get over to his office to drop the photos off. Dylan decided to assist and after a few trips, the two of them were able to get both of your cars back. They are parked around the block.

Cynthia waited inside your apartment, hoping you might show up, while Dylan met with your landlord. He made it clear that you were not responsible for the damages and pointed out legal precedents against landlords who took retaliatory actions against tenants who were the victims of assault. Dylan then voluntarily reviewed the landlord’s insurance policy and made sure to point out the exact language he should use in his claim to ensure everything was covered.

After accomplishing all of this in only a few hours, Dylan was a bit wiped out and accepted Cynthia’s invitation to take a break before heading home.

At separate times through hearing these stories, both individuals apologized in private. Dylan taking advantage of Cynthia’s bathroom break to tell you he understood this was a bit unprofessional and it wouldn’t happen again. Cynthia dragged you into the kitchen to 'help' get some snacks and took the chance to say how she knows this wasn’t exactly cool, but she hoped you would understand under the unique circumstances of this strange couple of days.

Throughout all this discussion, you all have ample time to look through Cynthia’s photographs. You compare the photos to your memories of the people you fought earlier today but can’t match anyone to being at both scenes. But something about this doesn’t sit right. You wish you had the mug shots of the men arrested so you could be extra sure. You feel like you have seen at least one of these men before. In particular, the one that was signing the intern’s clipboard in the attempt to steal the documents. You can’t quite seem to place where you saw him though.

---

Dice Pool Limit: 4
I need one success to have your memory jogged.

Thalia listens to Dylan's account of all the work he's been doing in just a few short hours with a sense of astonishment. It makes her tired just hearing about it, until she realizes that she herself has fought several men hand-to-hand, been thrown across the street through a shop window, temporarily deafened, and stuck looking through files in while detained by police today. Maybe she's just actually tired.

She accepts the apologies with warmth and good grace and, in Cyn's case, another hug, telling each that she's just glad to have their help and support. "And a little wine is a small price to pay for that," she adds.

Looking at the photographs isn't helping. You know you've seen one of the men from the attack before but they aren't in those photos. You sit back on the couch as Cynthia and Dylan talk and try to remember why his face was so familiar. It takes a few minutes but it suddenly dawns on you. The mall. The guys that were following you after the meeting with Kate Lawson. The man with the clipboard was the same one that you briefly locked eyes with inside the mall. You're fairly certain that one of the men loading boxes was the other dark suited man that tailed you to the mall.

Looking over Cynthia's photographs you know that Kate Lawson's men were high grade professionals. If they hadn't given up the chase and walked out as a group, or if Cynthia hadn't actively been looking for them, it is likely no one would have noticed they were there in the first place. The men that tailed you to the mall and attacked you yesterday were not the same quality of hired help. Whoever put this tail on you has access to high tech weaponry but apparently doesn't have the espionage resources or tact of Kate Lawson.

Thalia rubs her forehead and explains to Dylan and Cyn when she finally remembers where she's seen the man with the clipboard.

"I thought things were complicated when I was assuming that Kate Lawson was the one interfering in the investigation, but now..." She shakes her head. "So I've got a rich, powerful control freak underwriting the investigation and trying to keep all the information under wraps, and then an unknown rich and powerful person trying to steal that same information. Presumably, that person's interests are directly in conflict with Kate Lawson's. And I'm caught in between them, trying to find the truth."

She sighs and adds, "I have a feeling the danger is just going to escalate from here. We all need to start being a lot more careful."

The night goes on and everyone tries to relax a little despite the grim warning of escalating danger. Dylan eventually calls a cab and wishes you both a good night. Cyn opts to sleep on your couch. You find her there snoring the next morning.

The student workers show up bright and early to get to work on Andew Lawson’s documents. You take them into your offices and show them boxes upon boxes of files. Surprisingly, they don’t seem all that deterred. You only have them for the day, so you’ll have to prioritize exactly what you want each one looking for. It would be nice to have every individual written word analyzed, but it is neither practical or necessary. From your scanning over the documents yesterday, at least seven of those notebooks are devoted to Andrew’s reviews of popular TV shows. The guy needed to document every thought that came into his head, it seems. Best not to torture this poor college kids working for college credit and minimum wage.

Once they are put to work, it is time to develop a game plan for the day. Your body still aches terribly from the battle yesterday, but you also feel motivated to get to the bottom of this whole mess before things get even more ugly. You're a little surprised that Eddie Ramirez hasn't checked in with you yet but it doesn't necessarily mean something bad had happened to him or Reuben. He's a pro and you don't know his ability to stay safe while doing the job. You could check in with Kate Lawson as well. Although that is sure to be even more unpleasant then last time.

Thalia carts over a folding card table and three mismatched folding chairs from her apartment to provide workspace in her office in addition to the desk and battered oblong folding table already in there.

She works quickly, having made extensive notes and prioritized lists during yesterday's fishing expedition. Instructing the students on which files to look for in each box, the four of them use the desk and card table surfaces to organize specialized piles. The oblong table is where the students will do their work.

"All right, there are three areas I want to get a deeper dive into. Victor, this pile here contains all the notes and documents pertaining to the development of the mucous and its chemical composition. I'd like to have a linear timeline of the evolution of the mucous, particularly as related to the three working prototypes. Document all the changes that were made to it from the first of these prototypes to as of the date of the murders.

"David, this pile contains a bunch of photos of the three relevant prototypes, as well as relevant notes about their functionality and some carefully selected crime scene photos focusing on the sucker markings on the victims. I'm sorry about that, I did limit the number of those. I want you to focus on how each prototype was designed to work, comparing it to your knowledge of how an actual octopus tentacle works, and to see if those marks on the victims match up to how the various prototype tentacles were designed to work."

She turns to Danielle, the criminology student. "These are the notes that I took yesterday, examining the logic of the conclusions drawn by the police and the arguments made by the prosecution, in view of the evidence in these boxes. I want you to analyze these crime scene reports, photographs, and selections of the trial transcripts with these questions in mind. Look for anything the cops took for granted or seemed to handwave instead of asking the obvious or logical questions. Look for leads that were left unfollowed. Make me a list of everything that even seems to smell slightly funny."

The students thus given their marching orders, Thalia returns to her apartment. Cyn is up now, making coffee and rifling through the cabinets. "Don't you have any bread?"

"Fridge," Thalia says simply. "Hey, if you can manage it, could you stick around here for a while just to kind of keep an eye on those kids in my office? You know, in case they need anything?" Of course, the main reason she's asking is so that she can leave the building without worrying that whomever is after Thalia will find Cynthia a convenient target at her own apartment, but Cyn doesn't need to know that.

Before leaving her apartment, Thalia places a call to Eddie Ramirez. Predictably, she gets his answering machine, but she knows he checks it frequently. She leaves a message giving her home number and asks Cyn to make sure she answers any calls.

She then calls Jamal. "Hey, I have something I'd like your opinion on. Okay if I come by in a bit?"

"In the middle of the night?" Jamal demands groggily.

"It's almost ten a.m., you slacker. Get up and dressed. You're gonna want to see this."

Finally, she opens her entryway closet, digging around until she finds what she's looking for: a tennis racket in a zippered Spaulding cover. She removes the racket, setting it against the wall, and leaves the apartment with the empty cover.

She crosses the street to Stan's Stereos, where the front window has been carefully boarded up. A sign proclaiming, YES, We're OPEN is taped to the plywood.

"Hey, Stan," she says, pushing ahead before he can start to say whatever's about to come out of his mouth - which, judging from the look on his face, was not going to be charitable. "I know, I'm not your favorite person today, but I came over to apologize for all this--" She waves a hand to generally indicate the window. "--and to say that I'm currently in the market for a stereo system. Put me together something under, say, five hundred dollars, okay? I'll pick it up later today. Also..."

She leans over the counter and says, more quietly, "Do you still have that item I asked you to put on hold yesterday?"

Stan nods slowly. He looks less upset with her now that she's pledged to become a paying customer, but his expression regarding the sonic whatsis is disapproving.

She flops the empty tennis racket onto the counter. "Could you wrap it up for me, please?"

Once she has the sonic whatsis Spauldingized, she walks around the corner to her car, gets in, and heads to Jamal's.

Cynthia grabs the bread and pops two slices into the toaster. "Hey, you don’t have to tell me twice. I have no problem with laying around eating your food and watching the Price is Right." She puts on a more serious face. "You be careful out there today. I don’t think either one of us can handle another day like yesterday. Admittedly, you had the worst of it. I don’t think I really have to persuade you not to get into any more techno-gun fights... just be careful."

---

Jamal sits at his workbench hunched over the sonic whatsis. It only took him a few minutes to solder together some wires with the appropriate connection needed to charge the device back up. After making sure it works he disconnects the charger and picks up a screwdriver. He deftly dissembles the device so he can get a look at its insides.

He reaches into a nearby drawer and pulls out a pair of jewelers glasses with a mounted light and lets out an impressed whistle. "This is something else, Thalia. Please tell me I’m not handling stolen government property here. I’ve read about how they have been looking into developing non-lethal sonic weapons that could be issued to cops nationwide. This is the first time I have seen anything resembling a working prototype though." His eyes squint as he pokes around a bit more at the insides of the device. "This isn't a prototype, is it? Have you... no you wouldn’t." He raises the glasses to the top of his head. "You have used it, haven’t you!?"

Jamal sits with jaw dropped as you recount the tale of yesterday’s battle and everything that the sonic whatsis was able to dish out.

"While you did a great job learning how to use this on the fly, I actually think you missed some of the functions. See this circuit board leader to these metal bits here, here, and here?"

He spins each of the dials back to their lowest levels and switches his grip on the sonic whatsis so he is able to get fingers on each of the metal plates at once. It is an awkward and unintuitive way of holding the device. More akin to how you would hold a pen then a weapon. But when he does it, a light on the device changes from red to blue.

"You can do a lot with sound. I can’t be certain without testing it, but I think this mode could be used to induce a number of undesirable effects on the target. The range when in this mode is considerably smaller than the offensive blasts. You’d probably have to hold the thing right up against their temple, but I think this could be used to induce dizziness, migraine headaches, temporary blindness, confusion, memory loss... In the right hands, this thing could really wreak havoc on someone’s head."

Thalia promises Cyn that she'll be careful. Of course, she's always careful. It's just that sometimes it doesn't help.Thalia shudders when Jamal mentions blindness. She tries not to talk about it, but she's always very aware that what "super powers" she possesses depend entirely on her being able to see.

"Would all the effects be temporary? I used it full blast in the 'red mode' and didn't kill anyone. Do you think 'blue mode' would be the same?"

She gives him a brief rundown of what she's gleaned from her examination of the Lawson case files. "If the people who made this gun - or at least, the people who are sending out goons armed with them - are also responsible for the murders Lawson was framed for, they might have used one of these in blue mode to subdue the father. They might have used one on Andrew Lawson to mess with his memory and make him confused. Well, I think a certain amount of general confusion is his default, but still."

She ponders the gun some more. "You think there's any way to trace this back to its manufacturer? Is there anything that would serve as some kind of signature? I need some bread crumbs here, Jamal."

Remembering something, she laughs and says, "And before I forget to mention it, your Extend-O-Ladder performed beautifully. I take back every stupid objection I made when you forced me to take it."

"By design, the device is limited to only inflict temporary impairment. In theory it could be used to induce permanent disability but the design automatically switches back to ‘red mode’ if the user turns up any of the dials. They put a lot of work into making sure it is all but impossible to bypass this security feature, but that doesn’t mean it can't be done. Knowing that something like this is out in the hands of unknown operatives does not make me feel safe.

"As far as I can tell, using this device to induce side effects on someone would be nearly undetectable. No chemical trace in their bloodstreams to look for. Maybe, and this is a big maybe, they could see something in an MRI. Any passage of time would make it more difficult though. As for tracing the device itself."

He slides the jewelers glasses back into place and turns the light back on. It was obvious there was no serial number or anything stamped into the sonic whatsis. Jamal pokes around a bit at the insides but ultimately comes up with a frown. "Everything on this thing is custom. Fabricated in house. In my experience that rules out both government and independent super geniuses like me, Angelo Cortez, or even guys like Andrew Lawson. No brag intended. Governments outsource as much as they can. Everything they make has to be labeled and have a serial number. Guys like me tend to put stuff together from whatever we have laying around. Re-purposing mass produced tech into ways that no one thought of before. Every tiny little piece of this device is custom made.

"You said you’re neck deep in Lloyd Laboratories business with Kate Lawson, right? They are the exact type of multinational corporation with the money and resources to produce this. It's a good thing you have an inside source that might be able to tell you who was working on something like this. I just hope you can trust her."

Jamal gets a big wide smile on his face when you compliment him on the Extend-O-Ladder. "Now that is more like it. I hope you won’t roll your eyes next time I try to help you out. But seriously, Thalia, I’m glad I could help. And I want to thank you again for getting me in touch with that PI in Chicago. He’s got a few ideas about what might be going on. I really think he’s going to make a difference. For that, I cannot thank you enough."

Thalia puts a hand on Jamal's arm and smiles. "I'm so glad to hear that Marshall's going to be able to help you. I was about to ask if you'd talked to him yet. Keep me posted on his progress."

Jamal's description of the failsafes built into the sonic gun to prevent permanent damage to the victim in the "blue mode" offers Thalia a small measure of relief, although he's right - if someone is determined to get around the failsafe, they'll find a way. Her best bet in terms of her own safety is to avoid letting anyone get close enough to put that thing against her head.

Well, it's good to have goals.

In the meantime, her only shot at determining if someone's been attacked with the "blue mode" is getting them into an MRI machine and hoping it left a discernible trace. Not promising.

And she's not terribly thrilled that the only bread crumbs he can offer lead her back to Kate Lawson. "Yeah, it's starting to look like I'll have to circle back to Kate Lawson if I'm going to find out more about this gun. And no, I don't trust her one bit. Her one and only priority is the protection of her career and reputation, and I think she sacrificed her own brother on that altar. She won't even blink before serving me up in the same way."

She makes a brisk sigh and slaps her thighs with both hands, rising. Leaning down to give Jamal a peck on the cheek, she says, "Thanks as always. You can hang on to this thing if you'd like to do more tests, but make sure no one sees it, okay? I don't want to find out I painted a target on your back."

She leaves his apartment and drives out of his neighborhood before pulling over at a pay phone. She dials Kate Lawson's private number. When it's answered, she doesn't identify herself or engage in any preamble. "We need to meet, and I'd like a little more egalitarian arrangement this time. I want the same amount of autonomy as you - the ability to end the meeting whenever I want. And as soon as possible. Time is probably of the essence, as usual."

There is a long pause before Kate responds. "Stay where you are. Someone will pick you up in 10 minutes," and she hangs up. Not quite what you were looking for. A little over six minutes later a black luxury sedan pulls to a stop by the phone booth. No one gets out to let you in this time. A window rolls down and you recognize the man from Cyn's photographs. His San Espero University hoodie is replaced with a fine suit. "You said time was of the essence. Either get in the car or follow us in yours. We’ll take you to Mrs. Lawson."

Another 10 minutes go by and you find yourself sitting at a red light. Looking out the window you see Kate Lawson in the car next to you. She motions you over. If you took the ride, then you simply need to switch cars. If you took your own car, then one of Kate’s men comes around and is ready to take over driving yours. He lets you know that he’ll stay right behind Mrs. Lawson’s car and you don’t have a thing to worry about.

"Sorry about all the swapping. I hope you’ll believe me when I tell you this was done in the interest of time saving and not because of a lack of trust in you," Kate Lawson says in her trademark no nonsense voice. "The terms you suggested are acceptable. I just hope you don’t forget that you are working for me and not the other way around. Now, what do you have to tell me, Ms. Trimble."

Thalia chooses to drive her own car; she'd taken a stand about autonomy, after all. When Kate motions her over to her car, Thalia is just about to say something like, "Sorry, I'm a bit busy driving right now," but is startled by a rapping knock on her driver's side window. She lets the man open the door to let her out and feels a slight pang of worry as he impatiently adjusts the seat waaay back before he can get in.

It's not that she's worried about his driving. It's that there are a few customizations to the car - courtesy of Jamal - that she's hoping he doesn't stumble upon accidentally. "Whatever you do, don't turn on the hazard lights," she yells, but a car behind them honks and she's pretty sure he didn't hear."No problem," Thalia says, waving off the apology. "And I'm glad to hear that you trust me. You've probably noticed that I kept my little adventure yesterday out of the media completely. The Lawson name is safe so far.

"But I'll be honest - I'm a little worried about some things. Somebody figured out that I had requested your brother's case files from his trial attorney. They knew when the files were going to be delivered, and they mocked up a fancy cargo van with my DBA to fool the delivery guy. Fireworks ensued, as you know, and I kept the files secure. But the lawyer and I were cagey about the file transfer, so I'm concerned about how whoever tried to steal them even knew they were being sent to me.

"Another thing: Whoever did that is super well-funded. They sent so many guys on that job that I'm actually kind of flattered by it. But more to the point, these goons were heavily armed with the most Jetson kind of crap I've ever seen, and absolutely no sign of any logos or serial numbers on any square inch of it. So best guess: someone at Lloyd Labs is desperate to get hold of your brother's case files, and probably because they want to trash your career. How am I doing so far?"

For just a moment, you almost see a little hint of a smile from Kate Lawson. "It would appear I put my money on the right horse. I have no doubt that the men that came after you were hired by a colleague of mine. Lloyd Laboratories is a very cutthroat corporation. To be perfectly frank; they encourage this type of... rivalry. The type of public action that happened yesterday, however, is strictly not tolerated. Rest assured, my superiors are doing their own investigation into what happened yesterday and the instigator will be dealt with. Harshly.

"Cute stunt you pulled at the police station, by the way. And kudos to your lawyer friend. His arguments to keep this mess as quiet as possible were very convincing. I believe the money I wired over prior to him speaking with anyone helped a bit, though. You don’t have to tell him that. Men can seldom deal with the blow to their egos that comes with learning they aren't responsible for their supposed victories.

"On the matter of someone finding out about the document transfer and you being attacked... I made a mistake. I am followed every second of every day but my enemies. I knew you would be followed after our meetings and have no doubt your phone and apartment are tapped.

"I did not believe any of my colleagues would go after you. You are now a known associate of mine, and any harm that befell you would be an obvious attack on myself. For this reason, I did not believe my colleagues would go after you; just as I did not think they would go after Andrew in the way they did. The games we play at Lloyd Laboratories favor subtlety and tact. Obvious and direct action is usually not taken. I owe you an apology for my misjudgment. And one to Andrew as well.

"It is now painfully clear to me that someone I work with is behind all of this. It seems that they got sloppy when they framed Andrew and now fear the truth getting out. If they were willing to make such a bold public attack, I have no doubt the information you hold will be enough for me to take this foe down for good.

"I am going to need you to turn over all the documents and tell me everything you know and everything you suspect about who did this and how they did it. After that, your part in this investigation is complete and a bonus that you will find to be more then adequate will be wired to your account."

Thalia can feel her body temperature plummeting as Kate's story slowly turns her blood ice cold in her veins.

"Hang on, slow down. You're telling me that my apartment, my office, and my phones are bugged? You expected me to be followed - so I would assume you also expected them to tap my phones - and you didn't warn me? And how could you possibly think they wouldn't come after me? The fact that they successfully got your brother convicted of murder wasn't enough of a demonstration of how far they're willing to go? Are you crazy, or just criminally self-involved?"

She manages to bite off the rest of what she's about to say, since calling Kate Lawson every name she can think of is unlikely to yield anything productive. It's an effort, because Thalia is scared - not just for herself, but for all the innocents she's inadvertently put in harm's way by involving them in this case. Cyn, Jamal. Dylan. Three college kids.

Oh, and Eddie Ramirez. And Reuben Phillips, a high school kid. Crap.

Taking a deep breath, as much to demonstrate to Kate that she's exercising self-control as to actually calm herself down, she starts over. "Look, you're right about Andrew's frame-up. It was very sloppy, with enough holes that you could use it to drain spaghetti. But that's the scary part - they didn't have to worry about whether the story made sense. They got Andrew arrested, charged, tried, and convicted anyway, which means they bought people in the PD, the DA's office, and quite possibly the jury or the even the judiciary. If they're now worried about the truth coming out, Kate, then it doesn't matter how much money you wire to my account. I'm going to be a target, because I've seen the files.

"I know you like to maintain the illusion of being in total control of your life and your immediate environment, but you need to recognize that your rival isn't playing by the same rules anymore. If they feel safe attacking your brother, or another of your 'known associates' like me, there is absolutely no reason for you to feel safe from attack yourself. And I don't just mean some kind of chess gambit thing like you're used to dealing with. I'm talking legal jeopardy, physical jeopardy. And your superiors are either allowing this, or they are powerless to stop it."

She looks Kate square in the eye. "I think the only shot we have of surviving this is to work together. You've seen how I work; I'm resourceful, and I can think on my feet. If you'd hired me during Andrew's murder investigation, I could have given you the leverage you needed to sink it before it even got to trial. So I propose that you lean into that trust you say you have in me and come clean. Tell me everything - the name of this rival, what he might have on you, all of it."

Kate tries to maintain a stoic expression but you are able to pick up on tiny flickers of emotion. Anger. Embarrassment. Hope. Putting everything else about her aside, Kate Lawson is a realist in many ways. She sees the truth of what you have said and ultimately has to swallow her pride.

"If I knew exactly who it was then we wouldn’t be sitting here having this discussion, Ms. Trimble. You are right, though. I am too close to this and you have proven yourself remarkably talented and resourceful. I am putting a lot of trust in you right now. I hope you realize how significant that is.

"As you know, I am the head of Research and Development at Lloyd Laboratories. I have access to notes on every single piece of proprietary information documented by this company and its employees. The technology that went into the sonic weapons used against you is primarily the combination of the work of two individuals: Arthur Fisher and Martha Bradford.

"Fisher personally developed the offensive capabilities. He is a gifted scientist and does not usually get involved in the politics of Lloyd Laboratories. Bradford used to lead the team developing tools to manipulate the human mind. We have never seen eye to eye. Her team submitted a working prototype that was much more devastating than the one used against you. I know you have a low opinion of my morals, but I do have limits.

"I assigned Fisher to combine the two devices and put in place the security limits that kept the capabilities of Bradford’s device within... humane levels. In addition, I successfully petitioned for a change in leadership of Bradford’s department. I didn’t want to risk her undoing the limits I put in place. She was moved to a must less prestigious division and in retaliation she had Fisher transferred to work under her. She makes sure he suffers every day under mountains of red tape and is never able to pursue the projects he is passionate about.

"The changes I had Fisher put into place made the manufacturing costs for the device skyrocket. No longer cost efficient, the project was cancelled.

"I looked into the one working prototype we have in storage. It is safe and secure. Just like the blueprints, it has not been checked out or accessed by anyone since the project was stopped several years ago. There is no way these weapons could exist without the involvement of Bradford and/or Fisher. If they aren’t responsible for all of this, they are certainly aiding the culprit."

It's a relief when Kate starts to share her information so freely. Thalia is still terrified for all the people she's involved in this mess, but at least she's no longer fighting her own underwriter in addition to the bad guys.

Lacing her fingers and resting her hands atop her head, Thalia closes her eyes, trying to organize her thoughts as Kate explains what she knows. "All right, thank you. Having some inside perspective on this helps me a lot. Now, I have a bunch of questions.

"First: if the working prototype and the blueprints have been secure for years at Lloyd Labs, does that mean that Fisher or Bradford could have blueprints of their own? If so, is it possible they could have manufactured a small battalion's worth of the things at Lloyd Labs without anyone knowing? If not, where else in town do you think they could have gotten them made?

"Second: When they decided to start making these guns, why would they have included the safety restrictions you ordered that made them so expensive and got the project killed? It seems like Bradford, at least, would have reverted to her earlier design that had no humane limits. I mean, if you're going to make an illicit product of a project that's been eighty-sixed, why not go for broke and make the ethical nightmare you originally envisioned, right?

"Third: What made you decide to combine Fisher's and Bradford's projects into a single device? It seems to me that the sonic weapon would have made a solid product that could have made Lloyd a ton of money. You obviously have a brilliant mind for R&D, so you had to know that the changes you ordered were going to make the device too pricey to produce. Why not leave the projects separate, force the safety changes onto Bradford's device, and kill that project alone?

"Oh, and there's another thing you might not realize: someone at Lloyd Labs took possession of Andrew's working Sticky Gripper prototypes. I'm assuming it wasn't you, just because it's logical to think that it's the same person or persons behind his frame-up. Is there a way for you to find out where those are being stored?"

She pauses, not to give Kate a chance to answer yet, but because the next item is more personal for her, and more galling to talk about. "Look, I'm unique in my field, and I'm great at what I do. But I'm a one-woman show. I have a tiny office that I run alone across the hall from my one-bedroom apartment. I don't have a security team or an alarm system, and until now I've never even thought about needing them. I'm worried because a person in my business gets things done by consulting sources and exchanging favors and information.

"What I'm saying is, in the course of working this case, I've had to involve other people. I've called them on my phones, I've talked to them in my office and my apartment. If my places are wired, the bad guys already know everything I knew before getting into this car. And they know everyone who's heard any part of it from me."

It kills her to say the next part, and she has to stare straight ahead at the back of the front seat just to choke it out. "I can't protect them; I don't have the resources. But you do." She sighs. "I'm going to need your help with that."

Kate’s responses to each question:

First:
"In theory, all blueprints are required to remain on site. If someone wants it bad enough, they could get the blueprints out. The fact that yesterday was the first time that I am aware of this device turning up outside of Lloyd Laboratories is a good indication that a rival firm is not wholesale manufacturing them.

"It would be very difficult to get as many as they had made inside Lloyd Laboratories without anyone noticing. One, no problem. Getting that one outside Lloyd Laboratories undetected; difficult but not impossible. If I were behind this, I’d have 100 different firms working on 100 different parts and assembling it in a private lab. This would further add to the costs which is troubling. It would mean someone with greater resources then myself is involved."

Second:
"This is why Bradford is my top suspect. She is a brilliant manager but has little in the way of engineering or scientific gifts. With enough time, you can explain complex mechanics to her but it is not her strength. She is a master in extracting the full potential of those that are gifted. I made sure no copies of her department’s original device or their research were allowed to exist. The only blueprint she could have snuck out of here was for the handicapped version."

Third:
"Because the goal was to kill both projects. I can only control a project until prototypes are finalized and it is certified gold. It is inevitable that the safety changes I made to Bradford’s device will be undone. Having the project buried was the best available option to delay that as long as possible. Rolling Fisher’s project into that was acceptable collateral damage which ensured Bradford would be stopped before it was out of my hands."

Sticky Gripper:
"I know exactly where they are stored. I personally checked those two prototypes into storage and I am the only individual with any record of entering that room since. I am aware of one more prototype but have been unable to locate it, despite my best efforts. The kid who was in possession of it keeps changing his story. First he said it was stolen, then he said he destroyed it. I can’t find a trace of it either way. If it was the murder weapon, I have no doubts that is has now been destroyed. Why would one hold onto that evidence?"

Upon your request you can see Kate doing mental calculations. "My men are good but they are not invisible. This will let the enemy know that we are scared and could lead to them taking more bold actions. Not warning you about the bugs and enemies following you was a calculated risk. I didn’t want anyone to think what you were doing was of any particular importance to me. We are now far beyond that. Get me a list of names and I’ll make sure they are as safe as I can make them. Personally, I think it is best to keep everyone as in the dark about this as possible, but I will leave it up to you whether you tell you're friends about my men watching over them."

Kate's explanation about the security of the blueprints makes sense. The kind of ultra-smart people recruited by Lloyd Labs could be hindered by strict security protocols, but not easily stopped entirely. With enough determination - and especially, with enough money - such people can always find a way around obstacles.

"Yeah, the funding consideration is especially concerning. Unless Bradford's net worth is far beyond your own, and you haven't mentioned anything about her being independently wealthy or the daughter of a billionaire, then it seems likely that someone else is bankrolling this endeavor. So the next question is: do you have another enemy who is rich enough to pour this kind of capital into a campaign to drag you down? Someone who'd stop at nothing, including murders and jailing of innocent people, to ruin your life?"

When Kate agrees to protect the people Thalia has involved in the case, she breathes a secret sigh of relief and writes down all the names: Cyn, Jamal, and Dylan; the college students Victor, David, and Danielle; even Richard Selmer, the intern she'd sent with a note to Eddie. Hmm...

"This last guy, Selmer - I gave him a phone number to call to leave a message with a tracer I sometimes subcontract, Eddie Ramirez. The instructions were for him to find and keep track of Reuben Phillips, the kid with the outstanding prototype. I don't know whether Richard managed to leave the phone message, but he did the other things I asked him to do, so I'm assuming he did. But I haven't heard back from Eddie yet. I'm not unduly concerned, because I did tell Eddie to only talk to me directly, no messages. But now I think I need to make talking to him a priority. I'll let you know if I need to add him or Reuben to this list.

"As for me, I think you should forego putting any of your goons... sorry, your men on me. If we leave my bugs in place and I'm moving around unprotected, maybe the enemy will focus on me and not put your men to the test where my friends are concerned. Speaking of communications, I'll probably need to get set up with a pager. I'll leave my phones tapped, but that doesn't mean I want them hearing all my phone calls." If Kate has any help to provide on this communications hurdle, Thalia will most definitely accept.

Kate has to hold back a laugh when you ask if she has any enemies that could fund this campaign. "Only every executive and the entire board of directors of Lloyd Laboratories. I’m sorry if that doesn’t narrow it down at all. As the head of Research and Development, I am a prime contender to move up the chain of command. My superiors fear me as much as I fear them.

"It’s kind of funny when you think about it. For all the progress man claims to have made, here I am fighting with people who think themselves kings and queens. I believe taking out their pawns is our best course of action." Kate seems happy with herself regarding the metaphor. Completely oblivious to the fact that in this metaphor you would be considered a pawn worthy of the other side taking out.

Kate reads over the names you wrote down and presses a button to roll down the tented glass between you and the driver. She hands the list to the bodyguard riding shotgun. He gives an affirmative nod that he understands the assignment. She leaves the divider down as the two of you discuss security. You have no doubt the two men in the front of the car have been listening this whole time. If anything, keeping the divider down only drops the illusion of privacy. When you mention the need for a pager, Kate snaps her fingers in the direction of the passenger. He gives a look to the driver and they unclip a pager from their belt and hand it to Kate.

She gives you the device. It is a relatively normal looking pager. "Add 4494 to the end of the number you use to reach me and you will be redirected to a payphone which one of my men will answer. I have them standing by payphones throughout the city 24/7 on a rotating basis. You can leave messages with them and they will securely transfer them to me. Before you call, hold the pager up to the receiver and press that button for 5 seconds. If you hear a tone, hang up the phone and find another. It indicates with 99.9% accuracy when a line has been bugged. It doesn’t prevent signals from being intercepted elsewhere, but it is the best I can do.

"If I need to contact you, I’ll page you a number. Only respond from a payphone after checking for bugs. It is still not as fast as an open line, but quicker then these in person meetings while being nearly as secure."

Thalia stares at Kate as she nearly laughs - laughs - at the admission that there are too many people she can think of to narrow it down when it comes to being both super-rich and willing to kill innocent people to achieve career goals. She shakes her head in disbelief. "You know, I really don't give a flying fig about how the other half lives, except for when it has a direct bearing on how my half lives... and dies. You might try thinking a little more about the welfare of all us 'pawns,' Kate. You and your cronies may very well be the ones determining which way the world spins, but all the rest of us are what actually makes the turning happen."

The revelation that the privacy screen was mostly for show only confirms what Thalia had been assuming all along. People playing at Kate Lawson's level have clearly made their peace with the ubiquity of listening devices, and Thalia hadn't really been able to picture Kate regurgitating their conversation for the purpose of giving her goons their marching orders. At least now they were all dispensing with the fiction of privacy.

She accepts the pager and listens carefully, if with some level of horrified amusement, to all the instructions and explanations of the tech. "Thanks. You can let me out at the next intersection. Have the guy in my car pull into that gas station lot up there. And do me another favor - tell your guys to let me know if anything happens with any of my friends. Anything weird, even if they prevent it from happening, I want to know about it."

Once she's back behind the wheel of her own car, Thalia drives around aimlessly for a while, looking for signs of a tail. She doesn't see any. Finally, she pulls over and walks a block to a tavern. There's a payphone outside, about ten feet from the entrance. Time to test out the new toy.

She lifts the receiver, holds up the pager, and presses the button as instructed. There is no tone. She dials Emilia Howard's number and gives her the pager number. "Just in case you have any reason to get in touch with me, use this number until further notice. Oh, and by the way, thanks for sending Dylan my way. He's been a big help."

When that call is done, she calls her home number. Cyn answers, but before she can say anything more than hello, Thalia says, "Boy, what a morning I've had. Nothing but headaches. It's just like that time we had with Ben Stafford, remember? But at least with him, we got him expelled."

This is a reference to Thalia's earliest "investigation," which had begun in their junior year of high school as a result of hearing about girls being blackmailed by Ben, who'd somehow gotten naked photos of them. Thalia and Cynthia had located and expose a couple of cameras hidden within walls in the girls' locker room with small holes drilled into them, and managed to unearth a chain of evidence to link it to Ben. The two of them now use Ben Stafford's name as shorthand for spying.

"Anyway, I decided to finally join the rest of the modern world, as you like to say, and got a pager. So you can now reach me no matter where I am. Here's the number." Cyn confirms that she's written it down, and Thalia pushes on. "Without going into detail - 'cause I don't have a lot of time - are you and the kids okay?"

"You’re welcome," Emilia responds. "Dylan’s the best. Been trying to convince me for years to give up the public defender gig and join his firm.... Thalia, I’m terribly sorry about everything that happened yesterday. If I had any idea someone would go to those lengths to get those documents I would have been more covert with the delivery. I wouldn't have had an intern show up at your doorstep like that. I feel like I really dropped the ball on this case and now you’re paying the price while investigating it. If there is anything I can do to help, please let me know."

---

Cynthia initially tries to go into her English butler voice when she answers the phone, but you stop her dead in her tracks. When you ask about the kids her response is dry and serious. "Good... they’re doing good. Arguing as usual. They’re playing some, uh, video game and all think they know the right way to solve the puzzle. Thankfully that is about as exciting as things are at the homestead. Oh, one more thing before I forget. Eddie, the caterer, called and said he’s willing to talk about adding reuben sandwiches to the platter but wants you to swing by and try one first. I told him you had a busy morning but could probably make it there around noon. Do you want me to come with?"

Thalia breathes a silent sigh of relief. Part of her had feared that Emilia would say, "Dylan who?"

"Don't beat yourself up about it, Emilia. I don't think either of us was aware of what we were up against in this thing. But maybe you should take Dylan up on his offer. The workload can't be any worse, right?"

---

Thalia smiles at how easily Cyn picks up on her code regarding the wiretap. "No, you should probably stay there with the kids. Tell them to stop squabbling out loud and start writing it all down instead. That should quiet things down at the homestead." With any luck, her friend will read between the lines on this cryptic statement as well as she had the other. "Anyway, I gotta run. Have a good day. I'll bring home pizza."

Hanging up, Thalia checks her watch and notes that it is, indeed, nearly noon. She walks the block back to her car, keeping an eye out for anyone who seems to be following her, and then continues that watchfulness as she drives. She takes an extra-indirect route to Eddie's office - which is really just the back room of an arcade.

Once she's sure she hasn't been tailed, Thalia finds a place to park on the street and walks into the cacophony of Game Time. There are gaming cabinets lining every wall, and more freestanding in the middle of the room. The noise, as always, sets Thalia's nerves on edge. Every kind of coin-op game available is represented, none of which interest her in the slightest at the moment as she scans the crowd of kids and people who are too old to be here, all pounding on buttons and staring into displays.

Winding her way through the maze of machines, Thalia nods to Alf, the owner of the joint, and slips into the back room to see Eddie.

Eddie is seated at his desk, leaning back with his legs up as he watches the news on a small TV that gets absolutely terrible reception. His eyes don’t stray from the TV as you enter, but he gives you a nod of acknowledgment. "So this is how we do business now, eh Thalia? You have some punk kid telling me how to spend my time and how to do my job?" A smirk slowly grows on his face as he gives you a ribbing. He has always been impressed by your skills but likes to poke fun when he has the chance. Eddie puts up a hand to stop you before you can talk.

"No matter. I did what you asked, no questions asked. I am a professional, after all." He grabs a remote control from the desk and presses a button. The static filled TV changes to a crystal clear picture of what you presume to be Reuben Phillip's bedroom. Reuben is seated at his desk and appears to be doodling. "I know you said to keep an eye on him, but I can only watch so much. You know how teenage boys are. Thank god he’s done now." Just in case things weren’t crystal clear already, Eddie does a hand motion which really pins down exactly what he didn’t want to watch Reuben doing.

"I hung around the place and kept an eye out for anyone tailing him. Nothing. No signs of anyone staking out his house either. The only bug in the place is the one I put in there. I don’t know what kind of danger you think this kid is in because I didn’t see anyone taking an interest in him. Please tell me I can take that camera out of there and never have to look at this pipsqueak again."

Pulling up a rickety chair and dropping into it, Thalia sighs and says, "No, keep it on. It's possible that I've already tipped off the bad guys about him, so chances are, things might get more interesting for the kid. Unfortunately." She frowns irritably. "So this is it? You've just been watching him in his room?"

Eddie looks a little offended and takes his legs down from upon the desk. "Come on now. What kind of amateur do you take me for? I watched the coming and goings of that whole family since I got your message. Tailed the kid everywhere he went until I could get in there and get my gadgets set up. Anytime a door opens anywhere in that house I can see exactly who opened it. Made sure I had some muscle ready to back me up if anyone made a move on the kid. Also poked around a bit inside his place while I was setting up in there."

Eddie reaches under his desk and pulls up a cardboard box which he slides across the desk to you. The box is filled with VHS cassettes. "You know, you gave me practically nothing to go off here, Thalia. I first figured the kid got in over his head with some drug dealers, until I laid eyes on him and realized he probably considers caffeine a narcotic. When I was poking around in his house I found his VHS collection and camcorder. Got me thinking he might have accidentally filmed something he wasn’t supposed to see. So I swiped the tapes, made copies, and put them back.

"You know, for all the flak I’m giving Reuben, the kid ain’t a bad little filmmaker," Eddie laughs. "Got some real Hammer vibes from his stuff." He sees you have no interest in Reuben’s skills in film and moves on. "All the tapes were complete film cuts. Except for one. One tape was blank. Like suspiciously blank. As in someone made it blank on purpose."

He can see he’s getting your attention, but once more Eddie holds up a hand for you to slow down. "Before you ask, yes of course I could recover what was originally on the tape. And no, it wasn’t that interesting. It was the uncut footage of a film he was working a while back. Monster movie about a guy turning into an octopus and losing his mind. I thought it was looking pretty good, but they were having trouble getting the tentacle prop to work. Ended up getting frustrated with it, filled it with fake blood, and tossed it into a running lawn mower!" Eddie laughs. "It looked pretty damn cool. No clue why he never cut the whole film together."

Eddie indicates the tape in question in case you want to watch it. "So we going to talk figures now? Lot of time and effort went into this operation and now it sounds like it is an ongoing assignment. I hope this has all been worth my time, Thalia."

Thalia had only been slightly sincere in her audible irritation; it's just really fun to wind Eddie up. She sits back and enjoys his torrent of complaining, thinking that he must enjoy this as much as she does, or he'd have simply given her this report to begin with.

Her interest increases abruptly when he starts talking about the videotapes. When he tells her that he recovered the images from the erased tape, she can't stop herself from sagging and breathing a sigh of relief. She scrubs her face with both hands, suddenly noticing how tired and beat-up she feels. She's pushed herself through the morning on sheer adrenaline, and it looks like that's running out now.

"Yeah, it's been worth your time, Eddie. Quote me a price for your work. Also, I need you to make copies of that tape with the tentacle - one for me, one each for a couple of attorneys, and one that I want you to stash somewhere. If anything happens to me, I'll want you to do something with it. I'll work out what and send you the instructions. In the meantime, let's have a look at the young auteur's unfinished masterpiece."

Eddie pops the tape into the VCR and hits play. While you watch the tape, he scribbles away on a notebook trying to figure out exactly how much money he thinks he can get out of you.

The tape is about 40 minutes long and has very low video and sound quality. This is to be expected considering it is recovered from erased video. Some clips are film shots for the monster movie Reuben was working on. Others contain behind the scenes footage, discussion on the film and how to shoot it, and a bunch of test footage of different props and effects. The timestamps on the footage span about a month of total time, but all of it was shot prior to the murder taking place.

The first scene in which the sticky gripper prototype appears is Reuben filming his friends' reaction to the device. They ohh and aww at how good it looks and recoil at the gross slimy texture when one of them reaches out to touch it.

There are several scenes of them trying to use the device. Sometimes it simply falls off the user mid-scene or they can’t get it to grip anything at all. There is a scene of the aftermath of the gripper being used on one of the actors. You pause it to get a good luck at the markings.

There is a series of red circular markings where the gripper was applied around the kid’s leg as the monster character tried to drag him across the ground. The markings are lighter in color and you don't see any of the bruising you noticed in the crime scene photos since the actors only wanted the gripper to latch on and not actually squeeze the life out of the kid.

They try for more takes but the gripper starts losing its ability to grip. One or two sectors will grip and the rest will sag or completely detach. Everyone becomes increasingly frustrated as the attempts rise into double digits and the next several minutes of film has them moving on to a series of different scenes that don’t involve the sticky gripper.

The gripper fails to stick for any length of time when it is tried again a few days later. This leads to a big fight between everyone. The last shots are as Eddie described.

Reuben films his friends making blood from corn syrup and food coloring which they inject into the sticky gripper. The last shot has one of the kids throwing the sticky gripper into the blades of a lawn mower and everyone erupting into cheers as it explodes into millions of pieces and fake blood rains down all over the place.

Eddie silently slides a sheet of paper with an amount on it. When he sees your reaction he sheepishly smiles, grabs the sheet of papers and erases the last 2 zeros. It is still a higher than expected amount, but at least it is in the ballpark. "Hey, you can't blame a guy for trying."

"Nope, and you can't blame a girl for balking," Thalia says, smirking. "I'll write you a check for that, but it's going to include you making those copies of this tape and delivering them, as well as the continued surveillance on Reuben. Stop whining; I don't think this is going to last very long. A few more days at most, I expect."

She writes the check for the amount without the extra two zeroes, then writes down the names and addresses of Dylan's and Emilia's offices, as well as her new pager number. "Two of those four copies of this tape go to these lawyers. Send them by courier, not by mail. Hang on to the one that's for my files, unless you've got the ability to make it while I wait, in which case I'll take it with me. The fourth one, I need you to put it somewhere safe, where no one can get to it but you.

"And this is the number for my new pager. Don't call my office or home phone until further notice. In fact, while I'm here..."

She picks up the receiver of his phone and holds her pager up to it, pressing the bug detection button. There is no tone. She hangs it up again. "I assume you sweep for bugs periodically. I suggest you increase the frequency of those sweeps until further notice. Just a precaution." She slides the check and the paper on which she's written everything toward him, putting a hand on his as he reaches for them. "And Eddie - this is serious stuff. Don't take it lightly just because this kid's clean. The fact that someone erased this tape is proof that he's been on the bad guys' radar. I just want him to stay off it from now on."

Leaving the arcade, Thalia walks the opposite direction from where she'd parked the car to get a sense of whether a tail had tracked her down. She doesn't see any signs of surveillance, so she ducks into an alley and doubles back to her car. She drives out of the neighborhood, still taking random, unexpected turns, verifying that no one's following the car. Eventually, she pulls off to access another payphone. After checking that it's clean of bugs, she calls her home number.

"Hey, Cyn! Turns out I missed lunch, so instead of bringing pizza home, let's take the kids out for it. Meet me at Giovanni's in twenty minutes. So much better than the Flying Pie. Okay? Oh, and tell them to bring all the pictures they drew today."

This isn't a prearranged code, but Thalia is hoping that Cynthia will think about the fact that Giovanni's is at least a forty minute drive from Thalia's apartment, while the Flying Pie is just a ten-minute walk.

Also, the Flying Pie makes way better pizza.

Eddie mockingly rolls his eyes as you detail what you need him to do. "You want me to get your dry cleaning while I’m at it?" It will take some time for him to get everything done, so you’ll have to get your copy at a later date.

Cynthia and ‘the kids’ have already gotten a table by the time you walk through the front doors of the Flying Pie. The college students are very animatedly arguing with one another while Cynthia rubs her temples. She spots you and jumps up from her seat to rush over and greet you.

"You. Owe. Me. Please tell me we weren’t this annoying when we were in college." The student workers are being a little loud, but luckily the place is deserted this early before a proper dinner time. The owner seems to be the only one working and he’s busy in the back tossing dough into the air.

You take a seat at the table and the student workers eagerly start to divulge what they found. Now that you’re at the table they take things a bit more seriously and talk in hushed voices like they are playing at being spies. They give you their detailed notes indicating where the information can be found in the source documents in case you want to check things out for yourself when you get back to the office.

Thalia smirks. "Well... I wasn't."

Once the kids settle down into reporting mode, Thalia is impressed with the quality of their analysis. They clearly have taken the assignment seriously, following her instructions on what she was looking for with diligence and intelligence. She asks some clarifying and follow-up questions, mostly to test their command of the material, and she isn't disappointed. She accepts their notes gratefully, and she gives each of them fifty dollars on top of what they'd been promised. She also gives each of them one of her business cards, with her office phone crossed out and the new pager number written below it. "In case you think of anything else you want to tell me, or if anything comes up that has you worried. And Danielle," she tells the criminology major, "I may have more work for you down the road. You showed a great aptitude for sniffing out a story that makes no sense."

Throughout the meal and conversation, Thalia keeps an eye out for anyone who seems to be paying too much - or too little - attention to the group, but she doesn't catch sight of anyone.

The students take their leave and Thalia catches Cyn up on the latest developments, which are considerable. The only thing she leaves out is the fact that she asked Kate Lawson to provide protection for Cyn and the others. "Keep in mind that my phones are tapped, so if you call me on them or leave any messages, you have to be circumspect. Also, I should probably pay you a visit at your place sometime to check out your line, but then maybe my showing up there now would just make it more likely they'd tap yours if they already haven't. Tell you what - anything you can't put into code, call my pager from a payphone. Pain in the butt, I know, but it's the safest thing, for the time being."

She settles the bill and gives Cyn a hug before her friend returns to Thalia's building to pick up her own car and drive home. It's about three o'clock in the afternoon, Thalia's workday is still going strong. Finding a safe payphone nearby, Thalia makes a few calls. The first is to the San Espero Penitentiary. She has to hang up and wait for twenty-three minutes for the call back, but Andrew Lawson sounds hopeful when he comes on the line.

"When I didn't hear back from you, I was afraid maybe you weren't finding anything," he confesses.

"Honestly, it's been going well. Just really busy. I've just run into a couple of things that I needed to ask you about before I proceed. The first thing is, what was the chain of events that led to you requesting that the police turn over your Sticky Gripper prototypes to Lloyd Laboratories? And the second question is, what can you tell me about Carson Chang?"

The second phone call is to Dylan Saunders. "I find myself with a preponderance of new information and no one to tell it to. Can I buy you a beer this evening? Or maybe a glass of wine? I know you have a taste for that."

Finally, Thalia calls Kate's private number with the additional 4494 suffix and tells the goon... the man who answers, "Tell your boss that I need to see the Sticky Grippers she's got stashed at Lloyd Labs. Sooner would be better."

Andrew seems a little taken back with each question. It is as if he cannot understand why either one could possibly be relevant to the investigation. "Ms. Trimble, I trust my sister more than anyone else on this planet. Despite what anyone else may say, I still believe in the practical functionality of my invention. I didn’t want it being put away in some storage locker or sold in a police auction. I knew Kate would take care of it until I could get out of this place."

After seeming a little annoyed that you would even question the trust he has in Kate, Andrew sounds quite joyful when talking about Carson Chang. "Did you talk to him? How’s he doing? I really miss spending time with that old man. He’s a retired scientist that I met a few years back. We’d frequently get together in the park to play chess and talk about what projects we were working on. I hope he’s doing well. I haven’t heard from him since... all of this trouble. If you talk to him again please let him know that he is on my allowed visitors list and I’d love to see him."

---

You can practically hear Dylan blush when you bring up the wine. "Sure thing, Thalia. I’m probably going to be stuck in the office until about six. Do you know Nathan's on Pueblo Street? Meet you there around seven?"

---

When you call Kate’s relay number the phone is answered on the third ring. "I’ll pass the message along. Stand by for a response." Not more than five minutes later the phone rings. "Parking garage one block south of Lloyd Laboratories HQ. Park on the third floor and someone will meet you at the elevator." He hangs up without waiting for a reply.

EDIT:

Thalia patiently puts up with Andrew's utter misconstruction of her reason for asking about placing his prototypes with Lloyd Labs. She hadn't actually been implying what he thought, but it's interesting that he'd read that into it and become so upset about it. She mutters an apology just to get him to move on.

When he waxes affectionate on the topic of Chang, she tells him, "I'll be sure to let him know he's welcome. He probably just thought you'd be embarrassed for him to visit you. Listen, you say you each talked about your projects. What sort of things was Carson working on? And where and when did the two of you usually play chess?"

---

"Yeah, I've been to Nathan's once or twice. See you at seven. If anything comes up, here's my new pager number." She reads it to him. "Don't call my office or home phones. They're both busted. Craziest thing."

---

Thalia finds herself still holding the receiver to her ear a few seconds after the goon - yes, goon, because the way he handled that phone call was just rude - hangs up. "You could've at least given me an expected arrival time," she grouses, putting the receiver back on the hook.

She thinks about her next move on the drive to the parking garage, deciding that she wants to check things out before complying with the instructions. She finds a parking place on the street near the garage, then pulls on a lightweight jacket from her bag - zipping it all the way up to hide her t-shirt - as well as a ball cap. She tucks her hair into the cap and puts on her disguise specs, choosing to give her dark eyes an epicanthic fold. A glance in the rearview mirror confirms that she looks like a young Asian woman with little concern for her appearance.

Walking into the garage on the first floor, she gets into the elevator and rides it to the third floor. When the doors open, she gets off the elevator and starts walking as though looking for her car. If she doesn't run into trouble, or see something that stinks of "trap!", she'll happily go back down, take off her get-up, and drive her car up to the third floor of this garage.

"Going out for a walk in the park, you know the one two blocks from my house, used to be a favorite activity of mine when I was in a brainstorming mood. Nothing like sunshine and fresh air to get those synapses firing. They have a couple of chess tables set up there for players to bring their own pieces and play on. Whenever I strolled through and Carson was there, we’d play for hours.

"Carson was mostly interested in what I was working on, to be honest. He was officially retired, but a scientist never stops thinking about their craft and he was a very gifted chemist. Come to think about it, I can’t recall him discussing any of his work in great detail. He was usually kind of vague... I think he mostly worked in pharmaceutical development? His knowledge went far beyond simple brain chemistry though. He always had tips and advice for the mucus compounds I was working on."

---

Your disguised walk through of the parking garage does not reveal any obvious traps. The place is mostly full but there are open spots here and there left by people whose work days must already be finished. Getting out of the elevator on the third floor reveals a woman in her mid thirties dressed in a pencil skirt and white button up top. She leans to the side, occasionally glancing at her watch and giving off the impression of someone who is very annoyed at having to wait around for someone to show up. You have no doubt that you are that someone she is waiting on. When she notices you, the woman gives a very brief fake smile before her scowl returns and she starts rhythmically tapping her fingers against her hip.

When you return without the disguise the woman instantaneously puts on a bright wide smile and rushes forward to shake your hand. There is no indication that she recognizes you as having previously walked through here just a few minutes ago.

"Thalia Trimble, I presume?" She directs you towards the elevator. "My name is Isabel Bell. Yes, yes. I am Bel Bell. I’ve heard it all before; let’s move on. I am Mrs. Lawson’s executive assistant. I’m told you need to see Andrew’s prototypes?"

Once the elevator doors shut, Isabel presses a blank button and a metal panel slides down revealing a second set of buttons and a visual scanner. She presses her ID badge to the scanner and then enters a 12 digit code. The elevator goes down far further then ground level, but the indicator stops updating you at G. You estimate you are at least 30 feet underground when the doors open and Isabel steps out; motioning you to follow into the slightly cold (both in temperature and appearance) white hallway.

"That's right," Thalia says. "If possible, I'd like to try them out, too. I'm hoping to get a better understanding of how they work - or even, how they don't work."

She follows Bel into the hallway, rubbing her arms a little against the sudden chill. Too bad she can't grab that jacket from her bag and put it on. "So this is a Lloyd Labs storage facility, huh?"

Isabel comes to a dead stop and gives you a look as if you just asked her to personally give you a piggyback ride to the moon. "You will absolutely not be ‘trying them out.’ No one is allowed in that room, much less allowed to touch the prototypes. They are secured as evidence in a murder trial, for goodness sake." Your powers pick up a slight variation in her voice which indicates she is not solely reciting company policy. It does not appear that she is lying. The words ring as true, but she might be withholding information about the room or the prototypes.

You continue down the long white hallway, occasionally passing windowless white doors with electronic keypads next to them. Isabel returns to her bubbly professional demeanor like she flipped a switch. "Lloyd Laboratories is a large company with a lot of projects. This is one of many storage facilities. Sometimes we joke that our facilities are connected by a more extensive tunnel system than the one used for the San Espero subway."

She finally stops outside of a door and holds up her badge to the keypad. There is an audible beep and she proceeds to enter in a number sequence with so many digits you lose track of counting them. A panel on the wall opens up to reveal a TV monitor, joystick, and a small keyboard.

The monitor gives you a visual of the room beyond the door. It is about 10’ by 10’ with two pedestals in the center, on which rest glass cases which house two sticky gripper prototypes. Isabel motions you forward to the controls which offer you a variety of cameras to switch between and the joystick to control the cameras. The video quality is high but offers a far from perfect method of inspecting the prototypes.

---

Dice Pool Limit: 5

Well, this is disappointing. Thalia had really been counting on a chance to interact with the grippers physically. She wanted to see them operating firsthand to help her make sense of the crime scene data and the findings from her own and the college students' analyses.

"I understand that they were secured as evidence, but the trial is over. Is there some expectation of an appeal or something?"

When she takes over the controls for maneuvering the cameras, she examines each of the prototypes from every possible angle, making sure to get plenty close enough to look for signs of damage from when the mother apparently tried to pry it off her husband. Perhaps there are small scratches, perhaps there are grooves. Thalia expects to find these marks on version 11 rather than on 216, since the analysis of the evidence suggests that the gripper lost effectiveness pretty quickly after the daughter's murder, and 216 has solved that problem.

"Mrs. Lawson does not feel that an appeal is in anyone’s best interest at this time. This does not negate the possibility of an appeal being made in the future. That aside, you wouldn’t expect the police to hand over a shotgun that was used in a murder just because the trial was over and you asked nicely; now would you?" Isabel has her hands on her hips and is giving you a rather incredulous look. When you glance her way, she rapidly straightens her posture and shifts back to her professional smile.

Even without getting an up close look at the prototypes, you are able to find what you are looking for using the right combination of camera angles and zooms. Version 216 looks flawless, as expected. Version 11, when inspected closely, reveals scratch marks in multiple locations. All of them are 2-4 lines of a few inches in length, and spaced out roughly finger width apart. You have no doubt in your mind that this is the murder weapon.

"Well... You’ve had quite a good look. What exactly is it that you’re trying to find here, Ms. Trimble?"

"Oh, just trying to fill some gaps in the case files. I'm being paid to be thorough in my investigation." Thalia pulls back from the
screen and looks at Isabel with a professional smile of her own. "I assume that a video was recorded by the cameras as I was examining the prototypes. I'd like a copy of it before I leave. For my records."

Isabel tilts her head to the side and scrunches her nose at you. It is the kind of look someone might give to a child or a puppy that does something cute. "Of course everything that happens on Lloyd Laboratories property is recorded. However, as I am sure will come as no surprise to you, we do not make a habit of giving out copies of said recordings to low level contracted help simply because they request it. If you would like, I can have the required paperwork for the request delivered to your office and a representative from our security team should reach out to you within 3-5 weeks of the paperwork being returned." Unfortunately, you do not detect any attempt to lie here. "Is there anything else I can assist you with, Ms. Trimble, or can I show you out?"

Thalia counters Isabel's look with one of her own, one that someone might give a grown woman who is treating them with condescension and is going to regret it. "No, actually, you can call Ms. Lawson right now and tell her that I have requested the recording of my session with these prototypes and that I need it before I leave the premises."

She makes a show of pulling out the pager Kate had given her, fiddling with it idly while making sure that Isabel recognizes it as the kind Kate gives to her security team. "Either that, or I can dial her private number and tell her myself. I think it will go better for you if you make the call, though." She gets serious then and adds, in a harder voice, "Or you can just accept that your boss has contracted me for some special work, give me what I'm asking for as part of what she is paying me to do for her, and avoid having a hard conversation with her at all."

Isabel hesitates before responding. She taps her right foot upon the ground several times as she mulls over her options. Eventually, her lips curl back into her pleasant fake smile but her eyes continue to show anger. "Ms. Trimble... How long have you known Mrs. Lawson? Two or three days? I have not come into this position because I am an incompetent and scared little girl that will bow the to threats of someone's whose greatest achievement in life is passing what I am sure is a very difficult private investigator licensing exam."

She slowly steps forward. Isabel does not move cautiously out of fear or intimidation. She takes her time strolling right up in front of you so she can look you up and down and get a real good idea of who you are and what you are capable of. "She spoiled you. Do you know how few people get to speak directly to Kate Lawson? Everyone goes through me. Everyone." The smile has completely faded and her voice is filled with anger. "I will decide if this worth her time. What did you discover just now? What did you see that was so important to your investigate? You expect me to believe that merely looking at those prototypes for 10 minutes allowed you to crack this whole case wide open?"

Thalia stands her ground, hip cocked and posture relaxed. She's faced down this sort of thing before, the attempt to make her feel small, insignificant, and wanting. Granted, it's usually a man, or someone with power and privilege. The fact that it's someone who's sort of on her own level (whether she knows it yet or not) is actually kind of refreshing.

"Look, I get it. You've spent years serving Ms. Lawson, earning her trust, learning her moods, meeting and exceeding her exacting standards. You look at me and you see some unskilled nobody scratching out a living doing low-level investigative hack work who has somehow managed to get your boss to grant an undeserved glimpse at evidence in her brother's unjust murder conviction. And I spend fifteen minutes looking at them and start throwing my weight around, demanding a video, as if I'm Nancy-freakin' Drew, showing up the police and the grownups.

"Here's the thing, Isabel. You know how stingey Ms. Lawson is with her trust. You know because you've paid your dues, come up that ladder rung by rung. I respect that, and I respect that you are doing your job, protecting your boss' interests. And it probably stings that I've somehow made it to the top of that ladder without climbing it. Without breaking confidentiality, all I can say to explain is that I was basically shot out of a cannon and landed there." She points to some of the cuts and bruises she sustained during her fight with the goons and her up-close-and-personal with the plate glass window. "Literally."

She raises her hands, palms turned upward. "I can't tell you what I saw during that examination of the prototypes because my investigation is confidential. But I can tell you that after a thorough analysis of the case files, I only needed those fifteen minutes because I knew exactly what I was looking for. Now I need photographic evidence of it so that I can help build a case that your boss can use to get her brother exonnerated. There are people who are paying a lot of money to prevent that. I can't wait three weeks for a copy of that video because, frankly, I might not still be alive in three weeks if these people have their way. I need that evidence now. So whatever you need to do to make that happen... please. I'm asking you to do it."

Isabel listens to your words carefully, though her expression remains stoic. When you wrap up she raises her hands and slowly gives you a condescending golf clap. "Very moving speech. Practicing in front of the mirror has really paid off for you. Little word of advice though: if you’re going to do the good cop/bad cop thing, it helps to have two separate people delivering each angle.

"Let me make this perfectly clear, Ms. Trimble. You have no power here. None whatsoever. You may think I am someone that can be pushed around but you would be wrong. You may think I’m being unnecessarily harsh in my treatment toward you. Again, you would be wrong. Believe it or not, I am trying to help you." You get a mixed reading from this. A partial truth that is muddied with a partial lie.

"Don’t ask about getting a recording again. It isn’t going to happen. No one at Lloyd Laboratories wants Andrew Lawson set free and that includes Kate Lawson. Does she want to find out who framed him? Of course. But you're kidding yourself if you think she's going go through the trouble of having him exonerated. All she wants from you is justification to take out her enemies.

"You are in over your head, Ms. Trimble. You have made a lot of enemies inside this company and now find yourself inside the lion den. Don’t you think it’d be best to get out before you wake the lions? This is the last time I will make this offer. Turn around and get back on the elevator."

Holding up her hands, Thalia says, "Okay, okay, I got it. Can't blame me for trying, right? It's just in my nature. If you say there's not way I'm getting a recording, I'll just have to take you at your word. One thing I don't understand, though. Why wouldn't Kate want Andrew exonerated? I would have thought having her brother proven to not be a convicted mass murderer would be a good thing for her."

Isabel visibly relaxes when you drop the pursuit of the recording. She beckons you forward and the two of you approach the elevator. "The damage has already been done to Kate Lawson’s reputation. Clearing Andrew’s name only brings old dirt to the forefront. It makes her look weak. Shows that she was bested by one of her rivals. It also makes dealing with said rival more difficult because there would be increased attention on them. She intends to kill everyone involved in framing Andrew."

She stops to press the button for the elevator, but her eyes are on you. She wants to soak in your reaction before continuing. You do not get any indicate that Isabel is lying. However, this may be her personal belief about what Kate will do, rather than direct words from Kate herself. "So what is Thalia Trimble’s best possible outcome in all of this? Complacent in the murder of Kate’s rivals, evidence that would exonerate Andrew gets buried by Kate, and you have to live the rest of your days looking over your shoulder hoping that Kate doesn’t decide to tie up lose ends."

The elevator doors open, but Isabel puts a hand across the entryway, blocking your path. "Are you ok with that? Or would you like to entertain other options?" You can see beads of sweat starting to streak down her forehead betraying her confident demeanor. She looks desperate.

Sensing that she finally might have a card to play in this encounter, Thalia maintains a relaxed posture and keeps a cool look on her face. "I'm always willing to entertain options. I would think that was obvious to you by now."

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?"

Dylan snaps his fingers when you say the name, excited to finally have his memory jogged. A moment later the realization of what that name means begins to sink in. "I am inclined to agree... You wouldn’t happen to have any other powers you’re keeping secret, would you? Like the ability to create a black hole that can take out this entire company in one clean shot?"

The dry cleaning clerk comes back a few moments later. "You guys get everything you need?" He spots the freeze framed video displaying Ivanovich. "Oh, hey. That’s Chris! He comes in all the time. Awfully clumsy with his wine. No... You don’t think he’s the mugger do, you?"

The clerk has his back to Dylan who looks incredulously at the oblivious man.

Without missing a beat, Thalia says, "Of course he's not the mugger. We found him already, thanks to you! No,we stopped on this frame because I recognized him. He lives in my building, just down the hall from me. Does he have anything here to be picked up right now?"

Dylan is having a little trouble staying in character. The fun part of the deception seems to be wearing off as the reality of what you've discovered hits him. Luckily, the dry cleaner is the overly trusting type and is all smiles as he ushers you both out front. "Yes, actually. He dropped a suit off two nights ago. Such a busy man, always orders delivery service. I was going to take it out there when I got done my shift. But if you..." Ultimately, you're not quite sure if it is naivety, laziness, or a combination of both but the dry cleaner is practically shoving the suit wrapped in plastic into your arms. A receipt is pinned to coat hanger which lists the the name Christopher Evans and his address. "Please tell Chris I appreciate his business and look forward to seeing him again soon!"

Once you are out of the dry cleaner Dylan turns to you, "I'm out. I am sorry. I want to help in any way I possibly can, but there is no way in hell I'm going to that man's apartment. What's the game plan here, Thalia? This is getting really dangerous."

Rolling her eyes and slinging Ivanovich's plastic-filmed suit over her shoulder, Thalia grabs Dylan's elbow and pulls him toward his car. "Don't be ridiculous. Of course you're not going to his apartment. Now that we know who the actual murderer was, the rest of the tentative plan has to be scrapped. It wasn't some local thug who got flustered or went rogue. If someone hired Ivanovich, they got exactly what they were paying for. So bullying the perpetrator into giving up his employer is out."

She waits for Dylan to unlock the car doors, then reaches in and hangs up Ivanovich's suit before climbing into the passenger seat. She sighs heavily, looking through the windshield at nothing. "Oh, and you're a little late realizing that this is 'getting really dangerous.' I could have told you that yesterday when I was fighting off fifteen guys with sonic blasters on the street by myself yesterday."

Resting her head back against the seat, she closes her eyes and waves a hand vaguely. "Just drive back to Nathan's and I'll walk the three blocks to my car from there. That way, if anyone's watching my car, they won't see you."

You drive in silence for most of the trip. Dylan eventually speaks. "I’m sorry. Hearing about the dangers has a distinctly different feeling then seeing it with your own eyes. I don’t know how you’re able to cope with all this." He now has his glasses back on but his hair and makeup from the Detective Saunders persona remain intact.

He pulls the car to a stop across the street from Nathan’s. The sun is fully down but this part of San Espero is lit up nearly as bright as if it were still in the sky. If you are a fan of starry nights, this light polluted city is not the ideal place to be.

"Seriously, Thalia... What are you going to do?" You notice the ‘we’ from the earlier pep talk is gone.

Thalia's mouth curves into a very faint smile as Dylan wonders aloud how she copes with being in such a dangerous situation. "It's because I'm a professional, Dylan. Believe me, if I had to argue a case in front of a jury, I'd be sweating so many bullets they wouldn't know whether to mop up or check the ballistics."

She hesitates, because despite what she just said, part of her is disappointed in him. He'd been moved by her predicament and rare moment of vulnerability to make a heroic declaration, and she'd been just tired, scared, famished, and slightly tipsy enough to have bought into it. But she'd known even in that moment that he couldn't live up to what he was promising, and she further knew that it was not anyone's fault.

"It's a matter of doing what you're made for, I think. I'm made for this, you're not. And that's just how it is." She glances at him with a glint in her eye. "I gotta say, though - you did make a killer fake police detective."

As he pulls over across from Nathan's, her hand is already on the door handle when he asks what she's going to do. She gives him a lopsided grin and gets out of the car. "Well... I promised our dry cleaner friend I'd deliver this suit." She opens the back door and removes the suit from the hook. "And that's what I'm going to do. Thanks for everything, Dylan. Call you later."

She drapes the suit over her shoulder and walks the three blocks to her car, carefully hanging it up before driving herself home. She digs her pager out of the passenger seat before getting out, checking for messages as she walks into her building.

Once she's in her apartment, she lays the suit out on her bedspread, gently removing the flimsy plastic film without damaging or stretching it out. Then she opens the jacket and inspects the suit. It's expensive - the stitching and fabric are top-notch - without being flashy, and she can see how it's been tailored to allow for wearing a gun holster and probably one or two other weapons.

She opens her closet and takes down two containers from the overhead shelf. One is recognizable as a sewing basket. The other is a metal case with a three-digit combination lock. She puts both on the bed, opening the latter first to reveal a few different gadgets nestled in gray foam padding. This is her collection of some prototypes Jamal has gifted her from time to time.

She selects a tiny microphone, transmitter, and receiver from the case, then a seam ripper from the sewing basket. With a steady hand, she carefully cuts a few threads from a seam in the lining of the suit jacket and tucks the mic and transmitter inside, making sure they are snug, with no play to create extra noise. Then she finds just the right shade of thread and painstakingly closes the gap in the seam.

When she's finished bugging the suit, she attaches a small headset to the receiver and tests the system to make sure it's transmitting, then puts the jacket back on a hanger and replaces the dry cleaner's film bag over it.

She changes clothes, trying to look like a college student moonlighting as a delivery girl, and schleps the suit back out to her car. She drives to Ivanovitch's address, puts on her cap and the disguise specs to change her eyes to a watery blue, and carries the suit to the door. She presses the buzzer at the door. The man at the front desk of the apartment building answers, and she tells him, "I have a dry cleaning delivery for Mr. Evans."

The door man smiles and motions you forward. There is a cart nearby like you might see used to move luggage in a hotel. He takes the suit, inspects it, and uses the back of his hand to flatten it out before hanging it from the top bar of the cart. He returns to the desk and retrieves a large book, which he opens and places in front of you.

"If you could please fill out the following." It is a visitor log with spots for the date, your name, address, home phone number, place of employment, work phone number, reason for visit, time in, time out, and your signature. Each entry has every single spot filled in. You imagine that the doorman will be less then pleased if you try to leave without filling it out.

"You’re not the normal one who delivers Mr. Evan's dry cleaning." There is a considerable amount of suspicion in his voice. You pick up the motivation behind this as leaning more towards boredom mixed with a desire to abuse the tiny amount of power this man holds, rather than something truly nefarious.

As you grab a pen and move to fill out your entry, a name catches your attention. Arthur Fisher. The electronics expert who designed the sonic whatsis. He is listed as having visited for a "business meeting" two days earlier at 1:15 PM. There is no check out time.

"Nope," Thalia says, putting a little edge in her voice as she fills in the form, "and believe me, my uncle's not happy about it. Regular person pulled a no call, no show, so guess who got asked to fill in? Like I needed this after putting in a full shift at my day job."

She has several different aliases that she rotates through for jobs like this. Tonight, in this moment, she is Stacey Keyes. She puts down her fake address and fake phone number - which she'd have falsified even if she weren't undercover, because that's just overreach for a visitor log anyway - and Hardy's Handy-Clean, the name of the dry cleaner business. She heaves a sigh.

"I don't have the number memorized," she says, flipping back as many pages as she needs to find the last delivery from Hardy's Handy-Clean and copying that number down. She notes the date, trying to get an idea of the frequency of Ivanovich's "wine spills."

"Oh, that’s too bad. A fine thing like you shouldn’t have to work so hard to make ends meet." The doorman leans forward and slowly looks you up and down. "I think you need a good honest man to take care of you. What do you say to grabbing drinks around midnight?"

Thankfully, you are able to locate another dry cleaner entry not too long into the creepy doorman’s pitch. The last delivery was 18 days ago. Assuming you turn the doorman down on his offer, you exit the building and return to your car to await the return of ‘Mr. Evans.’

After the past couple of days it is actually nice to have some quiet stakeout time to yourself. You’d love to recline the seat and take a power nap but resist the urge. The peace and quiet found within the confines of your car is relaxing enough for now.

You listen in for the next 90 minutes as the doorman greets several residents and attempts to hit on a Chinese delivery girl who refuses to respond beyond saying who the order is for. Finally, you hear the door man say "Good evening, Mr. Evans. Got a delivery here for you."

You hear slight rustling as the suit is lifted and turned over to Ivanovich. The enforcer thanks the doorman in a very convincing American accent and rebukes any further attempts at small talk. On the ride up the elevator you are surprised to hear the Russian whistling ‘Dancing Queen’ by ABBA. He continues this after the elevator dings and he exits.

Footsteps. Keys jingling. Door opening. Typical and expected sounds continue to be heard. After closing what your presume is his apartment door, you can hear Ivanovich use multiple deadbolts and a sliding chain lock. Nondescript sounds continue for a few minutes before you hear something that gives you goosebumps.

Ivanovich opens a door on rollers, presumably a closet, and you hear the muffled sounds of someone trying to speak. It is not clear if they are gagged or have tape over their mouth. You can hear them thrashing about and begging to be heard. Ivanovich shushes his captive and there is a metallic clink sound made from the suit being hung on on a metal bar. The closet door slides back shut and the muffled cries turn to sobbing.

Suddenly less tired but a lot more stressed, Thalia takes a few deep breaths as she assesses her situation. She has his apartment number from the dry cleaner receipt, so she could always call in an anonymous tip to the police - "I think someone's being held prisoner in apartment 423" - but she doesn't know how deep the Lloyd Laboratories corruption runs in the SEPD, and even if they sent someone, that gambit might well get the cop killed, or Fisher, or both. And it might turn Ivanovich's attention on his own neighbors, as well.

She looks across the street at the apartment building, thinking back to the one time she'd actually been beyond the lobby. It was when she was in college and working part-time delivering pizzas. She remembers the place becauseof the we ird numbering system, where all the odd numbers were to the right of the elevator, and all the even ones to the left, starting with the lowest nearest the elevator. It had made figuring out where the apartment was a pain in the butt, but memorable, and she thinks she can figure out which apartment is 423 from the outside, as a result.

She leaves the car and finds a pay phone. The first one she finds fails her pager's bug test, which unnerves her briefly. But the next one, outside of a gas station three blocks from the apartment complex, is clean.

It occurs to her suddenly that Kate might have been lying, that the pager might actually be testing for non-tapped lines so that she will think it's safe and spill all her secrets to whoever is listening, but she cuts short that trip down Paranoia Parkway really fast. She doesn't have time for this. Arthur Fisher doesn't, anyway.

From the second pay phone, she calls the phone number she'd seen on the dry cleaner receipt. When "Evans" answers, she responds in a voice she's practiced, one that's pitched in a slightly lower register than her normal speaking voice. "She wants a meeting. Marina Park, thirty minutes." And she hangs up before he can answer.

Marina Park is at least a twenty minute drive from Ivanovich's apartment. She jogs the three blocks back to the complex and gets back into her car, watching the door. She's only been back for less than a minute when Ivanovich exits the front door and gets into a nondescript dark sedan. She waits until his car is out of sight before getting out, walking across the street into the shadow of the complex, and walking around the side and toward the back. From the ground, she counts the floors and visualizes the numbering system, arriving at which fourth-floor windows belongs to 423.

She has to jump to grab the ladder to the fire escape. It comes down easily and quietly, suggesting to her that Ivanovich keeps it oiled, since she's never seen any building super that diligent. She climbs the ladder, then pads up the stairs softly until she arrives at the window. A test tells her that the window is locked, but she has a few tricks up her sleeve. Putting on a pair of gloves from her bag, she gets out the glass-cutter and plays cat burglar, cutting a round hole in the glass large enough for her arm. She reaches in and up, flicking the window lock open, then pushing carefully to raise the window high enough to allow her fingers to get under the bottom and push it up the rest of the way.

She then carefully climbs into Ivanovich's apartment.

Once you are fully inside the apartment something catches your eyes. A small black box with a red light. It is attached to the wall a couple of inches to the side of the window, out of sight to anyone from outside. You quietly move toward a window further down in the bedroom. This one also has a small back box but the light is green.

Quickly but quietly you walk across the room to the closet. There is no back box sensor on this door, but looking around you do see another one on the closed door leading from the bedroom into the rest of the apartment. It also shows a green light. You slide the closet door open and come feet to face with Arthur Fisher. He is hanging upside.

Metal bracers are strapped to his leg. From these bracers a hook reaches up to the metal closet bar and keeps him suspended in the air with his head resting just an inch or two from the carpet. His hands (held behind his back) and mouth are bound with multiple layers of duct tape. Gravity forces his shirt to sag down and reveals a number of deep purple bruises all over his midsection. There are a few cuts on his face which have dripped blood into a small puddle below him on the carpet. There are stains in multiple locations from earlier victims of similar treatment. On the shelf above the closet bar you see a sonic whatsis among many, many more conventional firearms.

Arthur’s eyes go wide with confusion at first. Ultimately, he doesn’t care who you are as long as you are not Ivanovich. He shakes vigorously and tries to shout but the words are unintelligible through the duct tape. It is pretty clear what he wants you to do though.

Thalia takes in the significance of the red light on the box by the window and curses herself mentally for not checking for an alarm. Fortunately, she left the window open, so at least she won't give away more information when they go out that way.

Assuming they get out, of course.

When she finds Arthur, she puts a finger to her lips to indicate a need for quiet. There's no doubt in her mind that the place is bugged. She quickly sizes up the latching mechanism on the bracers, then bends her knees slightly, throws an arm around Arthur's legs, and straightens her legs, taking on some of his weight. Then she flicks open the latch on the bracers, suddenly bearing the man's full weight, and lowers him to the floor as gently as possible under the confining circumstances.

Bending close to his ear, she whispers, "Arthur, I'm here to take you to safety, but you have to keep quiet and do exactly what I say, okay?"

She pulls the tape from his mouth as carefully as she can, knowing that it's going to hurt no matter how gentle she is. When that's done, she extracts a small pocket knife from her left front pocket and makes a first cut into the many layers of tape around his wrists, then rips it the rest of the way to avoid cutting him.

Again signalling him to stay quiet, she hurries to the bedroom door and opens it. The light on the box by that door turns red.

Returning to Arthur, she helps him to his feet and toward the window. "We've got to move quickly," she whispers into his ear. "I tripped an alarm on the window, so he knows someone's here. Down the fire escape as fast as you can."

She helps him climb through the window. He's clumsy from fatigue, fear, and having been subjected to punishing restraint for so long, but there's nothing she can do; her pace is going to be set by his capabilities. When he's finally through and on the fire escape, she starts through the window. She's hoping that by opening the bedroom door, Ivanovich will think they're trying to leave through the front door and come that way, rather than looking for them on the fire escape.

Arthur moves as quick as he can but it is about as fast as you expected. You have to help him each and every step of the way as he struggles to even stay on his feet. With each step he seems to gain a bit more footing as more blood starts to flow through his lower extremities. The final climb down the ladder is especially precarious. You go down first and prepare yourself to catch the injured scientist if he falls. Thankfully he is able to make it back to the safety of the tarmac, even if it takes considerably more time then you feel like you have.

While Arthur catches his breath you move to the end of the alley and check to make sure the coast is clear. It is not. The dark sedan is back and parked across the street from the apartment building. Ivanovich sits in the driver's seat looking as calm as can be while sipping on a coffee. Rather than charging in he appears to have taken the approach of letting the intruder come to him; figuring that they will eventually have to make their way back this direction. His eyes focus on the front door but he scans toward both alleyways on the sides of the building as well. You make sure you are out of sight before he can spot you.

You look back down the alleyway for other modes of escape. The other side of the alley is cut off by another building. There is a small opening between the buildings. You would have to squeeze through one by one and it would be slow going. You also spot a manhole but are unsure if you could lift it. Another option would be a nearby window in the building adjacent to Ivanovich's. It is propped open and you can hear music from a radio and smell of Italian cuisine. You believe it leads to the kitchen of a restaurant. The window is one of those small 2' by 3' foot ones that crack outward rather then slide upward. The kind you frequently see in suburban basements. Getting Arthur through there without alerting the cooks would be a challenge. The door that the restaurant uses to take out garbage has one of those steel plates which increase the difficulty of break ins. There is a doorbell next to the door; presumably to alert the staff when delivery drivers or a staff members needs to enter through the door, but the door also has a peephole.

It only takes Thalia about fifteen seconds to make her decision. She tugs on Arthur's arm and leads him to the back door of the restaurant. "Stay here. I'll get in through that window, come around and open to let you inside. If you see anyone come into this alley before I get this door open, you lean on that doorbell. Got it?"

She moves to the window, peering in. It does indeed lead to the kitchen, or at least one end of it. She can hear the pleasant cacophony of multiple Italian men and women engaged in preparing food. She can see a couple of them, far enough from the window that she thinks she can slip in without them noticing.

She pushes her bag through the window first, letting it dangle by the straps and gently lowering it to the floor. Then she inserts her head and shoulders in under the open flap, braces her hands on the bottom of the window, and gives herself a little hop, pushing with her hands. It's not easy, but she's been diligent in her practice of tai chi; her muscles are strong and disciplined. When she's in far enough that her arms are straight, she leans to the left and brings up her right knee, bringing the leg inside.

When both feet are inside and on the floor, she picks up her bag and slides around, hugging the wall and keeping an eye on the kitchen workers until she gets to the back door. She pushes it open quickly and waves Arthur inside.

Arthur follows you inside like an obedient hurt puppy dog. You notice that his eyes are a little cloudy and worry about the possibility of a concussion, but that is a problem to worry about further down the road. Right now you have to sling his arm over your shoulder and assist him in a game of hide and seek with a kitchen staff that was never informed they were playing. Arthur is getting more mobile as time goes on and the two of you are able to push past the only door and into the main restaurant without getting spotted.

A lone dinner reading the paper looks up and sees the two of you exit the kitchen. He looks at the beaten and bloody Arthur and then back to you. Your eyes lock for a minute before he raises the paper as a shield. You do your best to block the sight of Arthur from the rest of the patrons and staff. Most everyone in the restaurant is distracted with conversation, food, or work so it isn't too hard to get out the front door without attracting a lot of attention.

You hurry Arthur around the corner so you can get another look at where Ivanovich's car is parked. It is still there, but he isn't. You feel confident that even if he is hiding in the shadows, you and Arthur could get into your car and be off before Ivanovich could stop you.

Meeting the eyes of the restaurant patron, Thalia does her best to infuse her gaze with a combination of pleading and threat. If Ivanovich follows their path, she'd prefer not to have a convenient bystander pointing in their direction, saying, "They went thataway!"

They leave the restaurant without incident - which itself is something of a miracle - and she looks around the corner. It's a relief that Arthur is starting to move a little more under his own steam, though she still has to help him.

"Okay, his car is still parked there, but it looks like he's out of it. He's either gone in the front door or around to the fire escape, so we don't have much time. See that car over there?" She points to her vehicle, parked on the same side of the street as the apartment complex. "That's mine. We're heading to that. We'll go as fast as you're able. Push yourself as hard as you can, because I have no idea where Ivanovich is."

Arthur, looking pale even in the darkness, nods. "I'll do my best. The last thing I want is to end up in that maniac's hands again."

"Right. Well, here we go."

She starts them on the move again, hurrying as fast as Arthur is able. They reach the car without incident - Yes! Two miracles in one night! - and Thalia unlocks the passenger door and helps Arthur in.

You fire up the engine, slam it into gear, and pull out into traffic in a calm but quick manner just as the doorman walks out the front door with an unlit cigarette between his lips. He brings a lighter up and watches you drive away. You are unable to spot any sign of Ivanovich.

Arthur slides deep into the seat, winching in pain when he moves the wrong way. It is a safe bet that he has one or more cracked ribs. He tries to rub some feeling back into his wrists and legs. "I don’t mean to look a gift horse in the mouth but who are you and who do you work for? If I’ve traded one psychotic jailer for another, I want to know ahead of time so I can mentally prepare for what is to come."

"I'm not psychotic, although more than a few people would probably be questioning my sanity right now if they knew what I'm up to. Not a jailer, either, and I'll tell you everything... just as soon as you take a look in the back seat for me, okay?"

It has just occurred to her that the reason she's seen no sign of Ivanovich might be because he somehow stowed away in her car.

Arthur looks at you for a long minute before what you are insinuating dawns on him and his face drains of color. He squinches his eyes and ever so slowly turns around to peer into the back of the car. He doesn't say anything. Arthur leans back further and cranes his neck which causes a pain to shoot through his body. He falls back into the seat and rubs his side. "God, lady. You trying to give me a heart attack? It's clear. Want me to crawl back and check the trunk while we're in the business of causing me a lot of pain?" You have your doubts as to whether or not Ivanovich could fit in your trunk.

Letting her breath out in a shaky sigh that she tries hard to keep to herself, Thalia says, "No. I'm pretty sure he's too big to fit in there, and I have a way to deal with that anyway." She doesn't bother to explain what that is. "So anyway, I'm a private investigator who's been working a case that has intersected with some of the crap you're involved with, Arthur Fisher of Lloyd Laboratories. I wasn't planning on springing a kidnapping victim tonight, honestly, but once I stumbled upon the information that you were being held in that apartment, I couldn't in good conscience leave you there."

She is driving aimlessly, making random turns periodically, in hopes of throwing off anyone who might somehow be tailing them. "One good turn deserves another, so I'm going to be asking you some questions now, and I need honest answers, because you freakin' owe me your life, wouldn't you say?"

"I... Yes. Yes, I suppose I do. But--"

She interrupts him with a series of questions.

"Question number one: Do you have a safe place we can go? Somewhere that nobody at Lloyd or any of the other bad guys you've been running with would know to look for you?

"Question number two: What were you doing having a 'business meeting' with a Russian enforcer?

"Question number three: Why was he torturing you, and did you give up whatever he was after?"

Arthur Fisher stares at you in disbelief for quite some time. He crane his neck upward and shakes his head as if asking god ‘how did I end up in this situation?’ Arthur takes a very deep breath and starts to explain.

"Question 1: Nope. You must be pretty green into doing work with Lloyd Laboratories if you think that is an option. You keep at it awhile and you’ll get used to always acting like others are listening in. This your car, rental, or stolen? Nevermind, probably doesn’t matter. Just keep driving and I’ll tell you what I know. I don’t really have anything to lose and maybe you’ll show me some pity.

"I take it your Thalia Trimble? Your second and third questions are more or less related and revolve around all the trouble you’ve been stirring up lately. Good news, you have Martha Bradford scared. The bad news; she really wants you dead.

"Ivanvoich wants the unlocked version of Project AB745XR. My sonic weapon device. That’s what Bradford originally promised him when his services were contracted and what I refuse to give to him. I designed this device for top level government use. I wanted it to be a deterrent and in worst case scenarios, something to pacify criminals who were beyond redemption. I will not intentionally hand it over to a dangerous criminal.

"Bradford messed up bad when she hired Ivanovich. She thought she was getting someone who wouldn’t question her when she told them to get their hands dirty. She ended up with one pissed off psychopath who feels cheated and won’t hesitate to tear all of our heads off to get what he feels he is owed.

"Bradford only cares about covering her tracks at this point. She could not care less who gets hurt along the way. She sent me over here to meet with Ivanovich. I was supposed to tell him exactly what materials his people would need to procure in order to start producing the unhampered version of the weapon. She hoped I could convince him to take you out in order to protect all of us." He rolls his eyes. "It was purely a stall tactic in my opinion. Ivanovich seemed to think so as well and thought it was a better idea to beat the process for creating the device out of me. I believe I was able to resist... I, uh, blacked out a lot, but I feel like he would have stopped if I gave him what he wanted. Right?

"I know you lump me in with all the other scum and villainy at Lloyd and maybe you're right... but for what it is worth, I’m sorry my creation was used against you."

You do not pick up on any indication that Arthur is lying. You feel like he is yet another individual that is in over his head and is just trying to stay afloat. He sounds tired and completely done with all the the scheming and games. You feel like he views himself as a pawn in the Lloyd Laboratories chess match and that he wants nothing more than to return to his lab and work.

Thalia snorts as Arthur says she must be "pretty green." "Yeah, I just found you hanging upside down, bound and gagged, in a hitman's closet, Artie. You don't get to imply that I'm naive, okay? And for the record, I'm not working with or for Lloyd Laboratories. My client is Andrew Lawson, no matter who is paying my fee. And yes, this is my car."

She nods when he asks if she's Thalia Trimble. She smirks when he mentions Martha Bradford's desire for her death, but that's just bravado. There's nothing she really finds funny about someone wanting her dead, and especially if that someone has access to a guy like Ivanovich.

Arthur's steadfast refusal to hand over the unlocked version of his sonic weapon design actually wins her respect. She'd bet her life that such a level of integrity is in such short supply at Lloyd Labs as to be functionally extinct.

His apology for his weapon having been used against her catches her off-guard. "I... thanks. But you weren't the one calling the shots, so I... guess I don't really hold you responsible. Those weapons weren't even supposed to exist anyway."

She's silent for a moment, trying to think of a place to go, when an important question comes to mind. "Hang on - you said you wouldn't give him the unhampered version of the weapon, which is what Bradford sent you to do. What did you talk about with Ivanovich? I mean, before he turned you into a closet ornament? Did you deliver the instruction to kill Thalia Trimble? Am I on his radar by name?"

"I didn’t exactly get to do a lot of talking. When Ivanovich was contracted the deal was that we’d give him the knowledge needed to build the device. His people would build it, turn a handful over to Bradford, and keep the rest for themselves. When he discovered that the limiter was still on the device, after production was already complete, he was less than thrilled.

"I intended on groveling. Telling him how it was all a big mistake and explaining exactly what materials he would need to purchase so we could set to work on getting a batch of unhampered devices made. He didn’t want to hear any of it. He only wanted detailed instructions for the device. I tried telling him it was much to complicated and I would need to walk his men through it... He decided he would take the information by force. At no point was your name mentioned."

For a moment you are able to take a breath of relief. Just one moment, however. "But I have no doubt Ivanovich knows who you are and what you’re looking into. The fact that you’re not dead already tells me that he either doesn’t view you as a threat or has a good reason to delay taking you out."

He says all of this in a very matter of fact tone. There is no malice meant behind it. Exhaustion and a depleted ability to continue to cope with this type of life has beaten Arthur into submission. He keeps going through the motions but he talks like he is dead inside.

Recognizing that Arthur is losing psychic cohesion, Thalia moderates her tone of voice. "Hey. Arthur, stay with me. I'm gonna get you to safety, okay? Do me a favor and reach into that glove box. I keep a bottle of water in there and some emergency candy bars. I think you could use some hydration and a blood sugar boost."

Arthur listlessly obeys. He takes a few more seconds to get the cap off the bottle than one would expect from an adult, but once he starts drinking, it's like his body says, Oh right, water is IMPORTANT, and he drinks a third of the bottle in a single pull. He hands are slightly steadier when he opens the wrapper of the Milky Way.

"Okay, I need some specific information that you can probably provide, Arthur." She fishes out her pager and shows it to him. "Kate Lawson gave me this. I have no idea if it's standard Lloyd Labs issue or something unique to her personal security team. What can you tell me about it?"

Arthur leans his head back against the headrest and closes his eyes as he chews the candy bar. You give him the necessary time to finish eating the whole thing. It doesn’t take him too long. He takes another deep breath and you are satisfied to hear his rate of breath generally returning to a normal pattern.

He looks over at the pager Kate Lawson gave you and laughs. "Yeah, I think I can tell you about that. I created it back before I was a member of Bradford’s team and I was actually allowed to do my job without having to jump through jungles of red tape.

"When Kate read the first report I submitted for the project she called me into her office. We went over what I hoped to accomplish with the project. Namely a quick and easy way to sweep for surveillance. Kate surprised me by handing over top level blueprints to dozens of Lloyd Laboratories surveillance tech. She made it very clear that the device should be able to detect everything Lloyd was producing without fail.

"Naturally, she killed the project when I delivered a prototype that could do just that. She thanked me for my work, had me turn over all documentation for the project, and allowed me to select whatever I wanted to work on next. Even gave me twice the budget I normally had.

"The pager is capable of detecting all routine surveillance devices available on the market in addition to the elite devices used by the top brass at Lloyd Laboratories. Audio, visual, it doesn't matter. It will pick up most signals as long as you're in the right spot. The only downside of the device is the limited range. You more or less have to hold the pager within 20 inches of the bug in order to guarantee a reliable result. If you were to say, stand in the middle of a room and hold the button, it might say there is nothing there. But then if you walked over to the cable jack and tested again, the pager might reveal a bug had been planted in the wall behind the cover."

"Okay, that would have been useful to know," Thalia grumbles. "Sorry, that's not directed at you. How do you use it to detect the bug? Hold down that same button you use to check for wiretaps? And what about tracking it - do you think it can be used to track the person carrying it?"

Arthur shakes his head in affirmation. "Just hold the button and it will start multiple search types for different kinds of signals and evidence of recordings taking place.

"As for tracking, the device works on a one-way communication system. Transmissions can be directed to the device, but not from it. This prevents most common means of tracking the user of the device. The only exception to this are the pings used to location radio towers. Once every 3 hours the pager will send out a ping to locate the tower with the strongest signal. This is the tower that will be used to send messages to the device until the next ping is attempted. Someone with access to the radio tower network could triangulate your position at the time the ping took place within... say a mile or so. From what I know of Kate, she only hands these devices out to trusted security staff. I'm honestly surprised you have one. I do not imagine she is using it to track you, and if she is, it is far from the most efficient means of doing it. It would make more sense to plant tracking devices on your car and in your shoes."

"My shoes?" She's not sure why that knowledge triggers such a sense of betrayal and outrage in her, but it does. Like... she knew her phones and office and apartment were all bugged, and that has pissed her off and inconvenienced her plenty, but come on! If there's anything you should be able to trust in your daily life, it's your damn shoes.

She pulls over, grabbing the pager from Arthur and holding it close to her shoes. Nothing.

Then she holds down the button and waves it around the dash of the car, around the front seats, up around the ceiling and down on the floor - incidentally checking Arthur's shoes, too. She performs the same ritual in the backseat, then pops the trunk and does it there. Satisfied that there are no tracking devices in the car, she gets back into the driver's seat, grumbling, "A girl's shoes should be sacred, that's all I'm saying."

Restarting the car, she puts it in gear and says, "Okay, so I've got a place I can take you. It's not fancy - heck, it's not even particularly clean right now - but it's a place nobody knows about but me. Meaning, it's a Lloyd-free zone."

It takes about thirty minutes to get there, and long before that, Arthur is starting to feel uneasy. The neighborhood is what people like Arthur tend to think of as "sketchy," with run-down houses, the occasional community center building of dubious structural integrity, and very little green space. She turns down an alley and slows, the car dipping and lurching as it navigates what seems like a sea of potholes, until she reaches a patch of dirt behind a seemingly half-rotted stockade fence.

Getting out of the car, she helps Arthur out and leads him to the gate. Using a key, she unlocks the padlock and opens the gate. They trudge through an overgrown yard. "Watch your step," she says, although she knows he probably can't see anyway as she helps him up the path marked with ancient, broken paver stones, many of them askew.

Another key unlocks the back door and they enter a small house. She flips on the light, illuminating a dingy kitchen with very old, battered appliances. "There's not much here. Electricity, an old tv, a phone. One bedroom. The sheets are clean, although I haven't dusted the place in a while."

She bids him to sit down at the small kitchen table and disappears into the bathroom, returning with a substantial first aid kit and some old but clean wash cloths. "Let's take a look at your injuries, see if we have anything to worry about."

She cleans and disinfects the cuts on his face and any other open wounds he has. A few of the cuts require butterfly bandages, but she doesn't think stitches are required. The purpose seemed to be to cause pain and terror rather than grievous injury... at least, until Ivanovich was done with him. The worst of it does seem to be the cracked ribs, about which she can do nothing.

"How do you know they won't find us here?" Arthur asks as she's putting away the supplies.

"Well, I can't guarantee it, of course. But this place isn't in my name or associated with me in any direct way. An old client's great-grandmother used to live here. He was going to sell it, but let's face it, he wasn't going to get much for it, and he owed me. So he agreed to let me use it as a safe house as long as I paid him for the utilities and any upkeep. Obviously, I haven't put much into the upkeep."

She offers him a choice of packaged ramen and they both have a late supper fit for a college student with few prospects. He's nodding off before he's even finished, so she shows him the bath and bedroom and lets him get himself cleaned up and to bed. She's stashed an eclectic assortment of clothing in this place, none of which would win any fashion prizes, but she picks out a t-shirt and some boxers that should fit him well enough to sleep in.

When he's settled, she grabs an old pillow from the linen closet and carries it to the couch. Picking up the receiver of a phone at least twenty years out of style, she uses the pager to determine that the line is clean and dials a number.

"Do you know what time it is?" a voice demands irritably.

"Yes, Freddie, and I've had quite a day myself, so just do this one thing and we can both go on with our nights. Call Cyn as soon as we hang up and say these exact words. Well, get a pencil, okay? Okay, ready? The message is, 'Beverly called and she's okay, but had to leave town suddenly. She wants you to call the new guy, the wine-lover, and tell him that she avoided the attack dog and rescued a stray kitten. She'll call you when she gets back to San Espero.' Now, read that back to me."

Freddie grouses, but he reads back exactly what she'd dictated and they hang up. Thalia finally allows herself to relax, groaning as her muscles complain from the near-constant tension she's experienced today. She knows that Cyn will understand the parts of the message intended for her: 'Beverly' is a joke between them, each of them using it to diss the other periodically; "had to leave town suddenly" is code for "at my shithole of a safe house, the address of which you don't know." She hopes that Dylan will understand the reference to Ivanovich (the "attack dog"), but he'll likely find the stray kitten thing baffling.

But at least he'll know she didn't get killed delivering a hitman's dry cleaning.

She takes her gun out of her bag and checks it, making sure it's loaded and that the safety is on. She turns out the light in the living room, plunging the depressing, ramshackle cottage into darkness. Tucking the gun under the pillow, she drags a dismal crocheted afghan off the back of the couch and over her body and stretches out on threadbare cushions. There are a lot of times when being small is an advantage, and being able to sleep comfortably on a small couch is one of them.

Your much deserved sleep is less restful then you might hope. Nightmares keep you tossing and turning for hours. Every time you wake up you get spooked by shadows moving across the walls. You get frustrated with yourself and do some breathing exercise to get your mind to relax. This finally allows you to drift off and get some actually rest. For a while, at least.

It is still dark the next time you wake up. You're on your side and it takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the darkness but once they do, there is no mistake that someone is walking around inside the room. There is a brief moment when you think it is an intruder before realizing that the hunched over slow movements clearly belong to Arthur. Through the darkness you watch as he does his best to quietly move about. He head wiggles about scanning every nook and cranny but it isn't clear what he is looking for. He goes to the kitchen and you can hear him slowly open and closing every drawer and cabinet.

He comes back into the room and you can see he has a small pad of paper and pencil in his hands. Arthur tip toes back to the bedroom, lightly closes the door, and turns on the light. A bit weird, but not exactly sinister. You drift back off to sleep.

---

When the sun rises his door is still shut but the light is on. You knock and he grumbles an incoherent response which you take as an 'ok' to enter the room.

Arthur sits crossed legged on the bed. He is leaning over the notepad and scribbling away with great speed. A small stack of papers is next to him. Some are filled top to bottom with handwritten notes while others are detailed sketches of circuit boards. Many balled up pieces of paper are scatted across the floor. Arthur seems considerably more alert despite your estimates that he could have only gotten 3 or 4 hours of sleep. He must be one of those people that only get energized by obsessing over work.

"Good morning Thalia Trimble. Can I get a cup of coffee?" He speaks without looking up from what he is writing. "I've done a lot of thinking during the night. You risked yourself to save me so I assume that means you are interested in my long term safety. I am requesting to stay in this location until this whole mess is done and over with. At that time I will cooperate according to your wishes. I have no desire to see the inside of a jail cell, but I am technically an accomplice to a triple murder. Nothing will ever change that..."

He keeps writing the entire time he speaks to you. Not once does he look up from the page. He reaches toward a set of 4 pages that were put off to the side in another pile and holds them out to you. "Safe as this place may be, the last few days have really hammered home just how much danger I am in. While you are out can you drop this off with my lawyer. Last will and testament. I'll need you to sign as a witness. Lawyer's office address is at the top."

She stares at him, envying his apparent speedy recovery from what had to be the most traumatic event of his life, hating him a little for it, in fact. She herself feels like the human version of the alley out back: grimy, ill-used, and lumpy. She folds her arms, taking in all the paper.

"Let me get this straight. You just spent over a day being tortured by a professional killer, and you spent the night thinking instead of resting?" She shakes her head. "Right. Coffee. I think I still have some. Sorry, it's instant. Not like this place is occupied all that often."

In the kitchen, she puts the kettle on to boil and gets out a saucepan. A short while later, she calls Arthur into the kitchen for a simple but halfway decent breakfast of oatmeal (made from a sealed cannister of quick oats) and instant coffee. He is reluctant to leave his work, but she insists. The guy might not need to sleep, but he damned well needs to eat.

"So, a few things. You are certainly welcome to stay here. It's my safe house, it's why I brought you here. But I want to emphasize that I can't guarantee your safety. This place is more off-the-radar than anything else I have access to, but that doesn't mean someone won't manage to track me here eventually. I know, I know - that's why you spent the night working on your will. Just making the reality of the situation explicit."

She takes a bite of the oatmeal. (She hates oatmeal, but it's a staple with a long shelf life, and that's the kind of thing you stock in a safe house kitchen.) "Also, I really need you to tell me everything. Everything about the murders, how it all went down, everything about the cover-up. I know a certain amount about the political powerplays that led up to the murders, but I need all the detail I can get. I need to find a way to prove Andrew Lawson's innocence, and the best way for me to do that is to know all there is to know about the frame-job and the feud between Kate and Martha.

"Oh, and don't leave stuff like where you two have been manufacturing those sonic weapons. I know you didn't have them made at Lloyd, so you must have a private lab somewhere, right?"

Just before Arthur begins to tell his story, Thalia asks to record it using a small tape recorder she's pulled from her bag. She murmurs her name and his, the date, and the location of San Espero before nodding for him to go ahead and start talking. While he does, she also jots down notes in her little notebook.

She listens without giving any overt signs of judgment - after all, she'd asked him to tell the story and she already knew he was part of the conspiracy - but she really wants to give him a look when he blithely states that a plot to manipulate Kate's brother for the purpose of framing Kate for something she hadn't done to the LL board "seemed innocent enough at the time." It speaks volumes about the moral and ethical code of the average Lloyd Labs scientist that he could explain away his participation in this manner.

When he mentions Bradford, Bell, and Carson, she interjects briefly to clarify for the recording that he means Martha Bradford of Lloyd Laboratories; Isabel Bell, Kate Lawson's executive assistant; and Carson Chang, asking him to clarify Carson's relationship to LL, since Andrew had believed he was retired.

After he answers that, Arthur continues until the point of meeting with Ivanovich and his technicians, when Thalia asks, "Did Ivanovich think that you were giving his people the specs to produce the unhampered version of the weapon at that time?" After his answer, she gestures for him to continue his story.

At the mention of Carson putting Andrew into a stupor, she interrupts again. "What exactly did Carson use to do that? The mind-melter thing that Martha Bradford added to your sonic weapon, or something else?"

She can see Arthur becoming increasingly emotional and ashamed as he lays out the sordid tale and his compliant role in it and hopes he will be able to make it to the end. When he leaves the kitchen, she doesn't get the feeling he's abandoning the effort so much as determined to add something to it, so she murmurs into the recorder that he has left the room to retrieve something. That turns out to be correct, and when he returns, he sets down the papers he worked on overnight and declares his willingness to testify.

When he mentions taking on a risky mission, she pauses the recording quickly, glad that she did so when he tells her what it is. She accepts the chip and his Lloyd Labs ID card. She asks him for a quick rundown of the underground facility so that she will have enough knowledge to potentially dodge trouble while she's inside.

"I can't promise anything, of course, and I'm not qualified to make a legal prediction, but yeah... I'd say the murder weapon and testimony from you and Bell would go a long way toward a conviction. Now, I'm going to turn the recorder back on, and we're not going to mention this little breaking-and-entering plot while it's running, okay?"

Resuming the recording, Thalia looks over the pages of notes and drawings, narrating what she sees and asking him to explain walk her through it. She wants as complete a record as possible, just in case Arthur is prevented from being able to testify.

When that is done, she asks Arthur to make a list of things that he needs during his stay in her cut-rate safe house, then grabs a change of clothes from her stash in the bedroom closet and takes a very quick shower. The urge to linger under a blast of hot water is tempting, but she doesn't have the time, or frankly, the water pressure to make it satisfying.

The act of getting clean is enough to make her feel somewhat better-prepared for what she has to face today. She gathers up Arthur's shopping list, his notes, his will and the address of his attorney's office, and her gun, which she checks again out of an abundance of paranoia. She shows him the spare key for the front and back door deadbolts and the padlock on the back gate and instructs him not to use the phone at all, for any reason.

After taking suitable precautions to ensure she's not followed, she drives to Jamal's place, hoping like hell that he's in. She should have known that he wasn't even out of bed yet. She has to pound on the door for a while to get him to answer.

Before she will answer any questions or say anything beyond small talk - which Jamal isn't really too interested in before his coffee anyway - Thalia uses her pager to check his place for listening devices, including his phone. Everything comes up clean, which both surprises and relieves her, and she relaxes a little as the coffee is served and he begins to look over Arthur's notes.

"You absolutely don't want to know what I'm up to," Thalia tells him with a grin. "I'll be right back with some donuts."

She happens to know Jamal's preferred bakery and brings back the freshest ones they have. While he is getting set up, she spends some time looking up supermarkets in the vicinity of Handy-Clean Dry Cleaners. Finding what she's looking for, she uses Jamal's phone to call Dylan.

Before he can say much, she says, "Hey there, hot stuff. You know, I'm about to do my weekly grocery shopping and I thought you might like to keep me company." She infuses this with a flirtatious tone. "And if you provide good enough company, maybe I'll even let you buy me lunch. Meet me at the supermarket that's seven blocks east of that place where we watched videos last night. I'll be there in, oh, let's say half an hour." She lowers her voice to a husky purr. "I really want to see you again. Please?"

When he agrees, she giggles and says, "Great! See you soon."

She hangs up the phone and notices Jamal is staring at her. "Well, that was disturbing."

"Sweetie, if I told you about what happened to me yesterday, you'd really understand the meaning of 'disturbing.'"

Jamal holds up one hand to stop her. "I'll take your word for it. So you're off, then?"

She snags a cruller from the box, earning a scowl from him, and says, "Yep. See you in a couple of hours."

The drive to Atherton's Super Foods is circuitous, like all her drives have become this week. But once she's inside, she's surprised to find Dylan has beaten her there. In case he was followed, she plays up the angle she was selling over the phone, smiling brightly at him and greeting him with an affectionate kiss on the cheek and a hug that's just a hair too long to suggest mere friendship.

Dylan is already looking adorably awkward when you spot him. The kiss and the hug make his cheeks blush a deep red. He stands there, unsure how to react for a moment before giving you a very brotherly hug in return. When the embrace is over he takes a step back and fiddles with adjusting his glasses just to give himself something to do.

"I’m, umm, so glad to see you again... honey?" It seems he is going to need a few more details before he can get into character. Quietly he asks, "What is going on? Please don't tell me that we’re picking up groceries to Mr. Evans."

"Of course not," she says quietly, offering him a more genuine and, she hopes, reassuring smile. Then she drops her car keys and laughs, crouching down to retrieve them and using the pager to check his shoes for tracking or listening devices, surreptitiously scanning the rest of him as she rises.

Assuming that she detects nothing untoward, she puts her keys and the palmed pager back into her bag and grabs a shopping cart and leads him into the supermarket, keeping her voice pitched low and pausing when they are close enough to other shoppers that they might overhear.

"We're shopping for someone I rescued from 'Evans,' actually." She summarizes installing a listening device into the suit before delivering it, seeing Arthur's name on the visitor log at the apartment complex with no sign-out time, and hearing that someone was being held prisoner in the closet. She tells him about the rescue and the escape, along with a highlights reel of this morning's debrief. Throughout, she is grabbing items from the shelves and putting them into her cart.

She hands him the shopping list, under which are two white envelopes. One is sealed and contains Arthur's will and has his attorney's name and address on the front; the other contains some notes that she'd jotted down to serve as a table of contents for the other item in the envelope: the cassette recording of Arthur's confession and details of the conspiracy. Pulling back the shopping list and leaving the envelopes in his hands, she gives him a Cliff's Notes version of what Arthur had told her.

"The top envelope contains a recording of everything he said. Just in case something interferes with his ability to testify, maybe that will at least make it possible to bring the others to trial. The bottom one is something intended for his attorney. I'm hoping you can get that delivered for me. I'm not sure it's a good idea for me to be possibly seen visiting his lawyer."

For a minute, Dylan looks at you like you are crazy. What you're doing with the pager finally clicks with him and his face turns to worry. "When you catch the people responsible for all this, make sure to give them an extra punch across the jaw for me." He tries to sound snappy and jovial, but the worry in his voice is crystal clear. As you explain everything that has happened since you parted ways the worry on his face only continues to grow.

"No problem. I can easily take care of that for you." For the first time today, Dylan actually shows some sign of relief. "It is the least I can do. I feel really awful about abandoning you yesterday. Learning you walked into... all that has only made me feel worse. Telling you what I'm about to tell you makes me feel even worse..." He nervously runs his hand through his hair and makes sure no one is nearby. When he starts speaking again, he is quiet.

"I'm worried about Arthur. This is the type of witness I would have on 24/7 suicide watch, Thalia. He is guilt written, is showing little regard for his health or safety, and has laid out clear plans to follow in the event of his death. Now that you have his confession... what is left to keep him around? Maybe I'm the one being paranoid and he's simply waiting for you to return so he can keep working on some new death ray... I know he is in pain, but I would limit his access to painkillers."

He gives you a minute to think over what he has said and confirm or deny that Arthur is displaying this type of pattern. "After I visit with his lawyer and get the tape safely secured, I can go out there and keep an eye on him for you. I feel like I owe you, after all."

"Oh, good. Something else to worry about. I was starting to fret that I'd run out." Inside, Thalia is kicking herself. How could she have missed the signs? Briefly, she's convinced that she'll find Arthur in the bathrub, having slit his wrists with one of the dull kitchen knives at the safe house, but no - a guy who made a very specific pen brand and ink color request isn't going to off himself before he's had a chance to write with the pens.

Of course, he probably wants to write a suicide note, so it's not like this is a giant comfort.

She rubs her forehead. She really wishes she'd been able to sleep better last night.

"Okay, you're right. It's probably a good idea for someone to be watching him. But Dylan, I'm not sure... It's not going to be safe. I've been crazy careful, but that doesn't mean they haven't found the safe house, or that they won't. So please - don't make an offer that you might regret, especially out of guilt. You don't owe me anything; I'm paying you, remember? If anything, I owe you. I not only haven't cut you a check yet, but I involved you in my investigation last night in a way that could have put you in serious danger."

They arrive at the checkout and she pays for the groceries. She snaps her fingers as they carry the bags out the door. "That reminds me, I need to make sure I pay you what I owe when we get to the car. Oh, and I need to ask you: Hypothetically, if I were to tell you about something I was planning that was not exactly legal, would you, as an officer of the court, be required to inform the police? Or would that be covered under attorney-client privilege? Hypothetically, as I said."

Dylan brushes off your concerns and adjusts his tie. "I’m a man of honor and integrity, Thalia Trimble," he says in a Mid-Atlantic accent. "And as such, I cannot stand idle while you carry the weight of the world on your shoulders." Dylan returns to his normal voice. "In all seriousness, this is a way I can actually help you that is well within my wheelhouse. While I’m there I can talk with Arthur, really shore up the case and make sure there aren’t any legal holes the opposition is going to be able to work with when this all goes to the courthouse. First sign of danger, me and Arthur hop in my car and don’t stop driving ‘til we’re in Vegas. Maybe not even then."

He seems unconcerned about payment. "Focus on the case. I’m not bouncing any checks. We’ll sit down and get all that hammered out when the dust clears. And don’t worry, I’m not going to charge you by the minute to keep an eye on Arthur. This shopping trip, on the other hand..."

Dylan gives you a sideways glance at the mention of hypothetical plans. "That doesn’t sound ominous at all. But don’t worry, my lips are sealed. In the rare instance that what you’re about to tell me isn’t covered by attorney-client privilege, we’ll file it under a friendly pinky swear." He holds out his hand, pinky raised. "Much more binding contract, if you ask me."

Thalia involuntarily makes an unfamiliar sound in response to Dylan's accent; it takes her a few seconds to realize she is giggling. She'd actually forgotten she could even do that. She wonders how someone so adorkable ever became something as stodgy as a lawyer.

Popping her trunk and beginning to load the groceries, she says, "All right, but just a heads-up: if you end up going to Vegas without me, I'll be pretty ticked off." She closes the trunk. "You can follow me back to the safe house, or I can give you the address if you need time to get ready for the Sleepover of Doom."

She grins at his raised pinky and links it with her own. "Deal. Get in the car so I can explain it all." Once inside her car, Thalia tells Dylan about the chip Jamal is making from Arthur's instructions, and walks him through the heist as Arthur had proposed it, referring often to her notes.

Just describing what she's planning to do - if it can even be referred to as "planning" - reminds her of how tired she is, and she finishes with her head against the headrest. "You don't have to tell me that this is a Class-A Crazy idea. I'm well aware. But I'm very short on options that lead to proving Andrew's innocence. Without that murder weapon, even if Bradford and Ivanovich go down, it's unlikely Andrew gets sprung. And he's the whole reason I'm even involved in this."

She scrubs her face with her hands. "This would be a great time for some practical advice. Or if you have any friends who are certified badasses, I'd take that, too."

Dylan does his best to keep a calm lawyer face on display but once again you have caught him a little unprepared. "If this were any other case I feel like you would have tons of options. Arthur’s confession alone would be enough to restart an investigation and get a warrant to examine the murder weapon... I know I should be talking you out of doing this and going devising a safer option, but this company is off the charts evil. That prototype would be destroyed or mysteriously vanish before a judge even had time to sign a warrant. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but if you trust Arthur and think you can pull this off... it might just be the break you’ve been looking for."

He shakes his head in disbelief. "Don’t take that as advice from your lawyer. That was strictly Dylan speaking. From a legal perspective this is a nightmare but I am pretty sure we can make it work if we get creative enough." He starts mumbling through plans about having Arthur be the one that comes forward with the prototype because obviously you cannot admit to stealing it. "Way I figure, Lloyd Laboratories will cover up a break in like this. It seems they are willing to kill in order to avoid reputation hits, so there is no way they would want competition finding out it is that easy, relatively speaking, to steal from them.

"As for help... I might know some folks that pretend to be football hooligans on the weekends. You probably don't want them." A thought crosses his mind which brings a smirk to his face. "Are you telling me that Thalia Trimble, the PI whose rolodex is so large it has more satellites than Saturn, doesn’t know some muscle that would be willing to walk into Hell to settle a favor?"

Thalia mostly nods as Dylan confirms her own thoughts about the validity of choosing the breaking-and-entering solution over something a bit more legally defensible. It's actually comforting to hear a lawyer justify what is legally a felony as the only moral action in the current situation.

A laugh erupts from her unexpectedly at his use of the term "football hooligans," but it's quickly followed by a blush when he expresses amusement at her sudden apparent lack of suitable contacts for a job like this. She sighs, looking down at her hands. "I do, yeah. I think I'm just... I feel reluctant to bring more people into this, you know? I've already gotten so many of you on the Lloyd Labs radar that I've been trying to do as much of this alone as I possibly can. Only now I'm facing a situation that, if I take it on alone, I don't think I'll succeed, or even make it out alive."

In fact, that was the entire reason she'd wanted to tell Dylan about the plan in the first place - so that if she didn't make it out, he'd be able to point the cops in the right direction.

Which means that part of her has already given up. And dammit, that's just not Thalia's way of doing things. For one thing, she'd taken Andrew's case, and for her, that's the same as a promise. She won't give up before she's done everything in her power to keep that promise.

And for another, if she accepts that Bradford et al are going to succeed in keeping her from getting the murder weapon, succeed in taking Thalia out, then what hope is there for Dylan and Cyn and Jamal and all the other people she's accidentally put in the line of fire? She has to see this through, and she has to survive it. Because the alternative is simply unacceptable.

She looks at him with renewed determination. "But no, you're right. I have resources, and I'm going to use them. I'm gonna get that prototype out of Lloyd Laboratories, and we're gonna get Andrew's conviction overturned, and then you and I are gonna take those bastards down, no matter what it takes."

Dylan offers no snappy comeback. Only a nod and a handshake commitment. Before parting ways he has you go over the details of what you discussed with Arthur one more time. This is partly so he is knowledgeable on the case and partly so he can quickly explain to Arthur that he is a trusted friend. Once that is set, Dylan actually brings up contingency plans.

It is clear that he doesn’t want to think about the worst case scenario, but needs to know there is a plan if things take a wrong turn. In particular he wants to know how long he should wait without contact before assuming the worst and who he can trust to take this information to.

Satisfied that he knows the ends and outs, Dylan has you drop him off a block from his car. Before walking away he says, "Be safe and get in touch as soon as you can."

When you get back to Jamal’s you have to wait quite a while before finally opens the door. His jeweler's glasses are up on his forehead, telling you that he was busy working. The two of you head back to his workshop and he points to a small metal container.

"You’re all set, Agent Smart. Even though the notes made it clear that the thing was specifically made to target advanced systems, I tested it out on some basic security tech." He points to a trash can that is covered in the chemicals from a fire extinguisher. You peek inside and see a standard security camera with its insides practically melted away to nothingness.

"When the dust settles from whatever it is you're doing, I want to meet the individual that designed this thing."

"Hey, I recommend you listen to that tape recording I made of Arthur this morning," Thalia tells Dylan. "It will give you a lot more detail and, I'm sure, a good foundation for legal-eagle follow-up questions. Also, take a camera to the safe house and take pictures of his injuries. I didn't have one on me, but he might feel more comfortable with a guy doing that, anyway."

The reluctant request to discuss contingency plans brings Thalia up short. She's been so busy being fatalistic, why hasn't it occurred to her to make plans accordingly? Something to ponder at her leisure, she supposes. Say, after this case is over, or while she's been driven to the site of her eventual shallow grave.

"I know a few police detectives, but now that I know how deep the Lloyd Labs corruption runs through the SEPD, I'm reluctant to bet on their integrity. There's one uniform I trust to not be in Lloyd's pocket, an Officer Greeley. He was the one who brought me downtown with the Lawson case files. I think he showed you and Kate's lawyer in to see me? Anyway, that's who I want you to go to if things go south for me."

She breathes deeply, thinking. "Okay, if you don't hear from me, either directly or through Cynthia, by eight o'clock this evening, assume the worst. I'll need to act today if I hope to grab that prototype before they decide to destroy it. And once the plan's in motion, it probably won't last a long time, one way or another. You know everything now - the location of the prototype, the names of the major players, the address Ivanovich is living under the name of Evans, my description of finding Arthur tied up in his closet. Oh!"

She fishes in her pocket, pulling out her little notebook. "All the notes I've taken on the Lawson case are in here. I take pretty detailed notes. Get Cyn to help decipher if anything's hard to read; she knows my shorthand." She hands him the notebook and continues. "Now, if you do hear from me, be careful about answering questions too readily in case I'm under duress. We'll need a code word, hmm. If I use the word 'cotton' in the conversation, I'm being forced to contact you. In that case, I'll try to give you other hints about my location or something, but at the very least, I'll let you know that something is wrong and not to comply with whatever they're making me tell you to do. Got it?"

She drops him a block from his car and waves. She really hopes it's not for the last time. She owes him a dinner. Shrugging, she heads over to Jamal's.

"Hey, if he survives this case, I'll throw a dinner party for the two of you myself," she tells him, managing to sound like she's mostly joking. She nods approvingly at the evidence of Jamal's testing of the chip. "I appreciate your thoroughness as always, pal. Also, I think I'm going to need that sonic whatsis today."

He hands her Arthur's newly-chipped Lloyd ID and she inspects it briefly, trusting Jamal's workmanship, and the sonic weapon, which she puts into her bag. She thanks him, making sure to make eye contact and show more than just casual gratitude for his help before taking her leave.

She visits her apartment for the first time in what seems like ages, checking the place over thoroughly with her pager to determine exactly where the bugs are. There's one in the overhead light fixture in the living room, as well as one under the nightstand in her bedroom. Perverts. And of course, the phone is bugged.

It feels better to know where they are, at least. She hums a little as she pours herself a soft drink and makes a turkey sandwich, which she carries on a plate with her to the bedroom. She changes clothes again and swaps out several things she's carrying in her bag for things she expects to need on this job.

Finishing her quick lunch, she leaves the apartment and steps across the hall to her office to pick up some ammo for her gun - the bullet-y one - and to leave through her rolodex, memorizing a couple of numbers. She grabs a fresh little notebook, and leaves the building. Driving to a phone booth that she knows to be clean, she checks it first anyway, then dials the number for Radinka Popoa.

Radinka, a former Soviet-bloc tennis star, had shocked the world, first by defecting to the States, and then by retiring two years later. Rumors were rampant that she'd been a CIA asset during her career. Thalia had crossed paths with her a couple of times since Popoa had relocated to San Espero from Crowfall. She knows Radinka has the nerve, the self-possession, and the quick-thinking needed for a high-risk job like this, as well as the ability to handle herself if it starts raining excrement.

"Radinka? It's Thalia Trimble... Yes, that's right. I'm fine, thanks. Look, I have a job, it's time-sensitive, and I need backup. Can we meet in, say, an hour?"

Radinka gives you an address that you don’t recognize beyond knowing it is in a shady part of town. When you get there a homeless man won’t stop requesting spare change. You look at the paper cup he is holding up to your face and see a small note taped to it that reads 'T.T.' After putting some money into the cup the man tears the note off and hands it to you. It contains another address, five blocks from here.

When you arrive at the second location, you find yourself standing in front of an old abandoned movie theater. As you look around for a way in you notice a sharp red light coming from an unknown location. Panic courses through you for a moment as you realize it is the red of a laser. A laser dot sight.

Wait. No it isn’t. Well it is a laser light but instead of a small red dot confirming you at a target for a shot it instead displays the number 205. The red light vanishes when it is clear you have seen it. You quickly look up to the second floor of the building across the street just in time to see a shadowed figure step away from the window.

Crossing the street you ring the bell for 205 and the door unlocks a moment later. The door to room 205 is left open a crack when you arrive.

"Geeze, Thalia... You’re getting sloppy. I could have taken you out four times in the past hour," the familiar voice of Radina speaks softly. You close the door behind you and walk into the dingy apartment. She is leaning back in a folding chair and playing with the laser pointer. On the bed are two large suitcases.

"You weren’t exactly clear on what you needed help with so I brought gear to go loud or quiet. If this happens to be related to that mad scene outside your building the other day that the news doesn’t seem to want to cover, I’m going to guess we’re hoping for quiet but there is probably a good chance of it turning too loud. Am I in the ballpark?"

You can sense a good deal of excitement in her voice. She is looking forward to this.

Grinning at Radinka, Thalia walks toward the bed. "I think you mean, are you on the right court. And yes, you are."

With a look that requests permission, Thalia waits for it before opening the suitcases, delicately moving things around to take stock of all the contents. She makes a quiet whistle. "Girl, you don't mess around. I love that about you."

Thalia considers checking the place for bugs and then pictures how hard Radinka would laugh at her waving her little pager all over this apartment. She'd already seen eloquent proof of just how much better-equipped than she Radinka is; there's no way she hasn't already scanned this place for bugs.

She grabs a folded chair leaning against the wall and opens it before wrapping her legs around the seat and sitting on it backward, resting her arms on the back with her wrists lightly crossed. "I would ask how you heard about that thing that happened at my building, but it's probably a 'tell me and you have to kill me' situation, and I already have a couple of people who want me dead, so I'll pass on that. Anyway, here's what we're up against."

She gives Radinka a capsule summary of the events that have brought them together today, starting with the conflicts between Martha Bradford and Kate Lawson at Lloyd Laboratories over the sonic and weapon; Martha's manufacturing deal with Christov Ivanovich; the slow campaign of Carson Chang feeding Kate's brother help on his prototype; and Ivanovich using the prototype to murder the Andrew's neighbors and frame him.

"That's where this job comes in. I've had an opportunity to examine the prototype. There's evidence that can prove it's the murder weapon, but it's under a ridiculous amount of security and they are most likely planning to destroy it very soon. Now, I happen to have a way to get us past the security, but that will only hold for five minutes." Here she describes what Arthur had told her in minute detail, drawing floor plans of the parking garage and the corridors as she remembers them from her encounter with Bell."Now, couple of important things to note: 1) Martha Bradford really wants me dead, and she sent Arthur to Ivanovich to give him that very assignment; 2) Ivanovich has gone off the rails entirely, no longer listening to Bradford and Friends; 3) I rescued Arthur from Ivanovich's torture-chamber closet and that probably means he's jonesing to kill me anyway." She signs and shrugs. "I will now pause to take questions from the floor."