Case 4 (Chatbox Shamus)

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Revision as of 12:49, 9 June 2022 by Wildweasel (talk | contribs) (Meeting Finlay at the Cop Shop)
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I'm so confused, I cannot see / This wave of guilt is drowning me

It feels like blood is on my hands / I'd give it all for a second chance

--Royksopp - "I Had This Thing"

This page is pretty unfinished. Weasel plans to get to it eventually. Probably.

Really Vague Outline

okay - case 4, i figure, is going to be the one where ruby takes center stage. there's a number of ways i've thought about as far as how to actually handle ruby's internal monologue. i know for sure ruby will be a bit more coarse than bastion, more prone to swearing. i've thought about having someone else write her monologue but i'm not sure anybody knows the character better than i do. i guess i'll have to consider it a writing challenge.

basic premise of case 4: bastion is hired by a concerned newly-wed husband (to a woman who has been in a previous marriage). though bastion doesn't entirely agree with the idea of background-checking a woman immediately after marrying them, the husband comes clean with the reason why: he discovered that his new wife owns beachfront property. he did just marry his wife for her money (without figuring out where it came from) and that's why he hires bastion to look into it.

bastion goes to investigate the beachfront property and finds that, beneath the exterior of it being a barely-used-but-well-maintained beach house, the house's basement is full of marijuana plants with an elaborate irrigation system. bastion leaves, taking one sample of the plants in a bag to use as evidence.

however, upon getting out the house, the police are there and nab him for PWID (possession with intent to distribute).

why were the cops waiting? two reasons: first, bastion missed the security system (silent alarm), and second, there's a nosy lady across the street that saw him picking the locks.

thusly, bastion decides to use his one phone call to get in touch with ruby, who does rather seem to hate him by the end of case 3. she's not happy to hear from him, particularly not that he's gotten himself arrested, but she eventually agrees to go meet bastion in jail.

This page is pretty unfinished. Weasel plans to get to it eventually. Probably.

The Disjointed Chunks of Plot

Meeting Finlay at the Cop Shop

"The department declares you free to go, Mr. Callahan. We're sorry for the misunderstanding."

Callahan... no, it couldn't be. But against all the God forsaken odds, it was. I tried not to meet eyes with him, but the second he turned my way, it felt like I'd just been cattle prodded. The chatter and commotion of the holding area vanished. All the lights in the room seemed to turn a disturbing shade of orange as any other nearby witnesses almost froze in time, forcibly unaware of any impending disaster. The lanky, badly nourished Irish man, with the pointed red goatee and old parka, looked like he must have aged three decades since I last saw him. The look on his face was not a happy one. To be fair, mine probably wasn't, either. He marched my way with the intensity of a towering monster, until he was only a few feet away. "Antonia."

I couldn't think of a single thing to say to him. Nothing I said could be let out on its own. I'd leak out a cavalcade of hurtful cusses his way along with it.

"It's been ten years, hasn't it? How's your mother been?" His face was not lightening, despite the careful and measured tone. Even most of his accent had gone away.

"Well enough," I offered flatly. Better without you around. I struggled to keep my expression neutral. I really did want to punch him, but not in the police station.

"Well, next time you see her, tell her Finlay said hello." With that, Finlay Callahan trudged up the stairs from the holding cells, and back to whatever freedom he'd just earned himself.

My right eye twitched in a way I hadn't felt in a long while. Why the hell was my father back in town? Who did he think he was, trying to get back into my life? Was he insane?

Legacy Script, Or What Exists Of Such

# ########################
# ## CASE 4 BEGINS HERE ##
# ########################

label Case4Start:
    "Hey, uh, Weasel here. Not much to the case for the moment but here's something I wrote up earlier..."
    
    scene bg NullScene
    with fade
    "Wait a second, who the hell does Bastion think he is, getting me to do him another favor for another stupid case? I can't believe I'm still talking to this guy!"
    r "You said you'd owe me."
    b "That I did."
    r "Not the other way around."
    b "I will not deny that."
    r "So why are you asking me for another favor?"
    b "Look, at this rate, I would practically die for you to make it up to you."
    "Maybe you should, I want to tell him, but my less-Italian half actually wants to show him some compassion. I swear, that's gonna get me killed, eventually."
    r "Alright, if I help you out, what can you give me in return?"
    b "How about you take a cut of the profits?"
    r "What profits?"
    b "Like...most of them?"
    r "Again, what profits? You told me your cases barely made you enough money to pay the rent."
    b "I'm at a pretty hefty disadvantage here, you know. I owe you a lot for helping out last time, but I'm not exactly in a position where I can do anything about it. I'm in jail, remember?"
    r "You can rot."
    b "What? Bu--"
    "I sense a dark presence rounding the corner of my cubicle. A presence that reeks of cheap cologne and wears a shirt so loudly colored that I can see it reflecting off a nearby wall."
    r "Actually, don't hang up. I'm gonna put you on hold."
    b "Gee, thanks."
    "I hit the Hold button and put the phone on the desk, just a split second before Albert walks in. Great timing."
    al "Antonia, there's a typo on paragraph three."
    r "Yep."
    al "That's it? You're not going to argue with me?"
    r "Just figured I'd keep you on your toes, given it's {i}your{/i} job and all."
    al "...."
    "For once, Albert is speechless. Ordinarily he'd yell at me some more."
    r "Anything else you plan on blaming on me, sir?"
    al "...You don't usually call me sir. Something's wrong."
    r "You don't usually have enough empathy to recognize that sort of thing, so something must {i}really{/i} be wrong."
    al "I bet it has something to do with whoever's on that phone. Boyfriend?"
    r "What do you care?"
    "Albert doesn't stop and listen, and grabs the phone from my desk, hitting the flashing Hold button."
    al "I know you two are probably a happy couple, but that's for non-work hours. Miss Travaglia here has very important matters to attend to, so I suggest you call back at a later occasion."
    "With that, he hangs up, not waiting for a response from the other line."
    al "Personal matters are for personal time, Antonia."
    "He throws his stack of papers on the desk hard enough that they come completely unsorted."
    al "I need these copy-edited by the end of your shift. I don't care how long that ends up taking, I don't want you leaving this cubicle until it's done. Put it on the Chief's desk when you're done."
    r "Albert, the man you just hung up on is in a holding cell down at the police department."
    "Doing my best to contain my rage here."
    al "Like I said, your personal matters can be dealt with later."
    r "That doesn't even begin to meet the definition of \"personal.\" You forget which desk I actually work for. I'll give you a hint, it's not yours."
    al "He can call back if it's so important."
    r "Forgot your state law so fast, Albert? You get one phone call before being put in the holding cell. One."
    al "Not my problem, Antonia."
    r "I'll give you a fuckin' problem."
    "My fist uncontrollably jerks in the direction of his nose, sending him - and a stream of nasal blood - across the narrow corridor and into a nearby cube wall."
    "He doesn't look like he's getting up from that."
    al "Antonia, are you listening to me?"
    # screen flashes, revealing Albert still standing there
    "...Damned overactive imagination. Well, it's probably a good thing I didn't {i}actually{/i} punch him, in any case."
    r "Maybe, maybe not. Run it by me again and I'll let you know for sure."
    "He lets out that frustrated sigh that I usually only hear from mothers talking to their irritating children."
    al "I said to have these papers copy-edited and on the Chief's desk before you leave today."
    r "Aye-aye, cap'n."
    "I give him the mockingest salute possible as he wafts away to his converted janitor's closet."
    "...No, you know what, I'm through with this shit."
    "Given the choice between doing Albert's dirty work for another entire evening and missing dinner with Ma as a result..."
    "...and going on a vacation, working on a mystery, and potentially getting myself killed..."
    "...There's no way I'm gonna be skimming this stack of papers for typos and spelling mistakes."
    "Time to take matters into my own hands. I grab the stack from my desk - completely untouched - and make for the Chief's office."
    eic "Antonia? I wasn't expecting your work on my desk until tomorrow morning."
    r "Not my work, boss. Al wanted me to do it all for him."
    eic "Seriously? That's overstepping boundaries, even for him."
    r "Well, like hell am I going to do this much stuff in one night."
    eic "I sympathize with you, Antonia, I really do, but this stuff has to get done."
    "...Fuckin' brown-noser has the chief in his pocket."
    r "It can get done by somebody else, alright? I got more important shit to do than making sure Mrs. Klebitz's dead husband's name isn't misspelled."
    eic "Is it misspelled? I might have to issue a correction."
    r "Don't know, don't care. Look, I'm past my overtime already and I got places I need to be."
    "One mention of overtime gets him on my side."
    eic "Well, you sure are racking up a lot of overtime lately. We're going over budget because of it."
    r "All because of me?"
    eic "Well, you and a few others..."
    r "How about I lighten the load on your budget for once and take...let's say a week of vacation."
    eic "Unpaid?"
    r "Preferably paid, but you're the boss, boss."
    eic "...How about half pay?"
    r "Getting warmer..."
    eic "Oh, alright. Regular pay for eight hours a day for the next week. How's that sound?"
    "Much as I'd like to push for time-and-a-half, I know he's not gonna jump for that, so I'd better just take it and go."
    r "Thanks, chief."
    eic "See you next week, Antonia."
    "I waltz out of the chief's office, aglow with a happiness I haven't felt in a while. I shoot Albert a grin and another mock-salute through his open door, to which he responds by struggling to get out from behind his too-tight work desk, cursing up a storm as he accidentally spills his own coffee on himself in the process."
    "Serves him right."
    
    "The streets are almost traffic-free. I'm a bit nostalgic of the city at night."
    "I used to ride along in Rick's cab some nights. He'd switch off the meter, drive around at random, we'd chat..."
    "...Wish things could have worked out better between us."
    "I'm pretty sure it's not really my fault we broke up. Not even his fault."
    "We just weren't for each other."
    "If you don't mind me saying, though, I really don't see how we could have had a very healthy relationship after what happened back when I was in college..."
    "I mean, Rick's cab was the only way I could get to and from campus. God knows, Mom was too cheap to fork over the cash to pay for a dorm room for me."
    "Except I never had the money to pay the cab fare...and, well, what other ways could a girl like me pay off a tab like that?"
    "The thought of it actually has me laughing a bit as I drive, but I couldn't tell you if I actually thought it was funny or not."
    "And as far as this monologue goes...I'm not even sure who I'm talking to, but I trust you'll keep it out of Bastion's ears, yeah?"

    "I'm at the police station in 20 minutes."
    "I don't want Bastion to think I went out of my way, so I hang out in the lobby for ten minutes before consulting the desk sergeant about access to the holding cells."
    "Some old magazines sitting around. One of them is a swimsuit issue. I wouldn't mind giving it a read - and I mean a {i}read{/i} - but it's impossible to open.{w} Damn, this must have been someone else's inside the force. Ugh."
    "I accidentally rip it. Really. Honest."
    "The ripped bits go into the trash. Hope nobody wanted it back."
    # later, in jail...
    
    "It's honestly kind of pathetic to see Bass in the little holding cell by himself."
    ""
return