THRESHOLD | Part 3 "The Saints of Arkham"

PART THREE: THE SAINTS OF ARKHAM

Transcripts made and edited by jack, keyraven, Sonse Cahuni, Oro.

CWs: threats of violence, corpses/decomposition, alcohol/alcoholism (implied), organized crime/trafficking, sounds of drinking/eating, audio distortions, pustules/infection

 

 

(BEGIN Part 3.)

 

(Cicadas and crickets chirp. Dogs barking in the distance. A car approaches, stops. A car door opens and closes. Arthur grunts. The car drives away.)

 

ARTHUR: Well, there goes the car. Suppose the driver didn't want to wait.

 

JOHN: Huh. What's to stop us from not going in?

 

ARTHUR: Suppose a bullet in the head.

 

JOHN: Touche. He said it was down and through a set of doors on the left. Unless you've been here before.

 

ARTHUR: No. Parker always said to steer clear of Edwin's.

 

JOHN: Now we know why.

 

ARTHUR: Yeah. Where exactly are we?

 

JOHN: We're in an alley. A wide, crate-filled brownstone backstreet that juts off from Liverpool Road. Briskly moving steam billows from a sewer grate halfway down. And a small walkway turns left near the end of the alley. The streetlight is dim and fills the walkway with a golden orange hue.

 

ARTHUR: I guess Edwin didn't get the message that Prohibition is over.

 

JOHN: I'm sure with alcohol no longer being a concern, the clientele here got a lot more…

 

ARTHUR: Dangerous. (Footsteps.)

 

JOHN: So. What do you know about him?

 

ARTHUR: Not much. Our cases kept a wide distance from these people, these types, the…

 

JOHN: The mob.

 

ARTHUR: Yeah. (Arthur sighs.) It's pretty obvious now, looking back. Knowing that Parker owed —

 

JOHN: You couldn't have known.

 

ARTHUR: I could've. I didn't want to, I didn't think to. I guess I turned away from him. And now he's turning back.

 

JOHN: What do you mean?

 

ARTHUR: It's just that… It's just that coming back to Edwin's now, you know, without Parker.

 

JOHN: Right. Anyway, it looks like the door is coming up. Cold stone steps lead down to a heavy door. Driver said we're to head past the bar, downstairs to the left of the stage.

 

ARTHUR: Yeah.

 

JOHN: You okay? You're looking around, as if you've waiting for someone.

 

ARTHUR: No. Let's do this. (Footsteps.)

 

JOHN: Down the steps. (The footsteps stop.) Why'd you stop?

 

ARTHUR: There's a lot that can go down in here. I may not know Edwin, or what he wants, but I do know his reputation. Killing you is easier than paying you. If he suspects —

 

JOHN: Let's not get ahead of ourselves. Let's just eat the elephant. One bite at a time. Okay?

 

ARTHUR (distracted): Yeah. Yeah, okay. I-I… yeah, okay.

 

JOHN: You-You seem distracted. Back at the office, your heart was racing —

 

ARTHUR: I know, and yes, something… something is up, but I-I need to… I need a bit of time to sort it out myself before making it your problem too. 

 

JOHN: If this something you're keeping from me is dangerous or a cause for —

 

ARTHUR: No! Nothing like that. I don't think. As far as I can tell it's… terrifying but not a threat. Just - another ball to juggle.

 

JOHN: Okay. Well then, let us focus on now.

 

ARTHUR (sighing): Right. Okay. (Footsteps. A door is opened, closed.)

 

JOHN: A thin staircase through a white painted brick passageway brings us down. And opens to a large balcony. (Sounds of a busy club. Cheering, clapping, conversation, and jazz music.) To our immediate left, perhaps seven feet from the stairs, is a long wood bar with three well-dressed bartenders behind it making various drinks. To our right, filling this large balcony area, are a myriad of high chance games. Poker tables, craps tables, a variety of card games, each with their respective dealers and security. Speaking of security, there's a heavyset goon to your left watching the front door. Let's keep moving. This area is large, but overlooks the main floor below. Past the black wrought iron balcony railing is… a stage, and a dinner table area. Almost theater like, overlooking this smoke-filled lower level, where patrons eat and watch the live music. Tonight there's a three-piece band that seems to be playing some standard jazz.

 

ARTHUR: How do we get down?

 

JOHN: To our left. There's a circular metal staircase past the bar here, that connects this upper level with the lower. And on the main dinner floor below… I see a short hallway that leads to the left.

 

ARTHUR: That must lead to Edwin's office.

 

JOHN: Yeah. Let's go. (A pause.) Hm. The men and women here are happily mingling. The whole club is alive with a youthful energy and style. Every man I see is wearing a tuxedo and the women are in dresses.

 

ARTHUR: Envious?

 

JOHN: I won't lie, a bit. Hey, maybe if we do well with Edwin, a night out wouldn't be —

 

ARTHUR (serious): Don't be fooled. These are not our friends. These are villains. Judges who would rather buy a second house than bring justice to the family of a murdered child. Police who line their pockets by looking the other way while criminals stomp their enemies to death. Lawyers who exploit and corrupt the law to let men like Edwin not only continue to exist, but to profit off every injustice. These are not the saints of Arkham. They are rotten ticks buried deep and draining the last of this city's decency and morality to feed their fat, already bloated bodies. And draining me of my patience to stand by and let it happen.

 

JOHN: Understood. The hallway leads to the left, just ahead. A large man stands out front.

 

UNKNOWN LARGE MAN: You kept him waiting.

 

ARTHUR: Then best bring me back, no?

 

JOHN: He turns and leads us down a short hallway. He's a large man with thick fingers - mitts that look like they could crush a skull. He's about as wide as the doorway too. And leading us down this hall, it looks as though he has to slouch, slightly. (Sounds of the club quiet.) We turn right at the end, it looks like. And there's someone else. A thin man in a gray suit. He looks toward —

 

UNKNOWN VOICE: It's okay, Willy. I got it from here.

 

JOHN: W-Willy nods to this man. And then he turns to us with an outstretched hand.

 

JACK: Jack Anthony, Arthur Lester. You may not remember me, but we actually met before.

 

JOHN: He shakes your hand.  A tight grip, but not menacing. He's got sharp features and a chin that juts out slightly. His mouth is wide and the laugh lines in his face are ever-present. His eyes are surprisingly bright, almost a calm gray-white color.

 

ARTHUR: Did we?

 

JACK: Yeah. Matter of fact, it was a half-decent time.

 

JOHN: He turns around and continues leading us down the hall.

 

JACK: Must've been two years ago. Your partner, Parker, convinced me to tag along for a night out. Lo and behold, he was trying to set me up with someone. You as well.

 

ARTHUR (taken aback): Oh my god, I forgot about that. A-At the Leada Dance Hall. Oh god, it was a dance. (Jack and Arthur laugh.)

 

JACK: Yeah, Parker threw us both under the bus on that one.

 

ARTHUR (friendly): Jack! Yes, how are you?

 

JACK: Gah! Can't complain. You ever end up calling that Moira?

 

ARTHUR: No. God, no. Did you call… god, what was her name?

 

JACK: Dalia! And no!

 

ARTHUR: Dalia! (Arthur and Jack laugh.)

 

JOHN (practical): He's being genuine. Get what you can from him. Quick. (Arthur sighs.) Why are we here?

 

ARTHUR: Jack, what is… what the hell is all this about?

 

JACK (sighing): Edwin's worried.

 

ARTHUR: Worried? About what?

 

JOHN: His demeanor shifts slightly. Almost more professional.

 

JACK: Look, I just want to say, it's nothing personal. Parker was a good lad. But… well, I just want you to know it's nothing personal. Whatever happens.

 

JOHN: Well, that doesn't bode well.

 

JACK: And for what it's worth…

 

JOHN: He almost leans forward a bit.

 

JACK: Just, don't let Edwin get your goat. He respects a strong will. If you give him an inch, eh…

 

JOHN: Right.

 

ARTHUR (simultaneously): Huh.

 

JACK: Parker knew that. Just a shame he didn't know how to pay a debt.

 

ARTHUR: Hm. (Footsteps.)

 

JACK: Let's go.

 

JOHN: It looks like the door to Edwin's office is just ahead. How do you want to play this? Tough, don't give anything away? Or maybe we should keep it light and friendly - softer. Maybe earn some favour. Either way, let's show him who we are, and what we do best. (A door opens. Footsteps.)

 

JACK: He's here, boss.

 

JOHN: It's a comfortable study. Suited more to a banker than a boss. We're surrounded by brown shelves that are lit by angled ceiling lights displaying a myriad of trinkets and books - almost like a museum. Some seem personal, others professional. Four men stand in here, not including ourselves. Two tough and tired-looking men to our immediate left, their eyes piercing us like daggers. Jack, who takes a seemingly familiar spot in the shadows at the far right corner, and a man who sits in the centre of the room behind a large heavy desk. The man I can only presume is Edwin. (Sounds of a ball being tossed hand-to-hand.) He tosses a baseball back and forth between his hands.

 

EDWIN: You like baseball, Mr. Lester?

 

ARTHUR: Can't really say that I do. No.

 

JOHN: He watches us. An unassuming look on his face.

 

EDWIN: Really? I would've taken you for a Dizzy fan. You look like you could hit a few homers yourself. Never played?

 

ARTHUR: Never the pleasure.

 

EDWIN: Wonderful game, wonderful game. 'Bout as American as it gets. Ain't it.

 

ARTHUR: Yeah, I wouldn't know.

 

EDWIN: You don't consider yourself an American?

 

ARTHUR: I consider myself a private eye, who was about to head to bed before you called.

 

EDWIN: Oh, I'm not the kind of man that makes calls, Mr Lester.

 

ARTHUR: I suppose you don't. Men of your stature have goons like Willy for that. Right?

 

EDWIN: Amongst other things.

 

ARTHUR: Like the dirty work you drum up, I imagine.

 

EDWIN: Arkham's plenty dirty without my help.

 

ARTHUR: Maybe. But the flies out there seem to be most attracted to your pile of shit.

 

(A tense, ominous melody begins.)

 

JOHN: His eyes tighten. But only slightly. He stops tossing the ball between his hands.

 

EDWIN: This may be a shit pile, but I'm still king of it. (Fingers snap.)

 

JOHN: He snaps his fingers at the two men in the corner who quickly come over. Grab a cigar from one of the large wooden boxes on his desk, put it in his mouth, and light it.

 

ARTHUR: Impressive. Do they wipe your ass for you, too?

 

JOHN: He squints. A flicker of anger.

 

EDWIN: Have a seat.

 

JOHN: He shifts forward and places the ball back on the corner of his desk, gesturing to the chair across from him.

 

ARTHUR: I'm fine.

 

EDWIN (gruff): I didn't ask you how you were. I asked you to sit.

 

ARTHUR: Dogs sit. And I'm not a dog.

 

EDWIN (angry): You’re a dog if I tell you to be a dog.

 

ARTHUR: And yet you keep barking.

 

JOHN: His eyebrow twitches slightly. Jack in the corner behind Edwin gives us a quiet nod. I don't think this is the moment to play hardball, Arthur.

 

ARTHUR: Fine. (Sounds of sitting.) My legs are tired anyway.

 

EDWIN: You've got a mouth like your old partner, kid. I thought you'd know better.

 

ARTHUR: Maybe he had a mouth like me.

 

EDWIN: Well then, he's got you to blame for what happened, doesn't he? (Screeching strings.)

 

JOHN: Arthur —

 

ARTHUR (quiet): He…

 

JOHN: — don't! Just— breathe through it.

 

(Arthur sighs, Edwin huffs in response.)

 

ARTHUR (tense): Look. You're the one who dragged me across town in the middle of the night. Why am I the one pulling teeth here?

 

EDWIN: I don't do anything half-cocked. Maybe that's how your partner rolled. But I don't get into bed with anyone, 'less I talk to them face to face. Size them up. I know about you from Parker and Jack here vouches for you. But I wanted to see you for myself.

 

ARTHUR (suprised): You wanna hire me?

 

EDWIN: I do.

 

ARTHUR: For what?

 

EDWIN: We'll get to that.

 

JOHN: He stands up. And gestures to the two men to our left. With a hand wave, they… leave the room. (The door opens, closes.) Jack stays, but makes himself more comfortable in a nearby chair. Edwin heads to a small bar built into the wall to the left, behind his desk. (Sounds of bottles or cups, moved on wood.)

 

EDWIN: What will it be?

 

ARTHUR: I don't drink.

 

EDWIN: Hear that, Jack? I think we found the first limey to never drink.

 

ARTHUR: I said I don't, not that I didn't.

 

EDWIN: Mr Lester, I am in the business of relationships. All you see around you, through the good times and the bad, has been built through these relationships. Knowing who to talk to, who to bribe, who to confront, who to punish. Through all those relationships, you know what I value most?

 

ARTHUR (flippant): Desperation?

 

EDWIN: Your word. A promise. A promise to keep a deal we struck, a promise to keep your mouth shut. A promise to be there on time. Or a promise to pay me back what you owe me. A man's word is his power. And I never go back on mine.

 

ARTHUR: Well, between you and me and the walls, your reputation on the street is very different.

 

EDWIN: Ah, phooey to what the streets think. This town isn't run by thugs. It's bartered and borrowed. It's shared and split. It's benefiting all the right people and all that falls apart if my word can't be trusted. I want the streets to think I'd shoot you dead rather than make a deal because the streets are filled with people like you. Working stiffs, bootleggers, normal nobodies. I want them in and out and I want them to fear what would happen if they ever stole from me. Or one of my friends. (Liquid being poured.) But the truth is: the only reason the mayor is sitting out there right now, with two beautiful dancers on either side of him, is because he knows that I keep my word. (A glass is set down.) And I know that he keeps his.

 

ARTHUR (sarcastic): Oh, you're getting me all choked up here, Edwin. Next you're gonna tell me that you send orphans to school.

 

EDWIN: You thinking I wouldn't is your blind spot.

 

ARTHUR (joking): Oh! I got one of those.

 

EDWIN: You think in black and white, Mr. Lester. You end up ignoring the shadows.

 

ARTHUR: Look, I'd laugh but I think you balled up the punchline.

 

EDWIN: Here's the punchline. Catch.

 

JOHN: Eh— Catch it! (Arthur catches something, grunts.)

 

EDWIN: Hey, good reflexes.

 

JOHN: Arthur, this —

 

ARTHUR: What is —

 

JOHN: This isn't the baseball.

 

ARTHUR: This —

 

EDWIN: That —

 

JOHN (shaken): Je— Jesus.

 

EDWIN: — is a hand grenade.

 

ARTHUR: Jesus Christ.

 

JOHN: God, Arthur, don't drop it!

 

EDWIN: Never seen one of those, huh? I keep it here on my desk as a reminder. See, right now, that grenade in your hands, it's harmless. Safe, even. Could hold a door open with it. So long as that pin stays in.

 

JOHN: There is a pin holding a lever in place a-and —

 

EDWIN: See, if you pull that pin out, it's still okay but you have to keep a tight grip on it. That lever there, see.

 

ARTHUR: Yes. (John gasps.) Yes.

 

EDWIN: It wants to spring open, it wants to fly off. If you pull the pin and let that lever fly without having a firm grip on it, you have exactly 3 seconds before it'll go off.

 

ARTHUR (deadpan): Good punchline.

 

EDWIN: The real punchline is this. (Arthur sighs.) See, I'm like that grenade there, Mr. Lester. You could throw a few colorful jabs my way and I can take it. I have thick skin. But you cross me, you fail me, you try and cheat me like your partner did, and that pin comes out. I've killed many men smarter and cleverer than you. With these hands, not Willy's. I've left bleeding men to die and children orphans. So I give you my word here and now: if you cross me, I will take that pretty daughter of yours out of her dorm and into the street. (Arthur breathes heavily, seething.) I will make her kneel and I will put two in the back of her head as you watch, helpless, hopeless, and broken. I promise you you'll see the light leave her eyes and Mr. Lester: I always keep my word. (Arthur continues to breathe heavily.) Swallow that bile back down, Mr. Lester. I only want to make myself understood. Clear?

 

ARTHUR (forced cheer): As crystal.

 

EDWIN: Good. Jack.

 

JOHN: Jack stands up and takes the grenade back, putting it on the desk as Edwin sits back down with drink in hand.

 

ARTHUR: You treat all your guests this well?

 

EDWIN: Only the ones whose partners fucked me over.

 

ARTHUR: Yeah, well, you got him back, didn't you?

 

EDWIN: And lost a good soldier in the process but that's not what I brought you here to discuss.

 

ARTHUR: No?

 

EDWIN: No. (Edwin sighs.) As I said, I want to hire you.

 

ARTHUR: Well, what's the case?

 

EDWIN: That's not for discussion yet.

 

ARTHUR: You want me to accept a case I haven't even heard? After a stick like that? You are out of your damn mind.

 

EDWIN: In many ways. But I don't pull the pin for poor results, Lester. I just want you to try your best.

 

ARTHUR (incredulous): I only need to do my best? Well, that's a first.

 

EDWIN: Is that a yes then?

 

ARTHUR: Don't you have others for this? I bet you could rope in any PI in Arkham.

 

EDWIN: I don't need any PI. I need the Dead Man's Mouthpiece. (A melancholy melody plays.) Fact or fiction, you have a way around the dead. And this case starts off with the dead.

 

ARTHUR: Huh. (Edwin blows smoke.)

 

EDWIN: Jack filled me in on your standard rates. I will pay you double. Plus expenses, and a bonus. If you give me the answer I want.

 

ARTHUR: Is that the one you want? Or the truth?

 

EDWIN: It's one and the same, this time. So — what do you say?

 

ARTHUR: So. You wanted to scare me and you made your point, but I don't scare easily. You brought me here because you need me. So you're going to pay me triple my daily rate, plus expenses, and a bonus when the job is done, regardless of how you like the answer.

 

JOHN: A wry smile slides across his face.

 

EDWIN: I see I pegged you wrong. Or maybe, something's changed since you left town. (Edwin shifts in his seat. Footsteps.)

 

JOHN: He comes around from behind his desk and leans against it, before us.

 

EDWIN: Most I talked to had you for a pushover, but I see a glimmer in those yellow eyes of yours that says more than you realize.

 

JOHN: He locks eyes with us, unblinking. (Edwin exhales.) His face is worn, scarred. His eyes are dark brown near black. His eyebrows are long and curl at the ends, and they match his graying hair.

 

EDWIN: Seeing as your pal Parker still owed me two large and the juice has been running for quite some time, my offer stands. And the debt he owes me is wiped clean.

 

ARTHUR: That ain't my debt.

 

EDWIN: No! It's his family's. Really, it's his sister's. Molly. Lovely girl. Have you met her?

 

ARTHUR: What the fuck does she have to do with this?

 

JOHN: Easy, Arthur —

 

EDWIN: Someone has to pay me what I'm owed. And it's sure as shit isn't coming from Parker.

 

ARTHUR: What did you do?

 

EDWIN: Nothing, yet. Out of respect for the family. On your return to Arkham, I put his debt… on you. Now, if you'd rather I get money from your dead partner's sister, or even Mama and Papa Yang —

 

ARTHUR: You bastard.

 

JOHN: Jack twitches. A defensive eyebrow on his face arches — Easy, Arthur. Don't forget where we are.

 

EDWIN: A bastard would have taken that money from them the minute he showed up dead. You should be thanking your lucky stars I'm as gracious as I am.

 

ARTHUR (sighing): Fine. Double my pay, expenses. The bonus and Parker's debt is wiped clean.

 

EDWIN: Deal.

 

ARTHUR: And his family is wiped from your mouth. No one touches them.

 

EDWIN: You have my word. And now you know what that means.

 

JOHN: He sticks out a calloused hand to shake.

 

ARTHUR (resigned): Yeah. (Seat creaks. Arthur and Edwin shake hands.)

 

EDWIN: Excellent. (Footsteps.)

 

JOHN: He stands up and circles back to his chair behind the desk and sits down.

 

EDWIN: Nothing leaves this room. Furthermore, no one outside this building can know I've hired you.

 

JOHN: He's opened a drawer on his desk, reached inside and pulled out a large manila envelope with documents inside. He tosses it towards us. Eh — Grab it.

 

ARTHUR: Can know or will know? (Paper rustles.)

 

EDWIN: I can't control what people see or make assumptions about if they see you exit here. But as far as I'm concerned I'm paying you for the same amount of discretion you afford other clients.

 

ARTHUR (distracted): My other clients don't own half your city.

 

JOHN: The envelope contains profiles and pictures of at least three men. (Edwin drinks, places glass down.)

 

EDWIN: I own a quarter of the city, and I've had peace with the other three men in that envelope… for years.

 

JOHN: The dossiers here are on a Nick McMahon, uh, Clayton Hayes, a-and —

 

ARTHUR: And there was a falling out?

 

JOHN: Arthur —

 

EDWIN: Not exactly.

 

JOHN: Robert…

 

EDWIN: A murder.

 

JOHN: Puckett.

 

ARTHUR (quiet): Puckett.

 

EDWIN: That's right.

 

JOHN: Shit. A-Arthur, wait, wait.

 

EDWIN: You knew him, didn't you?

 

JOHN (nervous): Careful, Arthur. Lie. We should lie, right? No-no, no-no. H-How do you want to play this? Wait, wait, wait. Think this through.

 

ARTHUR: Knew what he looked like as a stiff. Sure. (John gasps.) I was at his place tonight. Even found the body. But you knew that, didn't you?

 

JOHN: That same wry smile peels across his face again. (Ice rattles in a glass.)

 

ARTHUR (thinking aloud): Doubt it was your man I ran into. Suppose Logan could be on the take.

 

JOHN: His smile stays. His eyes flicker with excitement. He's testing you.

 

ARTHUR: Too quick for a trace, but he had my number. He had my card.

 

EDWIN: Aces. (A glass is placed down.)

 

ARTHUR: I didn't give it to him. (Sarcastic.) In fact, love to thank the guy who did. It's been a real ball tonight.

 

EDWIN: When my boys got there, the buttons had already started bagging and tagging. But one noticed your card on his bedside table. Quite the position of honor.

ARTHUR: So what exactly is the job then? And who are these two other joes?

 

EDWIN: The other two Winds.

 

JOHN: Winds?  

 

ARTHUR: You cut Arkham into pieces like a cake. Each took a slice. Well, I blew south to get here. (A glass is placed down.) Puckett's to the east. So that leaves —

 

EDWIN: The west and the north. Nick and Clayton, respectively. The four heads of Arkham.

 

ARTHUR: Jesus. The city need four of you?

 

EDWIN: There's a lot of city.

 

ARTHUR: You said that there's been peace. Until…

 

EDWIN: Until now.

 

ARTHUR: You're saying this is one of the other two's doing.

 

EDWIN: I'm saying for many years we've had peace. No one touched the others’ part of town. Sure, there's bleedover here and there, but it was understood and dealt with. There's plenty of the city to go around.

 

ARTHUR: Says the guy with the mayor in his dining room.

 

EDWIN: Southside always had the government. At least the officials, 'cause they all wanted to dance and sing and drink. We own the docks, and the docks brought in the booze, and booze needed to be protected. Thus…

 

ARTHUR: What do the other sides have?

 

EDWIN: Puckett had the East. The downtown core. Financial district. He may have also been up against the water, but he didn't have the docks. So he focused on the money. Laundering it. Trading it. Moving it through New York, throughout the country. Guy made more than the rest of us combined.

 

ARTHUR: That's reason enough right there, ain't it?

 

EDWIN: Him being dead don't make us richer. In fact, we all used him for our dough.

 

ARTHUR: Maybe he got caught skimming.

 

EDWIN: Killing Puckett for skimming pennies off us is tossing the baby with the bathwater. You get me?

ARTHUR: Yet you're telling me you think one of these men did it.

 

EDWIN: I didn't say that. I was just telling you what Puckett owned.

 

ARTHUR: And the other two?

 

EDWIN: Nick took the west, Water Street and beyond. (Footsteps.) He's a tourist for Arkham, spends most of his time outside the city.

 

ARTHUR: Why's that? (Wooden creaks.)

 

EDWIN: Because the world's a big place. Nick could never resist a party or an event. And New York, Boston, DC… They all throw the best parties.

 

ARTHUR: Arkham's got plenty of parties.

 

EDWIN: He makes his living on what comes in and out of the city. Not what stays.

 

ARTHUR: Trafficking?

 

EDWIN: Drugs mainly, but not exclusively.

 

JOHN: God.

 

ARTHUR: That leaves the north.

 

EDWIN: The north… is Clayton's. And that covers all the farms north of Arkham, which is where he spends most of his time. Fuck, I haven't even seen the guy in years. Though last I heard he veered a few hours west over near, uh… Dunwich.

 

ARTHUR: That sounds like it would be encroaching upon Nick's turf, wouldn't it?

 

EDWIN: Not that far west. Truth be told, between Nick's interests being elsewhere, and Clayton keeping to himself, Arkham was more or less covered between Puckett and myself.

 

ARTHUR: That's your motivation for hiring me. So where's your dossier?

 

EDWIN: I didn't kill him.

 

ARTHUR: Sounds like you had the most to gain.

 

EDWIN: I'm happy in my corner of the city.

ARTHUR: Men like you always want more.

 

EDWIN: Then why would I hire you?

 

ARTHUR: Off the top of my head? (Chair creaks, like Arthur leaning back.) Cover your ass when Nick and Clayton start asking too many questions. Say you hired someone to look into it and he didn't dig anything up.

 

JOHN: He doesn't flinch.

 

ARTHUR: If that's the case, no reason for the song and dance. You pay me now, I'll tell him whatever you want me to. Unless there's more.

JOHN: His eyebrow twitches.

 

ARTHUR: You're worried. You're worried you're next. (An ominous melody plays.) Quite a clean slice you four cooked up. Must have taken a fair amount of negotiations. Or leverage?

 

EDWIN: You have no idea where the true power of this city lies.

 

JOHN: His nostrils flare as he says that. There's a glint in Jack's eye as well, catching the light overhead. Larson said a similar thing, Arthur. Edwin is on edge. You clearly got to him.

 

EDWIN: You think you got something figured?

ARTHUR: Yeah, but you wouldn't know it if I told you.

 

EDWIN: Watch it!

 

ARTHUR (intense): No, you watch it! This ain't a deal you just fall into. The four of you are more connected than you want me to know. You think if someone's coming for one of you, they're coming for all of you.

 

EDWIN: Maybe!

 

ARTHUR: Maybe or yes?

EDWIN: Maybe! I don't know. (Footsteps.)

 

ARTHUR (scoffing): You're talking about wind, but all you're blowing is hot air.

 

EDWIN: All I know is Puckett is gone. You're the one who speaks with the dead, and I need to hear what he has to say. Maybe it's Nick, maybe it's Clayton. Maybe it's… something else. I don't know. I gave you what I have on him to find out for me.

 

JOHN: He's rattled. Jack was right. There's worry in his eyes. An earnest concern. Something beyond just death threats.

 

ARTHUR: You don't want me to ask questions, you've hired the wrong guy.

EDWIN: You ask away. But some of those questions ain't gonna get you answers. (Footsteps.) And some may get you dead.

 

JOHN: He eases back into his chair.

 

ARTHUR: Look, you don't want to tell me the connection between you four, that's fine. But I don't know what I don't know. And if you're holding onto a piece of the puzzle, then I can't see the full picture.

 

EDWIN: I don't need you to see a full picture. I only need you to find out who killed Robert Puckett.

 

ARTHUR: That the gig then? Puckett.

EDWIN (uncertainly): Yes…

 

ARTHUR: And?

 

EDWIN: Find out if anyone else is in danger.

 

ARTHUR: Alright. Well, what do you want me to do with this dossier? (Paper rustles.)

 

EDWIN: Those… Those are your prime suspects.

JOHN: He leans forward and stands once again, this time adjusting his hair and suspenders as if to leave.

 

EDWIN: Or not. Up to you to look into them. (Footsteps.)

 

ARTHUR: Fair enough.

 

JOHN: He's walking out of the room. (Arthur grunts.) Jack is following. (Door opens.) He gives you a proud, stiff nod as we exit back into the hallway… and turn right, heading deeper into the building. (Door closes.) Jack's hanging back, behind us, but follows. We're right on Edwin's heels.

 

ARTHUR: So why did your boys go to Puckett's place at all?

EDWIN: To retrieve something.

 

JOHN (whispering): Oh shit.

 

ARTHUR: That so?

 

JOHN: The key, Arthur. What if—What if Edwin wanted the key? What if he knows we took it? O-Oh. What if it was one of his men in the greenhouse? E-Edwin turns into the double doors of a-a… kitchen. (Door squeaks open, then closes.) A large industrial looking room, empty save for some bubbling pots of liquid on the stove. It looks like there's an alternate exit back to the lounge from here, but he opens a larger, heavier door. (Door opens.) A cold storage room.

 

ARTHUR: So, did they get what they were sent there to retrieve?

 

EDWIN: Yes…

 

JOHN: He enters. Jack behind you pushes us forward softly. Enter, Arthur. (Rustling plastic sheets.) Through the hanging plastic vinyl the cold of the room ices the sweat on our brow instantly.

 

ARTHUR: What exactly did you send them there to retrieve, Edwin?

 

JOHN (disturbed): Jesus, Arthur. Laying on the slab, it's…

EDWIN: Him.

 

JOHN: Puckett.

 

ARTHUR: Jesus Christ. You took the body? How? (Rustling plastic.) Didn't the police—

 

EDWIN: I didn't have to ask.

 

JOHN: Jack enters as well. Arthur, if Edwin wants that key—!

EDWIN: So, you're gonna do your thing?

 

ARTHUR: My thing?

 

JOHN: Edwin and Jack share a look.

 

ARTHUR: Well, look, I'm not gonna do anything with you two hovering over me.

 

EDWIN: No?

ARTHUR: Look, you hired me, right? Edwin? Trust! I took the job. Let me look at the body. Let me see what I can see and tell what I can tell. It's not magic, it's deduction and patience. In a moment where I can try and notice what others don't.

 

JOHN: Edwin's face is unchanged.

 

ARTHUR (pleading): Please. Wait outside, shut the door. It does open from the inside, right?

 

JOHN: Edwin smiles. (Arthur sighs.)

 

EDWIN: You're right. You work for me now. I need to trust the process. Jack will wait for you in the kitchen. I have matters to attend to. I'll expect an update tomorrow.

ARTHUR: Give it a day at least, Edwin.

 

JOHN: He looks at you with a certainty that I can't quite describe.

 

ARTHUR: I will update you tomorrow, but don't expect anything. Murders are complex things.

 

EDWIN: Thank you, Mr. Lester. Glad you're on the trolley with us. (Plastic rustles.) Jack?

 

JACK: I'll be just outside waiting for you. Don't freeze.

JOHN: They exit the cold storage and shut it behind us. (Door squeaks, closes.) At least they left the light on.

 

ARTHUR (quiet): Fuck.

 

JOHN: Jesus Christ, Arthur!

 

ARTHUR: This is a lot to unpack.

 

JOHN: Yeah, well, add this to the pile. We still have that key in our hat.

ARTHUR: So?

 

JOHN: So! What if we put it back now?

 

ARTHUR: Put it back?

 

JOHN: In his mouth, or-or maybe act like he swallowed it.

ARTHUR: Why would we do that?

 

JOHN: Look, if you were right, and whoever we fought in that greenhouse came back for the key, that means someone out there knows we have it.

 

ARTHUR: Right.

 

JOHN: And if Edwin finds him first, it won't take him long to put together that we have Puckett's key, and have had it all along.

ARTHUR: Fuck.

 

JOHN: Exactly.

 

ARTHUR: But we don't know what it opens yet.

 

JOHN: Presumably Edwin does.

ARTHUR: It could be leverage. Our only leverage, especially if Edwin's whole man-of-my-word shtick is bullshit.

 

JOHN: And if it isn't? This is exactly the kind of thing that will get us killed.

 

ARTHUR (sighing): I suppose.

 

JOHN: You think we could leverage a man like Edwin?

 

ARTHUR: No, I suppose we can't. Holding on to the key made sense when we didn't know why it was stolen, but… but if we don't even know what it opens…

 

JOHN: Having found it and given it back gives us that opportunity. It's completely within our right to ask about it, presuming we've just found it. Plus, we could always steal it back.

 

ARTHUR: Wouldn't be the first time I nicked the key tonight. (Arthur chuckles.)

 

JOHN: Exactly.

 

ARTHUR: Still… No, no. I know I'm leaping here, but I'm sure it wasn't Edwin's man we tackled in the greenhouse. If it was, he would have made me the minute I walked through the door and the night would have been very different. Which means two parties want this key. The one who took it, and Edwin. That has to be his reasoning for bringing the body here, for hiring us. He just doesn't want us to know about the key.

 

JOHN: Why?

 

ARTHUR: Well, that is the one million dollar question. But either way, Edwin doesn't know we have the key, nor that we've pieced together that that's what he wants. So we'll keep it that way, for now.

 

JOHN: All right. But we may live to regret this.

 

ARTHUR: Eh, throw it on the pile. (Footsteps.) All right, ready?

 

JOHN (sighing): Yes, Puckett. Perhaps this will make all of our decisions moot.

 

ARTHUR: You think we'll get lucky and see him get strangled by Edwin?

 

JOHN: It's not a winning hand, but I'd still throw in.

 

ARTHUR: Only one way to find out.

 

JOHN: Yeah. Okay. (A pause.) Let's touch the body.

 

ARTHUR (quoting): Once more onto the breach. (Footstep.)

 

(The sound of crunchy static and distorted, digital screaming.) 

 

JOHN: All right. I'm again seeing the scene, as if floating above, watching from a silent unseen third-party perspective. Puckett, he's slammed the door to his study and scrambled into the room across the floor. He's frantically moving to a dresser, the one next to where we found him, and opening a drawer, and grabbing… he grabs a slip of paper.

 

ARTHUR (echoing): Paper?

 

JOHN: He's writing something. Frantically.

 

ARTHUR: What does it say?

 

JOHN: I don't know. I can't see it.

 

ARTHUR: Damn.

 

JOHN: I don't see through the victim's eyes, remember?

 

ARTHUR: I know, I know, I know, but —

 

JOHN: He finishes. And-and just as he does, the door bursts open and reveals a-a…

 

(A whoosh. The static quiets.)

 

ARTHUR: A what?

 

JOHN: A visitor. (An ethereal melody plays.) The figure hangs in the doorway. Split between the dim light of the study and the darkness of the hallway behind it, giving the appearance as if stepping out from a black void. It floats silently, draped entirely in sheer bone-white cloth. The ghostly figure levitates there, almost imperceptibly up and down as if drifting along some unseen, unknowable current.  (Distorted thunder.)

 

(Becoming more fearful.) A flash of lightning from down the hall as the storm that rages outside reveals, only for a second, the shape of the creature beneath. (Ethereal chanting, becoming louder.) Thin, as if nothing but bone, and yet its true form is covered in… tongue-like tendrils, slender, curling off the frame of this being. They move independently, as if tasting the air beneath its robe.

 

The only part of its true form revealed are its hands, which peek at the bottom of the off-white vestments. Its hands are covered in yellowing blood-soaked polyps. Small undulating pustules of various sizes that cover every inch of its exposed flesh. Many sport large red lesions, giving them an almost eye-like appearance. (Loud ethereal chanting, becoming louder.) It holds in these hands a seal. A strange black mark that hangs from a delicate, rust-covered chain.

 

Seeing the figure, Puckett claws at his chest, the cavity of which begins to turn inward. (Distorted cracking.) I can hear the bones breaking under pressure, as if all the air from the room is being sucked out. The pale demon slowly glides into the room. And with its arrival, a glow seems to almost precede it. A calming radiance, a warm illumination, fills the room with light. And as the shade arrives just before Puckett, a loud, heavy snap echoes out as Puckett's chest caves in. (Chanting quiets. John gasps.) As Puckett dies, his last breath a pained gurgle of internal bleeding, the apparition turns silently and recedes back into the dark of the hallway.

 

(An otherworldly woosh. The ethereal melody quiets.)

 

ARTHUR (shaky): Jesus. (A pause. John and Arthur breathe heavily.) Have you… Do you have any idea what…

 

JOHN: None. None.

 

ARTHUR: Don't fuck with me. You've known a great deal of things that you—

 

JOHN (insistant): I have. And while there are many things I seem to recall innately, this is not a figure I'm familiar with. This is no wraith or spirit or specter. It seemed almost…

 

ARTHUR: God-like.

 

JOHN: Yeah.

 

(A pause.)

 

ARTHUR: John?

 

JOHN (distracted): Yeah, yeah.

 

ARTHUR: Any sign of the key?

 

JOHN: It was around Puckett's neck, like you said.

 

ARTHUR: But the paper…

 

JOHN: I couldn't read it.

 

ARTHUR: Well, at least we know who took it.

 

JOHN: You think the man in the greenhouse would have —

 

ARTHUR: I felt paper in his pocket.

 

JOHN: That's right. That's right. Why would he —

 

ARTHUR: I don't know. But given that our victim saw this being and then wrote something down on a piece of paper before he died, it's our strongest lead.

 

JOHN: Which means finding the man you fought in the greenhouse.

 

ARTHUR (sighing): Correct.

 

JOHN (sighing): All right. (Arthur shivers.) I guess we should…

 

ARTHUR: Yeah.

 

(Footsteps. Plastic rustles. Door opens, closes.)

 

JOHN: Jack is sitting on the counter. His hat in his hands. He hops down upon seeing us.

 

JACK (from a distance): That didn't take too long. (Footsteps.)

 

ARTHUR: Dead don't talk.

 

JACK: Nah. (Closer.) But you do.

 

ARTHUR: Not much to say, I'm afraid.

 

JACK: That's so. No theories?

 

ARTHUR: Look, whatever killed Puckett is in the wind right now. And I got about a million questions that need answers before I have even the semblance of a theory.

 

JOHN: His eyes tighten a bit.

 

JACK: Whatever killed Puckett.

 

ARTHUR: Whoever, whatever, wherever. Point is: I got to read through a dossier and make some tracks of my own before I start spitting out ideas. Especially given how touchy your boss is.

 

JOHN: His brow furrows.

 

ARTHUR: No disrespect.

 

JACK: None taken.

 

ARTHUR (sighing): Tell me something: How did you end up working for a guy like that?

 

JACK (scoffing): How long you got?

 

ARTHUR: Well, given that I have homework I want to read before bed, not too long. (Paper rustles.)

 

JOHN: He checks his watch quickly.

 

JACK: Well, I got to get Puckett in the car back to the morgue. But if you head to the bar, I'll sort this out quick and meet you there. I'll buy you a drink. Least I can do for pulling you out of bed.

 

ARTHUR: Don't drink. Remember?

 

JACK: You did when we first met. (Footsteps.) But I won't hold it against you.

 

JOHN: He heads to the hallway we entered through, but points toward the double doors that lead back to the dining area.

 

JACK: Wait for me at the bar nonetheless. I'll just be a minute.

 

ARTHUR: Sure.

 

JOHN: He leaves.

 

ARTHUR (under his breath): Not like I got anywhere else to be.

 

JOHN: To the bar, then?

 

ARTHUR: He seem off to you?

 

JOHN: This whole thing seems off.

 

ARTHUR: Yeah.

 

JOHN (sighing): Here. (Door opens, closes. Footsteps.) That thing. That creature in the vision, Arthur, it's… i-it was… (Distant sounds of a busy club, becoming louder. Jazz, chatting.)

 

ARTHUR: Got you rattled?

 

JOHN (shaken): I don't know. I'm just having a difficult time wrapping my head around this.

 

ARTHUR: Around what?

 

JOHN: The stairs back up are here. (Arthur grunts.) To your right.

 

ARTHUR: Hey, around what?

 

JOHN: Look, we knew we weren't out of the woods with all of this, but still…

 

ARTHUR: With all of this? John —

 

JOHN (intense, serious): Kayne uprooted your life, Arthur. Don't get me wrong, we landed in a pretty great spot, but… are you sure you want to do this all again?

 

ARTHUR: This all?

 

JOHN: Look at the cost, Arthur. Your finger will never come back. This scar on your neck will always remain. The people we couldn't save, the damage we did by bringing others into the fight. Hell, Lillith is still out there doing God knows what, Mother Darkness swore vengeance, and Kayne —

 

ARTHUR: John —

 

JOHN: No, listen! This doesn't need to be our fight anymore.

 

(Applause breaks out in the club.)

 

ARTHUR (incredulous): Doesn't need to? Th — This is what we wanted to do. This is exactly the kind of thing we talked about.

 

JOHN (vemonous): That's easy for you to say. This is all you have. (A pause.) (Sincere.) I'm-I'm sorry, I… I didn't mean that.

 

ARTHUR (flat): This is all I have.

 

JOHN: I just mean — you've returned to what you've always done. Yes, you have Faroe, but she's got her own life. I… well, I have my life too, now. You know I've had the chance to choose what I'm doing with it and —

 

ARTHUR: Is this about your stories?

 

JOHN: No! Yes, but —

 

(Arthur scoffs.)

 

JOHN: I'm just saying —

 

ARTHUR: Oh, I hear what you're saying. Look, anytime you want to tap out, you're welcome to. (Footsteps.)

 

JOHN: I'm just… I'm scared, Arthur. Scared that we have everything we ever wanted. And we're going to muck it up.

 

ARTHUR (dismissive): Yeah, well join the club. (Footsteps.)

 

JOHN: We're at the bar.

 

ARTHUR: Yeah. (A chair is pulled out.) (Arthur sighs.) You think you're the only one nervous about this?

 

JOHN: No.

 

ARTHUR: You think I don't want everything to stay as it is?

 

JOHN: No. You said so earlier tonight.

 

ARTHUR: You're damn right I did.

 

JOHN: But this, this mobster's death, this-this place, whatever killed Puckett. I mean, Puckett probably had this coming.

 

ARTHUR: He probably did. That mean you think Puckett deserved to die?

 

JOHN (taken aback): What? I-I don't know. What does that —

 

ARTHUR: Well, what if it wasn't Puckett? What if it was a different person? An innocent? What if it was Faroe?

 

JOHN: What are you talking about?

 

ARTHUR: We're not choosing to do this because we want to, John. You and I, we've seen it. What lay beyond. What exists out there. We've touched the edge of darkness and we've returned. Through all we've faced, we've come out bloody but unbowed, and that is our gift. That is our strength. That is what calls us to action. We have to protect this city in whatever way we can.

 

JOHN: You truly believe that?

 

ARTHUR: Tonight I do. But ask me again tomorrow.

 

JOHN: Hm.

 

ARTHUR: Look, bad men need nothing more to compass their ends than that good men should look on and do nothing.

 

JOHN: Are we good men?

 

ARTHUR: As often as we can be.

 

JOHN (sighing): Huh. There’s a kid at the bar staring at you.

 

ARTHUR: Probably because I’m talking to myself.

 

JOHN: No, it’s more like a… I don’t know, actually. Strange, it…

 

ARTHUR: Does he want my attention?

 

JOHN: The opposite. Like he’s trying to hide. He’s leaning over one of the bowls of peanuts on the bar. Trying to hide his face.

 

ARTHUR: You don’t recognize him.

 

JOHN: No… wait. He was the piano player on stage. He’s young, probably… can’t even drink.

 

ARTHUR: How young?

 

JOHN: Faroe’s age, maybe.

 

(A soft impact. John and Arthur react in surprise.)

 

JACK: You’re quite the sparring partner. I’d hate to be on the other side of you.

 

JOHN: Jack appears out of nowhere, slaps your back.

 

JACK: Appreciate you waiting.

 

ARTHUR: Hey, anything for you.

 

JOHN: He gestures to the bartender who instinctively pours him a shot from a bottle of brown liquid. (Liquid pouring, glass clinking.)

 

JACK: You sure?

 

ARTHUR: I’ll stick with the nuts here. (Nuts clinking in a glass bowl.)

 

JACK: You know, you’re the first man I’ve seen keep Edwin on his heels. Pretty ballsy.

 

JOHN: The boy at the bar has left, slipping back into the crowd.

 

JACK: So. What was it we were talking about?

 

ARTHUR (through food): How you ended up being Edwin’s number two?

 

JACK: You think I’m that high up?

 

ARTHUR: Hm. Tell me I’m wrong.

 

JOHN: He smiles and shoots back the drink. (Drinking noises.)

 

JACK: I think he just keeps me around ‘cause he likes my accent.

 

ARTHUR: You’re certainly the calmer of the two.

 

JACK: I’ve always had a knack for fixing. Suppose I fixed one too many things for Edwin and he saw me as valuable.

 

ARTHUR: Still. You’re a smart guy. Getting mixed up in all this doesn’t seem like your bag.

 

JACK: I think my bag would surprise you, but you’re not wrong. This is all a bit… tacky for my taste. Big brutish business. But it does pay well.

 

ARTHUR: So what can you tell me that that dossier doesn’t?

 

JACK: Seeing as I put it together, not much.

 

ARTHUR: No?

 

JACK: Look, Clayton and Nick are big time, just like Edwin. (Jack lights a cigarette.) It ain’t gonna be easy seein’ ‘em. You may need to play it close to the chest, if you catch my drift.

 

ARTHUR: I think I do.

 

JOHN: He twists his mouth to the side, as if… debating. (Jack exhales.)

 

JACK: Us number twos… as you so eloquently put it… we tend to keep in touch a little better than the bosses.

 

ARTHUR: You’ve spoken with the other underbosses?

 

JACK: Not all of them, no.

 

ARTHUR: Puckett’s second must be in good company right now?

 

JACK: You know, that’s a real good question. Though, I don’t know how excited I’d be to step into a dead man’s shoes. For all he knows, he’s got a target on his back as well.

 

ARTHUR: Who is Puckett’s second? (Jack sucks air in through his teeth.)

 

JOHN: He takes a deep breath.

 

JACK: Johnny Fleming.

 

ARTHUR: What’s your read on him?

 

JACK: You know, I don’t really have one.

 

ARTHUR: You don’t strike me as a guy without a read on someone.

 

JACK: Maybe with Fleming, there isn’t much to read. He’s a bit of a meathead. Dim, but manageable. Didn’t know a lick about the numbers, but… well, he sure is hungry.

 

ARTHUR: Too hungry?

 

JACK: Maybe.

 

ARTHUR: You got a lead on where he’d be?

 

JACK: No, sadly. Underbosses move around a lot. Part of the job. We’re often the ones in the crosshairs first.

 

ARTHUR: That so?

 

JACK: Oh, you want to weaken your lieutenant before taking out the general.

 

ARTHUR: Speaking of the general, Puckett was in a tizzy before he called me.

 

JACK (thoughtfully): Huh.

 

JOHN: He smiles.

 

JACK: I’ll tell you this much. Last time I spoke to Johnny, he did say some odd things about Puckett.

 

ARTHUR: Such as?

 

JACK: Ah, he said that Puckett wasn’t altogether there. Acting a little paranoid. More than usual. Apparently, he was seeing a head shrinker about it, though he didn’t want anyone to know.

 

ARTHUR: How come?

 

JACK: He didn’t say. Johnny clammed up quick, too. Probably knew he’s saying too much already.

 

ARTHUR: Fair enough. Did he say the name of the shrink?

 

JACK: No… but I’ll keep my ear to the ground for you.

 

JOHN: It’s clear his paranoia was well founded.

 

JACK: Just tell me if Johnny turns up, yeah?

 

ARTHUR: Why is that?

 

JACK: Someone starts pickin’ off the heads, the shoulders are sure to come next. I’d love to know what he knows.

 

ARTHUR: You think someone’s taking out the mob as well. This isn’t just Edwin’s fantasy.

 

JOHN: He purses his lips.

 

JACK: Edwin plays it close to the chest, but there’s a reason the Four Winds are connected. Something they share… a history. Knowing what the four of them know. He’s got reason to believe Puckett’s the first in a line of dominoes to fall. So yeah. I think someone’s trying to clean house as well.

 

ARTHUR: It’s the mob’s job to tie up loose ends, ain’t it?

 

JACK: Depends on what kind of business you want to run. (Wooden scraping. Arthur grunts in effort.)

 

ARTHUR: Foolish to think Johnny would be at home?

 

JACK: Would you be?

 

ARTHUR: Fair enough. Well, you have yourself a good night there, Jack.

 

JACK: You too, Arthur. And hey. (Jack gets up.)

 

JOHN: He stands.

 

(‘Faroe’s Song’ begins to play.)

 

JACK: Whatever business Edwin has gotten himself into, whatever storm might be coming… you make sure to keep your head down as much as possible. Alright? (A light pat.) You’re a good lad, Art. Hate to see you get dragged in the muck with the rest of us.

 

ARTHUR: Well, Jack. That’s a problem. Because that’s where I do my best fighting. (Jack snorts, Arthur chuckles.)

 

JACK: Take my advice and get to bed, Mr. Lester. Starting to make too much sense. (Footsteps. Opening and closing of a door. Crickets chirping and street sounds.)

 

JOHN: Friends are hard to come by, Arthur. Jack seems to have a soft spot for you.

 

ARTHUR: More likely Edwin’s told him, but I’m picking up what you’re putting down.

 

JOHN: Something is sticking in my mind, though.

 

ARTHUR: What’s that?

 

JOHN: Puckett. During the vision…

 

ARTHUR: Taxi-stand? Wh…?

 

JOHN: Oh, at the end of the alley.

 

ARTHUR: Yeah. Go on.

 

JOHN: During the vision, he… he was… he recognized the thing. Or at least, he thought he did. He said… ‘it’s you’. And after it broke into the study, he… he pleaded with it, saying… ‘I’m sorry’.

 

ARTHUR (urgent): You didn’t think to mention this?

 

JOHN: I was understandably shaken.

 

ARTHUR: Well, yeah, that… that paints a different picture, for sure.  (Arthur sighs.)

 

JOHN: I’m sorry.

 

ARTHUR: It’s alright, it’s alright. My head is swimming. Let’s get back to the office, look over these tonight, and..

 

JOHN: Yeah.

 

ARTHUR: Make some notes and get some faces with names.

 

JOHN: Yeah.

 

ARTHUR: We’ve gotten a lot of information tonight. We need to parse through before figuring out where to start. (Flies buzzing.)

 

JOHN: Agreed. We’ll get the main players out on the board and, and – and then we can hit the hay. (Repeated metal banging at a distance.) Take a look with fresh eyes in the morning. No pun intended. Arthur?

 

ARTHUR (distracted): What? What?

 

JOHN: Oh.

 

ARTHUR: What? (Sounds of whining and yelping.) Is there a dog?

 

JOHN: Yeah. A little mutt has been rooting around in the trash here. A stray.

 

ARTHUR: Huh. (A dog panting.) What are you looking for, there?

 

JOHN: Tell it to scram, Arthur.

 

ARTHUR: It’s just a dog.

 

JOHN: Tch! Scram! Scram!

 

ARTHUR: He can’t hear you.

 

JOHN: Get, get! (Flies buzzing. Rapid pawsteps.) Ugh, he’s coming over to see if you have anything. Get rid of it, Arthur.

 

ARTHUR: It’s a dog, relax. Hey. Hey, buddy.

 

JOHN: It’s mangy. (Intense dog sniffing.)

 

ARTHUR: It’s not mangy. Oh, I still have some peanuts from the bar, there.

 

JOHN: Don’t feed it!

 

ARTHUR: Fine. These flies are irritating.

 

JOHN: Flies?

 

PARKER: So how’d the meeting go? (Arthur audibly flinches.)

 

JOHN: You okay?

 

ARTHUR: Yeah, yeah.

 

JOHN: The dog is sat at our feet, staring. Begging, now. Can we please go?

 

PARKER: You feed that thing, you’ll be picking up another stray along with that voice inside your head.

 

ARTHUR: Look, John, remember how I told you…?

 

PARKER: No no. Not yet. Keep him in the dark.

 

JOHN (confused): Told me?

 

PARKER: Please.

 

ARTHUR: Nevermind. Look, I wanna… pet the dog. Do you want to…?

 

JOHN: Go to time-out? Yes, please. Pull me out when we get home.

 

ARTHUR: Sure. (An otherworldly zap.)

 

PARKER: Seriously, though. That dog has been rooting around here for years. Don’t give it any attention.

 

ARTHUR (sighing): Took you long enough.

 

PARKER: So. What’s the rumpus?

 

ARTHUR: It’s a case, alright. Puckett is dead, one of the Four Winds. You knew him?

 

PARKER: I knew of him. He hired you to find out who did it?

 

ARTHUR: Eh, in a manner of speaking. Look, I’m at sea here. I got a boatload of suspects and I’m running on a few hours –

 

PARKER: What about me, Artie?

 

ARTHUR: What about you?

 

PARKER (desperate): Me! Look at me. (Wet, squelching noises.) I mean… I’m falling apart here, Artie. I’m rotting from the inside out. Or maybe the other way around, I can’t tell, but… I’m a walking stiff here.

 

ARTHUR: Yeah, but you’re walking!

 

PARKER (distorted outburst): I’m not fooling around here! I… (Parker coughs.) (Calmer.) I’m… I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m…

 

ARTHUR (gently): Alright.

 

PARKER: I’m balled up, Artie, I’m just… I’ve been waiting for you to talk to me so long, I’m just…

 

ARTHUR: It’s alright.

 

PARKER: I’ve lost time, and…

 

ARTHUR: Edwin’s hired me for this. I’m looking into another situation for Callihan, a strange tattoo and a sigil. You know, I-I can’t drop all of that.

 

PARKER (plaintive): It’s me, Artie. It’s me.

 

ARTHUR: Is it, though?

 

PARKER (frustrated): God! How many questions do I need to answer for you – ?

 

ARTHUR: I’ve been through a lot myself, Parker, okay? Have you done any looking yourself? Have you spent any time trying to figure out… to remember anything?

 

PARKER: Nothing, Artie, nothing! I’m just… here. To nobody but you, apparently. And the fucking flies.

 

ARTHUR: I’ll help you, I will. But take it down a notch.

 

PARKER: Alright.

 

ARTHUR: You’re scaring me.

 

PARKER: Alright, I’m sorry.

 

ARTHUR: It’s fine.

 

PARKER: I’m just… how can I help?

 

ARTHUR: Well, for one, have a plan of action. You know, get something together, you know. I know you said you don’t remember anything, but… you know, think outside the box, would you?

 

PARKER: Sure, sure. I mean… how can I help with this, though? With you?

 

ARTHUR: Oh. Well… for now, I-I’m fine. I mean.

 

PARKER: Yeah?

 

ARTHUR: Yeah, for now, it’s okay. Say, was Jack working for Edwin when we all went out together?

 

PARKER: Yeah, why. He still there?

 

ARTHUR: Yeah. I can gather your read of Edwin. But what of Jack?

 

PARKER: I always liked him.

 

ARTHUR: You vouch for him?

 

PARKER: Yeah, more than Edwin. I can help you. We can solve this case.

 

ARTHUR: Gonna be tough if you don’t want me telling John.

 

PARKER: Yeah. Yeah, h-hey, let me think on that. Okay?

 

ARTHUR: Sure.

 

PARKER: Hey. Lester and Yang, back together, eh? Just like old times.

 

ARTHUR: Not just like old times.

 

PARKER: No?

 

ARTHUR: Well, you wouldn’t have let me do this. (Dog panting.) Here you go.

 

PARKER: Ah, you’re feeding the fuckin’ dog? Artie! (Sounds of Arthur petting the dog.)

 

ARTHUR: Good boy! Good boy.

 

PARKER: Oh, fuckin’ animal. Get.

 

ARTHUR: Me or him? (Arthur laughs.)

 

PARKER: Would you get? It’s smelling me! Go. (Pawsteps.)

 

ARTHUR: Oh, great. Me and dogs. The only two that can sense you.

 

PARKER: Well, at least I’m not the one workin’ for dogs. How’d it make you feel, to be in a den of sinners?

 

ARTHUR: Saintly. (Parker scoffs.) Let’s go home. Guide me to the taxi stand, will you?

 

PARKER: Now who needs who, eh?

 

ARTHUR: You know what? I think I will take Jack’s advice.

 

PARKER: What’s that?

 

ARTHUR: Go to bed.

 

PARKER: That’s my bed, you mean.

 

(The dog continues to whine and pant as the voices fade.)

 

(A click, followed by static.)

 

(END Part 3.)