Marvel's Jessica Jones

New York may be the city that never sleeps,

but it sure does sleep around.

Not that I'm complaining.

Cheaters are good for business.

A big part of the job is looking for the worst in people.

Turns out I excel at that.

Clients hire me to find dirt.

And I find it,

which shouldn't surprise them, but it does.

That bitch! She's sleeping with my brother?

Knowing it's real means they gotta make a decision.

Calm down.

One, do something about it.

She wants to go behind my back...

Or two, keep denying it.

Shoot the messenger.

She destroyed my life.

Tell me I'm getting off on ruining their already shitty lives.

Option two rarely pans out.

And then there's the matter of your bill.

People do bad shit.

I just avoid getting involved with them in the first place.

That works for me.

Most of the time.

I can let you know as soon as...

Jessica, did Miss Hogarth ask you to stop by?

Yep.

- You're lying, aren't you? - Yep.

Got anything for me?

I thought you didn't like or trust me.

Oh, come on, I meant lawyers in general.

- "Scumbag henchmen for corporate America." - Well...

We just hired a full-time investigator.

Whoever he is, he's not as good as me.

Hence me having offered you the job, which you rejected.

Wasn't personal. I just prefer freelance. No ties.

So you said, with an impressive string of expletives.

Okay, is being drunk an excuse?

You know, it's really about professionalism.

You are erratic and you are volatile.

Effective. You've brought me eight jobs no one could deliver on.

I did.

And that is why I have overlooked several complaints,

and have kept your methods confidential.

You're not protecting me. You need my methods.

I'm not gonna beg you for a case.

I will ask you, though, very strongly.

I need a summons served to the owner of several gentlemen's clubs.

His name is Gregory Spheeris.

An exotic dancer fell off the stage when a pole came loose.

Severe concussion, some permanent brain damage.

Spheeris claims she was always that stupid.

- And you're repping who? - The dancer, of course.

The poor, brain-damaged dancer. And?

Other parties interested in Spheeris' property.

Phew. I questioned my whole worldview for a second there.

Spheeris' bodyguards make him very difficult to serve.

Your specialty.

This has gone a long way toward me liking and trusting you.

Gregory Spheeris' office. Hi.

I'm calling from Cal Jamshahi's office.

My name is Karen. Karen Accord.

- No, it's not. - Yes, it is.

From the Vanderbilt color guard?

- Yes! - This is Magda Simms!

Oh, my God, Magda! Thank God. You have to help me.

Why? Why are you whispering?

Jamshahi is screaming about some meeting he has with Mr. Spheeris,

and I don't know where or when.

Mr. Spheeris doesn't have any meetings today.

No, it's not a meeting, it's...

I don't know, a lunch, a dinner? I can't read his handwriting.

Oh, no. Now, here he's coming.

Oh, could it be drinks? Tomorrow, 00 p.m.?

- He didn't say Jamshahi would be there. - That has to be it. Where?

Soho House, but it's members only.

Thank you so much, I'll call you back.

Shit!

God damn it!

In my line of work, you gotta know when to walk away.

But some cases just won't let you go.

Two minutes on a treadmill, 20 minutes on a quarter-pounder.

Ew!

Uh-huh.

You want to do it. You know you do.

Main Street.

Birch Street.

Higgins Drive.

Cobalt Lane.

All right, all right.

Oh, shit.

God damn it, Malcolm. You scared the shit out of me.

- What are you doing in my apartment? - This is my apartment.

That's why it's not crunchy.

- You know, your door's broken. - I hadn't noticed.

You use sarcasm to distance people.

And yet you're still here. Now go the hell home.

Oh. Excuse me, you wouldn't be Jessica Jones?

- Yeah. - We tried to call.

My phone's been acting up.

But you are Jessica Jones, private investigator?

Yes, I'm a private investigator.

I'm Barbara Shlottman, this is my husband, Bob.

We just flew in from Omaha to find our missing daughter.

Honey, Hope's not missing if she still calls us once a week.

She could be in a cult!

Come on in.

- Looks like you stripped your screws. - Wouldn't be the first time.

Start at the beginning.

Hope is at NYU on an athletic scholarship. Track and field, team captain.

A month ago she called to say that she was taking a break,

which is not like her at all.

She moved out of her apartment, we don't know where.

When she quit the team, we got on the plane.

You have a level? I could hang this straight.

She doesn't have a level, Bob.

We went to the police.

They said there was no evidence of a crime being committed,

and someone there recommended that we contact you.

The police referred you to me?

- Why? Would that be unusual? - Not at all.

Has Hope had any problems in the past?

God, no. She's always been incredibly disciplined.

How about epoxy?

I could glue the screws in. It'd be temporary, but...

Stop with the damn door, Bob!

And leave a woman living alone in this city with no lock and no door?

It's not safe!

That won't work.

I charge hourly, plus expenses.

I'll get a standard contract.

Shlottmans.

Bob, general contractor. Barbara, accountant.

Not wealthy, but legit.

Son, Owen.

Daughter, Hope.

Track, track, more track.

Jesus, more track.

Friend.

I'm playing tonight if you want to come.

Yeah, definitely.

It was open.

Stop shooting.

I'm making an experimental time lapse film of a year in my life, so...

Riveting.

I found him on Craigslist.

I suddenly needed a roommate, so... Thanks a lot, Hope.

You're pissed at her.

Seriously, lose the camera, Coppola.

I can't, it's a continuous shot. That means that there's no cuts.

Look at that, I found a cut.

Oh! You destroyed my art!

Mercy killing. Where's Hope's stuff?

She told me to sell it for rent. Made a whole 98 bucks.

Well, there's a box of her leftover junk in my closet.

Go get it.

Okay.

She's not missing, you know. She's just holed up with that guy.

There's a guy?

Of course there's a guy. Why else would a best friend crap on you?

She didn't mention him to her parents.

They only talk about track.

This guy have a name? A job?

All she'd tell me was, "He's amazing!"

I mean, did she think I was gonna steal him or something?

Look, she met a guy. Case solved.

You turn that thing on, I'll pull your underwear through your eye.

Brr! Sucks to be you.

Yo! Chop chop! Quick like a bunny!

Where's my car?

Be back in my place in ten.

Excuse me.

I said excuse me.

Do you know the way to the Chrysler Building?

It's called Google Maps, moron.

What the...

How are you doing that?

You're... one of them.

Holy mother of God!

You know, you'll spend less settling this lawsuit

than you did on those hair plugs.

You're not normal.

It's people like you that give people like you a bad name.

Take the damn summons, Spheeris.

No, no. If you even touch me, I'll tell the world about you.

There'll be nowhere to hide.

Do I look like I'm hiding? No.

You wanna know why?

Because no one wants to know.

They want to feel safe.

They'd rather call you crazy than admit that I can lift this car,

or that I can melt your insides with my laser eyes...

which won't leave a trace.

Mr. Gregory Spheeris, you've been served.

"Laser eyes." Moron.

Birch Street.

Higgins Drive.

Cobalt Lane.

You work this late so you can return calls without actually reaching people.

Well, I reached you.