True Crime

Blood pressure, 120 over 70. Normal.

All right, open wide.

Looks fine. Healthy as a horse.

Just one more thing, Luther.

You got to whiz in the cup, Frank. Then we're done.

Well, fuck 'em.

We going to argue the merits of journalism?

What? Journalism? You trying to tell me that's journalism?

Look, Michelle,

it's been a long weekend.

Everybody keeps shooting one another, and I've got to write about it.

I'm serious. I'm tired of the crap, you know?

I should go back and get my PhD.

At least, then, I could write about stuff that matters.

Michelle, you're 23-years-old, you don't know anything that matters.

Well, fuck you too, Ev!

All right, here's a shoulder.

-What did they do to you? -Not "they." He.

-Alan. -Alan?

Yeah, he killed my sidebar on the Frank Beechum murder.

Now, if you ask me something about the whole case stinks anyway,

-but it's not the point-- -I read that sidebar.

Yeah, well, it was good, Ev. Admit it.

It's the best thing I've written in months.

That was the one where you say

that the media glorified Beechum's victim in order to mask our patriarchal culture--

Which helped create the violence that destroyed her. Exactly.

Yeah. Well, you're right. He should have never killed that.

-Fuckin' A! -I would've tortured it.

Hmm.

Okay.

Well, it might have enjoyed that.

I think it would've enjoyed every second of that.

- Really? - Well.

Another round?

Yeah, another margarita for the lady, and I'll have my usual.

Not your "usual" usual?

No, my, uh, new usual.

Ah. Virgin Mary. Yeah.

Okay, and heavy on the...

Virgin?

All right, Ev, tell me something.

If you're such hot shit, what are you doing stuck here in Bumfuck, California?

-Looking for love. -Hmm.

Well, you've come to all the wrong places.

Not from where I sit.

It's not good, not smart.

-What's smart got to do with anything? -I can't do this.

I gotta go.

I gotta go. You're married and you're...

I can't do this.

I gotta go.

Oh. Next time?

Yeah. Yeah, next time.

Frank!

We're out!

Just hold on, I can't hear you.

Morning, Frank.

Can I get you anything?

Some breakfast?

Well, if I can get, like, a roll and some coffee.

I'll get that right away.

Hey, Doug.

You're not wearing your protective glasses.

Got 'em.

-You heard about it? -Yeah.

-What a tragedy. -The fucking Raiders, that's a tragedy.

-What, was she drunk? -I don't know.

It was at the Dead Man's Curve. They should do something about that place.

We have to cover for her? Did she have anything big on?

She had the interview with Frank Beechum at San Quentin,

and then she was gonna witness the execution tonight.

-Christ. -It's a little worse for Michelle, Alan.

Oh, do you think so, Bob?

Look, I don't know if I can get the warden to sign off on a replacement

for the interview, but I thought I'd take Harvey out of that fraud meeting.

- Put Everett on it. - But Steve has the day off, doesn't he?

Not anymore, he doesn't.

He can do the interview and then he can witness the execution.

And what's his name, the warden down there at San Quentin?

Plunkitt. Steve's dealt with him before. I can get him in.

You think Everett's an asshole, don't you?

I don't think he's an asshole.

You're wrong. He is an asshole. Trust me, I know him.

But a lot of people who are good at their jobs are assholes, Bob.

Look, I know that, Alan, all right? It's just, it's not about that.

It's just everything with Everett is a big, investigative witch hunt, you know?

Like that Mike Vargas piece.

Hey, he was a drunk then, he isn't now.

Oh, okay, so two months ago he's a drunk, now he's Mother Teresa. Okay, all right.

The point is, this is not a Steve Everett slash-and-burn job, okay?

- This is a sidebar. It's an issue piece. - Ooh!

"An issue piece." Well, dog my cats!

It's capital punishment, Alan, okay?

We are putting a man to death tonight. We are killing a human being.

Oh, well, stop the presses!

Hey, by the way, Bob, that Amy what's-her-name,

you know, the pregnant broad that old Frankie shot in the throat,

was she a human being, huh?

-Is that part of the issue? -Yeah, okay. That is part of the issue.

Bob, let me tell you something. Crumb cake?

-No. -Okay.

Issues are shit that we make up to give ourselves an excuse to run good stories.

Okay?

"Judge Grabs A Female Attorney's Tits."

Hey, that's the sex discrimination "issue."

"Nine-year-old Blows Away His Brother With An Uzi."

The child violence "issue."

People want to read about sex organs and blood.

-Well, you know what? -Okay? No, no.

Okay, we make up issues so they don't have to feel too nasty about it. Got it?

Then I might as well call Steve Everett because that's his attitude exactly.

Ooh, a little sarcasm there, Bob?

How long you been here? What, three months, huh?

I've been working with Steve Everett for three and a half years.

And let me tell you something, Bob.

The guy is good, he's as good as anybody I've ever worked with.

You know why he was run out of New York City?

-Do you know the story? -I heard a couple of things.

Yeah, he busted the mayor, Bob. The mayor of fucking New York City!

Everett found a secret memo on a contract bribe

between His Honor and one of the ex-borough presidents,

-and he ran with it in his column. -So?

So, the paper tried to kill it because the owner was in bed with the mayor.

What did Everett do, Bob, huh?

Well, he didn't whine and he didn't back down.

He just fucking walked.

-That's Steve Everett. -Okay.

-Okay? Good. -Fine. Yeah.

-How you doing with the quitting smoking? -Going great.

Okay. Hey, listen, when you send the flowers to the, you know, uh, dead girl...

-Michelle. -Michelle's family.

Would you include my name? Thanks, I appreciate it.

-Yeah. All right. Yeah. -See you. Okay?

The mayor of New York City, Bob. The mayor, you gullible asshole.

Yeah, I could have stayed in New York forever.

They were just about to put me in charge of an investigative team,

and that would have put me on the Pulitzer track.

I really liked it there. Broadway shows, downtown jazz clubs.

Dinners at Elaine's, veal chops up the old wazoo.

Not veal chops like that, though. Jaws!

Now you have to kiss it and make it better.

So, you were the king of New York.

So, why you hacking out metro stories at the Oakland Tribune?

Well, that's a long story.

I got caught in the supply room with a very young lady.

-No. -Turned out to be the owner's daughter.

How the hell was I supposed to know she was underage?

She looked 18 to me.

Anyway, I got blackballed all over town.

You bad man! What did your wife say?

Well, she...

We'd just had the kid, so she took it kind of hard.

But, uh, you know, Alan offered us this gig out here.

Another town, another change.

-Bad man! -Yeah.

First the owner's daughter, now the editor's wife?

Do I detect a little hostility towards authority figures?

-Only ones I work for.

Is that what you're gonna say in the next town with someone else?

"Oh, you know, I got caught with the editor's wife. You know how that is."

I get caught with the editor's wife,

there's not many more towns that'll have me.

So, playtime's over?

You've got to go to work, I've got to get home,

see if the wife and kid still recognize me.

You're not gonna tell me how awful we're being, are you?

Bob, he's a decent sort.

Good newspaperman, solid editor.

So, this all just stinks, right?

What we're doing.

Patricia, you and I are just two people swimming through the passions of life.

You know what I mean?

Look, it's all right.

It's not like I love you or anything.

Well, that's good.

Because I don't love you, too.

Hello?

All right.

Yes?

Yes, all right.

You are not gonna believe this.

What?

That was Bob.

What'd he want?

He was looking for you.

Who told him?

How the hell should I know?

Oh.

Okay.

Morning, Frank.

Mr. Plunkitt.

Anything I can get for you? Anything you need?

No, not anything I can think of.

There's some matters I gotta discuss with you.

Figured we'd do it first thing, get it out of the way.

Your dinner tonight, for one thing,

can be pretty much anything you want.

You go ahead and tell Reedy here, when you decide.

Now, about your personal effects, belongings--