Author's Note: I apologize if this plot-line is going slower than Marlon Brando riding an arthritic tortoise on the planet Jupiter… but I'm trying to capture the spirit of the series here, which means that the various story arcs don't necessary develop very fast.
Episode 4:
West Coast Tilt
Calipatria State Prison- Outside San Diego, CA- 1019 PST, August 30
"Sergeant Clive, I am Major Steve Harrington, and this is Lt. Loren Singer. We've been assigned to defend your case." Harrington stated with his trademark smile as he shook their client's hand. Lt. Singer did the same, and with that, the three got down to business.
"That's great… cool, even. I've been framed, you see." Clive stated proudly.
"Okay, perhaps you can tell us just what happened."
"Well, it started in the nightclub, the Fading Dreams." Clive began, "I started jawing with a loudmouth punk who had decided he owned the best seats. I'm sure you know the ones I'm talking about, sir… you know, the one's just in front of the pole so that you can get the best view?"
"No, can't say I do." Harrington replied flatly.
Singer grunted in disgust, "So it was one of those nightclubs… figures."
"Well anyway, they ask me if I want to take it outside." Clive continued, "So I say, sure. We get outside, and get into an alley across the club, and I realize this punk had brought four of his buddies. Anyway, I get in a scrap with the punk in question, and I get him pretty good."
Clive leaned in, and said, "Then, I see that one of this punk's buddies has a gun! The fucker was gonna shoot me!"
"I'm tempted to do the same…" Singer muttered under her breath. It didn't appear that their client heard the comment, but Harrington frowned at her before asking Clive to continue.
"Well, anyway, I jump out of the way behind some trash cans just before he fires, then I hear a whole bunch of cursing, and once I jump back to my feet, the punks are running full speed down the alley away from the club."
Harrington looked down at his case file, and replied, "Well, eye witnesses report seeing one person fleeing from the scene, not five."
"Maybe they were fucking ghosts, alright? All I know is what I saw."
"Next question." Singer interrogated, "How did your fingerprints show up on the murder weapon?"
"I picked up the gun after the punk dropped it, and went after them. I didn't even know they capped somebody across the alley until after the cops booked me."
"Right…" Singer answered skeptically.
Harrington stood, and said, "All right, I think we have all we need." He waited for Singer to join him before concluding, "We'll check up on what you told us, and we'll get ready for the arraignment."
Once the pair had left the interview room Singer commented, "He obviously didn't get promoted to Sergeant because of his intelligence. Even if someone else killed that civilian, he was found with the murder weapon on his possession, frothing like a madman about killing those bastards. It would take a miracle of God to find him not guilty."
"Not unless we can find those four mysterious 'ghosts'." Harrington replied.
"You aren't serious…" Singer said warily.
He shrugged. "Hey, we have two days before the arraignment, then however long before the trial. It can't hurt to try and have a look see."
"You aren't serious…" Singer reiterated.
"Did you have some other plans, Lieutenant?"
"No…"
"Then why not? At the worst, we wind up with a San Diego tour. At the best… we make a miracle happen." He flashed her another one of his grins.
Singer exhaled, caving in. "All right… we can do some investigation. It'll kill some time."
JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, VA- 1112 EST
"Colonel… this could get us in some serious trouble." Bud warned as he nonetheless typed in commands from his office computer.
"We're just going to sneak a peak at Lt. Singer's personnel file, that's all." Mac rationalized. "It's not like we're going to change anything. Besides, it's not like we're hacking into the CIA."
"True… but without any due reason to call up her file… this could result in pretty strict ramifications." Bud paused before adding, "Just why do you want to see Lt. Singer's file anyway? I thought you hated her."
"It was something Major Harrington said that got me to thinking." She explained. "I'm just curious about Singer now."
Bud sighed in resignation. "All right… well, here it is…"
Mac leaned closer to Bud's computer, and read off the screen. "Loren Singer… born in Greenwich, Connecticut… daughter to Francis and Marcia Singer… Marcia is a neurological doctor, Francis is a stockbroker… attended Dartmouth University with a full grant… she's basically grown up with a silver spoon in her hand."
"Meaning?" Bud asked.
"It would explain her attitude… but Harrington seemed awfully certain she had a 'troubled past'. I wish I had her troubles." Mac scoffed.
"Well, ma'am… if I may say so… just because you've got money, doesn't always mean things are all sunshine and happy."
"What is going on here?" Harm cut in, causing Mac and Bud to nearly jump out of their skins. "Why are you looking at Lt. Singer's personnel file?"
"Something Major Harrington said to me, it got me to thinking." Mac explained.
"That's got to be a first." Harm said with a teasing grin.
Mac's playful glare prompted Harm to take a step back in mock fear. "Anyway, I probably should warn you that the Admiral is just finishing his meeting with the SecNavy, and probably wouldn't like to see what you're doing."
Bud yelped, and quickly deleted all records and history pertaining to the file from his computer. Meanwhile, Harm advised, "Besides, we still have a nice case load to finish, Mac. Might as well do it now, and actually be busy when he comes in."
Fading Dreams- San Diego, CA- 1522 PST
"I cannot believe you actually talked me into coming in here." Singer grumped as they entered the club. At the moment, it was empty save the dancing girls who were practicing their routines for the following night.
"It's all in the name of investigation." Harrington answered with a sly grin.
"Uh huh, sure…"
"Hey, you can wait outside by the car." Harrington reminded, "Maybe those construction workers on the other side of the road would be willing to keep you company."
Singer cringed at the reminder. "Let's just get done here, okay?"
It didn't take them long to find the person in charge of the club, after all, he was the only other male in the establishment besides Harrington.
"Yeah, I remember that Marine, Andrew Clive, right?" The proprietor of the club, a portly, balding man with a cigar trapped between his teeth, answered. "Yeah, he's stationed around here… one of my most frequent customers."
"Do you remember him arguing with someone on the night of the 22nd?" Harrington asked.
"Nope, I wasn't here, left the club in charge of my brother that night. I was… out of town… on business, you see." He replied, offering a cigar to Harrington.
Harrington declined, and continued, "Do you know where we can contact your brother?"
"Yeah, I got his number right here." The proprietor answered, pulling out his business card. "His phone number is on the bottom. If anything went down that night, he'd know the answer."
"One more question, did the police already question anyone here?" Singer asked.
"Not really… the police generally go out of their way to leave me be. Then again, those are the perks when you give 'off-duty discount days'." His eyebrows lifted lecherously.
"Thank you, sir. We appreciate your cooperation." Harrington replied as he turned to leave.
"Hey… you know, sweet cheeks… If the Navy ever gives you a bum deal, the guys around here pay big money for a lady in uniform."
Singer cringed at the thought, and replied with every ounce of venom she could muster. "I would rather spend a year in an Iraqi detention center than one night here." She would have said more hadn't Harrington "escorted" her out the door.
As they got into the rental car, Singer fumed. Meanwhile, the catcalls from the construction workers across the street pervaded through the doors. "Men are pigs."
"Hey now…" Harrington began.
"You're not a man." Singer replied in apology.
Harrington's eyes narrowed as he began to accelerate. "Thanks… I think…"
San Diego Radisson- 1545 PST
"Yes, I am just looking for a Dougie Bell… the number on his buisness card says that this is the number." Harrington said with a sigh. Somehow he knew this wasn't going to be easy.
"Figures… the guy's probably in Mexico getting arrested." Singer said. "I knew this was going to be a waste of time."
"Maybe not." Harrington replied thoughtfully before picking up the phone.
"Who are you calling now?"
Harrington held up his index finger, asking her to be quiet for a minute. "Hey, Ronnie, how ya' doin, girl? Yeah, this is Steve. Listen, I know I'm not your boss anymore, but I could really use a favor."
Harrington waited for a moment, before he continued, "Yeah… I'm in San Diego, and I need to find someone named Dougie Bell. He's probably hiding out somewhere, and so I need any information you can find about his family, friends, or potential hideouts."
There was more silence, "Yeah, I know that you don't have any jurisdiction to do that… but I could really use some help here. Think of all the times I covered for you when you needed it."
After one last pause, Harrington smiled, and replied, "Thank you, Ronnie. You are a lifesaver. I'm sure you already tagged the number I'm calling from, so just call me back when you have the info."
Harrington placed the phone back on its rest, and Singer glared accusingly, "And who was that?"
Harrington took a deep breath, "That was Ronnie Chapel, she works for Interpol in Seattle. She was often my source of information when I worked as military advocate for the Seattle District Court."
"So, what's next, then?"
"Well… we wait until Ronnie gets a hold of me again. Could be a couple minutes, could be a couple hours. You never know with Interpol."
Virginia, 2021 EST
Mac heard the knock on her door, and knew instantly just who it was. First, an image of her visitor's face flashed before her mind, and second, she only had one person who came around at this time of the evening.
"Hello, Harm." Mac said with a knowing smile.
The Commander flipped a case file up in front of her face. "There are 15 more just like this one in my briefcase. We probably should get to them."
"Oh, so this visit is business?" Mac replied.
"Why, were you expecting pleasure?"
"Of course."
"Well then, we still can arrange some pleasure for the evening."
"Yes, we could. But it would have to be a pizza place that delivers. We won't have time to go and get it ourselves."
Harm laughed, "No wonder you get these visions of yours, Mac. Your brain has nothing else to do while you're thinking with your stomach."
Mac just stuck out her tongue as she waited for the pizzeria to answer. Once she had placed her order, she sat down at her kitchen table, Harm on the other side, too close for her professional comfort, but too far away for her personal tastes. There were moments where her life could be absolute hell…
"It's not fair, you know." Mac complained, trying to get her mind off… other things. "We're the ones with seniority, and yet we're the ones sitting at a kitchen table doing all the work for the two new kids while they jet off to San Diego on the glory case."
Harm shook his head in disbelief, "I thought you liked having Singer out of town."
"I do… but not when I get stuck with her workload." Mac replied indignantly.
"I got an e-mail from Steve before I left my place. He seems to think that they've got a real mess brewing in California. It might not be much preferable to this when all is said and done."
San Diego Radisson- 1900 PST
"Well, Ronnie called me back. Looks like we have five places that she could confirm our friend Dougie might be at." Harrington told his partner as he sat down next to her in front of the hotel bar.
"About time… I was actually starting to consider some of the vintages they have here."
"Something wrong with them?"
"You know better than anyone that I have very refined tastes." Singer replied.
"But of course." He answered, offering his arm, "Well, your highness, shall we proceed with our tour of the city?"
Singer slapped it away, and with a wry smile, said, "Oh, knock it off, and let's get this over with."
The first three places turned up nothing. They had not expected Dougie to be at his home address or his summer cottage on the beach, but they were quite surprised when his mother seemed not to have any idea as well.
"I think Bell's mother was misleading us." Singer said again.
"And I don't agree… she looked like she would be the first one to strangle Dougie if she found him." Harrington disagreed, fighting to keep his attention on the road. That was the fourth time Singer had made her opinion clear as they wove through the streets of San Diego.
"So now where?" Singer asked more to herself, looking down the list of names that Harrington had received from his friend in Interpol. "Mara Sinclair… supposedly Mr. Bell's fiancé…"
Relaying the address to Harrington, he located it on their rental car's GPS. "All right, here we go. Fourth times a charm, right?"
"Right…"
Upon reaching the young woman's residence, a small row house on the outskirts of the city, Mara came out to meet them before they even had started to walk up the driveway.
"If you are looking for Dougie, he's not here." She said softly.
"How did you know we were looking for Mr. Bell?" Singer inquired.
"Well, when I saw the military uniforms, I assumed you were the… oops." She slapped her hand over her mouth, realizing she had said something she wasn't supposed to say.
"Stupid bitch!" A male shouted from inside the house, and burst out the front door at top speed, running to the back yard.
Harrington pulled his pistol out of his hip holster, and said, "Keep an eye on Miss Sinclair, Lieutenant." With that, he took off full speed after who couldn't have been anyone else than Dougie Bell.
"Men…" Mara snorted as Harrington disappeared around the corner of the house.
Singer nodded, "Tell me about it…"
Seconds later, the sound of a single gunshot rung out from the backyard, quickly jolting Singer with concern. Soon after, Dougie's voice yelled, "Jesus Christ! What is with you military people shooting everything that moves?"
Dougie emerged, hands above his head, followed by Harrington, pistol trained on the former. Harrington's face was not in its usual smile, and he reached a similar conclusion as Singer as they looked at each other. "I think we have to listen to what this guy has to say. Call the San Diego Police Department, Lieutenant, and have them pick our friend up."
SDPD Headquarters, San Diego, CA- 2047 PST
"You're the ones that brought him in…" The Detective said as he, Singer and Harrington, waited outside the interrogation room. "You guys want to have first crack at him?"
"Oh, could we?" Singer asked hopefully. She was really looking forward to releasing some of her frustrations since coming to San Diego.
"Be my guest." the detective motioned with a wave of his arm towards the door.
Harrington looked down at Singer, and asked, "So, do you want to be the good cop, or the bad cop?"
Singer's look was all the answer Harrington needed. "Right… stupid question."
Inside the interrogation room, it took Singer all of three seconds to start tearing into Dougie like a rabid hyena. "So… do club manager's normally sit in the front role just underneath the pole of their own clubs?"
"I wouldn't know." Dougie answered.
"Do they also normally get into fights with club patrons?"
"If you're talking about that Clive fellow, he didn't get mixed up with me."
"Then how did you get that black eye, Mr. Bell?"
"I fell down the stairs."
"I see… then why can I see a bruise in the shape of a marine class ring on your cheek?"
Dougie slaps his hand over the cheek Singer pointed at, "How can you tell it's a marine ring, lady?"
Singer smiled triumphantly, "I couldn't… but your reaction tells me everything I needed to know."
At this point, Harrington steps in, "So… you were involved in an incident with Sergeant Clive on the night of August 22?"
"All right, so I was. I was scouting out the mistakes the girls were making in their performances, and the best way to do that is to get the best seat, right?" Dougie answered reluctantly.
"Sure…" Singer replied, unconvinced.
Dougie glared at Lt. Singer, but didn't respond. "Anyway, this Sergeant comes up to me, and demands that he get that seat. We get to arguing, and eventually I decide to deal with him. I ask him to take it outside, and once we get there, we start fighting."
Then Dougie's face contorts in fear. "Then, I start to get some punches in on him, and then he pulls out a gun. He fires one shot at me, and before he can fire again, I'm booking it top speed."
Singer steps in, and replies, "Well, I don't believe you. If you come up against me at trial with that story, I'd pick it apart in a hurry. So you better come out with what really happened before I arrange for you to have a nice cell with Sergeant Clive at the State Pen."
Harrington gently pushed Singer back, and took control of the interrogation. "You see… Sergeant Clive doesn't look anything like you do, Mr. Bell, so I get the feeling that you were doing more receiving than delivering. Secondly, if Clive had already fired one shot with an semi-automatic, like the one he had, it would not have taken him that long to fire a second, a shot that would have killed you. So that tells me he got the weapon from somewhere, or someone, else."
"Okay… so I had some friends with me." Dougie sighed.
"Who?" Singer demanded. "Are they military?"
Dougie nods, "They are some buddies I have that had gotten transferred to the SEAL training program. We got together when I learned they were in the area."
"Who are they?"
"I… can't tell you that!" Dougie exclaims, suddenly in fear. "Do you know what they'd do to me if they found out I told you?"
Singer was about to explode, when Harrington intervened. "Lieutenant, we've done all we can. Let the detectives take it from here." With that, he followed Singer out of the interrogation room.
"What are you doing, Steve?" Singer hissed once they were in a more private area, a corner of the precinct rather devoid of activity. "Without any names, there isn't anything we can tag on anybody."
"Relax, I know a way that I can get the names of our potential suspects, and it won't require spitting venom or pulling teeth." Harrington assured her, approaching the main desk of the precinct. "Do you have a outgoing long-distance phone, ma'am?" He asked the officer at the counter.
Once supplied with the hardware, Harrington dialed in a number that he apparently knew from memory. "Hey, Ronnie, it's me again."
Singer's eyes narrowed as Harrington chatted amiably with his former co-worker from Interpol. The fact that he had memorized this woman's number displeased Singer, but she wasn't exactly sure why it should upset her even in the slightest way.
"Anyway, on to business at hand, Ronnie…" Harrington suddenly said, drawing Singer's attention to his words. "I have another favor to ask you… but this one is a little bit tougher."
Harrington pursed his lips, and said, "I need a history of residence for Dougie Bell…" He bit his upper lip, as if he really didn't want to make this next request, "As well a similar history for everyone currently undergoing SEAL training in Coronado, California…"
Harrington drew back from the phone, and Singer could hear incoherent shouting from the receiver. "Listen… I know it's a tough job… but I really need your help here, Ronnie. Listen… Ronnie… come on… for me?" His final request came with a pleading tone that Singer somehow knew the woman on the other end would not be able to resist.
Sure enough, Harrington's gleeful smile, returned, and he almost chirped "Oh, thank you, Ronnie. I knew I could count on you. You are awesome; you know that? Anyway, gotta go… just transfer all the files in question to my e-mail. Thank you."
"The way you abuse that woman is almost disturbing." Singer chastised.
"You don't even know half of the stuff I did for her." Harrington replied defensively, "Some of the things I did for Ronnie makes my request sound like waiting in line at the DMV."
"What sort of things?" Singer accused ruefully.
"Let's just say that Ronnie had a bit of a problem with medicinal weed in a state in which it wasn't exactly allowed for medicinal use, okay?" Harrington admitted. "I got her off with no charges, and it seemed like a good trade for future relations. I got information that would have been hard to get through normal channels, she got to live and work outside of steel bars."
"And here I was thinking you were this wonderful by-the-book lawyer." Singer said with a sarcastic frown. "My image of you has been tarnished forever."
"Hey, now, you know better than anyone that I have no problem playing whatever cards I need to win the hand, within reason of course… just like you. There's only one difference between us."
"Oh… and what's that?"
"I make friends while doing it." He finished with a smug grin.
"If you don't stop smiling like that, I swear I'll break your jaw."
Harrington reduced his smile… a little. "Come on, let's get back to the hotel. There's nothing more we can do here, anyway."
SEAL Training Grounds, Coronado, CA- 0810 PST, August 31
"Are you certain that we've got the names we're looking for?" Singer asked suspiciously.
"Sergeant Clive said there were four others in that alley other than Bell. Lo and behold, we discover four prospective SEALs that share a common link to him while they went to High School." Harrington reminded her. They had compared background histories of all 300 current prospects looking for matches until 2330 last night.
"Do you honestly think that they'll cooperate with us?"
"Probably not." Harrington replied, "But you're a Navy gal… they'll probably cut you some slack that they wouldn't for me."
Captain James Gerard, the officer in charge of the grounds did not appear terribly happy to see two JAG officers appear at his office door. But he eventually agreed that if Harrington and Singer thought that one of his men might have been involved in a homicide, then it was in everyone's best interest to find the truth of the matter.
"If one of my men is responsible, then he needs to be punished to the full extent of the law." The Captain said after being brought up to speed. "Who are the four you are suspecting?"
Singer handed him the list, and said, "The four we believe might have been involved are all here. We would like to start questioning them immediately."
Which brought the officers to the debriefing room inside the main complex. The first under the microscope was Petty Officer Greg Olson. He obviously did not feel particularly worried, and didn't determine the considerably shorter Navy woman in front of him to be much of a threat.
That was his first mistake.
"Were you at the Fading Dreams in San Diego on the night of August 22, Petty Officer?" Singer began.
"I was not given leave from the training facility, ma'am." The Petty Officer said with a great amount of cockiness.
"So you snuck out?"
"Did anyone see me sneak out, ma'am?"
Unfazed, and unimpressed, Singer asked, "Where were you the night of the 22nd?"
"I was in the barracks like a good SEAL, ma'am."
"I'll just bet you were." Singer growled.
"Can I continue with my training, ma'am? Or do you have any further questions?"
Lt. Singer began to huff, her face turning red in frustration. Harrington then stepped in to play his role. "Do you know someone named Dougie Bell?"
"Can't say I've heard the name, sir."
Harrington chortled once. "You know, that's funny, because he knows you. He made a statement with the San Diego Police Department placing you and three of your fellow SEAL trainees at the scene of a murder outside the Fading Dreams nightclub."
As the color drained from the Petty Officer's face, Harrington added, "We've been able to determine that either you or one of your fellow trainees was the one who shot this civilian. Now Lt. Singer here has no problems throwing all four of you into jail for this, but I feel that the only person that needs any punishment is the one who actually pulled the trigger. Now I understand that you SEALs have a code that you succeed or fail as one, but I see no need for all four of you to face life in prison."
"It wasn't a murder, sir… we didn't intend to shoot any civilian." Orson admitted.
"Now, we are getting somewhere. Just what was the intent?"
"It was meant for the Marine, sir. He and Dougie had started arguing inside the club, and then they decided to take it outside. Dougie was an old friend of mine, and I wanted to make sure he would be all right. We all liked Dougie, sir, and we all just wanted to make sure that he wasn't gonna get hurt."
"Why did you try to shoot the marine?"
"I didn't try to shoot him, sir." Orson corrected. "That was done by Ensign Hines. The fight started, and the Marine started winning. Then Dougie draws a knife. The Marine took it from Dougie, and went to stab him. That's when Ensign Hines drew his gun, and fired."
"Doesn't seem likely that a SEAL would miss from such short range, Petty Officer." Singer interceded.
With a flush, Orson added, "We were all a little drunk, ma'am."
Harrington rubbed his forehead, and turned to the Captain and Singer. "Captain, could you send in Ensign Hines? This whole story might have just gotten a lot more complicated…"
Calipatria State Prison- Outside San Diego, CA- 1015 PST
"Sergeant Clive, why didn't you tell us about the knife?" Harrington asked sternly.
"What knife?" Clive said innocently.
"The knife you were going to stab Mr. Bell with during your fight!" Singer amended with a shout.
"I don't know what you are talking about, ma'am." Clive stubbornly insisted.
"The knife that all five of your 'assailants' said you were preparing to stab Mr. Bell with before one of them, tried to shoot at you. The one that San Diego Police found on Mr. Bell, with your fingerprints on it." Harrington amended further.
Clive gulped nervously. "Oh, you mean… that… knife…"
Harrington threw his hands up in disgust, and motioned for Singer to step outside with him. Once they were outside the interview room, he shook his head, as if fatigued. "I knew it couldn't be simple."
"So, we have a Marine Sergeant who attempted to stab a civilian. In response, a Navy SEAL trainee pulled his gun, while intoxicated, and shot a civilian walking by on the other side of the street." Singer said, rubbing her temples, "And we get to go to trial on this debacle…"
At this point, Harrington propped his chin on his right hand, and said thoughtfully, "Maybe not… this might be a case worth settling…"
California State District Court, San Diego, CA- 1016 PST, September 1
"Here is the latest deal that we have on the table." Harrington said, reading over his frequently amended and scribbled and scratched out script. "Sergeant Andrew Clive will plead guilty to the charge of Assault with a deadly weapon with intent to injure. Ensign Chris Hines will plead guilty to 2nd Degree Manslaughter. Petty Officers Greg Olson and Scott Black, and Lieutenant Lewis Hocking will be dishonorably discharged from the Navy for their roles in this event."
"And the rest of us will be spared trying to sort this out in court, and wasting the time of a jury." Singer sighed in relief.
The presiding judge of the mess rolled his eyes, and said, "If all the parties involved with this agree to the terms, I'll be willing to prepare sentences for it."
The state prosecutor looked in over his head. He had not anticipated having to deal with the inclusion of a member of a civilian company as well as the Navy SEALs. "That's fine with me."
Captain Gerard stood on behalf of the four SEALs. "Oh, my men agree to these terms, whether they like it or not."
Sergeant Clive sighed, and agreed as well. "Sure, whatever… as long as I'm not getting put away for murder."
"Thank you for your time, ladies and gentlemen." The judge nodded, standing to return to his chamber. "As I understand, you have been called back to your office in Washington, correct, Major Harrington?"
"Myself and Lt. Singer were informed by our commanding officer to return as soon as a settlement had been reached. Unless you need us present for sentencing."
"I do not foresee your presence being necessary, and you two have more than done your job, already. You are both dismissed."
"Thank you, sir." Harrington and Singer echoed before retreating from the chamber.
As they left the courthouse, Harrington could help but observe his partner's mood. "Is something wrong, Loren?"
"It just seems like we took the easy way out settling this without going to trial." Singer admitted, "This entire mess just seemed to cheapen the purpose of the legal system."
Harrington nodded, "Indeed, but that's why settlements of this sort is allowed. You know how hard it was for us to put together the pieces of this whole mess in a way that did some justice to everyone involved. Imagine the time a jury would have…"
"Okay, you made your point." Singer said, holding up her hand, "The idea of staying here for weeks on end does not appeal to me."
"Gee, Loren, I thought you loved it here." Harrington said with a wide grin.
"Oh yes, so much so I'm trying to decide if we can make the early flight out of San/International." She said, looking down at her watch.
Just then, a middle-aged man in a trench coat walked in front of them just before they reached the bottom of the courthouse steps. "Hey, baby… can I interest you in a watch?"
With that, he threw open his coat, and wiggled his hips twice before closing back up, and running away at full speed.
"Well… can't say much for his… selection…" Harrington muttered, mouth agape.
Singer clenched her eyes shut, her fists clenched so tight that her knuckles were turning white. "God… I hate men…"
End Episode 4