Welcome to the end of ACT I. This is going to be a long one, so buckle up.
"Let's see what we got here, Stephen."
Jimmy Desco's curly mane almost completely blocked the view of the monitor on his desk, one of four that was showing camera footage from the various angles of O'Farrell and Market, colored screens flipping back and forth between all eight cameras he had in service.
The small apartment reeked of greasy leftovers mixed with essential oils, presumably used to overpower the stench that could be avoided if only the brilliant sound engineer would take the garbage out every few days. A set of empty liquor bottles and open cans of soda on the counter only added to the overall chaos.
Sitting on the old cot Jimmy called his bed, conveniently placed between the kitchen and sparse living room, Steve tried to ignore the unsettling thought that somebody as dysfunctional as Jimmy was their head of Communications for SFPD.
But then again, Jimmy was the smartest man he'd ever known when it came to anything related to sound and motion picture.
And he was a genuinely kind man, albeit horribly disorganized.
"So what eh…what do you do for fun around here, Jimmy?"
It was a question aimed to break the awkward silence that had filled the apartment, and to aid with the district feeling of helplessness that bothered Steve from just sitting around and waiting for the answers to jump out at him.
Pulling his legs closer and resting his arms on his knees, the young Inspector stared down at his mandarin dress shirt, relishing in the scent of his aftershave and deodorant for a change from the filth of Jimmy's bachelor pad.
"For fun? I am having fun right now. What do you think I am doing this for?"
Never turning around, Jimmy's fingers rushed across one of the multiple keyboards on his desk, giving commands to some futuristic programs Steve wasn't sure even SFPD was privy too.
"Oh. Well. I guess, I was wondering if you had any hobbies besides all this equipment and watching the comings and goings along the intersection. Bowling perhaps? Baseball?"
"Steve, if I had any hobbies in my life besides this, I wouldn't so good at it now, would I?"
Chuckling from his corner of the tiny living room, the young Inspector looked around sheepishly, then focused his attention to the light-colored fuzz coming off Jimmy's blanket and getting stuck in various places of his black dress pants.
Sighing at the foreboding task of giving his entire outfit a thorough lint roller makeover, Steve shifted nervously, trying not to jostle the cot, or the half-eaten sandwich stored on a cardboard box beside it. As he waited for Jimmy to do his magic, his eyes fell on the pile of dirty laundry off in the corner, a handwritten note near the top reminding the owner to do a load of wash by next Wednesday to avoid running out of underwear.
Rubbing his hands together as his senses for organization and tidiness became severely strained; Steve cleared his throat, hoping for a quick end to their research.
"So ehm, Jimmy…you got a girlfriend yet?"