I could play devil's advocate and give you the ins and outs of open heart surgery, but I'd hesistate to call these serials on the miracle of modern medicine. [Also he's not a doctor, and his lecture on such a feat would likely hit three beats: you cut the chest, you scalpel into the heart, then you stitch it up and toss a penny in a wishing pond. Bada bing bada boom, your ticker's fixed.
If you wanted the nitty gritties you could probably probe Eddie Kaspbrak for them, should he ever see fit to wake.]
Nudes? [He ventures. They're playing opposites so why not assume the sexy shit lives where the business ought to be? He almost pulls up to go verify, but abruptly ducks down to peer underneath the bed. Lest they forget and all, and there is a little somethin'-somethin' sitting pretty under the snooze pad. He tugs the box out, turning it this way and that. It doesn't rattle and there's no lock, so he pops the latch and points his phone light inside.
Just a love note. "Remember the date of our anniversary."]
Adorable. [But hey, maybe there's some cryptic reason to keep a scrap of paper in a box under the bed. Who knows? He describes the item to Sandra after taking a quick snap. He returns it to its lair and rises, cracking his back before going to the desk.]
Man alive, I was joking about the yoga but maybe there's a point to it. I'm too old to be hopping into this without doing a bit of downward dog and namaste, or what have you. [He frowns at the spread. Takes another picture and takes the piss out of the thirty second spots that bookend Starsky and Hutch escapades.] Make this Father's Day one to remember: scalpels for him, by Hugo Boss. Now available at Macy's.
[They were tres chic, after all. The man knew a good knife.
He starts pulling at the drawers though, and it becomes clear that this is less Lenches' property than it is Sloan's. The paperwork has her name on it. And study it though he might, he can't seem to find anything that could nail her on the charges Voss was hoping for. He relays all this to Sandra — for once, with little embellishment, for the longer he goes on looking the more he's certain...]
..it just doesn't look like she's doing the people dirty here. None of these papers add up, babe. Not to anything illegal...if she's got forgeries going, she's not keeping them here.
[Their investigation came with a small bonus incentive. It sits beside Sandra, snug up in that sling poch he's got over his shoulder. If they were to slide it in amongst the desk stock, they'd get a cool 500 silver more than bargained for.
Problem was, it was just as much a forgery as the ones Voss was so keen on catching her making.]
Tags u on phone data at 3am in the jumble of my new home in between 4 auditions, feel honoured
If you wanted the nitty gritties you could probably probe Eddie Kaspbrak for them, should he ever see fit to wake.]
Nudes? [He ventures. They're playing opposites so why not assume the sexy shit lives where the business ought to be? He almost pulls up to go verify, but abruptly ducks down to peer underneath the bed. Lest they forget and all, and there is a little somethin'-somethin' sitting pretty under the snooze pad. He tugs the box out, turning it this way and that. It doesn't rattle and there's no lock, so he pops the latch and points his phone light inside.
Just a love note. "Remember the date of our anniversary."]
Adorable. [But hey, maybe there's some cryptic reason to keep a scrap of paper in a box under the bed. Who knows? He describes the item to Sandra after taking a quick snap. He returns it to its lair and rises, cracking his back before going to the desk.]
Man alive, I was joking about the yoga but maybe there's a point to it. I'm too old to be hopping into this without doing a bit of downward dog and namaste, or what have you. [He frowns at the spread. Takes another picture and takes the piss out of the thirty second spots that bookend Starsky and Hutch escapades.] Make this Father's Day one to remember: scalpels for him, by Hugo Boss. Now available at Macy's.
[They were tres chic, after all. The man knew a good knife.
He starts pulling at the drawers though, and it becomes clear that this is less Lenches' property than it is Sloan's. The paperwork has her name on it. And study it though he might, he can't seem to find anything that could nail her on the charges Voss was hoping for. He relays all this to Sandra — for once, with little embellishment, for the longer he goes on looking the more he's certain...]
..it just doesn't look like she's doing the people dirty here. None of these papers add up, babe. Not to anything illegal...if she's got forgeries going, she's not keeping them here.
[Their investigation came with a small bonus incentive. It sits beside Sandra, snug up in that sling poch he's got over his shoulder. If they were to slide it in amongst the desk stock, they'd get a cool 500 silver more than bargained for.
Problem was, it was just as much a forgery as the ones Voss was so keen on catching her making.]