Frank arrives at Dagwood's Diner, parks the Dodge, and waits for Dr. Steele to park his own vehicle so they can get some grub, and he can figure out why a gun-toting lawyer showed up at a police station with a mystery photo...
Dr. Steele drove directly to Dagwood's behind Frank the entire way. Pulling into the parking space next to his car, Tom steps out and greets the retired gentleman with an obviously forced smile. Briefcase in hand, he motions toward the door.
"Let's go in and order some grub and I'll tell you my story."
Frank nods and enters the diner. He orders himself a pastrami on rye and a Coke, and looks for the right table as he waits. Privacy and security demand that they take one with clear sightlines to the door, where any view of them through the restaurant windows is obscured, and a significant amount of space exists between them and other diners.
Satisfied with a discovered vacancy, Frank takes his tray to the table and waits for Dr. Steele.
Steele follows Frank inside and places his order of a regular cheeseburger, french fries, and a coke then takes a seat across from him. "So, I hope you're open to unbelievable stories."
Frank considered the man sitting across from him. He had the look of intelligent man. It was not hard to believe that the man was just what he said, a lawyer, that held a doctorate, and a loaded firearm. He didn't seem like the type to make up crazy stories. Frank felt a kinship with him then; as much as they were looking for answers, they were also looking for someone who would believe the unbelievable things they had seen.
After a moment, Frank nodded. "I spent my whole life serving and protecting the city of Sacramento, Tom. I've seen too many things I can't explain." Hell, right now, I'm investigating a murder and my lead suspect, since the Family denied involvement, is the washing machine. "So, let's hear your unbelievable story. You don't mind if I call you Tom, do you?"
"No, I don't mind at all." Tom replies while reaching into his suit jacket, procuring the photograph and handing it to Frank. Well, here goes nothing... He clears his throat before starting. "Yesterday was my first day at Crow Law, and I thought I'd show some initiative for the partners by staying later and getting a bit ahead on my first case." He pauses for a moment as he prepares to talk about the weird shit. "...when I left there were these guys who solicited me for money, ya know -- like panhandlers. I said no, and the one guy tells me off, and somehow knew my name. Anyway, I went to my car and the same guy knocked me over the head with a brick. I turned around to retaliate, but he vanished." The young attorney looks Rizzo in the eyes with a conflicted look on his face, as if he wasn't entirely convinced by his own story either. "The brick was still there though, and this picture was attached to it. It's of myself and my dad at a gun show about a year ago. I know this sounds weird, but it's what happened -- honest."
Frank listens to Tom's story while gnawing on his sandwich. He doesn't hear any inconsistency between what he's just been told and what he's already learned about Tom. When Tom explains that he was hit in the head with a brick and, instead of crumpling into a heap, he had attempted to retaliate, Frank gives Tom a long look while he slowly finishes a bite of his food. A tall, smart, sharp-looking lawyer named Steele who runs around with a hand cannon and laughs off bricks? What, this guy thinks he's some kind of Daredevil or somethin? Despite his (well-earned) cynicism, Frank was impressed. He was also concerned that his new friend had been walking around with a concussion, but if this had happened yesterday, and Tom had, in fact, fallen asleep and managed to wake again, he wasn't concussed. Ok, assuming that's how things went down, what's next?
"You said you only recently moved to town, just started at your new firm. But this isn't your first time to Sacramento, is it? I'm assuming you'd been here for your interview, at least, right? What I'm getting at is, maybe you pissed someone off the last time you were through here. What do you think of that?"
Start with the solid facts. Extrapolate what is implied in the spaces between the facts. Don't think about invisible assailants 'til last.
"I am originally from LA, but I'd come here to Sacramento often for gun shows and NRA gatherings. I went to law school in Nashville Tennessee, at Vanderbilt University." Steele looks down at his food for a moment, but doesn't pick it up. Talking about last night's ordeal had really stifled his hunger.
"I don't remember pissing anyone off in particular. I mean, sure, there were some others who were mad that I took first in class -- but I doubt they'd come hunt me down for that."
Gun shows. There can be some real nutjobs at those things. NRA meetings, too; hell, anyone can sign up to one of those. Fast forward one year, a panhandler, or someone pretending to be one, knows Tom's name, and has a photograph of him and his dad from a gun show. Which he's thoughtfully applied to a brick. This was personal. Frank puts a mental asterisk next to GUN SHOW, to come back to later.
"Leave any broken hearts around? Hell hath no fury..." he smiles.
Tom takes a long drink from his coke before answering. "There was the occasional rare hook up in college, and one or two throughout law school, but I mainly kept to myself to ensure my good marks."
Come on Tom, tell this guy something useful...
"Oddly enough, I do remember the face of the guy who took the picture." He lets go of the coke and taps his pointer finger to his forehead. "He was an average looking guy, middle aged, with red hair. Hell, if you knew a sketch artist I could probably give a decent enough facial description."
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