A Guy Walks Into a Law & Order Episode
FADE IN:
INT. BAR — NIGHT
The bar is an upscale, New York City hot spot. Dark, with lots of mahogany trim and leather upholstery. It’s happy hour and well-dressed urban professionals crowd the bar as sophisticated jazz music seeps out of discreetly placed, high fidelity speakers.
Detective BRIAN CONNOLLY walks in. He’s in his early forties, handsome, but disheveled with a world-weary vibe. He approaches the bar. KELLY, a savvy, experienced bartender in her late thirties eyes his approach as she polishes a brandy snifter.
KELLY
Hold it right there buddy. We don’t allow grizzled, burned-out cops in here to check the alibi of some high profile murder suspect as a pretext for info-dumping their backstory.
BRIAN
But I’m just another working class stiff trying to make a living by investigating crimes committed by all these entitled, ivy league educated assholes that remind me of my two ex wives who, in combination with all the hours I work in this soul-sucking, thankless job, drove me to be a bitter, foul-mouthed, borderline alcoholic who barely sees his sullen, teenage kids, one of whom is waiting in the car right now because I’m late dropping her off at her mother’s. Again.
KELLY
Look, I get it. I connect with you as a fellow blue collar worker trying to survive in the big city, and I also find you attractive in a sad-eyed, rough hewn sort of way, but I don’t remember the faces of everyone I served drinks to three nights ago, much less the person they were talking to or whether they seemed upset, and I am so done with producing all the credit card receipts for the night in question every time you guys show up.
BRIAN
Fine, but I’m still going to flirt with you by way of inappropriate sexual innuendo to show you I’m a maverick who refuses to play by the rules, social or otherwise, and then make an even more unrealistic request for the suspect’s unwashed wine glass so I can take it to the lab for fingerprint analysis, which is where they examine the unique loops, whorls, and arches made by the furrows and ridges on a human finger, as well as DNA, meaning deoxyribonucleic acid,an organic chemical of complex molecular structure found in all prokaryotic and eukaryotic cells, so it can be run through some acronym for a nonexistent database that I would have absolutely no access to and that will magically, and in real time, give me the name and current address of what we like to call, but bizarrely not define, the unsub.
KELLY
Alright, alright, even though I’m the only bartender working during the busiest time of night and somehow no one has asked for a drink in the last five minutes, I’m going to take the time to tell you, since you’ve no doubt already noticed that I’m being nervous and evasive, that I know, in fact used to date, the guy you’re asking about and describe in excruciating detail exactly who he was with, what they talked about, the tone of their conversation, and what time he left to go home to his trashy new younger girlfriend for whom I have an exact address.
BRIAN
That’s what I thought. Now just give me your phone number so I can call to arrange a time for you to come down to the station and make a statement as well as create the opportunity for inappropriate personal contact between a cop and a witness that will come up at trial and allow the obviously guilty defendant to get off scot free.
KELLY
Sure. And even though I lied before by saying I didn’t know the suspect and am now going to be interviewed in a criminal investigation, I will be happy to arrange child care on short notice so I can come down to the station for an indeterminate number of hours without a lawyer and make a statement under oath, as long as you make an insincere promise not to let the killer know that it was me who was willing to risk not only my life but that of my young child by testifying against him, obviously as revenge for breaking up with me and being an all-around jerk, but in the guise of doing the right thing.
BRIAN smiles, winks and turns to leave. He pauses to light a cigarette in front of the NO SMOKING sign on the wall.
KELLY
Oh, and Detective?
BRIAN turns his head to look at KELLY as he exhales the first puff of smoke from an unfiltered cigarette. He arches an eyebrow.
BRIAN
Yeah?
KELLY
I get off at eleven.
EXT. BAR — Night.
BRIAN smirks as he walks out the front door, headed for a black, unmarked sedan illegally parked on the street.
CUE SOUND EFFECT: CHONG CHONG.
FADE OUT.
