The Candidate

[Elle Joyner]

@Red Thunder​

---

no-lightbox

"Lena... know you don't like all these trips, but the election isn't far off. It'll be over soon enough, and then whatever happens, we'll be able to settle down and rest for at least a few weeks."

The car splashed through another mud puddle and Elena watched as the grimy water plastered itself to the window. Specks of dirt and gravel drifted like melting snow down the pane of glass, leaving smears over top of smears... The car would need a wash after this. Touching a finger to the cool glass, Elena let her finger trail the smears, a soft sigh escaping her lips. It was the third city in as many days, and he was looking more and more tired as the days wore on. Beneath the horn-rimmed glasses, his eyes were clear sterling, but lately the whites were more accurately red, dark circles pooled above his cheekbones. He's lost weight, too... they both had.

"I worry about you is all, Daddy. You've been at this for so long now. You know I hate to see you stressed out. And it's only going to get worse when you win..."

"When?" Chuckling, he shook his head, "You've got a lot of faith in me... A lot more than CNN these days, anyway."

"That's because CNN doesn't know news from locker room gossip these days."

Gerard Gibbs laughed softly and reached across the car, placing a strong, sturdy hand on her shoulder, "You're too young to worry about me, sweetheart. You're twenty-one... you're supposed to be running off to wild parties and embarrassing me with the press. You aren't Supergirl, you know..."

She turned to face him and wrinkled her nose, "Dad, please... How are we gonna stay relevant if I blow all my embarrassing news stories before the election?"

Gerard laughed again, and the booming sound resonated through the car, echoing for what seemed like an eternity. It hadn't been like that in reality...but it seemed now, forever etched into her mind. It was the last sound she'd heard before the horrible shriek of crunching metal that followed. The town car veered off to the side with the force of a small house cat being hit by a bull, spinning several times before it came to a screeching halt in the middle of the opposing traffic on the other side of the highway. Horns blared and tires screamed against the asphalt and through eyes blinded by tears and a trickle of blood from a cut above her eyebrow Elena watched the Semi headlights closing in on the drivers side window.

---

"Good evening, New York. Justine Strandberg here with the nightly report. Tragedy struck the political circuit last night, when Presidential Candidate, Senator Gerard Gibbs was killed in a traffic accident on the JFK Expressway. Gibbs' daughter was also in the car with the Senator - no word on her condition at this time. Gibbs' campaign manager, Charlie Strathmann reports there was no foul play involved in the incident, but sources reveal an invesitagtion has been called for. Senator Gibbs' brother, Rupert Gibbs was found murdered earlier this spring in his Fort Lauderdale home, and police suspect the senator's death may be related. No word yet on how these developments will reflect in the political race.

"In other news, St. Mary's Chapel in Belleville is under investigation for the deaths of three Russian men found in a van outside the ch--"

The dull drone of the newscaster on the television was muffled by the sound of a knock and Elena shifted her gaze to the door as a nurse peered into the room, "You have a visitor, Ms. Gibbs..."

Slowly, Elena nodded and the nurse stepped back to allow the figure behind her inside, "Lena, Baby girl... How are you?" Charlie sank down into a chair beside the bed, his overstuffed suit jacket buldging out with a heavy, somber sigh. Out of respect, he waited for an answer - though none ever came - and as he continued a moment later, Elena simply turned her face back to the television set.

"I'll be giving a press statement this afternoon. I just wanted to stop by and check with you... If... if you've got anything you'd like said?" Silence fell through the room again and Charlie leaned forward, resting his chin in his hands, "Elena... You'll have to tell us what happened sooner or later."

Steel grey eyes moved slowly back to the manager, a heartwrenching brokenness etched beneath them. Charlie straightened and blinked a few times before he rose to his feet, he wouldn't push with her.... He couldn't. The doctors had said it would take some time for her to recover - and even after the fact, there would be damage. "Alright, Lena. I'll check back in a few hours. If you need me, call me..." But even Charlie knew... She wouldn't call for anyone, no matter how much she needed them - regardless of what happened.

Several hours had passed, and still Elena hadn't spoken. Whether her silence was a result of the PTSD or simply a parallel of emotional pain she was in, no one knew, but with the only witness to their candidate's death in the state she was in their last hope remained it seemed, in hiring someone from the outside to investigate. The trouble was, a high-profile situation like this called for subtlety... Hiring the next Perry Mason to figure out why someone wanted Gerard Gibbs dead would only amplify the press' curiosity and for now... for now that wasn't something anyone needed. It was Charlie's counterpart on the campaign, Dixon Felber who suggested calling in a Private Detective - someone who could look into matters without causing a mess of publicity. Someone who could get them answers and get them fast.

The number came six pages into the google search and it was Dixon who settled the matter - never minding that the man wasn't exactly the leader in high-profile cases... and in fact, had more of a knack for 'domestic' issues. According to Dixon, he had a reputation for getting things done and that was all that mattered. The hardest part would be convincing Elena herself, but then... the girl was so compliant it was a miracle she wasn't deaf, along with mute. Still, Charlie decided to propose the idea until after he was sure the detective was worth a look. She had been through hell, and he was determined not to make matters worse.

Leaving Elena's hospital room, Charlie dug the number from his pocket and with a small frown, he sank into the chair outside her door, dialing the detective's number...

 

[Red Thunder]

Lester Johnson, PI
Les Investigations

​

"Of all the dives in the city, she had to walk into mine. Legs that went on for miles and measurements to turn even the most chaste priest's head. Didn't help that her black dress hugged it the way it did. She sidled in through my door, swinging those hips of hers, and sat herself down on my desk. It was a sight to tempt any man. Hell, it tempted me. But while her lips said 'Kiss me', her eyes said 'Business'."

It was all Lester Johnson could do to not groan, so he settled for rolling his eyes instead. Noir films. What a load. The overly dramatic script, the moody lighting, the tense music. It was entirely ridiculous. That they were ever popular was odd enough, but the fact that people still watched them blew his mind.

As it blew his mind that his mark had it running while in the midst of his sordid affair. 'Sensual' was definitely not the word that came to mind when Les thought of noir detective films. But whatever got the man's groove on, he supposed. The private investigator sat with his back against the wooden siding of Thomas Smith's mistress' house, beating his head gently against the wall in slight irritation. A small sensor was pressed against the bottom corner of the bedroom window, with a wire traveling from it down to a compact laptop he had on his lap. He grimaced as the evidence he sought can bleeding through the headphone cord that ran from his ear to the computer; this was the worst part of this whole stupid job, listening to them do it. He waited long enough to get just enough audio to identify he man inside the house then took his equipment apart to store it back within the small backpack that Les had brought it in. Digging into his jacket pocket, he pulled out a small camera and steeled himself. No, he thought grumpily to himself, this was the worst part. Turning and raising just enough to see through the glass, Les snapped off a few pictures and immediately left, pausing only to grab the GPS tracker off Thomas' car. Shoving it into his pocket, he hid his eyes behind a pair of sunglasses and walked off down the street.

***​

"Look, Mrs. Smith. You hired an investigator, not an attorney. I get paid to find evidence, not to do the courtroom dance. ... Well that really isn't my problem, Mrs. Smith. We discussed my terms before you hired me. I was very clear: I don't testify. And if I do, that's the end of any services on your behalf. ... Fine. Bring the last payment when you do."

Slapping the flip phone closed with a snap, Les dropped the it on the makeshift desk with a sigh. He'd gotten back to his small office maybe an hour prior; his gray jacket lay forgotten across the visitor's chair with the backpack for company on the chair seat. Placing his head in his hands, he breathed slowly, trying to calm himself. His plaid shirt's sleeves were rolled past the elbows, a forearm bearing a nicotine patch. It didn't do a lot of good; Les was stressed most of the time, and he thought back often to the steadiness the cigarettes would bring him. Groaning, he gave a small chuckle inspite of himself. Maybe the noir films were full of crap, but apparently the habitual smoking thing held true. He just needed the overcoat and the stupid hat and he'd be all set.

Reaching across his desk, Les pulled his backpack to him. Mrs. Smith was due in half an hour, and he still needed to compile the evidence for her. To have a bit of ambience, he clicked on the television and turned to the local news, giving it as little attention as he could manage while he set up the laptop. But as he was converting the audio files to a more workable format, his phone rang. Pursing his lips, he glanced at it. It wasn't a number he recognized, but that wasn't unusual. Probably meant it was a job. Or a telemarketer. Shaking his head, Les made to toss it back down. But he stopped. If it was a job, better to not throw it away. If it was a salesman, well, he had some heat he needed to vent. Opening it up and accepting the call, he held the phone to his ear.

"Les Investigations, where Les is more. What can I do for you?"

@Elle Joyner

 

[Elle Joyner]

---

no-lightbox

"Oh hell... That's..." Pulling the phone away, Charlie studied the screen to ensure he had called the right number, before returning it to his ear, "That's your actual slogan? I thought... Wow."

Dixon was a lot of things, but he wasn't generally crazy or stupid. He was pretty sure this guy was legitimate, and more importantly, he was discreet. It was fairly crucial at this point that they found any possible information and the biggest obstacle was keeping the press out of it as much as they possible could. Discretion was of dire importance.... whether Charlie was keen on puns for catchphrases or not.

Sinking back into his chair with a small sigh, he shrugged to himself, rolling a kink out of his neck. The stress was going to kill him, he was sure, and if it didn't, he was pretty sure the hospital chairs were the next best bet. Shifting on the uncomfortable metal slab, he continued into the receiver.

"My name is Charlie Strathmann," It was a name that not everyone might recognize, but if the guy had a television and paid even a modicum of attention to the electoral process, he'd probably pick up on the familiarity, "I worked with Senator Gibbs. I expect you've heard about the accident? It seems that I am in need of your services."

As he spoke, he rose, and moving across the hall he stepped into the small outcropping where two vending machines sat. Idly, he scanned through the snack offerings, trying hard to ignore the voice of his sister Eileen in the back of his head, snarking about how carbohydrates were going to murder him, and he needed to watch his cholesterol if he was going to live to see his grandchildren. Never mind he had never married and at forty-two didn't exactly expect it was in the cards.

In the end, Eileen won anyway and digging a dollar from his wallet, he slipped it into the slot and pressed the button codes for the baked potato chips, "Listen, Mr. Johnson. I can't really give you the details over the phone. Are you available to meet tonight? It's... rather urgent, so I'd rather not waste any time."

 

[Red Thunder]

Lester Johnson, PI
Les Investigations​

Great. Another critical client. A response leapt to mind, but Les bit his tongue. The Smith case was paying well, all things considered, but not nearly so well as to handle the rest of the month's rent. Or his nicotine patch supply. And hell, the patch was cheaper than going back to the cigs. So he kept his mouth shut and listened.

It wasn't his usual thing. This Charlie guy was being really vague, a trait he didn't appreciate in most people. But if it concerned this Senator Gibbs person, maybe that was to be expected. But his contact was wrong; Les had heard nothing about any kind of accident with a senator involved. Work had kept him away from the TV. Or at least, from giving it any attention. He spared a glance at the small screen set in a back corner of his office. It was just local stuff: something about some lady's dog getting shot. Typical, and probably tragic, but nothing ground breaking or nationwide.

"You know I do domestics, right? That 'accidents' or whatever you want to call it really isn't my thing?" His eye strayed to the stack of still closed envelops on the desk. It was like they were nagging him, demanding attention. They'd been ignored thus far, but sooner or later they needed to be handled. Better to do it himself than for the bill collectors to come knocking. And that meant work, regardless of the kind. So Les shrugged, not caring that the gesture meant little across a phone line.

"But hey, nothing like branching out. I'll meet you at the Starbucks on 5th and Jefferson. 7:30p. Look for a guy wearing a tan jacket and blonde hair; that'll be me. And don't be late."

He closed the phone and tossed it on the desk. 7:30. That gave him two hours to get Mrs. Smith settled, and 20 minutes for her to get here at all. Glancing at his watch, Les shook his head. What a day, and it wasn't even over yet.

@Elle Joyner

 

[Elle Joyner]

---

no-lightbox

"I'm aware, Mr. Johnson, but I'd prefer to explain in person." Pulling open the chip bag, the phone balanced precariously between his shoulder and ear, Charlie rolled his eyes at the contents, which both smelled and appeared far too close to cardboard to actually appeal to his appetite.

He would have preferred to meet at the hospital, so that he could be close to Elena, but odds were she wouldn't be up for much conversation, and sitting there, watching her stare into space was terribly depressing. Pulling a chip from the bag, he eyes it carefully, with profound suspicion, "I can be there. Thank you, Mr. Johnson."

As he hung up and slid his phone into his pocket, he popped a chip in his mouth. A minute later, the bag found it's way to the trash and Charlie back to the machine, where he purchased Funions, instead. It was roughly 5:30, so Charlie returned to sit vigil outside of Elena's room. As he ate, he tugged out a small notepad from his jacket and scribbled down a few notes for the detective.

Around 6:45, his legs aching from sitting too long, stomach growling in spite of his snack, he climbed to his feet and knocked on Elena's door, before poking his head in, "Lena... I'm going to head out for a bit. I have a meeting. Are you going to be okay."

As anticipated, silence was the only answer and shaking his head, he slipped back open, closing the door behind him.

He wasn't far from the Starbucks, but Johnson had instructed him not to be late and Charlie didn't get the impression the man was one to mince words... He arrived with several minutes to spare and grabbing a cup of coffee and a danish that would have sent Eileen to her own grave, sank down in one of the plush armchairs to await the detectives arrival.

He didn't have to wait long - Johnson was as prompt as he seemed to require his clientele to be. Looking around the room, Charlie found the tan coat and blonde hair already seated in a corner, reading a book over a coffee. Charlie rose, tossing his napkin before strolling over.

"Mr. Johnson?" Extending a hand, Charlie nodded in greeting, "Charlie Strathmann..."

 

[Red Thunder]

Lester Johnson, PI
Les Investigations​

Lester glanced up And barely restrained grunting at the suit his guest wore. Great: a toadie. When Charlie extended his hand, he didn't bother getting up. Instead he merely closed his book and set it on the table, reaching out to shake only so much as was absolutely socially necessary, retracting his hand quickly.

His meeting with Mrs. Smith had surprisingly gone just fine. Compiling the evidence had been a bit of a rush, thanks to the interruption, but Les had managed. Mrs. Smith had looked distinctly unhappy that he'd been able to confirm her suspicions. But then, what wife would want to find evidence of her husband's infidelity? And she'd paid even a bit more than he had charged. And any amount of money in his pocket made Lester feel much better. So instead of the typical RBF that he usually wore habitually, a small smile of satisfaction sat comfortably instead below curious eyes.

"Well, Chuck," he asked bluntly, "What could I possibly do to help you?"

@Elle Joyner

 

[Elle Joyner]

---

no-lightbox

A brow quirked at the greet, most particularly at the nickname, but Charlie was nothing if not a successful politician and, incidentally, manager of politicians. He knew how to work a crowd, a room, or an individual, and Lester Johnson seemed the type of man who did nothing without a little work involved.

Sinking into the chair beside his, Charlie straightened his tie, taking a sip of coffee before continuing, "I'll be as brief as possible, Mr. Johnson, as time is of the essence. I don't know whether or not you're aware... Gerard Gibbs was killed last night in a car crash. His daughter Elena was in the car with him, but by what I can only conclude was a miracle, she survived. As the EMTs were pulling her from the vehicle, Elena was muttering about a black SUV hitting them from behind. At first we thought she was just delirious, but when I asked her about it after the surgery, she seemed determined that it had happened. Trouble is, something in the shock of it all and now she's not talking. Not a word... She barely even nods."

With another sip of coffee, Charlie shook his head, "Simply put, Mr. Johnson, I've come to you because right now, the police simply cannot be involved. The press have been relentless as it is, but if they were to discover that this was not an accident, there will be no stopping them... and it's very clear that no one was meant to survive. Someone has already leaked that Elena pulled through, but as of now we're keeping the details as close to the chest as humanly possible. I will pay you... whatever it takes... We need answers. And we need them fast, before someone decides that she knows too much and decides to finish the job."

 

[Red Thunder]

Lester Johnson, PI
Les Investigations ​

So. 'Conspiracy'. Les had always read about that kind of thing in books and magazines, and the occasional comic book, but it'd always seemed far fetched. Yet here he was, discussing what sounded like a textbook case of political conspiracy with this senator's campaign manager. Or whoever the hell he was.

As Strathmann elaborated on the scenario, Les had leaned back in his chair, one arm on the table with coffee in hand, considering the different faucets of what was being asked of him. It wasn't the usual case, that was certain; Les Investigations almost exclusively worked domestically charged conflicts. Affairs, usually, though financial and children-related disputes were often the the subject, if not directly related to matters of affair. It's wasn't glamorous work; it often involved skulking around places he wasn't welcome. It paid the bills, but it had gotten old.

Political scandal, however. That was interesting. Les nodded in acknowledgment, particularly when Strathmann mentioned the pay. Taking a contemplative sip of his drink, he tilted his head curiously.

"What about his daughter? That'd be the first place to start: for me, and, like you said, for whomever's behind this." He paused, eyes narrowing. "You do have somebody watching over her, right? Not letting just anyone come up to her?"

@Elle Joyner

 

[Elle Joyner]

---

no-lightbox

He seemed more receptive than Charlie had been expecting and for a moment, the campaign manager seemed quite pleased, indeed, with the circumstances, but as Les continued, a frown found it's way to Charlie's features and shifting uncomfortably, he shook his head. Why hadn't he thought of it? Sleep deprivation and stress, he supposed, were taking its toll.

"She's at the hospital. But I can't imagine anyone would be stupid enough to try and get to her, there." Still. Tossing his empty coffee cup in the trash, he rose to his feet and tugging his cell phone from his pocket, he pulled up the messaging, tapping out a quick note to Dixon before hitting send. Dixon had maintained a vigil at the hospital as well, though he had yet to see Elena. It was personal for all of them, unfortunately... There was no way it couldn't be.

"I've got someone checking on her, but perhaps I should head back as well, myself." Tucking his phone back into his pocket, he looked back up to the detective, "Better safe than sorry, after all. If anything happened, I would never forgive myself. It's only a few minutes away... if you aren't opposed to continuing our conversation there? I'd certainly feel better where I can keep an eye on her."

 

[Red Thunder]

Lester Johnson, PI
Les Investigations ​

Les pursed his lips. He hadn't had much training in this kind of work; he wasn't even sure where to really start. Maybe looking at the car they were in? Talking to the daughter would have to be a priority, certainly, as would potential witnesses. That latter meant getting a crash witness list from the police. And that could be ... interesting. Tipping back his cup, the PI took a small drink from his coffee. At least, it was supposed to be a small drink. But he misjudged how much he'd drank up to then, and still near scalding liquid poured into his mouth. Immediately he put the cup back upright, swallowing what'd he'd gotten so he could hiss is pain.

"Dammit-"

Miraculously nothing had gotten onto his jacket. But now his tongue was exceedingly tender. It did give him a few more moments to consider his course of action. The car likely wasn't going anywhere, and neither was the witness list. However, the daughter might. Nodding, Les stood up.

"Yeah, let's hit the hospital. The daughter will be a good place to start. And who knows?" He grinned at Strathmann despite the pain. "Maybe she just needed to right person to talk to."

As he stood, his arm brushed his jacket at the belt level. It was merely a safety net, a precautionary measure. Angry husbands and paranoid adulterers had taught him the value of a bit of paranoia himself, and Lester never went anywhere unarmed. Still clutching his coffee, he gestured for the door.

"Shall we?"

@Elle Joyner

 

[Elle Joyner]

---

no-lightbox

His brow aloft again at the sight of the side arm, Charlie nodded and rose to his feet. Since he'd said it, Charlie hadn't been able to get Johnson's words out of his head and more he thought of it, the more he felt like a fool for leaving Elena behind at the hospital. When he had become Gibbs's manager, he had done it for the money, but as time passed he had come to see them as family, and Elena in particular was like the daughter that he had never had. He hadn't meant to put her at risk, but this was entirely new ground for him...

It was a quick cab ride back to the hospital and as he signaled down a taxi, he peeked at his phone again. Dixon had sent no reply, but Charlie tried not to jump to any conclusions. He was a busy man, and he didn't always get a chance to respond... that was all. He probably was already camped out by Elena's bedside.

Nervously, he tucked the phone away as a cab slowed by the curb and slipping inside, he raked his fingers through his hair, then rifling through his pocket, he pulled out a thin tube of tumbs. Looking over to Lester he frowned, "Never got into this business for this sort of thing. I don't have the stomach for it. I mean... it happens, you know? But you just never expect it to happen to your guy. And Gibbs... he wasn't... he just didn't have the typical nature, you know? Wasn't a politician's politician. Hell... I half expected him to drop out."

Popping two of the chalky tabs into his mouth, he crunched on them while the cab drove away from the curb, "This was my last campaign, you know. Hell of a ways to retire..."

It was roughly ten minutes by cab back to the hospital, and as the car stalled in the roundabout, Charlie slipped out, slipping the driver a few bills before he headed towards the entrance. He bypassed the front desk, and moving swiftly down the hall made his way to the recovery ward. Outside of Elena's room, he found the chair he had occupied, the door still closed. Breathing in, fairly certain his chest would collapse from the pressure, he pushed down the knob and opened it.

Inside, Elena sat up in the bed, and looking to the door, quirked a brow. Charlie exhaled, leaning back against the frame, "Lena. You're alright... Thank God."

Turning then, he nodded to Lester, "You can come in, Mr. Johnson. Elena... This is Lester Johnson. He's a private investigator... He's going to be looking into your accident..."

 

[Red Thunder]

Lester Johnson, PI
Les Investigations ​

The corner of Les' mouth turned up in a half smile.

"Hey."

Apart from Charlie's attempts at conversation, the cab ride had been fairly quiet. Lester's mind has occupied with considerations, and he'd given little in the way of reply to the man beyond grunting in acknowledgment. Gibbs wasn't a stock politician? Any manager might have said that, but the senator was dead; what was the point of campaigning for him any more? Eyebrow raised, Les had turned to Strathmann, the question on his lips: Was anyone looking to step into the dead senator's shoes? But that was where it stayed, even as they approached Elena's room. He couldn't say whether it was the man's general distraught bearing, hidden behind a layer of practiced professionalism, or whether he just didn't trust the man. Probably a combination of the two. Never trust a politician, his father had noted. And here Les was, working for one. Strange, how the world worked.

Strathmann lead him into Elena's room, past an empty chair in the hallway. Odd. If it was simply an abandoned chair, the hospital staff would have picked it up by now to not get in the way of of stuff rolling through the hallways. But if it was supposed to be for a doorguard of some kind, where was the impromptu guard? At Strathmann's introduction, Les stepped into the room and extended a hand to the young woman in the bed.

"Call me Les."

@Elle Joyner

 

[Elle Joyner]

---

no-lightbox

Elena watched Charlie for a moment, as he introduced the stranger, an unmitigated expression of suspicion in her gaze. Her eyes twitched to the PI, a frown finding her lips and after Lester spoke, silence filled the room, heavy and tense. Stepping forward, Charlie sank down into the chair beside her bed, reaching out to pat the hand not encased within a blue fiber cast.

"Lena... I know... I know that you're going through a lot, and I won't ask you to try and move past it. Not when I know that you need to grieve. But sweetheart... you and I both know what happened to your father was not an accident, and we need to get to the bottom of it. But if we involve the police, if we make this public... You aren't safe. You might not be, even now. Mr. Johnson has agreed to help but I won't hire him, not without your blessing."

Her eyes shifted from his hand on her own to the detective again, damp with emotion. Tightening her grip in Charlie's, she nodded. Charlie smiled at the acknowledgment and shifting, held out his other hand to Lester, "It's settled then... Mr. Johnson, you've got yourself a job. That is... if you're accepting the position?"

 

[Red Thunder]

Lester Johnson, PI
Les Investigations​

For someone who wanted to find their father's killer, or at the very least what had happened, the girl, er, 'young woman' Lester supposed to himself, was really hesitant about offered help. His hand had remained extended, empty and untaken by his...client? To be honest, he wasn't sure who it was he was working for: the chick or the monkey. Anyway, as she looked at him, Les returned the favor, his expression blasé. Trauma was one thing, but damn. Sure, in polite society, if a handshake was snubbed like this, it should probably have been retracted. But hey, in polite society, and handshake shouldn't be snubbed in the first place. It should at least be answered to some degree.

As Strathmann pleaded with Elena, Les' phone began ringing in his pocket. He ignored it, allowing the irritating stock tone to cut through whatever somber mood was otherwise present, merely returning any look of annoyance from the others with one of vague irritation. Finally it cut off, the voicemail tone beeping shortly afterwards. He waited patiently, a plastic smile plastered professionally on his face, as the two finished their discussion. But when Strathmann extended his own hand to meet Les', the PI pulled it back.

"You seem like a nice guy, Strathmann. A real 'go getter' or whatever politicians like to say to motivate their people. But to you, and I mean this in the best possible way, my job isn't personal." In anticipation of complaint from Charlie, the blonde man stepped forward in emphasis, looking him in the eye. "Not like it is for her. It's her father that's dead, not yours. And I don't make deals with third parties.

"So. How about, Elena?" His gaze turned to hers, the pretend smile fading. "If you want me to look into this, I'll throw everything I've got into it until there's nothing left to find; your buddy here has already offered to pay me whatever, so I'm not worried about that. But you have to be invested yourself; I'm not going to compile a bunch of evidence for you to just ignore it later. If I get you your evidence, you make sure the bastards who did this to your dad see a judge."

He held his hand out to her again.

"Do we have a deal?"

 

[Elle Joyner]

---

no-lightbox

Watching the detective, Elena frowned as he spoke... a thoughtful expression, if not a little wounded. It was difficult, accepting what had happened, but more difficult accepting the idea that it wasn't an accident. Despite what the doctors were saying about her, despite her own body's reaction to it, her mind was still sound and wrapping it around what the man... the stranger was saying was disconcerting to say the least, and her heart felt heavier the longer he went on.

She felt suddenly intensely overwhelmed by all of it, and the feeling made her chest tight, She wanted to tell him no. To tell him to leave. To tell Charlie to forget it... to forget all of it and let it go. To leave her be, leave her to her misery until she had sunk so deep into it that there was just no way out.

Her throat burned, her eyes stinging and blinking swiftly, she looked away, plucking anxiously at a pill in the sheets around her legs. Was that really what she wanted? To be left alone? To ignore the obvious? To let her father's murderers get away with it? Or was it the fear and the pain of it all, tying her down?

She hadn't spoken since the EMTs had pulled her from the car... She hadn't spoken, at first because it just felt too hard. There were just too many questions asked, too many she HAD to ask. But then she'd held the words in because she was afraid the moment she opened her mouth all that would come out would be a scream... and it would never stop. Not ever.

But maybe that's what she really needed...

Maybe she needed to scream. To get angry. To cry. To allow herself to feel... and then to fight.

Glancing up again, her eyes misting over with tears, she reached out and clasped the detective's hand with a slightly shaky grip, nodded her head, "...Deal."

Charlie's eyes widened at that solitary word and looking to Lester, he shrugged, "Good enough?"

 

[Red Thunder]

Lester Johnson
Les Investigations ​

The smile returned, genuinely now, blossoming out to touch his cheeks. Good; Elena was invested. Too often he'd gone to a hell of a lot of trouble to find and get a hell of a lot of evidence for a client, only to have them ignore it, washing their hands of the matter entirely, or worse, returning to a bad relationship. To see the dead senator's daughter at least agree initially was a good sign. He hoped it would hold true. Les returned the shaky grip with a solid one. Nodding, he glanced to Strathmann.

"Works for me." He pulled open his jacket to reach into the inside breast pocket, bringing out a new but creased business card, as if it had sat with only a few others like it for a week or two within. It was a simple thing, listing the agency name unceremoniously. His own name was printed just below it, with a phone number and an email address under that. In the bottom right corner was an address, presumably his office. With no decor whatsoever, its purpose was clear: it was only meant to convey information, not to garner interest. Bending forward, Les placed it on the bed beside her blanketed legs.

"Seems like you're not ready to discuss what happened. That's fine; take some time to recover, let it sink in, cry, whatever you need to do. But when you're ready," he tapped the card and stood back up straight, "give me a call. You were there, so you're probably the most important piece of evidence.

"In the meantime, I'm going to go check the limo. Or whatever you two were in. Can you come along, Chuck, or do you have the address?"

 

[Elle Joyner]

---

no-lightbox

He was really gone. It wasn't a bad dream, or some convoluted plot in a thriller. He was gone and he was never coming back. And if the only way to cope with that, if the only way to get some sort of closure was to allow Charlie and this... Lester Johnson person to handle it, then that was what she had to do.

As he set it beside her, Elena plucked up the card, turning it over in her. It was so simple, so plain. It didn't seem possible that it held any answers, but maybe... just maybe.

Looking up, she watched as Charlie nodded, rising again to his feet. Uncle Charlie. For as long as she could remember, he had been a near constant in her life - her father's friend and manager, a part of the family... It felt strange now, to think that he was all she really had left. She was grateful for him, but it was hard to imagine that what had always been her father and Chuck was now just... Chuck.

"You gonna be okay if I go with him, Lena?" Charlie asked and swiping at her eyes with the back of her hand, Elena nodded, "I'm just a phone call away if you need me, alright? And Dixon is around here, somewhere." Reaching out, Charlie gave her shoulder a squeeze, before he turned to Lester.

"It's at the impound lot downtown... I'll drive."

 

[Red Thunder]

Lester Johnson PI
Les Investigations​

"He wouldn't see me."

Peter Johnson sat down heavily into his arm chair. The blue fabric was as faded as the man's green dress suit and bore almost as many patches. An American flag was displayed proudly on the lapel. On the dinner table lay an old file folder, its contents having spilled out across the table from the careless manner in which it had been tossed there. The pages bore the ink of a typewriter, he topmost letters of the topmost page reading clearly 'A Proposition for the Betterment of he Livelihood of Veterans of Foreign Wars'. He sighed, then looked across the room to where his wife sat on their loveseat. A small knitting project lay in her lap, the orange and blues of the yarn clashing awfully against the faded pastels of her skirt. She smiled supportively, but he shook his head.

"You went to all that trouble to type it up, too. I'm sorry I couldn't get in to talk to him."

"You can try again tomorrow!"

Her smile remained, stubborn in optimism and encouragement. But Peter shook his head, the wisps of graying hair and his furrowed brow adding ten years to his natural sixty-two.

"I don't know, Julia. Maybe it isn't worth his time. The senator is a busy man-"

"The hell with that." Julia's expression changed in an instant, becoming firm and commanding. "You have an important idea to tell him; moreover, it affects us a lot. Tell you what: you sleep on it, and tell me what you think of it tomorrow. If you're still feeling unsure, we'll go together."

Peter smiled.

"My dear woman, that sounds just fine."

She nodded reassuringly, a stern expression on her face, her eyes shining with happiness as her gaze turned to a young boy playing on the floor, setting up rows of army men carefully, his blond hair bright in the dim light of the sunset streaming through open windows.

At Strathmann's offer, Lester nodded.

"Sure. My car is back at the apartment anyway."

With a glance to Elena and a muttered Get better, Les lead the way out the room and toward the parking garage.

 

[Elle Joyner]

---

no-lightbox

It was a fair drive from the hospital to the impound lot - made lengthy by the stream of traffic and the slightly discomforting silence. Charlie was preoccupied, and it showed in the tension of his jaw and the strength with which he gripped the steering wheel. Before they'd left, he had tracked down Dixon, flirting with one of the nurses and after giving the man a piece of his mind about leaving his phone volume turned up, he'd gotten a guarantee that Dixon wouldn't leave Elena's side until they returned. But something in the exchange was bothering him...

They arrived outside the impound and parking, Charlie killed the engine, before glancing over to Lester with a soft frown, "In my line of work, Mr. Johnson... you learn to read people, fairly quickly. It's important, because as I'm sure you're aware, most politicians lie. It just comes with the territory, whether it's a highschool election or the presidential primary. If you want to be successful at managing a political campaign, you have to be able to tell when someone is being dishonest, because you can look pretty foolish if you don't have all the information. So you study... Context clues, body language. You see past the bull, so to speak."

Clearing his throat, he pushed his hair back. It had thinned so much over the last year ... Definitely was time to retire, "Which is why I could read you the minute I met you. You don't trust me. I won't take it personally, because frankly, I don't imagine you trust anyone. And I don't expect you to. But I want you to know that Elena is the most important person in my life. I would take a bullet for that girl... Anyone who's ever met her would probably say the same. For all she's been through, hell... if she were old enough, I'd tell her to run for office. I'm telling you this because while I know you don't trust me, I need to trust you... I need to trust that you will put everything into this. That you will do whatever it takes to get to the bottom of this. For Elena. Can you assure me of that? Before we begin. That you are all in? Politics aside..."

 

[Red Thunder]

Lester Johnson, PI
Les Investigations​

Apparently Strathmann hadn't heard Les' little speech back at the hospital. He gave the man a look, at once apprehensive and incredulous, before unfolding crossed arms. With a grunt he sat up and popped open his door, setting one leg out the door before glancing once again at Strathmann.

"You're the one the called me," he stated matter-of-factly, a shrug emphasizing what he felt should be fairly obvious. Then he pulled himself from the car.

It was strange, being here again. It'd been years, sure, and he'd only come because the cops wouldn't let a kid stay at his house alone. All the same, Les was tense and uneasy, as if he was going to get called out on something he hadn't done. It didn't help that the same anxiety had been building ever since Strathmann had mentioned the impound lot. The PI had been hoping the car in question was at a wrecker yard; it'd have made things a great deal easier.

Before them sat a chain link fence of decent height, several strings of barbed wire set at an angle out from the yard. To their left was a sliding chain link gate, the rail-and-chain system allowing the guard in the guard house just outside to open it remotely. Les glanced through the fence; he had to strain to make it out, but he thought he could see the bashed tail end of a vehicle behind a few others. With a glance at Strathmann to see whether he was coming, Les began making his way to the guard house.