That was the irate voice of Allexis Ryan, Attorney at Law and more often than not the one responsible for getting Richard and Indigo out of any legal predicaments their line of work entailed. Which in layman's terms meant she had to master two different jobs; lawyer and firefighter to suppress the flames of whatever ingenious plan they cooked up. Matter of fact, she was the one who made the suggestion for them to find a legitimate means of achieving whatever it was they were planning on attaining. From there Richard's mind leaped to the facet of pro wrestling, for one reason or another.

Today was different however.

Today, the normally smug demeanor of Richard Weston was replaced by only a concerned expression as he stepped into Ms. Ryan's office, his eyes frantically scanning the room for bugs, wires, anything that could be used to record the conversation that would surely followed. That wasn't even touching on the state of emotional wreck Indigo was in as she kept trying to swallow the lump in her throat. Her eyes were red, puffy and bloodshot; and in her hand which hung limply and lazily from her side was a newspaper. As the pair crossed the threshold and took their seats on the other end of Ms. Ryan's desk, Richard cleared his throat and was just beginning to recount the events of the night prior when without a word Indigo slid the newspaper across the desk to the attorney and anxiously bit her nails.

"Okay..." Allexis muttered as her eyes scanned the paper, "I'm not following."

As she couldn't bring herself to speak, lest break down in another incoherent fit of crying and apologies, Indigo motioned for her to lower it back down onto the desk. The attorney obliged, and the index finger of the shaking hand that belonged to the woman mere seconds away from a complete and utter neurotic breakdown landed smack dab in the middle of the paper. Right over the picture of the victim of a "gang related driveby shooting" who died before the ambulance arrived on the scene.

The man's name?

Bennett Thompson. A very far cry from Dakota Fry indeed.

"Gonna need a little more help here. My god you two aren't planning on exploiting this guy's death are you?"

"What? No!" Richard exclaimed, with the slightest chuckle before settling back into his bone dry, emotionless shell of a serious demeanor. Tight lipped and slightly impatient, he tapped his toe on the floor, looking upwards at an angle towards the ceiling waiting for the attorney to figure out the implications on her own. Which she did. About five seconds thereafter.

"My god! You, you--"

"Yes."

That was all Richard said, and all he needed to. No amount of idle chitchat about the event would bring Mr. Thompson back to life so he figured that the appropriate amount of idle chitchat on the matter was none.

"So, what should we do?"

"What should we do? I should drop you as clients that's what I should do. You really think I'm going to help you cover up a murder?"

"Well, with any luck you shouldn't have to. Remember, it says gang related. Indigo and I, we don't look the gangster type, do we?"

"So, you confess this to me, even though you won't be suspects, because... ?"

"Because Indigo here feels so torn up about it. Seriously, she wouldn't shut the fuck up about it afterwards so I figured you were much better than a priest or something."

Richard scoffed, letting what was left of his serious, lifeless facade fall by the wayside as his hands clamped around and adjusted the tie on his neck. With wide eyes and an exhale through the nose, the attorney locked eyes with him and then looked over to the door leading out of her office. Reluctantly nodding yes, he turned to his protege and without a word commanded her to stay exactly where she was. That was an order she didn't think twice about following, as the murder replayed over and over in her head, rendering her unable of thinking straight, let alone doing something like moving.

As Richard followed the attorney out of the office however, he was greeted with a smack to the arm immediately upon crossing the threshold.

"What was that for?"

"You know damn well what that's for you psycho!"

It was only after she said that, that she noticed how loud she was talking. Luckily, no one seemed to hear the outburst. Key word there being seemed. To fill the silence that lingered for a few seconds longer than it would have had she kept her voice at a much lower volume, Richard laughed nervously, anxiously. Again his eyes scanned the decor of the area surrounding Ms. Ryan's office for bugs, wires, or cameras but yet again came up empty, much to his relief. What he did see however, was that this place wasn't too different from his own office at home. Whereas he was going for a sense of sophistication that he didn't actually possess, the building was showing off all the prestige it lacked in its egregiously pretentious decorations. Be they modern to the point of inconvenient seating to bookshelves stocked with fiction. Not any fiction mind you. Books like Atlas Shrugged. That was the only book title Richard read before jumping to the conclusion that the place must pull off their scam well.

"Hey. Don't point the finger of blame at me!" he whisper-yelled with an almost snarling intensity.

"You expect me to believe she could pull that off?"

"Yeah, didn't think she had it in her myself."

"You're really buying into your own lie here, aren't you?"

The skepticism Ms. Ryan was exhibiting wasn't too arbitrary or even out of place or uncalled for, as when dealing with clients who have a history of lying and twisting facts, the possibility of them believing their own bullshit was high. Instead of trying to charm his way out of this situation however, all he did was place his hand on her shoulder and stare intently into her eyes.

"No. I don't need to."

"Look at her! She's a mess!" she exclaimed as if hysterics somehow made someone less capable of murder. It, again, wasn't until the words actually came out of her mouth that she started to realize just how idiotic she made herself sound. With a sigh, she fell against the wall outside her office as Richard began to pace half frantically, half pseudo cool and collected back and forth.

"She doesn't know about--" she tried to say before getting unceremoniously cut off by a shh!

"Of course not! How stupid do you think I am?"

"You want a real answer to that? Just keep it that way and we'll be a lot better off because of it."

"You say this like I don't already know this."

"Right. Now get her and yourself out of my fucking office. I have actual work to be doing."