S2, E9 | New Media

\ Monday, May 28th, 2007 /
\ 1:02 pm est. - 10:02 am pst. /

“Vick’, I’m telling you- they told me nothing” Bruce remarks, hands covered by his jacket, stationed at his hips. “They wouldn’t tell us anything Bruce wouldn’t know” Aiden adds, looking Vickers in the face as he occupies the chair next to Carly’s. “Then we have nothing” Vickers replies, a despondent glare in the man’s eyes, his chin propped up by the hand on his right arm, its elbow digging into the padding of his seat’s armrest.

“Wait, I’m confused-” Bruce interjects, his fingers rubbing at each side of his head, trying to ease the headache he can feel begin to set in, “-why are we mad they left?” Overhearing the question from the hallway, Robin offers an answer before stepping into the room, her voice thrown against the marble walls as she enters. “Because I need them on the air!” Robin exclaims, the taps of her shoes silenced once setting upon the office’s carpet, “they can’t do that when they’re A.W.O.L.”

“Um- they’re not on official leave- so they’re just away in your little metaphor” Bruce corrects, uttering the same correction Aiden thought of, but chose not to involve himself with. “Not anymore. I lifted Grant’s suspension this morning, and I’m giving Taylor a bonus to return from vacation early” Robin replies, her purse set upon Vickers’ desk, a package of smokes retrieved from within it, “I want them on the air tonight.”

“Alright- timeout. What!?” Bruce exclaims, his hands thrown by each side, eyes nearly thrusting themselves through his lids, “I thought you were setting yourself on a mission to ‘teach Grant a lesson’ and ‘give him time to reflect and change’.”

“I was until the board decided I wasn’t anymore” Robin responds, earning herself an eye roll as Bruce turns away, the man’s headache worsening with each new line of dialogue. “If we don’t know where they went, does anyone know where the hell they’d go?” Robin inquires, eyes panning to those that share the room with her, hoping for someone to intrude upon the silence.

“It may be a longshot, but if we’re taking any suggestions-” Aiden replies, Robin’s refusal to interrupt clearing him to proceed, “they could have flown out to Vegas to get married?” His right eye squinting as he nears the end of the suggestion, Aiden feels the tension build as the room remains quiet, unsure of how to react. “I know, I know- ‘why Vegas?’” Aiden remarks, “Grant said he went there with friends once a few years ago, loved it, and wanted to bring some of us down there next time.”

“At least there’s some reasonability there” Vickers replies, adjusting his seat with his hands folded, fingers interlocked atop his chest. “We’ve got cars outside Grant’s little backwoods and Taylor’s place in Albany. I’ve got the doorman at her flat on standby, so if they come back- we’ll know” Robin remarks, her finger extending, hand spinning in a forward motion, “come on, though- more suggestions- whatever you’ve got.”

“What if we can’t get them here tonight?” Bruce queries, deliberately changing the topic, his interest not residing within his client’s whereabouts. “Then I’ll have a board of very powerful men incredibly pissed off at me” Robin answers, refusing to look Bruce in the face, her attention given to the remaining three, “come on! Throw out some suggestions!”

“Family!” Carly exclaims, the thought suddenly popping into her head, “they could be visiting family.” With a nod, Robin strikes a match, a lone dart held at the end of a long, 1920’s-esque holder. “I’m not really sure you can be doing that in here, Ro-” Vickers begins to mutter, his raspy voice silenced at the wave of the woman’s hand. “I’m not so sure you’re supposed to have a liquor cabinet in the workplace either, Sam” the woman replies, “where do their families live?”

“Taylor’s parents live in upstate New York, Grant’s moved to Florida after his brother died last year” Bruce responds, the foursome turning to him mid-sentence, no other family they’re close to that I know.”

“His brother died last year?” Robin inquires, the man’s agent quietly nodding his head. “It was the broadcast about the senate renewing the Patriot Act” Bruce responds, his words fired in quick succession, “he got a few phone calls during the broadcast, one of them was his mom giving him the news.”

“I remember that broadcast” Vickers replies, his mouth slightly agape, “I didn’t know what it was, but he was damn good.” With a nod, Bruce quickly advances past the hearty recollection and praise, his body leaning against the back of Aiden’s seat. “Vegas, Florida, uptown New York- that’s all we’ve got so far” Bruce proclaims, slightly irked by the consistent struggles the group faces to remain on target, “I’d like to know where my client is, so if we can just put-”

Stopping himself, Bruce goes silent, his eyes freezing upon the woman, her expression shifting with Bruce’s visual change. Though they face away from the agent, Aiden and Carly take their attention to Bruce just as Vickers does, urged to at the sudden interruption of his thoughts. Though eager to know what’s caught Bruce’s contemplations, Vickers remains silent, his hand extending toward Robin, halting her as she attempts to speak, not wanting to rush the man’s process.

“The last time I spoke to him, he said he was struggling with his past. I told him to just ‘put the past where it belongs’” Bruce recalls, eyes widening as his attention is restored, “what if he’s putting the past behind?” Squinnying, Robin waits for further clarification, forced to inquire as it ceases to occur.

“Are you high off your mind?” Robin exclaims, her lungs holding back a great puff of smoke, “what the good heavens does that even mean!?”

“This was just after Kelsi’s death, right?” Vickers ponders, Bruce’s nod given just as Robin interrupts. “So he’s going back to D.C?” the prideful executive wonders aloud, still not wholly certain what’s being said amongst silent gestures. “He’s going after Howard and Jessica” Vickers replies, pushing his chair out as he reaches for his coat, “Kelsi, ‘the past’, the disappearance they didn’t want anyone knowing about- he’s confronting his past.”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Aiden exclaims, stopping the wavelength-sharing men from throwing themselves into an unproven theory, “that’s a strong conclusion to make with such little information.” Supported by his second half, Aiden lets Carly continue his thought, the men having stopped mid-dash for the doors upon their correction.

“They have a past with Howard and Jessica, sure. But they’re also two people that the paparazzi love to harass that also happen to be dating away from the public eye” Carly remarks, “you’ve got just as much proof they’re in Vegas as you do in this hypothesis.” Essentially deadlocked, the room’s four eyes centre upon Robin, the woman’s smoke-surrounded, skirt suit-laden, tiny frame becoming the ultimate tie-breaker.

Assisted by the simple fact that they sit ahead of her rather than stand by her sides as Bruce and Vickers do, Aiden and Carly take Robin’s attention, the woman letting another cloud of smoke leave her lips. “I’ve got a lot riding on us getting this right. Vegas, Florida, upstate- whatever- they’re all decent guesses, but these two pricks have intent to back up their ideas” the woman remarks, her hand resting on the back of Carly’s seat, “give me something better or I’ll have no other choice.”

Paying each other a glance, the young couple remain quiet, waiting for the look of hope in the other’s eye, praying for its arrival. As the seconds pass, Robin’s only arguable choice becomes increasingly finite, nearly made definitive before a sudden gift from above is bestowed upon the eight o’clock executive producer.

= Tonight at 9 is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and the entity of Pacer1 from the start of Season 1 onward =

\ Monday, May 28th, 2007 /
\ 1:14 pm est. - 10:14 am pst. /

“Doug, Colin, Joey!” Aiden exclaims, his sleek, modern news bureau cosier than the monolithic floor a few levels above, his voice travelling farther, “in my office!” Carly following his lead with Robin, Vickers and Bruce closely behind in that order, Aiden marches to his spacious office, most of the men he beckons for struggle to move at the sight of their boss taking the lead in a line that two high-level executives occupy.

Consisting of three rows of consecutive, circular mezzanines, the eight o’clock bureau presents a more intimate workplace, their news desk built into the wall’s slope rather than sat in the main floor’s centre. Though trying to hurry, two of the three men stumble over every few steps, worried at what fate awaits them beyond Aiden’s door. With ease, Doug steps between desks, navigating the floor well, and advancing upon Aiden’s office unphased.

After a few seconds, Joey and Colin, both visibly concerned, follow Doug’s example, marching through the door with confidence, theirs however, mostly feigned. “Would the two of you lower your shoulders- I’m not firing you or challenging you to a dual” Aiden remarks, though his producers no longer stand fearful, they do remain worried, “I need the three of you moving a message around for me.”

Remaining stood, Vickers and Bruce stroll to the side, politely leaving the chairs for Robin and Carly to fill. His desk littered with papers, folders, and machinery somehow still contained within the box it was packaged into two months prior, Aiden throws himself into his chair, making himself comfortable. “The people that usually do ‘Tonight at Nine’ upstairs went somewhere without telling us” Grant remarks, the keyboard tray slid away from his desk.

“Are- are they alright?” Colin inquires, his voice unsteady, the nerves he’d entered the room with needing some time to settle. “They’re not dead as far as I’m aware, but I’m not so sure they’ll stay that way when Robin gets a hold of them” Aiden replies, his fingers dancing along the keyboard as if it were a ballroom, “that said, we need to get a hold of them and we need to do it now.”

“I can put a message out on Myspace if that helps” Doug offers, stepping around the seated women to join Aiden by his computer. “That’s why I’m typing. I’m gonna email the three of you a message and, as the three producers I think have the most sway, I need you to forward it to everyone else” Aiden explains, the final few keys pressed with a touch of enthusiasm, “I want everyone around the bureau sending this out wherever they can. Myspace, Facebook, Aim- everything.”

“Kid, I admire your eagerness to get ‘young’ and ‘hip’ around here- but this is futile” Robin remarks, unable to hold back her surprise when Doug, his posture unchanged, interrupts her. “Quite the opposite- actually” the man remarks, his employer too stunned at the thought of being cut off to speak a word otherwise. “We’re all on forums posting about the news and the newsroom- we’ve got a decent audience” Doug explains, “the best part is that our audience is heavily sprawled.”

Her bottom lip hung, Robin stares at Doug, though unable to find an adequate response for his interruption, grows incredibly curious to the claim. “Explain” the woman says with a sigh, too dependent on the task of recovering her lead anchors to hold off a brief concession of power, her arms crossing as Vickers looks on, holding back a laugh well.

“The benefit of forums is that anyone can join. You and I can get on them just as a farmer in Iowa can” Doug explains, “no matter where you are, if you make a comment about it, anyone around the world can see it and start a conversation about it.” Enjoying the display too much to interrupt it, Aiden leans in his chair with a cobra stance, yet to send the message he’d transcribed, able to see Vickers’ increasing amusement from the corner of his eye.

“What’s your name?” Robin inquires, her left leg draped over the right, arms crossed over her chest as she leans to the right. “Doug Olson-” the man responds, extending his hand, “-senior producer of ‘On Air’” the man remarks, his hand left untouched.

“Doug, I own a media giant valued at nearly twenty-six billion dollars. My premier broadcast boasts an audience of thirteen million concurrent viewers” Robin replies, her eyes squinting as her head bobs, a smirk threatening to emerge, “what does your website do that one snap of my fingers can’t?”

Not nearly as informed, Vickers’ smile soon falls, Doug’s pause amidst Robin’s question assumedly bringing his fun to a close. Unsure of what many of the points made, Bruce’s expression goes unchanged, his mind just focused on the proceeding step. The moment three seconds pass without a response, Robin settles into her seat, right arm draped over the back of her chair, pleased with the victory she’s taken herself to be awarded.

His chair slowly spinning counter-clockwise, Aiden stares at Doug with a smile, Carly sharing in the same reaction, aware enough of the question’s answer to know what comes next. His nose scrunched and lips puckered, Doug lets the inquiry settle, unable to take his mind away from the same denial and scepticism he’s heard plenty of. Catapulted into retaliation by Robin’s smug grin, Doug takes in a deep breath, his hands tucked into his pockets as he gives the woman her return.

“There are ninety six people that work in this office, eighty seven of them are on a forum” Doug replies, simplifying the numbers to make them more digestible. “Combine all of our contact lists, and in theory, we have access to one hundred and forty million people” Doug furthers, not only widening Robin’s eyes, but snatching Bruce’s attention from the immediate future, and restoring the glee upon Vickers’ face.

“It’s safe to assume many of those are repeats, so we’ve hired people to make the numbers clearer” Doug continues, approaching the crescendo of his point with the utmost confidence. “If our research is correct- and I trust that it is- our combined audience is comprised of twenty million, entirely unique people” Doug concludes, Vickers’ smile impossibly wide, “which means, with one message, twenty million people on a national and global scale will know to look out for your hosts.”

Her lips the slightest amount parted, Robin stares at Doug with a disgusted expression, the face made not out of repugnance, but the sheer inability to conjure a different reaction. Correctly, Aiden takes the instantaneous lack of a response that Robin offers as a triumph, his hand simply guiding the mouse toward the small flying envelope icon in the corner of his screen.

“You’re good to go, lads” Aiden murmurs, both Joey and Colin immediately throwing themselves toward the entrance, not wanting to risk an obstruction to their exit. Though given clearance to depart, Doug remains beside Aiden’s desk for a moment, patiently awaiting a response from the stoic woman. When no counter appears near, Doug decides to leave, satisfied with the interaction he knew, though did not wish to gloat about, he’d achieved.

“Hold on” Robin calls aloud, stopping the man just as his hand begins to reach for the door’s handle, its fully-transparent frame having yet to even close entirely. “Get back here, Doug” Robin commands, adjusting her blazer as she leaves her chair, the man having turned back toward her the moment her order is given.

Dressed in a simple grey button up shirt, black slacks and a pair of glossy shoes, Doug returns to Robin’s presence, though he is of above average height, his posture towers over the woman’s 5’6’ build. “As evident by the fact that I’ve never met you in my life, I assume it’s safe to say I’ll be seeing more of you as you ascend Aiden’s chain of command” Robin explains, her finger raised toward the man’s face, “but- and I only say this once- never interrupt me.”

Through his nose, Doug takes in a deep breath, a glance taken to the four employees that occupy spaces behind her. “Noted” Doug replies, at first playing an non confrontational card, though his sharp rebuttal exists as nothing of the sort, “but- just so I’m not tempted next time- if you’re gonna talk about something, know what you’re talking about.”

Her mouth further agape than before, Robin watches Doug step back the way he’d entered, his eyes peering over her shoulder as he nods to Aiden, departing on that note. The room stripped of noise, the five occupants of Aiden’s office sit with completely separate expressions, Bruce and Robin holding a look of awe, Aiden and Carly ecstatic at the display of their personal hire, and Vickers tickled pink to such an extent he could be compared to a rare steak.

“Holy fuck!” Vickers exclaims, leaving the ground as he jumps through the air like a joyous child, his sights set upon Aiden,  “how do I make him vice president of everything!?” Chuckling quietly to himself, Aiden spins himself in the chair one full cycle-length, waiting for Robin’s response. With her fist balled and thumb held toward the door, Robin turns to the small gathering behind her, “can you believe that?” she laughs, unable to hide her respect for the gall exhibited in her direction.

|

\ Monday, May 28th, 2007 /
\ 1:58 pm est. - 10:58 am pst. /

“Grant! Taylor!” Vickers exclaims, leading Bruce off the lift, their journey taking them to a desolate apartment left in ruins. “Hey, Vick’?” Bruce remarks, one simple inspection of the room that sits before them allowing for a decent conclusion to be made, “I don’t think anyone’s in here.”

The soles of their expensive shoes kicking paint chips and scuffling grains of dirt, Vickers and Bruce round the nearest bannister, peering into the empty apartment they’d seen before, though its state exists largely unfamiliar to any way they’d once known it to. “What the hell happened to this place?” Vickers grumbles, shifting his feet across dusty floors, the concrete beneath what would have been tiles and floorboards exposed to the elements of rot and decay.

“If I had to guess, it’d be that Howard no longer lives here” Bruce replies, his finger briefly sweeping across one of the wooden support columns. “If I had to guess a timeframe, I’d say that’s been true for a while” the man further, shaking his hands around to free his fingers from the accumulated filth.

The room around them stripped bare, walls that used to be present now no longer standing, furniture that used to fill the flat likely sold for profit. “What the fuck do we do now?” Vickers wonders aloud, the gutted interior allowing him to stand in the pad’s centre with his arms extended, not a single structure to come remotely close to his fingertips.

“We go back to the drawing board, I’d assume” Bruce replies, his attempt at finding a place to seat proving unsuccessful, his hands stowing themselves into his pockets as he opts to remain standing. “Maybe we hold out hope that Aiden’s posse knows how to handle this better than we do?” Bruce continues, seeing the frustration in Vickers’ stance, “maybe we get lucky and find out they just took a day-trip to Atlantic City or something.”

With the sound of a bell, Vickers and Bruce turn to the lift, a single set of footprints emerging from within the elevator’s confinement. “What are-!?” Joshua Lane exclaims, his gun aimed at whatever lies directly ahead of him, a brief second and a half needed for him to recognise the faces standing before him. “Oh, come-the fuck-on!” Josh exclaims, letting the pistol drop to his side, “why the hell do you guys have to keep coming up here!?”

Trying to alleviate the commotion, Vickers throws his hands out, ushering Bruce and Josh to join him in a moment of reprieve. “We’re just looking for Howard” Vickers calmly replies, Bruce’s curious look wandering through the room’s inside. “How many times do I have to tell you that he’s not here!?” Josh replies, returning the pistol to his waistband, frustration yet to ease.

“What do you mean ‘how many times’?- This is the first we’re seeing of all this” Bruce replies, sharing in Josh’s aggravation, though using it to install a declarative tone to his voice. “Not you- Grant and Taylor” Josh replies, the pitch in his voice finally beginning to relax, “they came by a few weeks ago and I told them the exact same thing. I figured that kind of news would get around your newsroom a lot sooner than now.”

“Wait, wait! Grant and Taylor came here?” Vickers replies, taking a short, but noticeable step forward, “why?” His arms crossed, Josh answers with a shrug, only able to make assumptions. “You came here looking for Howard, so I’d imagine they came here for similar reasons” Josh replies, his white t-shirt complementing his grey sweatpants well, though the sandals he wears illustrate how unprepared he was to enter potential combat.

“Did they tell you why?” Vickers inquires, Howard’s name immediately rejuvenating Vickers’ hope, its fate thought to be written upon the sight of the apartment’s ruined state. “No, but I’m sure the people five stories above me could hear Grant screaming his name” Josh replies, caring too little about his attire to fear it being dirtied, his back pressing against the dust-covered bannister Bruce has passed on earlier.

“Did he look like he was gonna fight him? Or maybe, I don’t know- yell at him?” Bruce ponders, building upon the relatively little they’ve been informed of as if there’s a goal in sight. “I don’t think he was gonna sit down, break a pack of crackers open and have a tea party if that’s what you mean” Josh replies, the disappointed expressions on his guest’s faces prodding Josh toward a less-impertinent tone.

“He was screaming the man’s name. Taylor was following behind him, and it definitely didn’t seem like she wanted to be there” Josh remarks, both men opposite him taking kinder to his warm approach, “I’ve fought pricks before. I’ve screamed their names to get their attention before- I wanted to look them in the eyes when I laid them out. So when I tell you that I’d never screamed like Grant did that night- I mean he was looking for a whooping.”

With a sigh, Vickers bites into the corner of his lip, both hands falling limply to his sides. “He’s looking for Howard” Bruce murmurs, calling Vickers’ attention back, their more worrying assumption lended the most credence. “If they’re looking for Howard, good luck stopping them” Josh replies, both men remaining silent as they return their attention toward him.

“Last time I heard, Howard sold what he couldn’t take and stowed away anything with value he didn’t want to sell” Josh remarks, letting free a sigh he’d held back to that point, “he’s in Italy.” Eyes widened, Vickers stumbles backward, almost losing his balance to a point as Bruce turns to him. “The bags, the toothbrushes, the no warning!” Vickers exclaims, finally returning his feet to a firm stance as Bruce’s sidekick buzzes, “they fucking went to Italy!”

“It’s Bruce” Bruce hurriedly responds, tending to the call his phone begs him to answer, placing Robin on speakerphone as Vickers nears. “Robin, I need you to listen” Bruce explains, speaking slowly in fear of reception being poor, “we’re pretty sure they went-”

“To Italy, yeah- I know” Robin interjects, both men on the other line silenced upon the nation’s mention, “twenty six billion dollars of value in this company and all it took to find two people worth a collection of well-over six million dollars was a twenty-something pushing a button on his phone.”

“So they are in Italy?” Bruce replies, another buzz coming from those sat around Robin, this time sent into Vickers’ phone. “Doug just sent Vickers a photograph. It was taken about ten minutes ago” Robin explains, describing a grainy picture of Grant and Taylor sat in the outside dining area of a local cafe, their expression impossible to decipher.

“What’s the plan now, Robin?” Vickers responds, returning his phone to his jacket pocket, the pause that’s returned to them not installing much hope. “What the hell do you think, Sam?” Robin replies, answering as if the response is a foregone conclusion, “someone’s going to Italy!”

Returning the phone to its receiver, Robin ends the call, allowing Bruce’s phone to go dark. “I don’t like the sound of that” Josh murmurs from across the room, the men that stand before him glaring with an equally dissatisfied reaction. “Neither do we” Vickers responds, fixing his jacket as he steps away from Bruce, rounding the bannister Josh remains leant against on his path for the lift, Bruce’s quick hurry to catch up proving difficult to read.

“Is this a ‘I have a plan’ kind of silence you’ve got on right now, or is it more like a ‘well fuck, what now?’ deal?” Bruce queries, joining beside Vickers beyond the double doors, the bell ringing as they begin to close, marking the lift’s descent. “It’s neither” Vickers replies, hands stuffed back into his pockets as the doors collide, a shake of his head all that precedes his conclusion, “it’s more of a ‘dear god, what have they done’ kind of deal.”

== Tonight at 9 ==