Sync and corrections by explosiveskull www.addic7ed.com
New York may be the city that never sleeps,
but it sure does sleep around.
Not that I'm complaining.
Cheaters are good for business.
A big part of the job is looking for the worst in people.
Turns out I excel at that.
Clients hire me to find dirt.
And I find it,
which shouldn't surprise them, but it does.
That bitch! She's sleeping with my brother?
Knowing it's real means they gotta make a decision.
Calm down.
One, do something about it.
She wants to go behind my back...
Or two, keep denying it.
Shoot the messenger.
She destroyed my life.
Tell me I'm getting off on ruining their already shitty lives.
Option two rarely pans out.
And then there's the matter of your bill.
People do bad shit.
I just avoid getting involved with them in the first place.
That works for me.
Most of the time.
I can let you know as soon as...
Jessica, did Miss Hogarth ask you to stop by?
Yep.
- You're lying, aren't you? - Yep.
Got anything for me?
I thought you didn't like or trust me.
Oh, come on, I meant lawyers in general.
- "Scumbag henchmen for corporate America." - Well...
We just hired a full-time investigator.
Whoever he is, he's not as good as me.
Hence me having offered you the job, which you rejected.
Wasn't personal. I just prefer freelance. No ties.
So you said, with an impressive string of expletives.
Okay, is being drunk an excuse?
You know, it's really about professionalism.
You are erratic and you are volatile.
Effective. You've brought me eight jobs no one could deliver on.
I did.
And that is why I have overlooked several complaints,
and have kept your methods confidential.
You're not protecting me. You need my methods.
I'm not gonna beg you for a case.
I will ask you, though, very strongly.
I need a summons served to the owner of several gentlemen's clubs.
His name is Gregory Spheeris.
An exotic dancer fell off the stage when a pole came loose.
Severe concussion, some permanent brain damage.
Spheeris claims she was always that stupid.
- And you're repping who? - The dancer, of course.
The poor, brain-damaged dancer. And?
Other parties interested in Spheeris' property.
Phew. I questioned my whole worldview for a second there.
Spheeris' bodyguards make him very difficult to serve.
Your specialty.
This has gone a long way toward me liking and trusting you.
- Gregory Spheeris' office. - Hi.
I'm calling from Cal Jamshahi's office.
My name is Karen. Karen Accord.
- No, it's not. - Yes, it is.
From the Vanderbilt color guard?
- Yes! - This is Magda Simms!
Oh, my God, Magda! Thank God. You have to help me.
Why? Why are you whispering?
Jamshahi is screaming about some meeting he has with Mr. Spheeris,
and I don't know where or when.
Mr. Spheeris doesn't have any meetings today.
No, it's not a meeting, it's...
I don't know, a lunch, a dinner? I can't read his handwriting.
Oh, no. Now, here he's coming.
Oh, could it be drinks? Tomorrow, 7:00 p.m.?
- He didn't say Jamshahi would be there. - That has to be it. Where?
Soho House, but it's members only.
Thank you so much, I'll call you back.
Shit!
God damn it!
In my line of work, you gotta know when to walk away.
But some cases just won't let you go.
Two minutes on a treadmill, 20 minutes on a quarter-pounder.
Ew!
Uh-huh.
You want to do it. You know you do.
Main Street.
Birch Street.
Higgins Drive.
Cobalt Lane.
All right, all right.
Oh, shit.
God damn it, Malcolm. You scared the shit out of me.
- What are you doing in my apartment? - This is my apartment.
That's why it's not crunchy.
- You know, your door's broken. - I hadn't noticed.
You use sarcasm to distance people.
And yet you're still here. Now go the hell home.
Oh. Excuse me, you wouldn't be Jessica Jones?
- Yeah. - We tried to call.
My phone's been acting up.
But you are Jessica Jones, private investigator?
Yes, I'm a private investigator.
I'm Barbara Shlottman, this is my husband, Bob.
We just flew in from Omaha to find our missing daughter.
Honey, Hope's not missing if she still calls us once a week.
She could be in a cult!
Come on in.
- Looks like you stripped your screws. - Wouldn't be the first time.
Start at the beginning.
Hope is at NYU on an athletic scholarship. Track and field, team captain.
A month ago she called to say that she was taking a break,
which is not like her at all.
She moved out of her apartment, we don't know where.
When she quit the team, we got on the plane.
You have a level? I could hang this straight.
She doesn't have a level, Bob.
We went to the police.
They said there was no evidence of a crime being committed,
and someone there recommended that we contact you.
The police referred you to me?
- Why? Would that be unusual? - Not at all.
Has Hope had any problems in the past?
God, no. She's always been incredibly disciplined.
How about epoxy?
I could glue the screws in. It'd be temporary, but...
Stop with the damn door, Bob!
And leave a woman living alone in this city with no lock and no door?
It's not safe!
That won't work.
I charge hourly, plus expenses.
I'll get a standard contract.
Shlottmans.
Bob, general contractor. Barbara, accountant.
Not wealthy, but legit.
Son, Owen.
Daughter, Hope.
Track, track, more track.
Jesus, more track.
Friend.
I'm playing tonight if you want to come.
Yeah, definitely.
It was open.
Stop shooting.
I'm making an experimental time lapse film of a year in my life, so...
Riveting.
I found him on Craigslist.
I suddenly needed a roommate, so... Thanks a lot, Hope.
You're pissed at her.
Seriously, lose the camera, Coppola.
I can't, it's a continuous shot. That means that there's no cuts.
Look at that, I found a cut.
Oh! You destroyed my art!
Mercy killing. Where's Hope's stuff?
She told me to sell it for rent. Made a whole 98 bucks.
Well, there's a box of her leftover junk in my closet.
Go get it.
Okay.
She's not missing, you know. She's just holed up with that guy.
There's a guy?
Of course there's a guy. Why else would a best friend crap on you?
She didn't mention him to her parents.
They only talk about track.
This guy have a name? A job?
All she'd tell me was, "He's amazing!"
I mean, did she think I was gonna steal him or something?
Look, she met a guy. Case solved.
You turn that thing on, I'll pull your underwear through your eye.
Brr! Sucks to be you.
Yo! Chop chop! Quick like a bunny!
Where's my car?
Be back in my place in ten.
Excuse me.
I said excuse me.
Do you know the way to the Chrysler Building?
It's called Google Maps, moron.
What the...
How are you doing that?
You're... one of them.
Holy mother of God!
You know, you'll spend less settling this lawsuit
than you did on those hair plugs.
You're not normal.
It's people like you that give people like you a bad name.
Take the damn summons, Spheeris.
No, no. If you even touch me, I'll tell the world about you.
There'll be nowhere to hide.
Do I look like I'm hiding? No.
You wanna know why?
Because no one wants to know.
They want to feel safe.
They'd rather call you crazy than admit that I can lift this car,
or that I can melt your insides with my laser eyes...
which won't leave a trace.
Mr. Gregory Spheeris, you've been served.
"Laser eyes." Moron.
Birch Street.
Higgins Drive.
Cobalt Lane.
You work this late so you can return calls without actually reaching people.
Well, I reached you.
- I received your message. - So cut a check.
And I also received a call from Spheeris' attorney.
Spheeris claims you, and I quote,
"lifted his car overhead and threatened him with your laser eyes."
Pathetic.
- Did you threaten him? - Yep, with my laser eyes.
And he believed that bullshit.
I could have said my hands were blenders.
Clearly, there's no IQ test for owning a strip club.
Well, people believe some pretty strange things these days.
Look, if you're gonna call me volatile or whatever else,
I'm really not in the mood.
No, no.
No, it sounds like it was very calculated.
Only wish I could have been there.
Was that a compliment?
I'll notify payroll.
It's a pleasure talking to you.
You could drink that out of a glass.
This whiskey's not good enough to put in a glass.
Yeah? I've got better stuff in there.
I've seen you around here, but you never come inside.
I buy in bulk.
It's ladies' night. New promotion I'm running.
No, it's not.
It is now.
Why?
You're local, you're hot, drinking alone. Tends to attract customers.
But hey, don't do me any favors.
Headin' out, boss.
- Be good, Roy. - Why start now, huh?
Last call.
Still ladies' night?
Make it a double.
Lot of booze for such a small woman.
I don't get asked on a lot of second dates.
How long you been doing this?
A while.
You from around here? You got family here? Friends?
I got regulars.
Hard day at the office?
They're all hard.
Pops always said,
if you don't feel good going to work, you should find new work.
I did that. I'm working the new work.
Yeah? What kind of business you in?
Right.
- You only ask questions. - I'm still waiting on answers.
Ladies first.
You're a P.I.?
I'm just trying to make a living. You know, booze costs money. Usually.
There's better ways to hustle than digging in people's business.
It's the only thing I'm good at.
- How good? - A natural.
Yeah?
So what have you detected?
Well, I can tell by the residue on this bar
that four years ago, a man named Horace had buffalo wings.
His name was Melvin.
I stand in dark alleys and wait to take pictures of people boning.
Except you been watching me like a hawk since you walked in.
Force of habit.
Or it's your way of flirting.
I don't flirt. But you do.
Not for sport. It's got purpose.
Like getting customers to drink more. Tip more.
So what else ya got, Sherlock?
All right.
A drunk spills on your shirt, pukes on your shoe, and you roll with it.
But break or scratch something? He's toast.
I've never seen a dive bar this clean.
Because you care about it.
More than anything.
Maybe anyone.
There's history here.
Memories.
Something personal, but private.
So no photos or memorabilia.
But you also like women.
Temporarily, at least.
And they like you.
See, now that sounded like flirting to me.
Again, I don't flirt. I just say what I want.
And what do you want?
My bad, my bad.
It's okay. It's okay, I won't break.
Yeah, you will.
Here.
Sorry.
You didn't do it perfectly.
You didn't do it perfectly, so now it's all your fault.
Oh, yeah? Yeah?
Assholes!
And I just noticed
you put all my laundry...
All I asked...
Alias Investigations.
It's Barb Shlottman, Hope's mom.
Yeah. Yes. Hi, I was just...
What's wrong? You sound funny. Is it... Is it Hope?
No, it was just a long night researching your case.
Um, Hope made some recent charges on her credit card.
She never uses that card.
We just gave it to her for emergencies. But we raised her to be frugal.
So she didn't mention wanting to buy anything special?
No. Why? What did she buy?
Nothing unusual.
Hope's going overboard to make her boyfriend happy.
She's either an idiot in love, or she's being conned.
Which amount to pretty much the same thing.
No.
No way.
I'm sorry, ma'am, we're not open for dinner yet.
- Didn't this used to be Il Rosso? - Yes.
Niku opened eight months ago. May I make a reservation for you?
Have you seen this girl?
May I ask why?
I'm a private investigator.
- I don't want any more trouble. - Any more?
So she was here.
Last Tuesday.
Was she alone?
- You should really speak to my manager. - Just tell me what happened.
Her companion wanted a particular table in the back.
There was a couple already seated there.
But I lost my mind or something. I told them to leave.
No, that's not possible.
What's not possible is our sommelier comping him a $500 bottle.
And when he ordered his favorite dish, from Il Rosso,
our chef actually hunted down the recipe from Il Rosso's old chef.
To our anniversary. You'll love it.
I will love it.
Then smile.
I can't imagine why he came to an Asian fusion restaurant
- to order classic Italian pasta... - Amatriciana.
You know him?
He's not coming back, is he?
Ma'am?
Birch Street, Higgins Drive...
Shit.
Miss Jones. What is it?
Who gave you my name? Which police officer told you about me?
- What's going on? Is it Hope? - Is she okay?
Did you get the cop's name who referred me?
It wasn't a policeman.
You said someone at the station...
- He was filing a complaint. - Or paying a ticket. What does it matter?
What did he say?
He said he overheard our conversation with the desk sergeant about Hope,
and suggested we come to you.
He had a nice accent, English.
Pack. Go home.
Get the hell out of here.
What? Why? Who is this guy?
Does he have our daughter?
Don't let anyone near you, just go!
Are you going to find her?
I need one coach ticket on the next flight to Hong Kong.
That would be departing in three hours.
I'll take it.
Perfect. I just need your credit card information.
Okay, it's a MasterCard.
The number is 5-2-7-4-9-3-3-2-0-6-8...
That's Hope Shlottman, two T's.
I'm sorry, that card was declined.
Shit!
Okay. Can you just hold the ticket for me?
We don't hold tickets.
Okay.
Yes?
I need to get paid for the Spheeris job now.
I put it through payroll. It takes a few days. You know that.
Okay, then I need a loan.
That's not how I conduct business. You will have to ask a friend.
I don't have any goddamn friends.
I'm shocked.
Jessica?
Here you are. I was waiting downstairs.
Oh.
We should go. We'll be late for our reservation.
And whose fault is that?
- You look bad. - I need money.
You can have my TV.
Thanks, Malcolm. You keep it.
- I stole it. - I figured.
Can we at least try to get Madeleine Albright?
It's a lifestyle show, Trish. Our audiences tune out for politics.
- They do not. - Okay, I do.
I want to meet Madeleine Albright.
I want to meet Channing Tatum,
but I've never tried to book him on the show.
Yes, you have. He said no.
Oh, I'm sorry, Zack, it's late and...
Yeah. Yeah, we'll pick this up at the station tomorrow.
Thank you.
Come on.
- Thanks, Zack. - Yeah. Nice.
Bye, guys.
You could've used the door.
I wasn't sure you'd answer. It's important.
It must be.
It's for a case.
Right.
You became a private eye.
You've been keeping tabs on me?
Making sure you weren't dead, since you never called.
I need money.
Wow. Uh...
I don't even know what to say.
- It's important. - You said.
But I don't hear from you for months, six months, actually...
- I needed breathing room. - You shut me out.
And now you show up here asking for money?
This was a bad idea.
No, you talk to me. You tell me what the hell is so important.
He's back.
It's been a year, Jess.
You saw him die.
You saw his death certificate. This is just your PTSD...
It's not my goddamn PTSD.
Are you still having nightmares?
Flashbacks?
You need to go back to that therapist.
That quack that had me reciting street names from back home?
A proven method for managing PTSD.
Two hundred bucks for "Birch Street, Cobalt Lane, Bullshit Drive."
- I told you I'd pay for it. - Jesus Christ, Trish!
He's back.
He sent clients to me, this couple from Omaha.
He took their daughter.
Why her?
- Is she gifted? - A gifted athlete, maybe.
Next best thing? I don't know.
But remember I told you he had that one month anniversary night?
And now one month from the day he took Hope,
he's doing...
the lingerie, the gift, the restaurant.
The hotel?
I'm calling the police.
They can't help, Trish.
You know what he can do.
You know what he made me do.
So you're running.
Yeah, I sure as hell am.
If he gets a hold of me again...
Trish...
If you leave that girl with him, and...
What would you have me do? What exactly should I do?
We'll figure out a way to protect you.
We? He's coming for me, not you.
I know!
You don't.
I know one thing, you are far better equipped
to deal with that animal than some innocent girl from Omaha.
You're still the person who tried to do something.
Tried and failed.
That's what started this.
I was never the hero that you wanted me to be.
I'll get your money.
Where is our daughter? What's going on? Please.
Please, please just tell me where my baby is.
I need to make a stop uptown. 59th and Fifth.
Miss Jones?
I thought that was you.
Welcome back. Uh...
Will you be staying with us again?
What's going on?
You miss me?
Is he here?
Is Kilgrave here?
No.
How long? When did he leave?
Five hours and 21 minutes.
We have to get you out of here.
- Let's go. Get dressed. - I can't.
- Miss Jones? - Mr. Shlottman, I found Hope.
Is that my dad?
You have to get her as far away as you can.
Check out of your hotel, and go directly to my office.
I don't understand.
Please, God, what... what is happening?
Just do it! We'll meet you there.
Come on, let's go!
I can't.
He told you not to move.
I wet the bed.
Okay.
- Come on. Let's go. Come on. Hope! - No, I can't!
- Come on, come on. - No, no, no!
- Come on. - No! No!
No! I can't leave.
- I don't want to hurt you. - I can't leave.
I can't!
Let go of me! I can't leave!
- Yes, you can. - I can't leave!
- Come on! - I can't!
I can't...
No! No!
Put me down!
No!
No, I can't leave!
I can't, I can't!
No! Let me go!
No! I can't...
His control, whatever it is, it wears off.
But it takes time and distance, so we're both getting out of here.
He made me do things that...
I didn't want to do, but I wanted to.
What street did you live on as a kid?
What was the name?
Picture the sign.
Harrison. Harrison Street.
And the next block over?
Florence.
Listen to me.
None of it is your fault.
You don't know.
I know.
Okay? I know.
I want you to say it.
"None of it is my fault."
Say it back to me.
It's not my...
It's...
It's not my fault.
Good. That was good.
- My little girl. - Oh, thank God. Thank God.
- It's not my fault. - I know, sweetheart.
She'll be okay.
You just have to keep her away from the man who took her.
- Took her? - He... escaped.
And right now your only concern is putting Hope in a car
and driving west, and don't stop until you hit Omaha.
We're taking our baby home. Thank you.
- Thank you, Ms. Jones. - It's fine.
You saved my life.
Go!
I'm right behind you.
No!
Smile.
Mom!
Help me!
Knowing it's real means you gotta make a decision.
Where to?
One, keep denying it.
Or two...
do something about it.
Sync and corrections by explosiveskull www.addic7ed.com