Abattoir

Home.

They say once gone,

you can never return.

But what about those like me?

Born in the dust,

whose home was the road?

No family with whom to share.

Like my family,

taken from me

by those whom I'd deceived.

Tent and totem, I sold them a promise,

and in return they sold me themselves.

You see, orphans without a god

will open their doors

to whomever might knock.

Hammer and nail,

we build our heaven.

Room by room... our hell.

And so now we build.

What a magnificent structure

it will be.

- Look, if this is about my copy...

- It's terrific. You're the best I got.

You write like they wrote

back in the day.

Cigarettes, little brown hats. Things

that say:
"Scoop." No, I love your copy.

- So what's this about?

- Your copy.

Jesus, Chester!

I put you on a story about

rising mortgage rates.

You are a real estate writer, talben,

not woodward at the goddamn post.

What I need from you are numbers.

Re-fis, jumbos, rates.

What I don't need is color.

Black's a color. White's a color.

It's all there in black and white.

I'm just trying to make it interesting

for our three readers.

This thing reads

like a murder investigation.

- Then put me on crime.

- Doug's on crime. He's got scars.

You got ambition and perfect skin.

Still no pulitzer?

They don't give pulitzers for commercial

occupancy rate reports, detective.

You don't write, you don't call.

I'd be writing now if I didn't have

a talkative cop giving me grief.

Ok.

The least I can do,

after you ate all my breakfast cereal.

That was another lifetime.

- I seem to remember us both there.

- What are you doing here?

Eyewitness sketch for Doug. We're using

the press to flush out a suspect.

How's Charlie doing? Any improvement?

Working on it.

We should catch up.

Coffee? Bourbon?

Raincheck me.

I have dinner at Amanda's house tonight.

The sister who overcooks the vegetables.

Tsk.

See you later.

- There he is.

- Oh, you're home!

Oh, no place I'd rather be.

- Hey-

- hey-

dinner's almost ready.

Wanna go wash his hands?

- Sure. Come on, soldier.

- Yes, sir.

- Any response on the story yet?

- Nothing fit to print.

I might have a lead. I got a call from

this adoption agency in the northeast.

The administrator read Charlie's story.

Any luck on the donor list?

Mom's our only hope.

Who abandons their children?

We're gonna find her.

Even if she doesn't wanna be found.

Charlie will be ok.

I promise.

Ok. Close your eyes.

Hands out.

- Are you peeking?

- No, I'm not.

Ok. Here.

- But mom and dad won't let me.

- That's why it's gotta be our secret.

Hey, look at me.

I'm not gonna let anything

happen to you.

I promise. Ok?

Lipstick on the collar is one thing.

But the ink on your fingertips

wasn't all that different.

The paper doesn't let its reporters

get engaged to cops,

especially with a history

as complicated as ours.

It's a f*ck-all conflict of interest.

I have a husband and a six-year-old.

They conflict

with every interest I have.

- Are you two gossiping?

- She's brooding.

- L'm sulking. It's a whole new thing.

- About what?

I'm ankle deep, and I'm going nowhere.

- Doug has crime. I've got nothing.

- That's not true.

You have us. Your family.

Ambition. Your tenacity.

You got your hopes and dreams.

Hell, I'd kill to have

my hope and dream back.

Go start the laundry.

I swear I feel like

i have two children sometimes.

That's why I'm not married.

Are you following me, detective?

Stakeout.

Following a person of interest.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know.

I shouldn't be here, but...

...l didn't care.

- You're right. You shouldn't be here.

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