(Inside Crowe's office. Rain patters faintly outside the tall windows. The room is dim, lit mostly by the heavy green lamp on his oak desk. Elias Crowe is leaned back in his leather chair, a half-burnt cigarette between his fingers. The door knocks twice. Enters a high-ranking city official—Assistant DA Calloway.)
Calloway:
Mr. Crowe. Got a minute?
Crowe:
(Smokes slowly, doesn't look up)
Didn't expect a suit to walk in uninvited. But go on, you've got one.
Calloway:
We want you to drop the case. The man's guilty. No sense wasting resources defending scum.
Crowe:
(Snaps his eyes up)
You came all the way here… in that expensive raincoat… to tell me to step away from a case you know is rotting from the inside?
Calloway:
(Shifts, uncomfortable)
He's not innocent, Crowe. He confessed.
Crowe:
(Scoffs, ashes his cigarette)
People confess under pressure. Under fear. Under fists.
Calloway:
Look, politics are at play. This case—
Crowe:
(Cuts him off, voice sharp now)
You should be ashamed. Framing an innocent man just to close a file? That's low, even for your side of the courtroom.
Calloway:
You're not making friends with this attitude.
Crowe:
Good. I'd rather have snakes than friends in this business anyway.
(Stands up, steps around the desk)
But I'll give you a choice:
Fix it. Go public. Admit the mistake. And I'll personally help you catch the son of a bitch who actually did it.
Calloway:
(Quiet for a second. Then leaves without another word.)
(Door shuts. Silence. Crowe exhales hard. Then a soft knock again. The door creaks open. In steps Madeline Grey—the icy-eyed hitwoman. Slick black jacket, damp hair, cigarette in her mouth.)
Crowe:
(Without turning around)
Speak of the devil and she enters smelling like gunpowder and French perfume.
Madeline:
(Shuts the door with her foot)
You always this poetic, or just when you see my legs?
Crowe:
(Smiles thinly)
Your legs, your breasts… seductive as usual. You're a walking sin, Maddie.
Madeline:
(Shrugs, flicks ash onto the floor)
You think I haven't gotten used to that filth from you?
Crowe:
You always come back, don't you?
Madeline:
(Leans on his desk)
Because it's business. Not love. Let's not make it messy.
Crowe:
So? The guy I asked you to... neutralize?
Madeline:
Done. Clean. No witnesses.
(She pauses)
Didn't ask why, as usual. But I got curious. What was his story?
Crowe:
He was going to flip. Thought morality suddenly mattered. He was ready to talk to the feds. We don't do redemption arcs here, Maddie.
Madeline:
Figures.
Crowe:
Now tell me something... what's the real reason you're here?
Madeline:
(Looks at him)
The journalist. Iris. She's stirring too much shit. Digging too deep, talking too much. Why not silence her?
Crowe:
(Sits back down slowly)
Because there's a law. One I made.
(Says it like gospel)
"All publicity and attention is always good. Never bad."
Madeline:
(Grins a little)
That your version of the Ten Commandments?
Crowe:
Just one commandment. The rest are noise. She keeps talking, the city's eyes stay away from what actually matters.
Madeline:
(Leans closer)
You really gonna let her keep dancing on the edge?
Crowe:
Let her. Journalists burn out fast. Either they go silent or someone else buries them. But not us. Not yet.
(Madeline nods. Lights another cigarette. Sits on the edge of the desk. Crowe returns to his paperwork. The room goes silent, save for the sound of burning tobacco and the distant thunder outside.)
[END OF CHAPTER]