Marcus enters like a fireball exploding through the lobby. He's ready to get charged up again after defeat.
This office is alive with lawyers and investigators, support staff. We won't meet them all now, but they're here.
Marcus moves through this circus, a ringmaster trying to arrange the acts to assemble his identity.
An indigent client waits in the lobby area with his arms full of corn.
"I need a lawyer," says the potential client. He looks rode hard by life and put up wet.
"I don't work for corn," says Marcus. "I'm free."
Office walls are covered with art created by clients in jail: watercolors made by painting with wet M'n'M juice, drawings of the lawyers out of soot. Incredible work, considering.
LOUIS BERKOWITZ, 28, white, a nebbish lawyer with the heart of a clown, passes carrying law books.
"How'd it go in court?" asks Louis.
Marcus grimaces. "Got a new tattoo."
Louis is alarmed. "What'd the defendant get?"
"Defendant got a long vacation," says Marcus. "All expenses paid."
This is whistling in the graveyard for these folks. Louis lifts the mood by pulling a pratfall: there are a stack of empty boxes he pretends to get comically tangled up in, throwing boxes up in the air in a practiced bit.
Marcus deadpans to Babydoll. "Do not laugh. You'll just encourage him another six months."
Louis slaps Marcus on the back as he passes. Marcus flinches -- his fresh tattoo! Ow.
Keep moving down corridor. Hit Jeanne’s door. Marcus tries to pass quickly but an annoying voice pins him from within: "WATCH OUT!"
Marcus sighs deeply and, as if compelled by an invisible force, looks inside.
Jeanne’s office is a hobbit warren of files and tchotchkes. JEANNE SCHULTZ, 53, white screechy file manager nested in her clutter. She's aiming a pistol straight at them.
Marcus jumps back in shock. "Are you nuts? What you think you’re doing?"
Jeanne waves the gun around. "I am protecting myself from the Zulus outside, under the second amendment of the constitution of the United States of America."
Marcus rolls his eyes to the back of his head. Babydoll is stunned.
"Does Carter know about this?" asks Marcus.
"Is Carter equipped to protect my personal safety?" says Jeanne.
"Christ on a cracker, you waving guns around the office is not gonna keep you -- or me -- safe from what's going on out there ... and it's not even unsafe! Except maybe from the cops. And you're gonna be fine!"
Jeanne looks like she wants to turn back the clock a hundred years. "I'll keep my guns, you keep the change."
"When do I get the change?" asks Marcus.
"Did you drop off your key?!"
Marcus leans against the wall and makes a dramatic full body shrug. "You're never getting my key. The end. Case closed. No."
Jeanne is not a person who loses easily. "If there’s a fire in your apartment, I don’t want my cats burning to death because no one can get in to put it out."
"How do I keep you out in case there’s no fire?"