I sell mayhem, scandal, murder, and doom.
Oh, Jesus, I do.
I sell the newborn and the dead.
I sell the wretched, magnificent city of New York back to its people.
I sell newspapers.
Thanks for your time. Yeah?
Porter. I got a shooting, plus a fire.
Mm. Any bodies? - At least two, Projects on Avenue D.
Paul said something about a kid.
I'm on it. I'm on it. Thanks.
I'm always running to the place where the bad thing just happened,
arriving just after the danger has passed,
watching from a safe distance, searching for an angle,
that little wrinkle, the kick to the heart
that makes you want to put down the dollar and pick up the paper.
With three deadlines a week, I'm always looking for a good story.
I seen the smoke, and I'm looking up there.
And that's when Demetrius, he come jumping through that window.
And he on fire, burning like all over.
And he holding Vernon here.
And Demetrius, he fall, fall, and fall.
I can see he gonna land on top of the baby.
And then just before Demetrius land, he do this little kind of flip.
And he landed on his back.
And he holding the baby up, like...
And I can see that he do that on purpose.
What did you do?
I run over and I pick up Vernon here.
And I see Demetrius.
He just not gonna make it, because he landed on his back like that.
Hey, little man.
I'm sorry that happened to you and your daddy. You okay?
No, no, no, he don't talk yet.
Fall, fall, fall.
Thanks for your time.
Hey, you're the one that helped them find that little girl?
I write a column for a daily newspaper.
In other words, I'm an endangered species.
I used to think my stories could make a difference.
Now I just hope they are enough to feed my family.
These days, eight million kids have iPhones and post their videos on YouTube
like they're actually reporting and commenting on something.
My wife says I sound old.
I'm heading into a long one, so you'll probably get home before me.
Josephine needs to get paid.
And please remember to scrub the pots and pans.
You keep leaving them for me.
Yeah, well, they have to soak overnight.
Yeah. - Really?
Is that what your mother told you?
Well, look, I got to go, baby.
Wait, Porter. - What?
Did you remember your tuxedo?
Yeah, but I don't want to go.
Everyone's going to be sucking up to Hobbs...
You know, if they're really thinking about cutting your column, you better go.
I know you are a watcher, Mr. Wren, but it is rude to stare.
I'm sorry. I was just trying to figure out where I knew you from.
I see you recognize me, though.
From your cheesy picture.
The one that goes with my column.
Your smug expression is annoying.
It was taken last year,
in the waning moments of my youth.
Right before they retired the film camera?
Wow. - Sorry.
Does anyone actually read the newspaper anymore?
Well, I have a few fans of the print edition.
I'm told they Twitter at me.
I think they Twitter about how awesome it is,
the feel of the paper, the smell of the ink.
Well... I do like the feel of the paper.
And your column, Mr. Wren, is always very well written,
in an old-time, classic kind of way.
Well... - I do wonder, though.
It must be depressing for you to be in all those places
right after a terrible thing has happened.
You must have seen so many awful things.
I've seen a few things.
People seem to open up to you.
You must have a skill for asking the right questions.
Usually people want to tell somebody, and I'm just there at the right time.
Come on. You're being modest.
What brings you to the party?
My boyfriend, Charlie's bank, does some kind of business with the company
that I guess just bought your paper.
You all work for Hobbs now, I guess.
"All" meaning mankind? Yes.
You grateful you landed a job that pays you to stare at people?
I deal with bullshitters all day.
But I'm on my own time here, so, if this is all going somewhere,
get to it already.
Well, it's complicated. It takes some time to explain.
Could we leave right now and go back to my apartment?
It's only 15 blocks from here.
Charlie wouldn't be coming.
Is this about your husband's death?
Porter Wren, is it?
You must come and have a word with Mr. Hobbs.
He's quite eager to meet you.
This is Porter Wren, the investigative reporter who found the girl.
Excuse me, Mr. Hobbs?
Mr. Porter Wren, sir, famed investigative reporter who now writes the column.
I really think this could happen.
I think it's very prudent.
The invitation still stands?
I want to show you this.
Okay, this is what we're talking about.
This is where we start.
This is where we start? - Yes.
Another drink? - Why not?
To help you through the gates of hell.
This is a police report.
It's a bit stingy with the tonic and ice.
Well, I want you drunk, so I can tell whether you are a lout or not.
You know you can get in a lot of trouble for having these files?
Detectives don't even let other cops see these things.
I know that.