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Sylvia asked a few people and was able to eventually track down Jeff and Andy, the two guys that made up the rest of Elrod's band.  They worked as dishwashers at a restaurant in the city.  After taking the El to the closest station, and having to ask directions twice she finally managed to find the restaurant she was looking for.  It was a four start eatery with fine linen table cloths and menus without prices.  Because, if you have to ask you can't afford it.

She made her way around to the back entrance, and hoped to catch the boys she was looking for on a smoke break or something.  As she waited Elrod Janush arrived.  "Hey Sylvia.  I assume you're here looking for my boys?"

Elrod isn't beyond suspicion himself.  Sylvia doesn't have the heart to give him a fake smile, so she gives him that level stare that'll work beautifully when she's forty or fifty and can peer over the rims of her reading glasses.  "How'd you know I wasn't here looking for you?"

Elrod gives her a squint, "Because that would be way too Machiavellian.  You want to talk to the guys or was there some other sinister dealing that brought you here?"  Elrod doesn't actually wait for an answer, he bangs on the back door and waits.  A few moments later someone opens it and he rattles something in French to the man, who nods and closes the door.  A couple of minutes later another man opens the door and Elrod and he greet in the way Sylvia assumes all Europeans or people with money greet, like some kind of social facade.  Elrod rattles more French and hands the man some cash.  He nods and disappears back inside.

Andy and Jeff come out a minute or two later.  The three boys go through the rituals of greeting and Sylvia notices the nuances of it and how it seems completely different from the previous greeting, except that Elrod is still faking.  "Did you two happen to kick the crap out of Nick Hurley on Saturday?"

The two glance at each other for a minute, then back at Elrod.  "Who?"  is the collective answer.

"Nick Hurley, he's the guy that is singing the duet with Sammy in the winter concert."

"Who's the hottie?"  Andy asks.

"This is Sylvia, Donnie Douglas' girlfriend."  Elrod seems to emphasize that Sylvia is Donnie's girlfriend for some reason.  "Can we get back on point please?"

Sylvia might have been giving Elrod a hard stare, but now she does her best to fake freshman vacuousness.  With Elrod's forthright inquisition she doesn't need to use the melon baller, just a sippy straw to siphon off the boys' surface thoughts.

She's really hot.  "Wait, who?"  Andy says distractedly.

"The guy that was making kissy face on the school TV network with Sam?"  Oregano and sage?  Maybe just oregano, then I can always add sage if it needs it.

"Yes, that's the guy."  It's obvious that Elrod is getting annoyed.

"Oh, yeah.  We saw him Saturday, just like you told us to."  She's wearing a skirt, that would make things easier.

"So, you're saying I asked you to beat him up?"

The two boys share a look, then look back at Elrod.  "Dude, you told us to go see him and explain to him who Sammy belonged to."

"Pound a little respect into him was what you said."

"Where did we have this talk?"

"At the Tasty.  Like around 10 O'clock or so Friday night.  Maybe you should lay off the vodka Brother, it fouls up your memory."

Sylvia feels a palpable worry from Elrod.  "I was drunk when we had this talk?"

Both boys shrug, "You didn't seem any less there than normal, but when has that ever been a problem?"

"Right."  Elrod says.

Sylvia's expression changes subtly from doll-like placidity, all eyelashes and Kewpie sweetness, to something colder and more remote.


Her gaze flicks to Elrod's face, and with her sympathy for his buddies tapped out, she starts with the pig with the loud mouth and the greedy eyes.

Keep him talking, she tells Elrod and starts the brutal vivisection of their heads.  What really happened that evening?

Jeff and Andy are enjoying some food at the Tasty.  Elrod is sitting at the table with them.  They're hearing him ask them to Pound a little respect into him and explain to him who Sammy belonged to  But there is something subtle and inconsistent about the events in their memories.  They don't ever look at Elrod, and what Sylvia can see from the fragmentary images that memory often is, he's not actually speaking.

Saturday the pair go in Andy's car, they accost Nick and relay the message that Elrod gave them.  They deliver the beating with all the passion they seem to have to algebra and US history class.  Then they go to the mall and watch an action movie.

When Sylvia pulls back her minds eye to the alley and the present she realizes she's slightly light headed and her nose is bleeding.

Her first, panicked, little-girl impulse is to call for Smith, like "Daddy!" but she restrains herself.  It wasn't you, she tells Elrod.  Someone's been fucking with them.

She fishes in her bag for a Kleenex, expression dark as she contemplates the meaning of this.

"Are you sure?"  he says softly, "I had a drinking problem for a while, I thought it was behind me but."  He stops, "I could fully see myself asking them to do that drunk.  I went to bed early Friday, at least I thought I did."

I can check you for glitches later, she says, but the possibility that Elrod's memory has been altered seems slight.

She takes a moment to think, clear-headed from adrenaline and stone-cold purpose.  She could search the boys again to try to find the person who did this, but the blood leaking out of her nose makes her wonder if someone could booby-trap a person's brain against future tampering and investigation.  The more she considers the possibility, the more it unnerves her, and she finds herself trying to fend off feelings of inadequacy as she sends up the Bat Signal.  Smith?

"What?"  he says, standing next to her.  His hospital scrubs and white canvas shoes totally inadequate against the December cold.

Sorry to bother you--  She's not, but it seems important to apologize even in the urgency of the moment.  --but I'm worried some other telepath has put a bear trap in these guys' heads.  I tried probing them, got an impression of false memories, and then my nose started bleeding.  I figured I should ask before risking cerebral hemorhage.

She finds that reassuring, weirdly.


That's kind of weird.  Despite the situation right in front of her she finds the time to worry.  Is everything okay?

Yes, everything is fine.  See you tomorrow.

Sylvia turns her attention to the jokers in front of her again, a little less grim, a little more determined.  "Was it crowded that night?" she asks, just to evoke the memory, and then tries again to pick through their brains, this time looking for suspicious faces, someone who could have manipulated their minds through eye contact or, worse yet, a phone.  Like Vandross.

They relate some of the details of the night.

OOC: Notice Check please.

Sweet Jesus, they really were drinking a little too much (http://invisiblecastle.com/find.py?id=1407129) that night, weren't they?

The events they relate seem to make sense.  There was no one that stood out to you in the fragmented series of moments that make up their memories of the night.

Sylvia sighs.  No luck, she tells Elrod.  Then, aloud, she says, "Guys, honestly . . . I know El's your hero and all, but beating some poor drama kid up just because El tells you is kind of lame.  Since when did you sign up to be somebody's goon?"

The boys look at each other a moment.  They shrug, "It just seemed like a good idea."

[End scene?  Sylvia will head to Sammy's to report.]

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