[ slight SMUT WARNING but it's not that graphic. i've been in an off mood and couldn't get my heart into it. sorry guys ]

☆︎

YOU KNOW WHAT? YEAH. BECAUSE YOU'RE NOT MICKEY. BECAUSE EVEN AFTER HE KILLED MY BEST FRIEND AND SO MANY OTHERS, EVERYONE IN MY LIFE IS ALWAYS GONNA HAVE TO COMPETE WITH SOMEONE BURIED IN KENTUCKY.

☆︎ FEBRUARY 2ND, 2000 ☆︎

After an annoyingly long day on the Stab 3 set where Indiana felt like her free time was wasted, she and the rest of them were finally allowed to leave the studio. And when the horde of reporters just past security crowded around her to try and answer questions about Cotton's death, Indy just flipped them off while Sophia shouted profanities to try and make their soundbites useless.

Now, Indiana was laying in her bedroom, drinking from a bottle of Coke that she filled halfway up with Rod's hidden stash of rum for his clients that were of legal drinking age while she watched the parking garage episode of Seinfeld on the TV. Despite waking up to Cotton's death, which she was a little happy about, the day had continued to go downhill —  all day, she could feel Mark's green eyes boring into her any time they crossed paths, and it was so goddamn hard to ignore him.

At least she was alone, locked in her room and eating a nutritional dinner of potato chips and a rum and coke. She told everyone else to just not bother her until she was in a better mood, not wanting to snap at them just because she was angry at Mark and feeling sad about Mickey — though, that last one wasn't a new feeling.

It couldn't have been Mickey on that answering machine. She'd tried to forget about it, but now that she was alone and in his sweater that she'd thrown on as soon as she got out of a hot shower, it was impossible not to think about it. Indiana ran her thumb across the locket around her neck, fighting the urge to open it after so long, a small part of her ashamed to admit that she was hoping Mickey somehow survived.

The part of her that would be tempted to leave everything and everyone behind if it meant he would knock on her door — The Woodsboro Killers, Virginia, Sidney, the dreams she was finally accomplishing.

And that thought just made her groan in disgust at herself as she took a large drink, knowing she couldn't be so pathetic for the rest of her life. She had to start listening to Jackson and Sophia and Dr. Swain, or she'd drive herself crazy — crazier, she supposed.

A knock at her locked door finally pulled her from her dark thoughts that any of her friends would've hated her for if they knew about them.

"I said leave me alone," she called out before shoving more chips in her mouth. "They're about to find the car!"

"Indy, you've, uh, got a visitor," Isaiah said, sounding a little uncomfortable on the other side of the door.

With a huff and knowing she could never truly shut out someone as sweet as Isaiah, Indiana put her chips and drink on the nightstand and rolled off the bed to see who was with the boy. And the lazy frown on her face turned into a grimace when she saw Mark half a step behind Isaiah.

And Isaiah, ever the brave soldier and lover of awkward situations, scurried away before Indy could even say something to either man. It left Mark in the hallway, his mouth hanging open with the clear intent to speak. Clearly, he'd just finished with work, having removed his blazer and loosened his tie, rolling the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows.

"Nope," Indiana said, moving to shut the door again.

Mark sighed and stuck his foot in the door to stop it, but at the least, he didn't barge in. "Indiana, I just want to talk to you away from the studio and not during an interrogation or with a two-minute timeline. Please?"

"What?" she asked, crossing her arms childishly. "Are you gonna get a search warrant if I don't let you in?"

He just gave her a slightly annoyed look but didn't press her even further.

Then Indiana groaned and turned away from the door, walking back into her room. "Whatever. Fucking whatever, Mark."

Mark trailed after her, shutting the door behind him gently. "Indiana, I'm sorry that I hid the truth from you," he said, keeping his voice down. "I'm sorry that I broke your trust knowing what you've been through."

"Yeah, you know exactly what I've been through." Indy then bit her tongue hard before turning to look at him. "Do you know how fucking stupid I felt this morning? Seeing you in that room? I've only felt like that twice in my life, and that was seconds after learning who the killers were each time. So, why would I ever want to hear an apology from someone that made me feel that way?"

"And yet you let me in your room," he pointed out, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I'd like to think that counts for something. Maybe you don't hate me completely yet."

"Well, I don't particularly like you right now, either," she mumbled, looking away.

"And the problem is that I like you," Mark admitted. "And I think that we were on the way to being something great before I ruined it."

Indiana couldn't help but reach up and hold her locket tightly — it'd been a while since someone made her feel great. "Maybe we were." Then she shook her head. "But not anymore."

"Because I lied?" he questioned, eyes glued to her hand at her collarbone. "Or because I'm not Mickey Altieri?"

In an instant, her eyes were back on him, her expression hard. "You know what?" she asked angrily. "Yeah. Because you're not Mickey. Because even after he killed my best friend and so many others, everyone in my life is always gonna have to compete with someone buried in Kentucky — and I already know most are gonna lose, you included. And don't worry, my therapist and I discuss how fucked up that is at length every month."

"So, I don't even get a chance?"

"See, no, you had a chance," she said, shaking her head and stepping closer. "After tearing myself apart over it, I called you. I asked you on a date — I've literally never had to ask someone out before. I was ready to watch a movie that means more to me than you'll ever understand and open up about everything. Only for you to bail—"

"Hey!" he cut her off, raising his voice. "I didn't want to leave last night. You think I wanted to be forced to tell my partner about my romantic life while standing over a dead body instead of curled up next to you? Because I was going to tell you everything last night, but timing is a bitch, Indiana. I can't change the past but I'm desperate to fix whatever could possibly happen between us in the future."

"Is your hair so fluffy that it's blocking your hearing? We don't have a future, Mark," she said, glaring at him. "It's all over, and once the killer is caught and I'm no longer Wallace's suspect, you'll never see me again, because you're—"

"Just some guy?" he cut her off, moving closer with darkened eyes. Mark had been silently seething about that label all day.

Indy nodded, ignoring the way his angular jaw tightened in a way that drove her fucking insane, because how dare he be the one that was angry and look so fucking hot in the process? "Yeah, you're just some guy. Give me thirty minutes at any club down the street, and I could replace you in a heartbeat."

"But you won't," Mark said, sounding too confident for his own goddamn good. "I said it on the set and I'll say it again. You care about me even if you won't admit it out loud. Because someone you don't care about wouldn't make you feel so stupid and angry and betrayed — and before all that, I made you feel happy. I know you better than you think I do, and it's not because of that file."

They were nearly chest to chest as she glared up at him. "Well, if you know me so well, then I hope you get a kick out of me getting to know someone else."

She pushed past Mark to leave the room, fully prepared to leave the house in nothing but a sweatshirt and pair of underwear — it'd certainly draw attention to herself in a club or bar, making it all the more easier. But before she could make it three steps away, Mark grabbed her elbow and pulled her right back to him.

"Let me go," Indiana breathed out, not sounding like she meant it all that much as she stared into his green eyes. That was the issue with Mark. Indy didn't know what it was about him, but the older man seemed to always easily pull her into his orbit, no matter how frustrated she was with him at the moment. No matter how much she didn't trust him anymore.

"That's the fucking problem, Darling, I don't think I can," he said in just as soft a tone, eyes glancing down at her lips that he was already missing.

"I think I miss you calling me Honey," she murmured.

"Then give me a reason to."

God, Indiana was starting to hate herself. She hated that she still missed Mickey. She hated that in spite of everything she'd learned that morning, she still wanted Mark in some way. And she hated that she threw her arms around his neck and pulled him into an angry kiss.

And as if he was anticipating it, Mark kissed her back just as furiously while walking her backward, pressing her up against the dresser along the wall. It wasn't soft or sweet or passionate — it was just fucking anger being taken out on both of them, a blended haze of rough touches and biting kisses. And the edge of the wood furniture dug into her skin painfully.

Indiana didn't waste any time in tearing off his shirt and pushing it over his shoulders, nails scraping against his muscular back — now she frustratingly knew why he was in such great shape. Then Mark was hoisting her up, setting her on top of the dresser, knocking over countless knickknacks and something that sounded like glass shattering as it hit the floor.

When Mark's tongue slid into her mouth, she bit him, making him hiss and pull her body closer, stepping between her parted legs. He moved from her lips to her jaw, sucking on it harshly with the intent to leave as many bruises as he could. All the while, she reached for his belt and made quick work of it, pushing his pants down his thick thighs, which he clumsily kicked off along with his shoes.

Already, he was growing hard underneath the material of his underwear, and Indiana's hand sought out the bulge she could feel against the inside of her thigh. His hips shot forward, meeting her touch and making the dresser shake from the sudden movement.

"Not right now," he muttered against her skin, leaving a trail of sloppy kisses down her neck. "Like I said, I'm sorry. Let me do some apologizing."

And Indiana didn't dare complain as he dropped to his knees, forcing her legs apart with his hands on her knees. His lips sought out her inner thighs, softly nipping at her skin as he worked his way toward her underwear, simultaneously pushing the fabric of the sweatshirt she was wearing up her hips to get better access.

The new, slow pace wasn't quite what she wanted, though, as he traced his fingers delicately over the fabric of her underwear. So, she gripped his hair tightly, loving the sound he let out as she did.

"If you're gonna apologize, do it a little faster, yeah?" she told him, raising an eyebrow.

Mark smirked up at her for a moment before doing as told, finally diving to just where she wanted him. His nose brushed the fabric covering her core for a moment before he pulled the garment down, her lifting slightly off the dresser to help get it off.

Then he was on her, licking a long stripe up from her entrance to her clit, the sensation causing her head to fall back against the mirror connected to the top of the dresser. She felt too good to feel embarrassed by how quickly she turned to putty with his tongue swirling around her clit while his fingertips rubbed teasing strokes along her entrance, not fully pushing inside of her.

"Oh, fuck, yes," Indy moaned out, her eyes falling shut. "Mark."

She could feel his lips form into a goddamn smirk overhearing his name leave her parted lips before he began sucking on her clit while finally thrusting two fingers into her entrance, making her cry out even louder for him, her grip on his curls tightening.

With her free hand, she reached underneath her sweatshirt and began toying with her own chest, pinching and tweaking her hardening nipples. And as Mark looked up at her through his thick eyelashes, he groaned against her core at the sight, now wishing he'd taken the time to fully undress her.

Not that he was planning on stopping any time soon after forcing a first orgasm on her. No, he didn't plan for either of them to get any sleep.

And unfortunately, neither would Jackson in the room next door.

☆ ︎FEBRUARY 3RD, 2000 ☆︎

The sun wasn't even fucking up when a phone ringing woke Indiana, the second morning in a row where she was forced to open her eyes too early. But what woke her up, even more, was the pair of strong arms wrapped around her bare waist, growing tighter as he began to stir as well.

"Mark," she groaned, shoving her face in the pillow. "Shut the fuck up."

Mark peeled his eyes open while letting her go. "I'm not the one making the fucking ringing sound," he said, just as sleepy as she was. He had to lean over the side of the bed to grab his discarded pants and dig his phone from the pocket.

"Oh, my god," Indy whined, tired of the incessant, high-pitched ringing. "Can't your old ass move any faster?"

"You didn't seem to have any complaints earlier," he muttered while finally getting his cell phone. Seeing that it was Wallace calling and that it was only four in the morning, he sighed and leaned back against the headboard. "Wallace? What's up?"

"I'm swinging by for coffee and then I'll be at your place in ten. There's been another body found," he told him in a grim tone.

"Whose body?" he asked, frowning. And at the mention of a body, Indiana woke up just a little bit more.

"Sarah Darling. Night watchman at the studio just called it in," he informed him. "I'll tell you the rest in the car."

Knowing he was gonna get a fucking earful, Mark grimaced. "I'm, uh, I'm not at my apartment for you to pick me up."

"Where are you—" Wallace cut himself off and let out a groan so loud that Indiana could actually hear it despite the phone not being on speaker. "Are you at the suspect's goddamn house?"

Indiana grinned and raised her voice to greet him and blow Mark's cover. "Morning Detective Douche Bag."

Mark scoffed and got out of bed, beginning to gather up his clothes while Indiana stayed under the covers, already getting sleepy again. "Look, I'm not that far from my apartment, so it'll be easy to find."

"Look, Romeo, tell Juliet that you can't see her again and then start focusing on stopping this thing," Wallace ordered. "And you know I'm gonna have to tell the Chief about this slip up."

"Yeah, I know," he sighed, rubbing his forehead. Then he rattled off the address of the house that all the musicians were staying at. "I'll see you in a few."

When Mark hung up, he looked back at Indiana. "Do you know where my underwear is?"

Indiana put her hands behind her head and raised a tired eyebrow, shamelessly looking at Mark's form in the dim lighting. "Maybe."

He scoffed and shook his head. "Care to share with the class?"

"Nope," she said simply. Indiana clearly remembered his underwear landing on the chaise lounge not too far from her bed, the black boxer briefs hiding amongst the dark-colored pillows. "It'll give me something pretty to think about all day."

Rather than point out he kept a change of clothes in his car, Wallace's car, and his office at the precinct given his sometimes messy line of work, meaning he'd easily be able to get dressed properly, Mark let Indiana dream about him going commando for the day. He just rolled his eyes playfully while pulling his pants on and continued the hunt for the rest of his clothes.

"Look at you," Indiana said teasingly once he was sitting on the edge of the bed and tying his shoes up. "Yet again, an airtight alibi for the new dead body. Be sure to point that out to Wallace for me."

"I'm surprised you're not begging for a ride along," he muttered, a smirk on his face.

Indiana's teasing smile dropped, remembering what happened the last time she was in the back of one. "I'm not too fond of cop cars," she mumbled quietly. "Anyway, um, be safe or, uh, don't."

"Right," he said, looking at her with a challenging expression. "Because you don't care about me?"

She silently nodded and pulled the comforter up to her chin, turning on her side to no longer face him. In the dark room, she heard him let out a quiet sigh and the shuffling sounds that followed him getting off the bed. Rather than head straight for the door though, Mark came around to her side. Indiana shut her eyes tight, not letting herself look at him again. And much to her surprise, he leaned down to kiss her forehead.

"I'll see you later, Honey."

"Yeah," she said as he moved to leave finally, "for another interrogation, I suppose."

And rather than get into it with her again, already tired of fighting with her so much, Mark left, quietly shutting the door behind him, leaving Indiana alone with her swirling, confused thoughts.

☆︎

"I'm sorry, have you two adopted a gaggle of young adults?" Gale asked, looking between Dewey and Virginia.

The three of them were crowded around a table in a local coffee shop, and they weren't alone. Isaiah, Luca, and Sophia were with them as well.

"Might as well have," Luca shrugged. "My dad hates me."

"Also, Jack and Indy were gone when we all woke up," Isaiah added in a nicer tone, explaining their prescience.

"Um, 'scuse you," Sophia chimed in, crossing her arms and glaring at Gale. "I'm pretty sure you're the only one not wanted here."

Virginia had slept over at the house in one of the spare rooms, and when Dewey came to retrieve her for a breakfast meeting with Gale to discuss what was going on, the three young people followed after them to the car without even asking if they could join them. But then again, Virginia and Dewey didn't bat an eye at their presence.

Gale sighed, unable to believe she was doing this again with Virginia, Dewey, and Sophia. And now two other boys, one of whom she'd never even met. "Look, I wanna get something straight. I only got into this because the police asked for my help."

"Why would the police come to you?" Luca asked, raising an eyebrow. Honestly, he figured the only ones that would be any help were Indy, Soph, and maybe Dewey even though he'd never stopped a Ghostface killer.

"Well, I did write the definitive book on the Woodsboro murders," she reminded them smugly.

"Oh, how could we forget," Sophia said, rolling her eyes. "You threw up on Stu's porch and got shot by Mickey when he wasn't even aiming for you."

"And I'm sure you just can't wait to write another one," Dewey said, still bitter as ever about how Tatum was portrayed in the first novel.

Instead of arguing, Gale scoffed. "What about you?"

"What about me?" he asked defensively.

"You said you'd never leave Woodsboro. 'It's the only place that's real,'" she quoted, looking between him and Virginia. And even though she and Virginia had a rocky relationship — if one at all — she knew what the woman likely felt about Dewey being in the big city. "But now you're here and not even with Virginia."

"I don't see how it's any of your business," Virginia said, leaning back. "But unlike you, I care enough about Dewey to make it work while he's here in L.A. for a few months."

"Look, I waited until you were well, but I couldn't stay there. It was like dog years," Gale said, still feeling bad about dumping Dewey all those years ago. "One year in Woodsboro is like seven anywhere else."

Dewey didn't really care all that much, having moved on happily with Virginia. "So it's off to Paris for a week? New York for a month? L.A. forever? You didn't even stick around after Windsor, so don't pretend like you care about any of us, least of all me."

"It was fucking 60 Minutes II. I couldn't say no. I could've been the next Diane Sawyer," she told him.

"And that worked out so well for you," Sophia muttered.

"Wait a minute," Dewey cut back in with a frown. "What's wrong with just being Gale Weathers? I liked her."

"You're the only one," Luca said under his breath, which they all heard. Virginia nudged him and was ready to kick Sophia under the table, but then their waitress returned with a tray full of drinks and a plate of biscuits that Virginia ordered, who instantly dug in, having slept through a real breakfast.

"Here you go," the waitress said, passing all of it out to them.

"Thank you," Isaiah said politely, grabbing his cup of coffee. And Luca, who didn't sleep much the night before, quickly downed his, not caring how it burned a bit.

Once the waitress left, Gale studied Dewey's face nervously. "Dewey, you're not just here because of that second-rate K-Mart, straight-to-video version of me, are you?"

Virginia couldn't help but scoff. "Hello? Miss Not Over Herself?"

"Brace yourself, Gale," Dewey said, leaning on the table. "All of this is actually not about you."

"All of what, Dewey?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "You do know something, don't you?"

"Off the record?" he requested.

And Virginia and Sophia just shared a look, knowing nothing was ever 'off the record' with Gale The Bitch Weathers. But Dewey was painfully stupid and believed her when she said, "Always."

And that was all Dewey needed to lower his voice and reveal the confidential information to everyone. "Two months ago, the Woodsboro police got a call from a woman who said she was with Stab 3. She wanted to see the file on Sid for research."

"And?" Luca asked, leaning his head on his hand and not finding it all that interesting.

"The boys said no, and she wouldn't give her name," he explained. "A month later, the station gets broken into. The file room gets ransacked."

"And someone stole Sid's file?" Isaiah asked, worried about the older girl. After all, the detectives asked all of them about Sidney's whereabouts in their interrogations.

"I already removed it. I think someone on the film is tryin' to find Sid," he told them.

And just like that, Gale was reaching for her phone to make a call. "I'm sorry, this is incredible—"

"I said off the record," Dewey snapped, narrowing his eyes at her.

"Right," Gale said sheepishly while hesitantly putting her phone back down. "Sorry."

"Are you?" Sophia asked skeptically.

"Sophia, don't you think we can all get over the past given what we've been through?" Gale asked, trying to level with the nineteen-year-old.

"Nope," she said simply, sipping on her drink.

"If it makes you feel better, Miss Weathers," Isaiah spoke up, "she hates almost everyone."

"I'm sorry, who are you again?" Gale then asked, tilting her head as she studied the boy.

Luca glared at her and wrapped an arm around Isaiah. "Bitch, I hope you die next."

Gale went to snap at him, but then Dewey's pager buzzed loudly. He quickly skimmed the message and began getting up.

"It's Jennifer. She needs me," he informed them.

"Jennifer?" Gale questioned. She looked at Virginia who just shook her head in annoyance, not wanting to get into the subject of the woman so obsessed with Dewey.

"Gotta run," he said, reaching for Virginia's hand. "Kids, stay back. Head to the house."

"Wait! Dewey, where are you going?" Gale asked loudly as the other two left.

"We are not babies to be left behind!" Sophia called out, crossing her arms.

But Dewey just waved them off. "I'm on duty."

Then Sophia looked pointedly at Gale. "I'll give you Jennifer's address if you take us with you."

"Fine," she muttered while grabbing her keys. "Keep up."

Thirty minutes later, Gale's cramped car pulled right up behind Dewey's as she parked on the curb in front of Jennifer's fairly large house. Sophia practically shoved Luca and Isaiah out so that she could storm over to Dewey.

"You can't shake me, Deputy Dumbass."

"Stop following me," Dewey said, his comment aimed at Gale.

"I happen to be working for the police, damn it!" she exclaimed.

"You're not a detective, Gale," Virginia said, rolling her eyes.

"Neither are either of you, Mr. Incognito and Nurse Winger," she shot back.

Virginia felt Dewey squeeze her hand a little tighter, still bothered greatly about his inability to return to the line of duty yet. They reached the front door, and that's when Isaiah looked back at Gale's car.

"Uh, you left your motor running," he informed her kindly.

"Damn it," she swore, stomping back to her vehicle and missing as the others entered the house.

Jennifer was pacing back and forth frantically, a cigarette in hand as she ranted to Stone, who was standing still and watching her.

"Fans, I can handle. Fans, they want a picture, they want a conversation. I can handle fans!" Then the actress noticed all their arrival. She moved toward Dewey, raising her cigarette. "You see this, Dewey? I haven't had one of these in a year and a half. Someone's gonna pay for this."

"Smoking kills," Luca said, shaking his head.

"Yeah, well, so do Indy and I," Sophia muttered.

"Jennifer, settle down," Dewey told her, needing to find out what the issue was. "What happened?"

But before she answered, Gale finally joined them, and Jennifer glared at her. "I'm with them," she said defensively.

But that didn't curb Jennifer's annoyance. "You," she said accusingly. "Like I'm ever going to win an award playing you."

"I'm sorry," Virginia spoke up, waving a hand to get Jennifer's attention. "Did you seriously call us here to complain about your character work?"

"There's been a second murder," Stone revealed.

"Who?" Dewey asked, not having received any calls about it. Neither had Gale, who was so adamant that she was working with the police on this.

"Sarah Darling," Jennifer told them.

"Where?" Gale questioned.

"At the studio," Stone replied.

But Jennifer didn't much care about the constant questions. "Where? Nancy Drew wants to know where. Cotton Weary. Sarah Darling. Don't you get it?" She looked pointedly at Dewey.

"Someone's killing them in the order they die in the movie," he realized.

"Dewey, who gets killed third?" Gale asked as silence fell over the room. She didn't like how everyone involved with the movie looked at her — so, everyone but Virginia.

"Who gets killed third?" Jennifer asked, her voice shaking. "You do."

"With a bread slicer," Sophia said, an awkward, toothy grimace on her face. There was no telling if Gale or Jennifer was the next intended target, though.

Gale let out an affronted scoff and grabbed the script to flip through it as if the others were lying. But then Dewey left the house, and Virginia followed, so Gale dropped it and rushed after them as well. Sophia trailed after them, but Luca and Isaiah managed to wave awkwardly goodbye to Jennifer and her bodyguard before leaving. She didn't wave back. Instead, she threw herself into Stone's arms in dramatic agony, which she'd clearly done plenty of times before because he was waiting for her.

Outside, Gale was struggling to keep up with Dewey and Virginia. "I get killed in Stab 3? I get killed?" she asked in disbelief.

"Evidently," Virginia said.

"Yeah," Dewey said, continuing to walk past their cars.

"Dewey, where are you going?" Gale asked, confused.

"I have to get something from my trailer," he informed her.

"Your - you live here with her?" Gale asked in disbelief.

"Do not get me started," Virginia grumbled.

Since Dewey arrived in L.A. before the band did, staying at the house with them wasn't an option. Which led to a trailer with his name on it being parked in Jennifer's yard.

"Oh, my god," Gale said, sharing a look with Virginia. Once they followed him into the trailer, the younger ones stayed outside, though they still listened through the open door nosily.

"I needed a place to stay, and she said she liked having me around," Dewey said while getting his spare gun in case things went sideways — as things often went sideways.

"Why?" Gale asked, looking quite confused.

"She says he makes her feel safe — that he's her rock or some shit," Virginia said, rolling her eyes. The only reason she wasn't mad and annoyed at Dewey for the living situation was because he'd been incredibly honest about every interaction with Jennifer.

"Her rock?" Gale asked with a scoff, thinking it sounded just as ridiculous as Virginia did.

"Yeah. If you weren't so concerned with pretensions and appearances, you'd be able to appreciate the positivity and emotional centeredness I provide a woman," he said, puffing his chest out before moving to leave the trailer.

But Sophia stuck her head inside, raising an eyebrow. "And are these women in the room with you now?" she asked teasingly.

Dewey rolled his eyes and pressed on her forehead to get her out of the way. Once outside again, they saw Stone outside with them now.

"Stone, I'm headed to the crime scene," Dewey said as the others moved to the cars. "You stay by Jennifer's side. I suggest a search of the grounds."

"Hey, Dewdrop. Can I have a word?" he asked, keeping him back. Luca and Sophia giggled at the nickname before going to Dewey's car with Isaiah and Virginia, leaving Dewey and Stone alone. "Just so it can be straight. I'm the professional celebrity guard here. My resume lists Julia Roberts, Salmon Rushdie, Posh Spice. You are the Hollywood hanger-oner. 'Cause you're just no good as a cop anymore. Your resume reads like the obituaries. So how about you take suggestions from me? All right?"

It was a good thing Virginia had gone to the car because Dewey wasn't entirely confident that she wouldn't attack the larger bodyguard — she'd been irritable since the moment she left Woodsboro, and someone insulting Dewey would likely push her over the edge. That was the thing with the Winger siblings. It was easy to piss them off.

So, Dewey just rolled his eyes, glad his girlfriend wasn't there to throw any punches. "Whatever you say."