Bad Match Page #4

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This is a f***!

You know what, fine.

You know what?

I'll call her and you'll see.

It's ringing.

- Harris?

- Riley?

Stop messing around.

Harris, is that you?

Yes, you got me to call.

Now, Riley, just stop.

I'm tired.

Riley, stop messing around.

I just wanted to

hear your voice one last time.

Riley, please, come

on, just stop it,

it's not funny.

Riley?

Riley?

Riley, is this for real?

- Bye, Harris.

- No, wait, wait.

Riley, what did you take

and when did you take it?

Pills.

Pills from my dad's back

surgeries, and whiskey...

All right, Riley,

stay where you are.

I'm gonna call 9-1-1.

No.

Riley, I'm calling

the ambulance.

What's your address?

No ambulance, you come.

Fine, fine.

I'll come.

Riley, what's your address?

Riley, Riley, talk to me!

1738 Palm Drive, apartment four.

Okay, I'm coming.

All right, man, I gotta go.

- All right.

- I'll call you!

- Yeah, let me know.

- Yeah.

Riley!

Riley!

Where the f*** are you?

Riley, talk to me.

F***!

Riley?

Riley, please.

Oh, my God.

Oh, sh*t.

What the f***?

Come on, come on.

Where's the f***ing pulse?

Oh, thank God, come on.

Come on, come on, come on.

Come on!

Come on, f***ing come on.

Come on, Riley, think of...

What the f***?

Gotcha.

You've gotta be

f***ing kidding me.

This is a prank?

Yeah, a f***ing good one.

You should see your

face right now.

How does it feel, Harris?

To be made a fool of.

Shitty?

What the f*** is wrong with you?

You're a f***ing psycho, Riley.

Never contact me again.

F***!

Dude, what happened

to your hand?

F***, just, um, nothing.

Just cut it.

How?

Cooking.

You cook?

Dude, you goose, I

didn't know you cooked.

What'd you make?

Dude, don't you have work to do?

Harris!

Man, I was just asking.

I need to see you in

my office right now.

- Would you, please?

- All right.

Shut the door.

Have a seat.

You're in charge of the

CCG Twitter account, right?

Yeah.

You sent out a series

of tweets last night.

Series of tweets?

Uh.

Okay.

"This company is retarded."

"My co-workers are retarded."

"My boss is retarded."

"I'm sick of working

around so many retards."

And it goes on like this.

You want me to keep going?

Is this a joke?

I don't know, you tell me.

No?

I'm sorry, Terri, I'm

very confused right now.

Me too.

You don't actually

think I wrote those?

The tweets came

from your account.

Yeah, but I didn't write them.

Then who was it?

Riley.

You gotta be shitting me.

- Excuse me?

- No, sorry, not you.

Uh, I know who's responsible

for this, I can fix it.

Even if you didn't write them,

it's not quite that simple.

What do you mean?

Sh*t.

Are you all right, man?

Yeah, I'm fine.

I can help you.

Will you, sh*t!

Just f*** it.

Don't you want your stuff?

Hi, you've

reached Riley's phone.

Goddammit!

Riley!

F***.

Hi, you've

reached Riley's phone.

Leave a message after the beep

or just be a normal

person and text me.

Enough is enough, Riley,

you have to call me back.

This isn't a f***ing

joke anymore.

Call me back, now!

Riley?

This is credit card services.

Goddammit!

Just a minute!

- You Harris Kroller?

- Yeah.

We have a court order

to search the premises.

What do you mean, like

a... like a search warrant?

What?

Yeah, exactly,

where's your computer?

Uh, it's right there.

What the, what the

f*** are you doing?

Guys, could you just...

You want to tell Detective

Rich where your laptop is?

I know you got a laptop.

Well, guys, what

is going on here?

I'm sorry, but.

What's going on is

we need to have a look

at your computer, your laptop,

your telephone, your Xbox,

anything you had access

to the internet with.

What, why?

Why don't

you hand me that bottle

you got there.

Listen, just take a seat,

take a seat, relax.

Look, where's the laptop,

just tell us.

You know we can legally tear

this place apart from top...

It is in the bedroom, I think.

I don't.

Could you?

What the f***?

Wait, wait, possession

of child pornography?

- What?

- Got it.

No, this has to be some

kind of giant mistake.

I don't have any child porn.

Yeah, well, an IP address

matching the one

from this apartment

was flagged last

night for downloading

over five gigabytes

of illegal data

from servers that

we monitor, so.

But, no, I didn't download

any child porn last night.

I got drunk and fell asleep

on my couch, that's it.

So you were here last night?

- Yeah, but...

- Found it.

In a folder marked Private.

No, that's impossible.

You're lying.

Hey, take it easy.

You're under arrest.

You're under arrest for the

possession of child pornography.

You have the right

to remain silent.

I would recommend

that you use it.

Okay.

Hello.

You are Harris Kroller?

Phew.

My name is Ronald Dale

and I will be your lawyer.

I took a look at your case,

you got a clean record,

which is good.

So, if we plead guilty...

I didn't do anything.

I'm being set up.

By whom?

A girl, her name

is Riley Miller.

Or, I don't know, that

could be a lie too,

come to think of it.

You don't know her name?

I know her address.

She's

your ex-girlfriend?

No, that crazy b*tch?

No f***in' way.

Met her online and now she

wants revenge or something.

- What for?

- I don't know.

For not being madly

in love with her?

I'm telling you, this girl

is certifiably insane.

Has she been in your home

or had access to your computer

within the last 48 hours?

No.

Does she have hacking skills?

She got into my Twitter account

and posted a bunch of

tweets that got me fired.

All right, and you

have proof of this?

I, no.

Oh, well, either way,

figuring out a Twitter password

and hacking into an IP address

are two wildly

different skill sets.

Besides, the files were found

on your local hard drive,

which means the hacker

would have had to gain

remote access to

your computer, so...

Yeah, I don't

know how she did it,

but I'm telling

you it wasn't me.

Okay, write down

her name and address

and I will look into it.

But I'm gonna level

with you, Harris,

what you're claiming is

gonna be very hard to prove

without a confession.

If this goes to trial

and you're convicted,

you're looking at

serious jail time.

If you plead guilty,

there's a very strong chance

I can get you off

with just a fine.

Which would be what?

I don't know.

Numbers could be

50, could be 100.

Thousand?

Better than five years

in a federal prison.

Holy f***.

This cannot be happening.

Well, it is.

We go before a judge

by the end of the week.

If we don't have anything real

to back up your claims by then,

I strongly suggest

pleading guilty.

Now, is there anyone that

you can call to bail you out?

Uh.

I don't have my phone,

I don't know anyone's numbers.

I could send a Facebook message.

Last call for alcohol!

Harris!

What, what?

I think maybe you've had enough.

Let me take you home.

Home.

My home is either

gonna be a jail cell

or a f***in' park bench,

because my life is ruined.

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