2010-07-17: New Ally



Guest Starring:


Date: July 17, 2010


Sometimes you just need a little LEVERAGE.

"New Ally"


Previously, on Leverage…

"Oh hell no. This is not happening. Not happening right now." Stanford looks at the security feed, which shows a shot of the Thin Man and the Thick Man in all of their splendor.

*BANG!* Some cute brunette gets shot.

"Special Agent Nathan Ford. I'll take it from here." Stanford, in full on FBI Attire, rushes over to make the "arrest", slightly manhandling the Thick Man and palming his wallet in the process.


Wake Me Up, Before You Go Go o/~
Don't Leave Me Hangin' On Like A Yo-Yo o/~

Stanford is blasting some Old School Wham! as he's rolling back and forth between a couple of monitors that he's working on, with his mastered keystrokes. "Gotcha'." comes out of his mouth, as he looks up on the screen, pulling up scrolling records of the ID laying next to the keyboard: Judah Restein. Stanford's eyes skim over the information , but he frowns in the next minute. "Gonna' need more than this. Somethin' ain't right." Stanford snatches up a random bottle of orange soda and guzzles, looking off towards his closet.


The doors to the confining establishment open wide and sliding in, decked out in an epic suit of undeniably style and character is the familiar hacking individual known as…

"Peter Cochran Davidson. Federal District Attorney's Office."

Stanford smiles nice and big at whomever it is he's dealing with at the bulletproof window. He holds his briefcase up and pops it open, reaching inside for a file folder which he flips open to check the names. "I need to see Judah and Josiah Restein right away."

"Sir, I just can't—"

"Excuse me? You what? Did you just say 'can't? Because I think I heard you say can't. Which means, clearly, that you did not pay any attention to anything I just said, did you, son?"

"I heard you but—"

"Buh-buh-but nothing! Federal. District. Attorney's Office. Do you know what that means? That means that somebody bigger than you, bigger than me, bigger than this whole damn prison done sent me down here on my personal day… my daughter has a recital tonight and if I miss it? Boy, you are not gonna' be a happy camper. And neither will my wife. LaShondra don't play, man!" Stanford waves a hand. "Look. All that don't even matter. All that matters is that I don't want the FBI down here. You don't want the FBI down here… do you?"

"Um. I…"

Stanford reaches for his inside pocket, where the phone might be. "I'll make the call, then."

"Wait! No!" Typing typing. "Oh, ha. There you are. Scheduled right here. For… this exact moment. Heh. How'd I miss that?" Gulp. "Go on through."

"Thank you. You're a wonderful, plump, juicy man. God's gonna' remember you!"


Stanford grabs the door and starts heading inside. "Free Mandela!"

Inside Stanford finds Josiah Restein, sitting alone at a table with his elbows resting on it and his face buried in his hands. He's mumbling madly to himself, trying to work through something in his own mind, trying to establish something clear and concise. He murmurs further as he looks up from his hands to see Stanford.

"Where is my attorney! I don't talk to suits unless my attorney is present!" he jumps to conclusions, but that really is the joy of Josiah. Jo stares at Stanford, examining every detail. "Geez! It's bad enough I'm in here and Becky is outside suffering but now you guys won't even give a prisoner the courtesy of having their attorney present?!"

"Relax. You're not going to need your attorney for this."

Stanford drops himself down in the seat across from Josiah and slides his briefcase onto the table. It gets clicked open and file folders are moved out of the way to reveal a netbook, which is pulled out with the quickness. "You don't know me. But I was at the museum when it went down. So I know some things. But there are holes. I need you to fill in those holes." Stanford starts typing away on the netbook, pulling up his 'case files' for this particular issue. "If I'm gonna' help you and your brother get out of this, I need to know how the hell you got in this mess in the first place."

Josiah's eyes narrow at the man across from him. "Holes? Look buddy! We were just tryin' to get our family painting back! It was stolen underneath the museum curator's nose and NO ONE was helping us get what was due." He frowns at Stanford. "And now? Now my thirteen year old sister, Becky is stuck— no guardian. No grandma because she died to pass us along the Picasso… NOTHING. She doesn't have Judah or I— and our entire being in jail is like super hard on her…" With a pause, Josiah wrinkles his nose, "What do you want to know?"

Stanford's eyes focus a little bit more, softening at the mention of the sister. Especially because he knows all about what it's like to be growing up without a family. He straightens himself back up to a more professional position as h e records this conversation through the on-board mic of his netbook. "Okay, so the curator. You got a name for this guy?" Stanford's already pulling up the museum employee roster, immediately assuming it to be of a male gender. Most jerks in a position of abusing power are. "Were there any contracts or agreements signed? Or did they just spin off a bunch of words and throw a big dollar amount in your face to get you to agree to letting them have the painting?"

"Walsh. Brandon Walsh. That's the curator." Josiah arches another eyebrow as he twitches just a little. "And no, we didn't have contracts or agreements… just dollars. It was a loan, everyone understood it was a painting on loan and the insurance company never appraised the damned thing— honestly we were screwed from the start." His eye closes. "It was going to pay for school, no questions asked we were going to get it to pay for school— the loan was enough to do that, except… when it went missing they wouldn't even pay us for loaning them the painting… which we didn't steal… seriously, man, we just wanted the painting back…"

"So, this Walsh threw you some cash to let him hang the painting up in his museum. You guys needed the money, so you went for it. No paper trail, which means Walsh could walk away with this painting if he wanted to, because there's no proof it was yours." Stanford's trying to run this whole thing down in his head. "But Walsh wouldn't steal a painting he could just have. So there must've been a third party. Or something." Stanford's frowning, but notes are being made, as well as background checks on Brandon Walsh. "Anything else? Anything else you might think would be helpful?" Just to make sure he's got enough information to start.

"Uh…" Josiah frowns again, it's an effort to remember everything. Biting his bottom lip he shakes his head. "Nah. Nothin I can remember. Just Becky needs the money to grow up— like if we're in here, she needs something to be able to take care of her, you know?" He sighs heavily before lowering his head to the table. "I'm sorry. It's just been a hard few weeks with everything going on. Like really hard. You have no idea how hard…"

"You're right. I don't. And I ain't gonna' lie to you. The chances of me getting you two out of here? Not really gonna' happen, bra'." Stanford drops the lawyer accent and starts dropping real facts, in the midst of packing up his stuff. "But I swear, I'ma' get your sister everything she needs to survive until you guys can appeal this B.S. and get outta' here the right way." He stands up, closing the briefcase and holding out his hand in offering to Josiah. "Just, do me one favor. Keep your ears clean." What.

The hand is accepted and the object in it is met with furrowed eyebrows, but nothing beyond, it's an odd thing to receive in the hand, but he isn't about to give it up. Instead Josiah nods. "Thanks. All we need is Becky taken care of. Honest. Judah and I can take care of ourselves and yeah, our lawyer is workin' on our case and trying to get the charges lowered— we'll see what happens, but we're not holdin' our breath, you know?"

"Don't worry. You've got the right, wrong people on your side, J. I promise you, we're going to take this dude down the river and back up the other side." Stanford takes this opportunity to make a dramatic exit. Because that's how he rolls.

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