EXT. NEW JERSEY – NIGHT.

A portly gentleman in pleated khakis pulled up a bit too high steps out of the front door of a townhouse in suburban New Jersey. He ambles curbside, where a black sports-utility vehicle has arrived to pick him up. He hops into the passenger seat, and the vehicle pulls away from the curb.

DEREK CARR: [cheerily] S’up, dog?

PETER KING: [pulling out a pocket recorder and microphone] Derek! It’s really nice to see you.

DEREK: Say, Peter, do you mind if we keep this one off the record?

PK: Jeez, I don’t know, Derek. I’ve got a deadline to worry about and your agent promised me this interview…

DEREK: It’s just that I want to get to know you a little better before I open up. If we make a playoff run, I’m only going to want to talk to people I know, and there are going to be a lot of people looking for insider access…

PK: Oh, sure, sure, off the record! [turns off recorder]

DEREK: (under his breath) Just like Favre said…

DEREK CARR navigates through a few side streets into a less reputable part of town. Streetlights become fewer and far between.

PK: Thanks for picking me up! After Andy Benoit had all that trouble with his brakes – he thinks someone cut them, isn’t that silly! – I’ve been stuck using Uber to get around. [shakes his head] Those kids! None of ’em even watch baseball!

DEREK: You make one of your writers drive you around?

PK: Well, sure! That’s one of the perks I get running the MMQB! Most of ’em work for Uber in their spare time anyhow – we’ve got a lot of unpaid interns.

DEREK: [incredulously] You don’t pay your interns?

PK: [shrugs] No, most of of them are working to get their foot in the door in the industry. We’re a pretty prestigious outfit, so the exposure is really good for them. Wish we could get a little more diversity, though. Doesn’t seem like any minorities are interested in such a great opportunity. They don’t even apply!

DEREK: [shakes his head] You ever think that…ah, never mind.

PK prattles on as they keep driving. At some point, DEREK CARR shuts off the headlights and a bit later turns off the engine, but PK fails to remark on this (or even notice). Eventually, the car rolls to a stop outside a warehouse in an industrial area.

PK: …and so who knows if Aaron Hernandez’s name will come up for a vote, but I just don’t think the off-field stuff should be a consideration. You know what I mean.

DEREK: I do. I really do. [pauses, takes a deep breath] So, Peter, I heard you’ve been reporting about the shooting at the Warriors game.

PK: Ha ha, that’s right, I have.

DEREK: Word is that you’ve been putting me and my boys at the scene.

PK: That’s right! You, Latavius, Kesele, Menelik, all those guys. That was a nice-looking three-pointer you sank!

DEREK: [freezes] Oh. Three…pointer. You mean shooting the basketball. [surreptitiously slides a handgun back under the seat] Yeah, yeah, right. Basketball.

PK: What are we doing here, anyhow?

DEREK: Oh, I, uh, just took a wrong turn.

PK: So where are we going?

DEREK: Well, shit. I had actually planned on this being the end of the line for you…uh…I mean us. You know what? Let’s keep the night rolling. You call it – where to?

PK: How about a beer? I know this great little local place, they’ve got just about everything you can think of on tap. Even Allaghash! It’s called the “Yard House”.

DEREK: You know what? Turn that tape recorder back on. Never hurts to polish that image, am I right?

PK: That’s what I’m here for! Let’s get started…on the record this time!