All right, it's been... over a month and a half since my last update, and over two months since my last major update on this epic fic of mine. I'm going to plead "real life differences"; now that I'm writing this monstrosity I can see why so many FF authors use that as a catch-all excuse.

For those of you who want to know what this rather vaguely-titled fic is all about, see the first post of this old topic: http://z11.invisionfree.com/court_recor ... c=858&st=0

While I (still!) don't have a completed next chapter (though it's 3/4 done), I'm going to repost everything I have and then post what I've got so far so that I do not fall off the face of the fanfiction Earth. Also, while I have not gone back and revised anything major, I did make one or two minor tweaks to the story that'll be placed in the repost (The only storyline thing I did was bump Edgeworth down from High Prosecutor to 2nd High Prosecutor, and swap a couple last names with first ones where I deemed them necessary.)

Anyway, that's enough prattle, so here I go. I'll be posting this thing over multiple posts to make tweaking things a bit easier on me. (Go lazyness!)

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The Golden Gavel

Episode I: The First Round

Part 1/3: Payne and Suffering

August 1st, 2016, 4:50 PM

Jack Keeper ran a hand through his long red hair and let out a big sigh as he gazed at his completely empty bar. The Golden Gavel’s lack of customers was hardly surprising; it was not yet five-o-clock and nearly all of his regular customers were still hard at work. This little problem was compounded by the chronic lack of publicity the Gavel received; after all, the taxpayers would be furious if they realized some of their money was being used to fund a tavern hidden in the basement of the district Prosecutor’s office!

In the last two hours alone, Jack had managed to keep himself busy by washing all the mugs and glasses, wiping down the counter and the tops of the barstools, and polishing the Gavel’s seldom used tables until they had that hallowed reflective gleam. Heck, he even messed around with the old pinball machine a while, though he didn’t even come close to beating the high score.

In short, Jack was both lonely and bored. However, there are certain things a lonely man can do to relieve his boredom while he’s sure no one else is watching...

“First, I put a black five on the red six, and then I put this black four on a red five...” he muttered to himself. “And then I can flip this card up and find me a red king, which I can put in the empty place the red four used to be in.”

Jack continued to mutter to himself as he flipped cards from a pile before him, hoping to get lucky enough to actually win an old-fashioned game of solitaire before his deck ran out.

“And then I can put this red two on that black three and... damn, I’m all out of cards!” he exclaimed bitterly. “Lousy game just made me waste...” he looked at the clock in the corner of the TV, which was set to a news channel. “Eight minutes! I ought to just...”

However, Jack never verbalized just what he should do, as a loud fanfare blared from the television and the words “Breaking News” shot across the screen.

“Ho boy, I wonder what happened this time,” Jack proclaimed to the empty room. He leaned against the bar as the screen changed to a view of a well-dressed woman behind a desk.

“Good evening viewers, I’m Lily Jumper. I interrupt this broadcast of ‘Money Money Business Hour’ to bring you word of a violent murder occurring at the Happy Heights Apartment Complex in the Downtown section of the city,” she explained, her voice dripping with false sentiment. “The victim is apparently a young woman who was living alone in one of the many budget apartments that make the Happy Heights complex so well-known to city residents. This sad event ends a three day period in which no new murders had been committed in the City. Unfortunately, it appears that such good times were not meant to last. As of yet, DNN has not been supplied with either the victim’s name or any possible suspects in the case. We will release more information as it becomes available.” The newswoman paused and gave a dramatic breath. “I repeat: One woman has been found murdered in her apartment located in the downtown section of the city. We now return you to ‘Money Money Business Hour’ already in progress.”

“Humph,” sneered Jack, glaring at the TV screen. “She didn’t really give any specific information.”

Jack returned to shuffling his cards and was about to deal out a new game when a chime rang through the room, indicating that the bar’s main door had been opened. He looked up to see a short, balding man nervously glancing about the room, his eyes partially hidden behind a pair of thick glasses. Upon seeing Jack he nodded and crossed the room, taking a seat in one of the several stools on the outside of the bar counter.

“Good evening, Jack,” he said in a thin, squeaky voice.

“Good evening, Mr. Payne,” replied Jack, his voice brightening slightly. “How’re things going for you?” While Winston Payne was neither a very respected nor a very talented prosecuting attorney, he was one of Jack’s regular customers, and a good bartender tries his best to be friendly to his regulars.

“I lost another trial today,” said Payne. “I almost had this one wrapped up too, but my key witness slipped up on one little detail during his testimony and the whole case fell apart after that. I tried to justify the contradiction, but the defense built up a head of steam and the judge just made his decision right then and there.”

“Tough luck, Mr. Payne.” Jack always called Winston by his last name; he figured it would help the man’s poor ego a bit. “Do you want your usual, then?”

“Yes please.”

“Can do.” Jack said, smiling. He hummed to himself as he walked over to his big shelf of cocktail ingredients. “A bit of grenadine, a bottle of maraschino cherries...” He sat the bottles on the counter and opened the door of a large refrigerator embedded in the wall. “A bottle of lemon-lime soda...” He twisted the cap of the soda bottle, chuckling at the fizzy sound it made. He grabbed a cocktail glass and mixed the soda and grenadine together, absentmindedly watching as the pale yellow-green and deep red liquids swirled together. He mixed them with a swizzle stick and dropped a pair of cherries into the concoction while the liquids were still swirling about. Jack lifted the glass to eye level, checking for impurities, and when he found none he smiled and sat it down in front of Payne with a flourish.

“Here you are, Mr. Payne. One Shirley Temple served cold, with an extra cherry instead of a slice of orange. Is it to your satisfaction?” he asked, leaning back slightly.

Payne took a tentative sip before downing nearly half the glass in one gulp. “Yes it is. Thank you, Jack.”

“You’re welcome,” said Jack. He turned and put back the cherries and grenadine while leaving the lemon-line soda on the counter. He poured himself a mug of soda and grabbed his chair from the end of the bar area. He placed it across from Payne and took a seat.

“I just heard on the TV over there that they got another murder case on their hands.” said Jack.

“Doesn’t surprise me,” said Payne. He took another sip, his eyebrows crinkling slightly from the sweet flavor of his drink. “Of course, it’s doesn’t really matter much to meanyway. The chief prosecutor hasn’t let me do a murder trial in nearly a month.”

“Really? Well, Lana's always been good at giving people lots of chances. Maybe tomorrow will be your lucky day.” Jack smiled to show he was serious.

“If it is, it’ll be the first I’ve had in a long time...” Payne trailed off and sipped his Shirley Temple once more. “I haven’t really had a lot of good luck since... you know.”

“Yeah, I remember.” Indeed, Payne had once told Jack the story of how he took on rookie defense attorney Mia Fey and lost... horribly. It made sense to Jack; he’d heard other attorneys talk about Payne’s days as the ‘Rookie Killer’, well before Jack had become a bartender. The only part of Payne’s story Jack didn’t understand was the part about Payne “losing his hair” at the end of the case. Jack had read about stress related hair-loss before, but losing half your hair in a few seconds seemed to be taking that concept a wee bit too far in his eyes.

Payne raised a hand and patted what was left of his dull gray hair thoughtfully. “I just wish there was something I could do about this. What I’ve got left is just... there. I can’t really impress anyone with it.”

Jack gave a nod. “I’ll admit it’s not much to work with...” He leaned back and thought about Payne’s predicament for a moment. “Maybe you should just shave it all off. It’ll make people think you have a full head of hair and that you just shave it to look... hip.”

“I don’t think so, Jack. I mean, that’ll probably just make me look like an old man. I’m not ready to be old yet.”

At fifty-two years of age, Payne already was an old man in Jack’s eyes, but Jack knew better than to say that out loud. “Well, I’m sure there’re other things you can do. You could get a wig, for example.”

“No, no wig. Everybody would know its fake, and if I get another run of bad luck it might fall off by accident. Heck, I’d probably throw it at someone if they made me mad enough.” He laughed squeakily before gazing at his empty cocktail glass. “Could you get me another drink, please?”

“Sure thing, Mr. Payne. You want another Shirley?”

“Nah, get a mug of... diet cola. I need something a little less sweet.”

Jack smiled and nodded before heading to the fridge to grab a bottle of diet cola. “You know, if you don’t want a wig, I’m sure there’s some other stuff you could do to look nicer.” He pulled a beer mug out of a cupboard and poured the soda in. “Maybe you can try brushing it forward instead of back. Your hair wouldn’t be as nice-looking as it used to be, but at least you could get some coverage up top.”

“Maybe...” muttered Payne as Jack sat the mug of soda before him. “I might try that one of these days.”

Jack thought some more before sitting upright in a burst of realization. “Or... maybe you can grow it out; have it hang down to your shoulders or something. It’d make you look like that guy from the Rolling Stones!”

Payne merely let out another squeaky laugh. “Mr. Keeper, it’ll be a cold day in hell before I let myself wear my hair like that.” he smiled and took another swig of soda.

“If you say so, Mr. Payne.”

The two men lapsed into silence for a moment before another loud fanfare sounded from the TV at the other end of the bar.

“More breaking news? This better be good...” muttered Jack.

“DNN has just received more information regarding the horrible murder in the Downtown section of the city,” announced the newswoman, her skin shining eerily beneath a layer of thick makeup. “The victim has been identified as Cindy Stone, aged 22. Ms. Stone, a model, had just arrived at her apartment after participating in a photo shoot abroad. As of this moment, the motive behind this ghastly event is anyone’s guess. Police reports have been slower than normal due to a power outage in the downtown section of the city.”

“Power outage? Those don’t happen often in this day and age,” said Jack.

A red-haired man suddenly walked onto the TV newsroom and handed the newswoman a piece of paper. The woman shot him a glare and he scurried away, embarrassed. The newswoman glared at the paper and her face suddenly broke into a creepy grin.

“We here at DNN have just received more breaking news in the Cindy Stone murder case... it appears that District Police have arrested a suspect and charged him with the murder! The murderer is identified as Larry Butz, age 24.” A picture of a nervous looking orange-haired man with big eyes appeared in the corner of the TV screen. “Mr. Butz was the only person seen at the crime scene and thus appears to almost definitely be the culprit! We here at DNN offer the legal system our support in seeing this horrible criminal brought to justice. This is Lily Jumper of DNN reporting.” The news fanfare sounded again and the TV returned to its previous show.

Jack stared at the TV for a moment longer before swearing loudly. “Stupid woman! She’s already calling that Butt Man a killer and he hasn’t even gotten a chance to go to trial yet! All the news people don’t care about nothing but sensational hogwash!”

“Guilty until declared innocent, Jack,” said Payne knowledgably.

“I know; I know...” Having tended bar at the Gavel for three years, Jack was well acquainted with the maxim of the Modern State Legal System. “But it still seems kind of... dumb to me.”

“I’m not the guy who changed all the rules, Jack.”

“Yeah, but you’re the only guy here for me to complain to. Maybe you could bring some more people in here; get me some real business someday.”

“Bah... I’m a prosecutor, not your advertising slave,” whined Payne.

“Whatever. You want another drink?”

“No thank you, Jack. I should be getting home... maybe there’ll be a message on my answering machine or something.”

“Who knows? Everybody gets a lucky break sometime, that’s for sure.”

“I might be able to prove you wrong...” said Payne with a wry smile. “I believe this will be enough to cover the drinks,” he added, handing Jack a few small bills. “You make keep the change, of course.”

Jack scurried to place the bills in the old-fashioned cash register at the back of the bar. “Thank you, Mr. Payne. You’re a good customer.”

“It pays to have someone who listens,” said Payne wistfully. He eased himself to the ground and walked out of the room, sounding the door chime once more in his retreat.

Jack picked up the empty mug and cocktail glass that Payne had left behind and sat them in the sink at the end of the bar before returning to his seat.

“Alone again...” he said sadly. “Oh well, back to work...”

He dealt out his pack of cards.

“First, I put this black ten on the red jack, and then I put this red eight on the black nine...”

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Part 2/3: A Break in the Gloom

August 2nd, 5:58 PM

“Even for the Gavel, this is pathetic!” yelled Jack, his voice echoing off the walls of his again empty bar. “Normally there’re a couple people here by now.” Jack didn’t really care how crazy he sounded talking to himself; you had to be a little crazy if you wanted to survive in the tavern industry.

Jack sighed loudly. “I’d better calm down. Getting all riled up isn’t going to make people suddenly come.”

Bored, he started occupying himself by wiping down the bar counter. In order to make the time pass by more quickly, he turned on the TV-radio and started singing along to the tune: one of those new-age techno-pop songs that helped define the 2010s as the decade of the “New Electric Revolution”. Of course, in Jack’s mind, many the alien vibrations coming out of his TV were not so much revolutionary as they were revolting.

“When I find... the best iridium...” he crooned; shaking his head slightly at one of the songs most nonsensical bit of lyrics.

"I’m gonna try... to prove my idiom!” boomed a baritone voice.

Jack jumped and blushed when he realized that he was no longer alone in the bar. Standing before him was a rather childish-looking man, his security guard uniform slightly distorted by a not-so-childish looking belly. Running a hand through his short dark hair, he said, “Now... I know you’re alone in the bar and all... but seriously! You couldn’t find a better song than ‘Justice-man forever’ to sing along to! I mean, even that 1980’s channel’s got better songs than that piece of cybertrash!”

“And a warm hello to you too, Donny.” Jack said dryly, forcing back his embarrassment. “I was starting to get worried when you didn’t show up last Friday; I thought you’d finally taken that one-way bullet train to Dead City!” Seriously, Jack hadn’t worried too much about the absence of his best friend and customer; Donald Docket often skipped a trip to the Gavel in order to spend some time at places more befitting for a single man in his mid 20s.

“Sorry about that Jack. You see, yesterday one of the third-shift guys told me about this new little club near the edge of the city and I just had to give it a try. It wasn’t as good as I’d hoped.”

“Oh?” said Jack, a slight bit of superiority slipping into his voice.

“Um-hum. Turns out it was of those hick places; nothing but cheap beer and country music. They had some weird clubbers too.”

“Weird, eh? Well, I just happen to be an expert on the subject of weird,” joked Jack in a pompous voice. “What’s the best example you’ve got?”

“Hmmm... it’d have to be during the mechanical-bull riding contest.”

“Oh yeah... I once had some cowboy guy come in here trying to make me get one of those things. I think I’d rather drink straight bitters than deal with such... bull.”

“Okay, that was lame. Anyways, nearly everyone that rode that thing was nutty, not to mention drunk stupid. The weirdest one was definitely the winner. Have you ever seen a redheaded woman with an afro?”

“No, I can’t say I haven’t.” said Jack.

“Well, this afro-woman rode the damn thing for over a minute! I thought she was gonna get brain damage getting all shook up like that. And she just lets herself get thrown off and starts talking about UFOs giving her magic powers or something. If I hadn’t still been sober at the time, I wouldn’t have believed my ears.”

“Hmmm... sounds absolutely mental. Did you try asking her out?”

“Gak!” shouted Donny, clutching his chest in mock agony. “That’s a cheap shot, Jack! You’d better not be expecting any tip after that one.”

Jack smiled and clutched at his stomach in turn. “Oh, I have been impaled upon my own sword!” he said, his face distorted from surprised laughter. He paused a moment to gather himself. “So, do you want me to get you something or not?”

“One beer should do the trick.”

“Say no more, Donny, say no more.” Jack quickly grabbed a clean mug and walked over to the three beer taps near the center of the bar counter. He pulled the middle tab and filled the mug with regular beer, then sat it on the counter and slid it ten feet over to Donny with a flourish.

“You’re a good man, Jack.” said Donny stoutly before taking a large swig.

“Got any other interesting stories for me today?” asked Jack brightly.

“Not up here,” he replied, tapping a finger against his head, “but I did take the courtesy of brining you a newspaper.” He reached into the back pocket of his uniform and produced a rolled up copy of the District City Examiner. He sat it on the counter, unrolled it, and shoved it over to Jack. “Look at the bottom of the front page,” he added. “It looks like your squeaky-voiced buddy finally got himself a decent break.”

Jack peered at the bottom of the page and blinked at the sight of a small article titled “Prosecutor Payne Promises Punishment: Guilty verdict expected for Happy Heights Murderer”

Jack looked up from the paper and said, “Payne’s always complaining to me that he never gets in the paper. Maybe some honest publicity will get him out of his blue funk.”

“Maybe. But if he does win he just might start talking a lot more, too, and I for one don’t think I can keep coming here if I have to listen to his happy pixie voice chattering all the time.”

“Be nice, Donny,” said Jack, drawing out each syllable in admonishment. “He’s as good a customer as you are, and I’m in no condition to start dealing with barroom brawls between two of my regulars.” He paused before smiling and adding, “Of course, considering what building this is, it wouldn’t be too hard for me to get a couple of police officers with handcuffs here in a jiffy.”

Donny chuckled in return. “Of course not; this is one of the safest places in the City! Aren’t you glad I helped you get this job?”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Jack dismissively. Indeed, Donny was the one who told Jack that the Gavel needed a new bartender just over three years ago, and he tended to bring up the subject every time Jack put him under pressure. Jack added, “Now, will you let me read this damn article, or do I have to get you a muzzle?”

Donny merely sighed and looked down at his drink. Jack gave him a little smile and started to read.

Prosecutor Payne Promises Payback
Guilty Verdict Expected for Happy Heights Murderer
By Henrietta Happenstance

As District City continues to mourn the death of innocent young woman Cindy Stone, preparations for tomorrow’s trial are being made on both sides of the courtroom. District Prosecutor Winston Payne has already expressed his confidence in an eventual ‘guilty’ verdict for defendant Larry Butz.

“You see, I’ve already seen the evidence and talked to a reliable witness. Any attempts the defense makes to let this killer free will clearly be lies,” Payne said.

The relationship once shared between the defendant and the victim will have a profound effect on the emotional atmosphere in the courtroom.

“Oh, yeah. Mr. Butz and Ms. Stone used to date, but some bad things happened and she broke up with him. I guess Mr. Butz wanted revenge for that,” Payne said.

However, despite the almost overwhelming amounts of evidence against the suspect, the defense still has a rather alarming belief in Mr. Butz’s innocence.

“My new understudy believes that the allegations against Harry are completely and utterly untrue,” said Defense attorney Mia Fey, owner of the Fey and Co. Law offices. “I believe that he is perfectly capable of proving this in front of a judge.”

The aforementioned understudy, a Mr. Phoenix Wright, was unavailable for comment.

Jack folded the paper and looked up thoughtfully. “I guess Payne’s actually serious about winning this one,” he said. “Of course, the paper’s already behind him; I have yet to see the Examiner side with the accused guy before a trial. Damn reporters know they’ll sell more papers with bloodlust they than they will with rhyme and reason.” He folded the newspaper up and placed it on a shelf under the counter.

“Hey! I might’ve wanted that back, Jack!” whined Donny indignantly.

“Do you?” asked Jack, raising an eyebrow.

“No. Not really.”

“That’s what I thought.” Noticing Donny’s empty beer mug, he added, “You want another beer?”

“Nah, better get me one of them colas of yours.” Donny replied scratching his head thoughtfully. “You see, I’ve heard of a dance club I haven’t been to yet, and the ladies there won’t get a good impression of The Don if he wraps his car around a lamppost on the other side of the city.”

“I don’t think they’ll get a good impression either way, but that’s probably just my sobriety talking,” quipped Jack.

Donny merely stuck his tongue out at the insult while Jack turned around and filled another mug with cola out of the barroom fridge.

“Thank you kindly,” said Donny mockingly after Jack placed his drink in front of him. “I wonder if the Old Pain’s going to stop by soon now that he’s got the wind back in his sails.”

“Not sure. I guess he could...” Jack trailed off as the sound of the door chime filled the room once again. Jack looked up to see not Winston Payne but a tall suited man with straggly dark hair maneuvering around the tables that stood between the door and the bar. He sat deftly on the barstool next to Donny, his normally stony-looking face distorted by a creepy smile.

“Evening, Mr. Hammond,” said Jack. “I assume by your expression that you had a good day?”

“Indeed I did! I won another case today!” he announced in a low, gravelly voice.

“I see! That makes... 489, right?” Since Defense Attorney Robert Hammond always came to the Gavel after a victory, it was rather easy for Jack to keep track of his win total.

“Indeed it does, Keeper! Just another couple months and I’ll make it to 500! Very few defense attorneys make it that far; it’s a very honorable number.”

“You going to tell about it?” asked Donny pointedly.

“Whiskey first... and then I’ll tell you my story.” he replied.

Jack obediently grabbed a shot glass out of a cupboard and pulled Hammond’s favorite brand of single malt Irish whiskey off of the top liquor shelf. He filled the glass to the appropriate level and sat it before Hammond, the glass clinking softly upon impact. Hammond grabbed the little glass and downed the shot mechanically.

“Another, please,” he commanded.

Jack frowned slightly but filled the glass anyway, setting it down more gently this time. Hammond downed the second shot just as quickly as the first.

“That really hits the spot, it does.” He turned to Donny and said, “Now I guess you’ll want me to tell you a tale?”

“If you can,” said Donny. “Just be quick about it. I’ve got me a new club to go to later.”

Hammond suddenly let out a loud, harsh laugh, causing both Jack and Donny to jump. “Sorry about that,” he began. “It’s just the fact that you used the word ‘club’ was a rather funny coincidence, considering the weapon in today’s trial happened to be a golf club.”

“So it was a murder trial, then?”

“No... But the victim was left in a coma. The doctors were fairly sure that he would never recover.”

Jack shuddered. “Horrible.”

“Indeed it was. Anyway, I was defending the victim’s caddy. He was a shifty-eyed bloke, made me shudder every time I looked at him. The prosecuting attorney had a witness, the victim’s friend, who supposedly saw the two argue before the caddy bashed the victim across the head with a pitching wedge. Nasty business, that.”

Jack winced while Donny asked, “How’d you turn the trial around, then?”

“It was actually quite simple. Upon investigating the crime I found several pieces of evidence that flew in the face of the witness’s claims. The witness claimed to see the shocked look on the defendant’s face immediately after he committed his crime, even though he earlier testified that the caddy had his back turned to him while he committing the act.”

“Witnesses do tend to stretch the truth for dramatic effect every now and then,” said Jack thoughtfully. “It’s not a good thing to do, of course, but people often think a good story will make the judge pay more attention to them.”

“I’m well aware of that, Mr. Keeper,” said Hammond dryly. “But, then he corrected his mistake and talked in more detail about the weapon used. He said the defendant pulled it out of the victim’s golf bag and nailed him with it.”

“I don’t see a problem with that, Mr. H,” said Donny.

“Let me finish, damn it!” yelled Hammond, pounding a fist against the bar. After making sure that Donny had shut up, he continued, “The problem with that testimony was also quite simple. You see, the assault weapon was a right-handed golf club. However, the victim was a left-handed golfer! So there’d be no good reason for the victim to have a right-handed golf club in his own bag! Then I asked the witness how he golfed, and he said right-handed!”

“So, was that all the evidence the judge needed?” asked Jack as he washed Hammond’s empty shot glasses.

“Not quite. Damn murderer tried to stop me from winning with one more round of testimony. He said he’d been the victim’s best friend for years, and they were only playing for fun. He said he had absolutely no motive! That’s when I showed him my trump card.”

“Trump card?”

“Indeed, a trump card! I had gotten to look around the golf cart the two had driven before the trial, and I found me a crumpled piece of paper in the back compartment. It turns out there was a $1,000 bet riding on the game! I showed him this, and told the court that he obviously didn’t want to lose that money! Once the witness saw that, he snapped like a twig! Turns out he’d just hit a ball into some thick weeds. He told the caddy to go find it for it for him, and then the victim said something snide and that witness grabbed his club and nailed him!”

Jack gasped slightly in surprise before asking, “Then how come the caddy got blamed for the crime and not the true assaulter?”

Hammond’s lips curled into another creepy smile. “The other golfer was rather smart. The caddy didn’t hear the scuffle and was still heading for the weeds that golf ball had landed in, so the nasty witness hopped in the cart and drove full speed to the club, where he called the police. When the police showed up later, the caddy had founded the unconscious victim and was holding the weapon in a state of shock. At the time, that was enough for the dimwitted detectives to arrest him!”

“I see.”

“Indeed. It doesn’t matter, though. In the end, I got me my victory, and that’s all the reward I really need.”

“Of course that’s all you need,” muttered Jack dryly, noticing that Hammond didn’t mention an innocent man going free as a part of his “reward”.

“Sounds good,” added Donny absently.

“Indeed, it is good! Now that I’ve had my whiskey and you’ve had your story, I have better places to celebrate my victory than this little hole in the ground! Put the drinks on my tab, Mr. Keeper.”

“Okay, Mr. Hammond,” said Jack sullenly. Hammond was one of several customers that charged his drinks to a tab; he typically paid the balance in full once a month so Jack had no good reason to complain.

“Thank you,” muttered Hammond dryly. And with that, he stood up and walked towards the door on the other side of the room.

“Jeez, even when he wins, old Robbie’s a grump,” whispered Donny.

“Get out of my way, you creepy little gnome!” echoed Hammond’s voice from beyond the bar door.

“You could say that,” said Jack, smiling. He looked up to see Winston Payne entering the room, his normally glum visage replaced with an almost abnormal expression of elation.

He sat on the stool previously occupied by Hammond and squealed, “Good to see you, Jack!” He stuck out his hand expectantly.

Jack knew Payne would be happier than normal, but he hadn’t really expected this. However, he forced his misgivings back and grabbed Payne’s hand. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Payne,” he droned stiffly.

Failing to notice the sarcasm, Payne merely spun around on his stool and extended the same hand towards Donny. “And the same goes for you, Mr. Docket!” he squeaked, the smile on his face widening.

“Always an Honor, Mr. P!” replied Donny, his voice filled with exaggerated vigor.

Payne sighed happily. “It’s always nice to have friends that care about you...”

“It’s what makes us people,” said Jack slyly. “Now, can I get you anything? Your usual, perhaps?”

“Yes, please!” said Payne, nodding vigorously. “And put three cherries in it this time! This is a day for celebration!”

“Yes, sir!” barked Jack with a mocked salute. He pivoted on one foot and went to gather the cocktail ingredients.

Donny chuckled to himself at the sight of Payne’s rare enthusiasm. “Jeez, you give a prosecutor one decent case, and it goes straight to their head!” he exclaimed, chuckling.

Payne merely gave a squeaky chuckle in return. “You can laugh at me all you want, Donny. This isn’t about fame or luck. This is about payback!” He smacked the bar to emphasize his point.”

“Payback? Exactly what you mean by that?” said Donny, puzzled.

“I’d like to know that myself,” added Jack as he placed Payne’s drink in front of him. “One Shirley Temple served cold, with three cherries instead of one and no orange. Is it to your liking?”

Payne picked up the cocktail glass with a grace he normally lacked and took a modest sip. “It’s perfect, Jack. I don’t think you could have made it better if your life depended on it!”

Jack chocked back a laugh after hearing Payne’s over-the-top praising of his drink. Instead, he asked, “So... what exactly do you mean by payback?”

Payne sat up straighter and pushed the bridge of his glasses upward. “Did you read the front page article about me in the Examiner?” After hearing Jack and Donny’s murmurs of accent he continued, “Well, then you should know what law firm has been pitted against me.”

“Well, the paper said that the Fey and Co. law offices were handling the defense.” Jack’s eyes widened slightly as he remembered Payne’s issues with Mia Fey. “Oh... you’re still peeved about that?” he asked incredulously.

“Why shouldn’t I be peeved? Ms. Fey was the one that turned me into... this!” He waved an arm up and down his body, indicating his current appearance.

Jack frowned a bit at Payne’s accusation. “Well, her client was innocent. It’s only fair that an innocent man go free, even if his defense attorney happened to be one of those rookies you like to crush so much.”

“Yeah, there’s no point in blaming yourself for landing on the wrong side of a case. It happens to everyone in here every now and then,” added Donny.

“Yes... but, before that day... I’d been in my prime. I’d won practically every case that was put before me! But now... I only win half my cases, and I’m only that successful because they make me handle lots of guilty pleas! It’s enough to make me scream!” He started hyperventilating in his anger.

Donny leaned over and snapped his fingers in front of Payne’s face. “Pull yourself together man! You’re gonna pass out on the floor, and you haven’t even had a decent drink yet!”

Payne jumped slightly, but he managed to slow his breathing. “Sorry...” he muttered, “it’s just... memories, you know? Every time I lose a case, I see Mia Fey and her whiny pink-shirted creep of a defendant. I’ll never forget that man’s face...”

“What was his name?” asked Donny.

“Oh, I don’t remember. Nixon, Nicky, Nixxi, something stupid like that.” squeaked Payne dryly, waving a hand.

“Hmmm,” muttered Jack, rubbing his forehead in thought. “So you’ think that beating Mia’s new rookie will get you your... groove back?”

“Hopefully,” muttered Payne. Suddenly, the unusual smile returned to his face. “Of course, since they’ve finally given me some solid evidence and a decent witness, it’ll be almost impossible for me to lose!”

“Sounds good,” said Jack. Honestly, Jack had no qualms with Payne getting a lucky break every now and then; it was actually somewhat refreshing to deal with him when he wasn’t stuck in his perpetual blue funk.

“Good? Of course it’s good! Now, if you will excuse me,” said Payne, tugging at his tie, “I have a court strategy to plan!” He paid Jack for the drink and matched out of the room, his head held high with confidence.

As soon as the barroom door swung shut behind him, Donny broke out into a loud fit of laughter. Jack merely glared at him as he started slapping rocking back and forth and slapping his hand against the table, obviously in hysterics.

“Exactly what is so funny about the presence of one of my other half-decent customers?” he asked.

Donny placed a hand on his chest and took several deep breaths. After he got the worst of his laughter under wraps, he replied, “Sorry, I was just thinking about Mr. P and I realized he’s a lot like a big helium balloon when in he’s in a good mood.” He sighed contentedly at the notion.

Jack only thought about Payne’s head replaced by a large helium balloon for a few seconds before he too was consumed by vigorous laughter. He didn’t like laughing at his customers, but with a funny mental image it was impossible for him to resist.

Regaining his self-control, Jack replied, “I guess you have a point there. I think I’ll buy him a couple of celebration balloons before I open the gavel up tomorrow afternoon.”

“He’ll probably think that’s kind of odd.”

“Well, that’s why I’ll be blaming you for coming up with that particular joke.”

Donny locked eyes with Jack for just an instant before he burst out laughing once more.

Jack absently thought to himself, if anyone’s in that old parking garage down the hall, they’ll probably think we’re going crazy, before succumbing to laughter once again.

-------------

Part 3/3: Payback Denied

August 3rd, 2:20 PM

“Seems I spend more of my time talking to myself in an empty bar than I do actually earning my keep around here,” said Jack. He grabbed a balloon string that was hanging in front of him and pulled the actual dirigible to face-level. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Smiley?” he asked in a voice saturated with sarcastic sweetness.

As Donny had suggested to him the day before, Jack had made a trip to a local general store in order to buy some balloons in order to celebrate Mr. Payne’s impending victory. At first, he figured he would only buy 3 or 4 of the things, but then the store clerk had told him a dozen was a better number, so he tried to buy a dozen. Of course, then the clerk threw in the fact that there was a price break at 25. And then...

“That pesky clerk pulled me in hook, line, and sinker, didn’t he?” he asked the bright yellow smiley-faced balloon as he gazed around at the other two dozen identical balloons littering the Gavel’s shiny-gold ceiling. He returned his gaze to the original balloon and sighed. “Of course, it’ll all be worth it to see that strange little customer of mine proud of himself for once. Now, if only the stupid trial would hurry up and finish he might be able to get here before I get fed up with your stupid smile and bust out my old BB gun.” He brought the balloon closer, so that it was bumping against his nose. “Yeah, that’ll wipe the smile right off of your stupid face, now won’t it?”

“It seems I shall have to contact the local insane asylum,” drawled a smooth voice. “A pity; I almost made it to a year without having to commit a bartender.”

“Gak!” Jack jumped and threw the helium balloon away as if it were a bomb. He turned to face his customer. “Sorry about that, Mr. Edgeworth,” he said, embarrassed. “I thought I was all alone since I didn’t hear you trip the door-ringer.”

Second High Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth, clad in his usual fancy red suit, merely adjusted his cravat and smirked. “The door was propped open, Jack. It would be quite... contradictory for my entrance to set off your little alarm considering I didn’t have to push on the door.”

Jack chuckled weakly. “I see, Mr. Edgeworth. What’ll you have?”

“First, I would like a bit of wine,” said Edgeworth, “Nothing too special; I haven’t done anything today to deserve better.” He paused dramatically. “Second, I would like to know why you have all of these stupid helium balloons floating about. Surely you’re not that desperate for companionship, now are you?”

Jack refused to rise to Edgeworth’s accusation. “No, not really. After all, business is doing great,” he said, his voice airy and sarcastic. He slid open a door and gazed into gavel’s small wine rank, searching for something that would meet Edgeworth’s demands. He grabbed one of the less expensive bottles and placed it before his customer. “Will this be to your liking?” he asked sweetly.

Edgeworth made a great spectacle of gazing at the bottle. “Looks decent,” he muttered. “The price?”

“Let me check the bottle.” Placing little price stickers on wine bottles was hardly professional, but it made things a lot easier. “Nine dollars a glass.”

“Good. One glass, please.”

Jack grabbed a wineglass and filled it to the appropriate level with deep-red liquid. Edgeworth gripped the glass and swirled the wine around, gazing at the liquid thoughtfully. He then brought it up to his nose and sniffed it gingerly. His weary face broke into a slight smile as he lowered the wine to his lips and took a tentative sip, his pinky extended. He sat the glass down and tasted for a moment before finally swallowing his drink.

“Definitely not first-class, but a decent quality for its price range,” he commented. “The aftertaste in particular is a bit off.”

Jack smiled slightly; from Edgeworth such neutral comments were rather high praise. “Well, you asked for nothing too special. I could have tried to line my pockets a bit more, but alas, I’m far too honest and trustworthy for that,” said Jack, placing the back of one hand against his head in mock emotionality.

“I see. While I find it difficult to find any person worth trusting, I’ll admit you’re rather honest,” he said plainly, taking another sip from the wineglass. “Of course, if you’re truly honest, you will take the time to explain to me the purpose of these... things.” He then waved an arm grandly to again indicate the various smiley faced balloons.

“Oh, those things? Mr. Payne’s got himself a big case today, and he believed he’d be able to win it. I figured if he actually got himself a decent win it’d be nice to have some decorations to celebrate it with.”

“I see,” muttered Edgeworth, again sipping from the wineglass. “Of course, I’ve won far more cases than that neophyte, and yet I have no balloon parties to show for it. A pity...”

“Well, Mr. Payne comes round here more often, and I figured it’d be good to see him in a good mood for once.”

“Maybe...” said Edgeworth. “Mr. Payne’s quite an odd man when it comes to temperament. When I first became I prosecutor he seemed rather... sure of himself. He was almost as confident as Mr. Von Karma himself.”

“I know. Payne’s told me a lot about his past. Heck, that’s why he’s so happy about today’s trial; he hopes that by beating Mia Fey’s new understudy he’ll somehow get his winning ways back.”

“I see...” said Edgeworth, before adding, “Mia Fey has an understudy? I was unaware of that. I know she broke away from the Grossberg firm a good while ago, but I didn’t think she’d get a protégé so quickly. I’ll have to check the new attorney listings again; it’s been quite I while since I last looked through them.”

“I read his name yesterday,” said Jack softly, “though for the life of me I can’t remember what it is. I’m surprised DNN hasn’t said anything about it yet; they were hyping that murder to high heaven two days ago. All these news channels are nothing but pathetic...” Jack trailed off as the breaking news jingle rang out across the room. “Well, maybe this’ll be it.”

“Good afternoon viewers, I’m Lily Jumper.” The dark-haired newswoman looked even more pale and sallow than usual. “We interrupt this broadcast of “Creeps and Killers” to bring you the latest information in the Cindy Stone murder trial.”

“Hot damn, that’s the one!” shouted Jack, pumping a fist in the air.

“Jack...” said Edgeworth warningly. “It’s not a very good idea to expend such... emotion on trivial coincidences.”

“Pipe down, Mr. Edgeworth, I’m trying to listen!” exclaimed Jack as he grabbed a remote and turned the television volume up.

“...we at DNN have received word that the judge has declared a verdict; though word of that verdict has not yet directly reached me. Of course, the specifics of this case make it very likely that the suspect, Mr. Larry Butz, was found guilty. However, I will hold off on official pronouncement before the verdict has been released...” Jumper trailed off as someone appeared on screen and placed a sheet of paper on the desk in front of her. As she gave the new paper a quick read, her expression went from its normal detachment to stunned disbelief.

“Looks like she drank a bottle of something nasty,” said Jack, clapping his hands together gleefully at the newswoman’s discomfort.

“Please keep a lid on your emotions, Mr. Keeper,” muttered Edgeworth.

Jack merely gave a mock salute and returned his attention to the TV, where Lily Jumper seemed to have finally overcome enough of her shock to begin speaking again. “More breaking news coming into DNN headquarters,” she stated morosely. “It appears that the Cindy Stone case has ended in a verdict of ‘Not Guilty’ for the defendant, Mr. Larry Butz.” She paused dramatically before continuing, “It appears that a guilty verdict was avoided when Mr. Butz’s defense attorney managed to successfully convict a supposedly innocent witness of the crime. For more on this incredible chain of events, I turn things over to our legal expert, Mr. Bill Grantor.”

The screen cut away to show an older man with wavy gray hair and a neatly trimmed beard sitting behind another news desk, presumably elsewhere in the same studio. “Thank you, Lily,” he said in a low, raspy voice. “While the Cindy Stone murder trial ended just about fifteen minutes ago, we’ve managed to gather enough information through our video link to the courthouse in order to give it a through and proper analysis. At first glance, this case appeared to be absurdly simple, even for this day and age. The victim had apparently died from a single blow to the head from a blunt object. The blunt object appeared to be this statue of ‘The Thinker’.” A picture of the statue appeared just above Grantor’s shoulder.

“Hey... I saw a big version of that statue in Europe once,” said Jack. “Don’t fancy getting knocked over the head with it, that’s for sure.”

“Quiet, Jack!” Edgeworth was now starting to pay considerable attention to the television. Jack merely frowned and returned his focus to the broadcast.

“...Mr. Larry Butz also had considerable reason to kill Ms. Stone. The prosecutor for this case, Mr. Winston Payne, put forth the argument that Mr. Butz had recently dumped by the victim.” At this point, a picture of Payne appeared in the empty space above Mr. Grantor’s right shoulder. Jack smiled when he realized it was an old photo, taken back when Payne still had a full head of hair.

“I feel sorry for old Winston,” said Jack softly. “I guess I’ve got myself a room full of sympathy balloons now.”

“Shhh!”

“Sorry.”

“However, all of Prosecutor Payne’s arguments were completely rebuffed by rookie defense attorney Phoenix Wright.” Mr. Payne’s old photograph was suddenly replaced by a picture of a much younger man with spiky dark hair.

Jack was about to comment on the DA’s bizarre hair when he noticed Edgeworth coughing furiously; apparently he’d gotten some wine in his windpipe.

“Are you okay, Mr. Edgeworth?” asked Jack loudly.

Edgeworth continued to gasp on his own air.

“C’mon, Mr. Edgeworth, get a hold of yourself! You don’t want to end up getting CPR from me, now do you?”

Edgeworth finally managed to catch his breath. “My apologies, Mr. Keeper. Now would you turn the set off, please?”

“But I’m still watching this report!” whined Jack.

“Turn the set off!” shouted Edgeworth, pointing at the TV furiously, as if his finger could magically make it explode.

“Fine,” huffed Jack. He grabbed the remote and turned off the television. “I’d better be getting a good tip for this,” he grumbled.

“Oh, you will. Now pour me another glass of wine, please.”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “You haven’t even finished what’s in front of you,” he said, pointing to Edgeworth’s half-full wineglass.

Edgeworth scowled and chugged the rest of his wine in a quick series of gulps, completely abandoning his usual connoisseur habits. He slammed the wineglass back on the table and slid it towards Jack. “Now fill it up.”

Jack sighed and filled the glass to the appropriate level. Edgeworth snatched the glass as soon as he could and downed half of it in a single swallow, his face contorting slightly from the wine’s bitter aftertaste.

“Damn, Mr. Edgeworth, take it easy!” said Jack loudly, clapping a hand to his forehead. “What’s up with you, anyway? You’re acting like you’ve just seen a Goddamn ghost!”

For the briefest instant, the corner of Edgeworth’s mouth twitched upward into a half-smile. “Maybe I have, Mr. Keeper. Maybe I have...” he muttered before sipping at his wine once again.

Jack fell silent as he tried to figure out exactly what Edgeworth meant by “seeing a ghost”. However, his silent reverie was cut short as he heard repetitive thumping sounds echoing from off into the distance. “Do you hear that?” he asked Edgeworth.

Edgeworth sat down his wineglass and nodded. “Sounds like someone running in the hallways.”

“I can’t see much outside the door,” said Jack slowly, “but it sounds like it’s heading right for us!”

“I’ll check,” said Edgeworth. He stood up and walked to a spot where he could peer down the length of the long hallway outside the Gavel’s open door. “Uh-oh...” he said, his voice slightly on edge.

“What is it? Something bad?”

“No, not bad... just... annoying,” he drawled as he sat back on his bar stool.

“What do you mean by that?” asked Jack.

Edgeworth never got to reply as a tall, hefty man in a trench coat burst into the room. He slipped about on the wood-paneled floor as he somehow managed to keep his pace at a run without knocking over any of the seldom-used tables. He finally slid to a stop a few feet away from the bar, a big smile on his dopy bandaged face.

“Afternoon Jack; Mr. Edgeworth!” he exclaimed, breathing heavily thanks to his meaningless run. “It’s great to see my two favorite pals hanging out together!”

“I don’t know Edgeworth would consider this to be ‘hanging out’. But that doesn’t really matter, now doesn’t it? It’s good to see you too, Detective Gumshoe!” said Jack brightly, extending an arm across the bar counter. While the Chief Homicide Detective was neither a big spender nor a decent tipper, the crazy stories he often told during his trips to the Gavel were valuable enough to make him one of Jack’s favorites.

“It’s good to see you too, pal!” said Gumshoe, crushing Jack’s hand with an overenthusiastic handshake. He let Jack’s fingers go and spun around on the stool to face Edgeworth. “The same goes for you, Mr. Edgeworth!” He again extended his hand.

“I’ll pass,” said Edgeworth simply, before stating, “While’s it’s all well and good to see you here, Gumshoe, should you not be on duty? I’d hate to have to put yet another smudge on your record.”

Surprisingly, Gumshoe’s smile merely got wider. “Its okay, Mr. Edgeworth! Chief Gant gave me the day off today!”

“Sounds like an awful nice thing for him to do,” said Jack cautiously. “Did you earn a reward or something?”

Gumshoe chuckled, his trench coat dancing as his body shook up and down. “Nah, nothing like that. What was it that Gant told me yesterday...? Oh, yeah. He said, ‘I was walking outside on my break and I saw an old hound dog chasing its stubby little tail, having the time of its life. It reminded me of a certain detective that hasn’t had a day off in a good while. Stay home and have some fun tomorrow, Gumshoe.’” Gumshoe paused and flashed another smile. “Wasn’t that nice of him, pals?”

“Er, sure,” said Jack as Edgeworth murmured in agreement. “Now, what do you want to drink, detective?”

“One beer, please!” said Gumshoe enthusiastically. “Oh and one, er... no, it’s not important...” he added, trailing off.

“Are you sure it’s not important?” asked Jack, raising an eyebrow. “You suddenly look kind of down.”

“Oh, it’s not really that big of a deal...” muttered Gumshoe, scratching the back of his head nervously.

“Are you sure?” added Edgeworth. “There’s no sense in making yourself feel bad for no good reason.”

“Yeah, but... it’s embarrassing!”

“Ah, come on,” said Jack, putting on his most endearing voice. “Edgeworth and I are your best... pals. We won’t laugh at your request; we promise. Right, Mr. Edgeworth?”

“Huh? Oh, right, right...” said Edgeworth, quailing under Jack’s glare.

“Fine... if you’re sure you won’t laugh...” He took a deep breath and asked very quickly, “Can I have one of those balloons, please?”

Jack quickly clapped a hand to his mouth to stop himself from breaking his promise. Jack looked over at Edgeworth to see that, while the High Prosecutor wasn’t laughing, the corners of his mouth had turned upward into an undeniable smirk.

“Of course, Detective. No shame in that request.” Jack turned to hide his smile and filled up a mug with beer. He then grabbed the nearest smiley-faced balloon and handed it to Gumshoe along with his drink.

“Your beer, and your balloon,” said Jack simply. “Would you like me to tie it around your wrist for you?”

“Yeah, that’d be nice... Hey!” Gumshoe’s face went from genial to angry in an instant. “Quit making fun of me, pal!”

Jack chuckled wryly. “Sorry, couldn’t resist. Do you want anything else, Mr. Edgeworth?”

Edgeworth shook his head. “Not now. I’m just going to sit here and sober slightly before I attempt to drive home. The last thing I need is to crash my new car.”

“Clever as always, Mr. Edgeworth!” said Gumshoe. He tugged at the balloon string in his hand and watched the smiley-face danced in the air jerkily. “What’re all these balloons here for, anyway?”

“Well, Mr. Keeper here purchased them in order to celebrate Prosecutor Payne’s court victory today,” said Edgeworth morosely. “Unfortunately, he underestimated that man’s ability to lose even the simplest of cases.”

“I see...” suddenly, a puzzled look flashed across Gumshoe’s face, making him look even more clueless than usual. “Wait... you said Mr. Payne lost his case today?”

“Yes, he lost. It was on the television just a few minutes ago.”

“But... that’s impossible! My source told me Mr. Payne won! That Harry Butz is nothing but a rotten, no good murderer, pals!”

Harry Butz? Thought Jack disbelievingly. The man wasn’t named specifically for a bad pun, detective.

“What is your source? Nerdy Bob’s random internet page?” asked Edgeworth sneeringly.

“No... Its this!” He reached inside his trench coat and handed Edgeworth a small, square newspaper. “Take that, Mr. Edgeworth!”

Edgeworth’s eyes disappeared into his hair as he stared at the cover of the magazine. “The... District City Revealer?! You... you can’t honestly believe this piece of garbage!” He threw the paper on the bar.

Jack looked at the tabloid with disbelief. Staring up at his was a poor-quality picture of Phoenix Wright, and the glaring headline Harry Butz: The killer among us... REVEALED! “Hmmm,” muttered Jack softly. “I can see at least three things wrong with this cover.”

“Sure you can, pal, sure you can...” said Gumshoe sarcastically. “What’s wrong with it, if you’re so smart?”

“Well, first of all... the defendant’s name was not ‘Harry Butz’, it was Larry Butz!”

Gumshoe jumped slightly and his mouth opened in shock. “Really? Well... that’s no big deal! Maybe the person typing the headline hit the wrong key! Yeah, that’s it! Happens all the time! Heck, I’ve accidentally typed my name in as ‘Rick Humstew’ more times that I can count, pal! It’s an honest mistake!”

“Maybe,” muttered Jack as he wondered just how bad of a typist Gumshoe had to be to misspell his name that horrendously. “But look at this picture again.” Jack turned the paper over so Gumshoe could see and taped on Mr. Wright’s face.

“I see it. That’s Mr. Butz, right?”

Jack sighed. “Wrong. According to the television, that is a photograph of defense attorney Phoenix Wright!”

Gumshoe jumped back again, his eyes bulging. “Really?” he spun around to face Edgeworth. “Is that true, Mr. Edgeworth?”

Edgeworth sighed and made a sour face. “Jack is correct, detective.” he said languidly.

“Wow...” said Gumshoe. “But... they could have just put in the wrong picture! Heck, last week I accidentally replaced the picture of a murder weapon in a report with an image of a banana cream pie! Mistakes happen to the best of us, pal!”

Jack placed a hand against his forehead as he tried to comprehend the backlash that mistake made at the Police Department. “Fine... but answer one more question for me... and I’ll prove that you can’t trust this... thing!” Jack tapped the paper as he spoke.

Gumshoe frown for just a moment before flashing his biggest smile yet. “Sure thing, pal. I’ll answer your question. Lay it on me!”

Jack was about to ask Mr. Gumshoe nicely when he was struck by an idea He sent Edgeworth a smile and a wink before he hunched his shoulders slightly and forced his face into a tired frown. Carefully mimicking Edgeworth’s soft, smooth speech inflections, he said, “Tell me, Detective Gumshoe. At exactly what... time did you purchase this newspaper?”

“Well, that’s easy, Mr. Edge..., er Jack,” said Gumshoe confusedly. “I got it around noontime! The newspaper stand was right across the street from the hotdog stand where I got my lunch today.”

“Objection!” yelled Jack. He slammed his right hand against the bar, as Edgeworth often did in a rant after one complementary wine too many. “Detective Gumshoe. Your most recent statement contradicts the rest of the evidence.”

“Huh? W-what do you mean?” Gumshoe tugged at the neck of his shirt, nervous.

Smirking once again, Jack grabbed the tabloid and brandished it thoughtfully. “If you were able to buy this magazine at noon, it must have been printed early this morning, correct?”

“Yeah... that’s right, pal!”

“And therein lies the problem. You see, detective Gumshoe... the verdict in the Cindy Stone Murder Trial was reached just several minutes ago. Both Mr. Edgeworth and I saw the television announce it just before you entered this bar!”

“W-what does that mean?”

“If you look at the facts objectively, you will notice one thing, and one thing alone.” Jack mimicked one of Edgeworth’s trademark dramatic pauses. “It is quite impossible This newspaper couldn’t have accurately printed the verdict of a trial before it even started, Detective!”

“What...? No!” Gumshoe shook his fist in anger, an action that would have been more scary-looking were it not for the balloon string still in his hand.

“Members of the bar, the facts are clear. This so-called ‘honest newspaper’ has misspelled the defendants name, misprinted the defendant’s picture, and passed judgment on the defendant well before he even received a chance to legally defend himself! In other words...” Jack gave another dramatic pause. “This newspaper is nothing more than a lying, sensationalist rag!”

“N-n-n... Aaargh!” yelled Gumshoe, his head in his hands.

Jack bowed dramatically. “I rest my case.”

Gumshoe continued to hold his hands over his face, sniffling slightly. Apparently, Jack’s rather obvious comments had severely shaken his view of things.

“Get a hold of yourself, Detective, it’s not a real trial!” admonished Edgeworth loudly. He turned to Jack and shot him a glare. “If you have gained the ability to mock me with such... uncanny accuracy, perhaps it would be best if I stopped making such frequent appearances,” he threatened coldly.

Jack gave a weak chuckle and grinned nervously. “Sorry about that, Mr. Edgeworth; you know I tend to get carried away sometimes...” he said in his normal, non-dramatic voice. Jack frowned at Gumshoe’s continued sobbing; he had underestimated the detective’s attachment to his favorite newspaper. Feeling guilty, Jack figured it’d be best to give Gumshoe some compensation for his dressing down. After all, a good bartender has to take care of his regulars.

“Detective?”

“Yeah, pal?” said Gumshoe, his voice still weak from sadness.

“Thanks for being a good sport, detective. That beer’s on the house.”

Gumshoe’s expression went from tearful to ecstatic so quickly that Jack jumped backwards in surprise. “Really! Thanks pal! I feel all better now!” he shouted.

Jack laughed at Gumshoe’s simplicity. “I’m sure you do.”

Edgeworth sighed. “You’re lucky you did that when you did, Mr. Keeper. I don’t think I could have taken much more... whining.”

Jack smiled and was about to tell Edgeworth he wholeheartedly agreed when...

“Waaargh!” A shrill yell echoed into the room.

Edgeworth glared at Gumshoe for a moment before he realized that he was not the source of the noise. “What the hell was that?” he asked out loud.

“Not sure,” muttered Jack darkly.

“Sounded like a banshee!” exclaimed Gumshoe.

“Somehow, I doubt there’s a banshee in the Prosecutors’ Office,” said Edgeworth.

“Waaargh!” The scream was louder this time.

“Are you sure?” asked Gumshoe.

“Yes, I’m sure! Now hold your tongue; I can’t hear anything over your bickering!”

“Waaargh!” Louder still.

“Whatever it is, it’s pissed,” said Jack.

“Waaargh!” With one final wail, Winston Payne wearily shuffled through the Gavel’s open door. He slowly felt his way across the room as if he were a blind man and sat in the empty stool next to Gumshoe with an awkward thump. His normally pale face was blotchy; his remaining hair was disheveled; his glasses were askew. He paused and suddenly started sucking in air; obviously getting ready to yell again.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” shouted Jack, frantically waving his hands in front of Payne’s face. “I know you lost your case today, but that’s no reason to have a screaming match here!” Jack racked his brain for things that would make Payne feel a little better about himself. “Why don’t you order a drink; tell us your story! Here, have a balloon.” He thrust one of the smiley-face balloons at Payne, who grabbed it bemusedly.

“Er... thanks,” he muttered wearily, obviously confused.

“I heard about your case on the news today,” said Edgeworth sullenly. “My deepest condolences.”

“Yeah, Mr. Payne!” chimed in Gumshoe. “You don’t need to make a fool of yourself just because you lost one case! Isn’t that right, Mr. Edgeworth?”

Edgeworth chuckled, a superior smirk forming on his face. “I honestly wouldn’t know, detective.”

“Oh yeah. Sorry, pal.”

Jack decided it would be best to ignore Edgeworth and Gumshoe at the moment. He turned his head back to Payne and shot him a friendly smile. “What’ll you have? Your usual?”

“No thanks, Jack. I don’t think a Shirley Temple will cheer me up today no matter how many cherries you put in it. Get me a... light beer.”

“Alright, Mr. Payne, but in the interest of the Golden Gavel and its patrons I’m going to have to limit you to one.” Jack shot Payne a glare to show he was serious.

“What? Why?” stammered Payne, his eyebrows rising in surprise.

Jack’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Do you remember what happened the last time you came here and had more than one beer?”

Payne smirked. “Of course I can, I... er...” he trailed off. “It’s all hazy; I guess nothing worth remembering happened.” he said sheepishly.

“Not quite,” said Jack as he filled Payne’s mug. “You see, two years ago you decided to have several beers in quick succession.”

“Right. I remember that.”

“Well, after you downed two and half beers, you started getting rather skittish. I tried to keep you from doing anything stupid, but there was no stopping you that night.” Jack chuckled dryly.

Payne started to sweat in alarm. “What do you mean?” he wheezed.

“If my memory’s not mistaken... and it hasn’t been in a good long time... You started by getting everyone’s attention and declaring your love for ‘Bloody Mary’. Then, you climbed on a table and started disco dancing to a song nobody but you could hear. Once you got sick of that, you proceeded to steal my karaoke machine and tried to sing a Mariah Carey song. Unfortunately, you had turned the volume so damn high that your singing voice ended up shattering nearly half my good bar crystal. You only managed to get home that night because I stuffed your ass into a taxi and gave the driver very specific instructions along with a huge tip.”

“Are you serious?” squeaked Payne.

“Why do you think I no longer sit my crystal out on the bar shelves? And, for that matter, for what other reason would I suddenly start keeping my karaoke machine in a padlocked cupboard?”

“I... I...”

“Don’t remember. But I have witnesses if you don’t believe me,” said Jack solemnly. “Oh, here you go,” he added, placing the beer in front of Payne.

“I honestly don’t know if I want it anymore,” Payne muttered, before taking a sip nevertheless.

“Now, would you mind explaining why you came in here screaming your damn head off?” asked Jack seriously. “Detective Gumshoe here thought you were a banshee, out to reap lost souls or something.”

“You can’t be serious...” he muttered.

“Detective Gumshoe indeed thought that. In fact, for the briefest of moments, I honestly considered agreeing with him,” said Edgeworth plainly.

“I’m sorry,” muttered Payne. “Today has simply been... quite a shock for me.”

“Its okay, pal!” said Gumshoe cheerfully as he clapped Payne on the back (nearly knocking him off the stool in the process). “Tell us about your problems; it’ll make you feel all better!”

“That is what we’re here for,” added Jack with a hint of amusement. “Right, Mr. Edgeworth?”

Edgeworth jumped slightly at the sudden mention of his name. “Yeah, er, right...” he muttered sarcastically.

“Fine...” said Payne resignedly. You all know about the circumstances of the trial, right?”

“Some of them. I’d know more if Mr. Edgeworth hadn’t made me shut off the TV halfway through DNN’s explanation,” said Jack bitterly. Edgeworth sent him a withering glare in response.

“Mia Fey’s been a thorn in my side for years...” said Payne. “In nearly half a decade I haven’t once gotten the better of her.” He paused to sip his drink. “I mean, even nowadays I usually get beat the rookies a couple of times before they start outmaneuvering me. But not her. She was the start of my ruin.”

“You’ve told me this many times before,” said Jack matter-of-factly. “What makes one more defeat so horrible?”

Payne laughed shakily. “If I was going up against Mia again, I would have expected to lose. But they told me I was going against her new guy; her rookie!” He pounded a fist against the bar half-heartedly.

“Yeah... his name was Mr. Wright, right?” asked Jack.

“That’s what the people in charge told me. Of course, it would have been nice if they’d told me that the defense attorney was also... him!” Payne dragged out the last word as if it were an expletive.

“Him?” repeated Jack confusedly, scratching his head.

“You know, Jack. Him! Pink-shirt!”

“Pink-shirt?” Now Jack sounded even more confused than he had before.

“Yeah, pink-shirt!” Payne started nodding furiously, his glasses slipping towards the end of his nose. “The innocent bastard that brought about my downfall!” Payne’s face contorted into a feral grin, giving him a remarkable resemblance to an angry Yorkshire terrier.

“Wait,” muttered Jack, remembering Payne’s often-told story. “You mean, five years ago, Mia’s defendant was...”

“Yes, yes! Phoenix Wright!” exclaimed Payne, sounding like he was on the verge of tears.

Well, at least that’s almost an acceptable reason to have a nervous breakdown in public, thought Jack blandly. I’d better make sure he lets out the whole story so it doesn’t eat at him. He took a deep breath before saying, “Alright, Mr. Payne. Now tell me what went wrong at the courthouse today.” Jack made sure to keep his voice calm and controlled.

“You really want to know?”

“If I don’t listen to my customer’s problems, I’ve got nothing to do but pour drinks. Considering my regular amount of business, that job by itself can get right boring,” said Jack, chuckling.

“Fine,” muttered Payne darkly. He paused and took another sip of beer; the mug was nearly finished when he sat it back down. “As much as I hate to say it this way, my problems today all boiled down to one thing...my witness.”

“Oh yeah. I read about that in yesterday’s paper. Of course, in there you called the witness ‘reliable’,” said Jack airily.

“I thought he was! I mean, he seemed so nice and honest. Why did he have to lie to me?!” Payne swayed slightly in his chair; even half a beer had a significant effect on his balance.

“Well, someone in his position obviously isn’t going to admit the truth,” said Jack. “Didn’t his story seem fishy when you were going over it with him before the trial?”

“How should I know?” whined Payne. “We only discussed his testimony for twenty minutes!”

Edgeworth suddenly shot Payne a cockeyed glare. “No offense, Mr. Payne, but twenty minutes seems like an awfully... insufficient amount of time for preparing such a vital witness,” he droned.

“I know, I know! But I had such a headache; I could barely hear what the man was saying, let alone compare it to the evidence at hand!”

“You get headaches too, pal?” asked Gumshoe, his eyes widening. “Man, I get those things all the time! Of course, it probably wouldn’t be so bad if I didn’t keep hitting my head on things!” He rapped a meaty fist against the side of his head. “Knock knock! See?” Gumshoe suddenly stopped knocking and rubbed the same spot furiously. “Ouch...”

Edgeworth let out a heavy sigh.

Payne ignored Gumshoe’s stupidity and Edgeworth’s reaction. “Such a nice man, that Mr. Sahwit.” A shadow fell over Payne’s face. “Of course, it would have been nice if he’d been smart enough to look at a God damn clock after he committed the crime, the liar!”

“You’re starting to repeat yourself, Mr. Payne. So this Mr. Sahwit guy was a lying crook, eh?”

Payne nodded and tapped a twitchy finger to his temple in a poor imitation of one of Edgeworth’s favorite courtroom gestures. “Yep. That’s right. You know about the murder weapon?”

“I managed to see that. It was a statue, right? ‘The Thinker?’”

“Almost,” said Payne, limply waving a hand to and fro. “You see, I thought that too at first, and submitted the damn thing to the court as a statue. But it turns out it’s actually a butt-ugly clock! You tilt the head, and it tells you what time it is! Isn’t that just great?”

“Sounds like a neat idea,” said Jack gently. “But what does that have to do with your witness?”

“Wait,” muttered Edgeworth, stroking his chin in a thoughtful manner. “Your witness got the clock confused with the time of death, didn’t he?”

“Yep.” said Payne, nodding clumsily. “I would’ve been able to tell the Judge he was making a silly mistake, but Sahwit was just too sure of himself.” Payne clapped his hands together and started swaying his body from side to side. “One o’clock. Yes, one o’clock. I am certain I saw the body at one o’clock.” he quoted, his voice rapid and lilting.

“Sounds like a real go-getter,” Jack mumbled to himself. “How’d you figure out it was a clock?”

Payne drank the last of his beer and looked at Jack crookedly. “Mr. One-for-certain kept stumbling over his own testimony. After he screwed up the time, he mumbled some garbage about hearing a taped TV program. Would’ve worked too if it wasn’t for that downtown blackout.”

“Oh yeah, I remember hearing about that. Good thing it didn’t affect our Office; Donny told me the backup generator’s been on the fritz a while and they still haven’t bothered repairing it.”

Payne peeled back his face into a hideous smile. “Indeed!” he exclaimed in a poor imitation of Robert Hammond’s voice. “But you didn’t let me finish my story.”

“Oh, sorry. Always getting sidetracked...”

“Anyway, Sahwit tried to backpedal a bit on the time of the murder, but he had to call the statue a clock to do that. Was only then I realized that I’d mislabeled my evidence.”

“A good attorney always double-checks his evidence,” said Edgeworth mechanically.

“I know, I know! I just couldn’t focus! So pink-shirt learned it was a clock, and used the time gap and my motive evidence to prove my witness guilty beyond the smallest of doubts! I tried to keep it from happening that way, but he was too... energetic!” said Payne, his voice indicating he was close to tears.

“It’s okay, pal! There’s always next time!” said Gumshoe cheerfully; patting Payne lightly on the back (apparently even Gumshoe could tell that Payne was getting rather tipsy).

Payne gave a sarcastic giggle. “Fat chance! The porcupine’s so damn good he’d have to get a bout of amnesia before I had a chance at beating him!”

“Sounds like one tough cookie,” said Jack, shaking his head from side to side.

“Very tough. Most convincing rookie I’ve seen since Fey herself.” Payne spun around twice in his stool before stopping it so he faced Edgeworth and Gumshoe. Leaning around Gumshoe’s large body he whispered, “You’d better watch out for that one, Edgeworth. He’s going to be one hell of a DA to mess with, mark my words.”

Edgeworth’s face soured at Payne’s warning. “I think, Mr. Payne, its high time you should be going home,” he said coldly.

“Fine,” said Payne, waving a hand. “Now I just need to remember where I parked my car.” He jumped to his feet, swayed slightly, and started to fall forward. He grabbed the bar counter in order to stop his fall. “Strange... the ground’s gotten a lot shaker since I sat down...”

Gumshoe put his right arm under Payne’s left shoulder and hoisted him back to a standing position. “Doesn’t look like you’ll be driving yourself home tonight, pal,” he said somberly. “Not unless you want me putting you under arrest, of course.” Gumshoe chuckled at his bit of wit.

“Then... who’s going to drive me home?”

Gumshoe spun 180 degrees and shot Edgeworth a pleading look.

Edgeworth’s face contorted in irritation. “Why can’t you do it?” he asked sullenly.

“My apartment and his are on opposite sides of the city, Mr. Edgeworth! But your house is only a couple minutes away. Please?” He poked out his lip as if he were a two-year-old demanding a sweet.

Edgeworth’s face contorted even further; he turned to glare at Jack.

“You’re the one that suggested he go home, Mr. Edgeworth.” said Jack with a smile.

Edgeworth appeared even angrier; his left eye started to twitch ominously. “Errrgh... fine.” he spat. He reached into his pants pocket, pulled out a wallet, and slammed a fifty-dollar banknote on the counter. “This should be enough to cover me and him,” he sneered, pointing a finger at Payne.

“More than enough!” said Jack brightly. “Hope you have a good trip!” He paused for a moment. “Oh, and take some balloons with you before you go!

Edgeworth merely growled again and snatched a couple of balloons out of the air before getting to his feet and grabbing Payne by the arm. “Come on, Rookie Crusher, we’re going for a ride.” He shook his head as Payne nearly fell flat on his face trying to walk across the room. “Your wife’s going to be proud of you when you get home,” he muttered before leading Payne out the door.

Gumshoe chuckled as Edgeworth’s complaints and curses echoed down the hall. “You know, pal, Mr. Edgeworth’s got a decent heart, even if he doesn’t want to admit it.”

Jack’s eyes widened in surprise. “You know, I think that’s the least stupid thing I’ve heard you say all day, detective. I’d give you a free beer for that if I hadn’t already given you one.”

Gumshoe merely chuckled in response. “And if it wasn’t for that first beer, I’d be rather mad at you right now for saying that.” he paused and looked upward, apparently lost in thought. “Of course, it’s isn’t too hard to notice; I haven’t seen Edgeworth that... edgy in a long while.”

Jack nodded. “I noticed. Today’s also the first day I’ve seen Payne drink alcohol in two years. And if I’m not mistaken, both of them are tying themselves in knots over the same thing.”

“What?” asked Gumshoe, his eyes sparkling with curiosity.

“Not what, detective... Who.” Noticing Gumshoe’s blank expression, Jack sighed and slid the copy of the District City Revealer so he could again see the cover picture.

“Hairy Butz?” asked Gumshoe slowly.

Jack sighed; Gumshoe had obviously already forgotten he was looking at a picture of Phoenix Wright. “Yeah, him,” he muttered, smiling. Impulsively, Jack turned the paper back around and poked Wright’s mislabeled picture deftly. “I’m going to be keeping my eye on you, Mr. Wright...” he whispered, chuckling softly.

---

Episode II: Storm's A Brewin'

Part 1/3: Wine and Spirits

August 5th, 2016, 7:45 PM

“I don’t care how much evidence you think there is to support it, Donny. You are wrong, wrong, wrong!” yelled Jack, his eyebrows narrowing in anger.

“Well, Jack, I’m sorry you feel that way. I’m not going to abandon my core beliefs just to make you happy.” Donny swayed slightly in his barstool before taking another sip of his fourth beer. “Besides, my ‘evidence’ is no worse than yours.” He turned to the man on his right. “Isn’t that right, Mr. P?”

Winston Payne jumped at the sudden question; some of his two-cheery Shirley Temple spilled over the lip of his cocktail glass and pooled on the bar counter. “I-I don’t really have an opinion on that issue, Mr. Docket,” he stammered.

Donny let out an exaggerated sigh. “Never were one to take sides, were you, Mr. P? All right...” Donny leaned forward on the bar and cocked his head to the side so he could see all the way down the counter. “What about you, Mr. H?!” he yelled, his speech slurring.

Robert Hammond merely frowned and harrumphed loudly. “I believe your little argument is immature and pointless.” He took a small sip of his premium beer before adding, “I refuse to drag myself down to your level by getting involved.”

“You’re hopeless, Mr. H!” yelled Donny, slamming a fist against the table. He turned back to Jack and gave him a red-eyed stare. “I still don’t see why you can’t see my side of things for once.”

“Because it’s absolutely and utterly wrong, Donny,” replied Jack, stressing each syllable as he if he were speaking to a small child. “The evil magistrate is absolutely not a stronger warrior than the Steel Samurai! He just hides behind his minions so it appears that way!”

“Excuse me?” asked Donny obnoxiously. “The magistrate does not HIDE behind his minions. He uses them STRATEGICALLY so that he can gather his strength for when he meets the Steel Samurai face-to-face!”

“Whatever,” muttered Jack, crossing his arms. “It doesn’t really matter anyway; the Samurai will win in the end.”

Donny raised an eyebrow. “Why are you so sure of that?”

Jack sighed and shook his head. “Donny, it’s a show made for CHILDREN. If the Magistrate wins in the end, it’d be like telling all the little kids across the country that evil always triumphs over good! It’s quite obvious that the Samurai will win in the end.”

Donny’s eyebrow receded further. “And when, exactly, is this magical ‘end’ you keep mentioning?”

“When the people making the show decide to end the series, you dolt,” said Jack matter-of-factly.

“Dolt?! What gives you the right to call me a dolt, you-”

“L-let’s talk about something else!” squealed Payne suddenly. “Like... like... the weather! How about that weather, eh?”

“Weather...?” asked Jack incredulously. “Really, Mr. Payne, you could have thought of something a little less... generic.” Jack paused and placed a finger against his chin in thought. “That reminds me, I’d better check the Weather Station. It was rather cloudy when I came in this afternoon, and there’s no way I can figure out the weather by looking through that excuse for a window.” He pointed at the Golden Gavel’s only window, a 4’ by 1’ pane of frosty glass embedded at the top of the wall to his right. The original clear window had supposedly been replaced for ‘security reasons’, but Jack knew that the real reason was so no passersby would notice that there was a tavern tucked away in a government building. Jack gave the white rectangle a final shake of his head before reaching for his remote and turning the television on a Weather Station.

“...a very powerful line of severe thunderstorms approaching District City. As you can see on this radar map, this is a very impressive system, and a severe thunderstorm warning has been issued for the entire District City Metropolitan Area...” said a dark-haired man with a baritone voice as he pointed at a large blob of color on the regional map behind him.

Jack let out a low whistle. “Damn, look at all those reds and yellows! Looks like we’re about to go for a bumpy ride...”

“I don’t think I’m going to driving home today,” said Payne softly. “Thunderstorms are hard enough for me to deal with without me trying to drive through them.”

Despite being closest to the TV, Hammond seemed completely unfazed. “I have been through many storms before in my life. There’s no need for me to change my plans because of a little water falling from the sky.”

“Speak for yourself,” muttered Payne under his breath.

“I don’t care about the rain,” slurred Donny. “Don’t care about it ONE bit. If the city floods, it’ll flood. Who cares?”

“I’d care,” said Jack matter-of-factly. “In case you’re forgetting, I run my business underground.”

“You run an underground business?” shouted Donny, his eyes suddenly wide. “Why, Jack, I didn’t know you sold drugs! If you weren’t my friend, you’d be so busted, you know that?”

Jack smacked his head in frustration. “By underground business, I meant here; the Gavel. A business that happens to be under the ground. If the roads outside the building flood I’m not going to have a very good time, believe you me.”

From his seat at the end of the bar, Hammond called, “Do you really think anyone could get away with selling drugs here? This is a government building, Mr. Docket! Half the legal system comes here on a weekly basis! Seriously, you must be quite the imbecile to accuse your... friend of such rubbish!”

Donny’s cheek’s flushed deeply; his expression became downcast and sullen. “Sorry Jack. Not thinking straight,” he muttered, before letting out a heavy sigh. “Gettin’ drunk’s a lot better at the clubs; at least there you have a chance at meeting a pretty girl or two.”

“Well, you chose to drink here, and drink heavily to boot. Now deal with it,” said Jack in a no-nonsense tone.

Donny raised a finger and was about to say something else when the door opened and the familiar chime rang throughout the bar. Jack’s eyes widened slightly at the sight of a rather shapely young woman making her way towards the bar counter. Jack’s customers turned around and looked at her as well; after all, her open jacket and short skirt would have fit in better at one of Donny’s favorite clubs than in a courtroom. She stopped walking just a few feet from the bar, shook several loose strands of long brown hair out of her face, and smiled. “Hello, everyone. Mind if I join you?” she asked, her voice somewhat forceful despite its sweetness.

Jack’s face broke into a wide grin. “Of course you can, Ms. Fey! Haven’t seen you for over two months now; thought you might have disappeared on me!”

Mia’s eyes widened slightly before she realized Jack was only kidding. “I haven’t disappeared; I’ve just had more work than usual,” she stated.

“It’s understandable. Have a seat, Ms. Fey.” Jack waved an arm to indicate the various remaining stools.

Mia nodded respectfully and walked towards the open barstool next to Payne. However, before she could sit down Payne suddenly stuck his right arm out to the side, blocking her.

“Oh, is this seat saved, Mr. Payne?” she asked.

“Why... yes! Yes it is!” stammered Payne in a voice even squeakier than normal. “I... I need it to... um... sit my drink down!” He quickly grabbed his cocktail glass and sat it in the center of the barstool. “It gives me more arm room, you know?” He placed his arms on the counter and dragged them back and forth to prove his point.

“Oh... okay,” said Mia, her voice clearly stating the fact she didn’t believe him. She took a step towards the empty seat beside Payne’s glass before she noticed Robert Hammond was occupying the other adjacent stool.

“Miss Fey,” said Hammond, his voice too stiff to be polite.

“Mr. Hammond,” she returned, her voice hardening slightly. Mia shook her head as if to clear some thoughts before turning around and finally settling in the empty barstool next to Donny. “Sorry about that, Jake,” she said, her voice warm again. “I guess I looked a lost there, didn’t I?”

Jack sighed softly; Mia always did have trouble remembering his name. Of course, he couldn’t exactly blame her; a skilled defense attorney had to deal with many people on a day-to-day basis. “It’s okay, it happens to the best of us. Heck, one time I came in here and sat on a barstool for five minutes before I realized I was on the wrong side of the counter!”

Mia started to laugh quietly; various... parts of her body moved upward and downward.

Jack managed to ignore such motions (with some difficulty, of course) and instead shot Mia a glare. “Hey, I didn’t become a bartender just to be openly mocked!” he exclaimed loudly, placing a hand to his heart.

“Sorry,” said Mia softly.

Jack remained stony-faced for a split-second before laughing out loud. “Its okay, it’s okay, I kid, I kid,” he exclaimed, waving his hand back and forth. “All the mocking and counter-mocking is half the fun around here. Now what’ll you have?”

“Some wine would be nice.”

“Say no more, Ms. Fey!” Jack spun around on one foot, strode over to his little wine rack, and started gazing at the various bottles thoughtfully and examined one of them. “Mr. Edgeworth had this red wine a couple of days ago while you were in the courtroom. He said it had a bit of an aftertaste issue, but the price is right.”

“I’ll pass,” said Mia thoughtfully. “Do you have anything else?”

“Let me see...” I got a decent chardonnay here. It’s a bit pricier, but I guarantee its better, too.”

“I’ll have that, then.”

“Excellent!” And with that, Jack grabbed a wineglass and filled it to the proper level with the yellowish-white liquid. He examined the wine at eye level for just a moment before gently setting it in front of Mia. “Is it to your liking?” he asked.

Mia grabbed the glass nimbly and took a small sip. “It’s quite good,” she said, smiling.

“Thank you for saying so. Of course, I shouldn’t really take the credit; all I did was pour the stuff into a glass. Praise is praise, I guess...”

“BANG!” Robert Hammond smashed his left fist against the bar. “Can I get another beer over here, damn it?!”

Jack sighed and rolled his eyes. “Such a happy fellow,” he muttered sarcastically before making his way to the other end of the bar.

“Sorry for the wait, Mr. Hammond,” said Jack levelly as he grabbed another mug and filled it with premium beer. “It’s not too often I have this many customers in here at once... if I get three more people I’ll actually have to sit someone at a table!” He chuckled dryly.

“Indeed, seven people can not fit onto six barstools,” sneered Hammond. “But I did not come here to discuss the most basic facts of mathematics, Mr. Keeper.”

For once, Jack managed to keep his sarcasm to himself. “Of course, Mr. Hammond,” he said evenly. “Here you are,” he added as he placed the beer mug before him.

“Thank you,” growled Hammond. He took a sip and sighed deeply. “It’s still quite good.”

“I’m glad you think that.”

“I’m sure you are.” Hammond paused and took another sip before adding, “Would you be so kind as to put the news channel on for me? I tire of these lunatic weather people and their claims that the sky is falling.”

“I don’t think the news people and their claims of global Armageddon are much better,” said Jack morosely, before retrieving his TV remote and changing the channel all the same. Hammond turned away from Jack and began to watch the TV intently.

Having satisfied the grumpy DA, Jack decided it would be best to check on his other two customers before returning to the pleasant one. “You want another drink, Mr. Payne?” he asked politely.

Payne jumped at the sound of Jack’s voice; his mind was clearly elsewhere. “No... Jack, no thank you,” he stammered. “Er, fine I am. Soon I will be leaving, you think?”

Jack gave Payne an odd look; usually a customer had to consume a decent amount of alcohol before his sentence structure started deteriorating. “You okay, Mr. Payne?” he asked.

Payne jumped again at the question; a bead of sweat was running down the side of his face. “No... There is nothing that is wrong, currently.” He turned his head in the direction of Mia and Donny. “Thinking, just thinking, you understand?”

Jack decided not to pry. “I think I understand.” He went over to Donny. “Hey, Don? You need anything?”

Donny gave Jack a bleary-eyed stare. “Nope, nothing you can do for me,” he said jovially, before turning to look at Mia. “I like your necklace,” he told her, his face contorted into a large grin.

Mia’s eyes widened slightly and she forced her lips into a small smile; any sober person would have realized she was only being polite. “I’m glad you think that, Mr. Docket,” she said, placing specific emphasis on the use of his surname.

Of course, Donny was too inebriated to notice such hints. “Of course you’re glad, Ms. Mia,” he said arrogantly. “You know, I think I’ve seen that necklace before.”

“Really? Where?” Mia’s voice remained forcefully polite.

“I think it was the internet or TV or something like that.” He raised a finger and pointed at the necklace’s emblem. “That there’s one of them evil voodoo seashells, isn’t it?”

For a brief moment, Mia’s eyes bulged open and her eyebrows joined together as her mouth fell open in shock. Regaining her composure, she shook her head and hissed, “I assure you it is nothing of the sort.”

Jack shuddered at the cold in Mia’s voice; Donny had somehow managed to insult her greatly. Jack sighed and was about to berate Donny when...

“BANG!” Payne slammed a fifty-dollar bill against the counter. He looked even tenser than he had before; his hands were starting to shake and his lips were starting to twitch. “Is this enough to cover me and him?” he asked, pointing a shaky finger at Donny.

Jack picked up the bill and examined it. “It’s more than enough,” he exclaimed as he shook off an intense of déjà vu from the events of just two days before.

“Good. Keep it,” he said politely, before standing and grabbing Donny by the arm. “C’mon, Mr. Docket,” he half-squeaked, half-spat. “It’s time for us to go on a taxi ride.” Surprisingly, Donny didn’t resist, merely waving goodbye with his free hand as Payne dragged him out the Gavel’s door.

“I’m sorry about Donny,” said Jack softly after the door had shut. “He never was too good with the ladies, especially after he’s gone through the motions one time too many.” He mimed taking a swig from a beer mug.

“He really should cut back,” replied Mia, fiddling with the spiral stone on her necklace absently.

“I’ll make sure to tell him you said that next time he comes in here. Donny’s a decent listener when he’s got his head on straight.” Jack placed his hands on either side of his head and wrenched it into place to prove his point.

Mia smiled and laughed. “You always did know how to make a person feel better, Jake.”

Again, Jack decided it’d be better to ignore the mispronunciation of his name. “I don’t know about that, Ms. Fey.” Jack leaned forward and quietly added, “I mean, Mr. Hammond over there doesn’t really need his ego inflated. And there’s nothing I can do about Mr. Payne if he decides to get into one of his deep blue funks.”

Mia pursed her lips and nodded. “He did seem to be acting rather strange, didn’t he? Perhaps I should ask him if anything’s wrong... that, and thank him for splitting a taxi with Donny, of course.”

Jack chuckled softly. “I don’t know if that’d help him too much, Ms. Fey. I’m fairly sure that you are the person that gets him all tied in knots.”

“Me?” asked Mia, surprised.

“Yes, you.”

“Why?”

“You know why,” said Jack calmly. “Three words: State. Versus. Wright.” He spit out each word separately and tallied them on his fingers. “I might not have been tending bar back then, but Payne’s told me about that particular case many times these last three years. He didn’t seem too worried about going against your firm in court a couple of days ago, but that was before he realized his rookie opponent happened to be the defendant from that old trial.”

“Ah,” said Mia, her eyes widening in comprehension. “Well, Mr. Payne should have known better than to assume he won before the trial ended,” she said sensibly. “I’m surprised he still feels bitter over that, though...”

“Payne’s always had a bit of a thing for grudges. He claims he lost all his skill that day, and a lot of people here at the Office back him up.”

“Really? And what do you think about that, Jake?” A hint of coldness had returned to her voice.

“Personally, I think he impaled himself on his own sword and never quite managed to get himself back into the game. I don’t know if he’ll ever come close to realizing that, though,” said Jack thoughtfully. “He probably feels better just pinning the blame for all his problems on you.”

“A lot of people get through life placing their misfortunes on the shoulders of others,” said Mia wisely. “Of course, they’re too busy making themselves feel better to think about what the scapegoats are going through.” She sighed and started toying with the stone on her necklace once again.

Jack sighed too; somehow he’d managed to make Mia feel worse. Racking his mind for something that wasn’t depressing, he told her, “Of course, Mr. Payne takes that concept even farther than most.”

“What do you mean?”

Jack leaned in close and lowered his voice to a whisper. “He claims you made him lose his hair. Honestly, how silly is that?”

Mia blinked a couple times before stammering, “Very silly. Very silly, indeed.” Jack noticed that she was suddenly rather interested in her empty wineglass.

Of course, that also allowed him to notice that the wineglass was empty. “I’m sorry,” he stammered suddenly. “Do you want me to refill that?”

“No thank you, Jake.”

“Do you want something different? Tea? Soda? Coffee?”

“No; none of that,” said Mia, smiling. “However, I do have something to show you.”

“Really? Is it something I’ll like?”

“I believe so.” Mia suddenly reached under the bar and sat a large object on the counter in front of her. Jack noticed it was a bronze statue of a man resting his chin against his hand, apparently in deep deliberation.

Having seen a picture of the object on TV just two days before, Jack recognized the statue for what it was right away. “Ahhh! It’s that clock! That statue-y clock! The Thinker!” he exclaimed brightly.

Mia’s eyes widened slightly. “I’m surprised you know it’s a clock.”

“Of course I know it’s a clock! I saw it on the television just two days ago!” Jack pointed to the TV, which was still receiving Robert Hammond’s undivided attention. “Plus, Mr. Payne told me all about it, too,” he added sheepishly. “May I?” he asked, moving his hands closer to the sculpture.

“Of course,” said Mia, smiling at Jack’s fascination.

“Great!” Jack grabbed the clock and moved it closer so he could see it from all angles. “Now, if that cheeky Mr. Payne was telling me the truth, I should take my thumb like this (Jack placed his thumb against the statue’s neck) and go like this!” He flipped his thumb upward and the statue’s head fell backwards on a tiny hinge. And then...

“I think it’s... 8:25,” said the clock in a high-pitched, halting voice.

“Damn, it actually works!” said Jack, clapping his hands in glee. “Bit of a weird voice though. I figured it’d be more computerized or something.”

“Oh, that’s Harry Butz’s voice,” explained Mia simply. “He made this clock, you know.”

“Of course, of course,” muttered Jack as he lifted the clock to his eye and looked in the hole where the head had been. He was met with the sight of gears and a computer chip, taking up most of the space inside the hollow object. He made a thoughtful noise.

“What is it?”

“What? Oh... I was just thinking... this clock reminds me of something.”

“What?” asked Mia, her voice dripping with curiosity.

“It reminds me of an old-fashioned decorative liquor bottle. A long time ago, some people used to hide their booze by making it look like something unobtrusive, like a statue of a war hero or something. It let them hide their drinks in plain sight!” Jack slid the clock away from him and tilted it so Mia could see inside. “All you have to do is get rid of this clockwork, see, and I bet you’d be able to put all kinds of stuff in here!”

Mia’s eyes widened. “You know, that’s actually a good idea!” she exclaimed, grabbing the clock for herself and peering into it intently.

Jack smirked. “You were expecting me to come up with a bad idea?”

“Oh no, it’s not that...”

Jack started to laugh out loud. “Relax, relax, I know you mean well. Thanks for showing me your clock there.” He lowered his voice and added, “You didn’t steal it from the evidence lockers, right?”

Again, Mia looked shocked. “No, I would never do that! Harry made two of these, one for Ms. Cindy Stone, and one for himself. He gave me this one as a gift after he was found innocent,” she babbled.

“I understand,” said Jack cheerfully. “I didn’t think you would’ve done such a thing; you’re one of the most cautious people I know.” Jack fell silent and thought for a moment before blurting, “But why’d he give you the statue? It was Mr. Wright that got him found innocent!”

Mia let out a laugh. “I know. But Mr. Butz is a lot like your friend Mr. Docket. He’s a nice person most of the time, but he simply doesn’t possess a lot of common sense... especially when women are involved.” She sighed. “Still, you cannot deny that it’s a lovely gift.”

“It’s damn nice,” said Jack matter-of-factly. “And it’s not that big of a deal. After all, Mr. Wright’s the one he’s paying, right?”

Mia merely stared for a moment before laughing again. “Well, in a perfect world, Nick would be getting paid, but it seems that Mr. Butz only has money for his significant others. I’m quite glad Nick and Larry are friends; otherwise he might be rather... upset.”

Jack thought about Mia’s statement before responding, “Sounds like Mr. Wright, or Nick as you just called him, is a pretty nice guy.”

“Well, of course he is!” said Mia brightly. “You wouldn’t expect me to hire anyone just because they passed the bar exam. Some people have personality traits I simply can not tolerate.”

“BANG!” The bar counter shook as Robert Hammond smashed his fist into the wood as hard as he could. Jack and Mia turned to stare at him.

“The District City Coppers are first in the divisional Wild Card race! Isn’t that just wonderful?!”

“Er, yeah,” said Jack, wondering why Hammond thought the performance of the local baseball team gave him the right to damage his furniture.

Mia merely nodded before turning back to Jack. “You see what I mean?” she asked in a low voice.

“Indeed!” replied Jack, not bothering with keeping his voice down. He paused for a moment before adding, “So, tell me some more about Phoenix. He sounds damn interesting.”

“I don’t know. I mean, what more is there to tell?” asked Mia, crossing her arms.

“You’ve been seeing this guy day-in and day-out. Surely there’re some little things you can tell me.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, I don’t know. What’s his favorite color?”

“Blue. He wears a blue suit every day. He must have a dozen of them!”

Now we’re getting somewhere, thought Jack craftily. “Okay, Ms. Fey, how old is he?”

“Twenty-four. It was a couple of years before he decided to become a lawyer.”

“That’s okay; it took me a while to figure out what I wanted to do with my life too. Now tell me, what’s his voice like? If Mr. Payne’s taught me anything, it’s that the tone of speech you use is very important in the courtroom.”

“It’s lower than Mr. Payne’s, that’s for sure. He has a very... powerful speaking voice. Full of confidence.”

“Good! Now what’s with the hair? Does he always wear it like that?”

“As long as I’ve known him. He doesn’t think it looks better any other way.”

“What color are his eyes? I couldn’t really tell looking at the TV over there.”

“Brown. Dark brown.”

“And his nose? Do you think it’s too big for his face?”

“His nose is perfectly fine for his face.”

“And his lips?”

“They’re also perfect for his face.”

“Think he’s a good kisser?”

“He’s probably a very good kiss...” Mia trailed off and flushed as she realized what she said.

Jack flashed a big smile; his string of rapid-fire questions had worked perfectly. “Got you, Ms. Fey!” he said jovially.

Mia shook her head and glared at Jack. “That wasn’t very nice, Mr. Keeper,” she whispered, the disapproval in her tone somewhat offset by her still red face.

“Sorry if I embarrassed you. When you hang around lawyers long enough, you pick up their tricks at keeping, er, ‘witnesses’ off guard.” Jack paused and toyed with a lock of his red hair. “So... are you ever going to... er, press with this kissing theory of yours?”

Mia sighed. “What Nick needs most right now is a teacher; a mentor. He’s definitely talented... I mean, even I didn’t win my first case.” Mia’s paused and her eyes grew glassy for a moment before she continued, “Once he’s gained some... experience, I might be able to consider Nick more than a friend.”

Jack nodded sagely, somewhat surprised that the usually professional Mia Fey admitted as much as she had. “I understand. It’s rather hard to jump into something like that headfirst.” Jack stopped for a second and gave Mia a softer smile. “Remember, if anything... er, thorny happens on that front, I’m always here to listen,” he said cheerfully.

“Thank you,” said Mia, also smiling. “Of course, I can hardly worry too much about that right now. For all the time we’ve spent together, Nick hardly knows anything about me.” Yet again, she started manipulating the emblem around her neck. “I don’t even think I ever even told her my sister’s name,” she mused.

“Ah, yes,” said Jack thoughtfully. “How is young Mary doing, anyway?”

Mia’s eyes narrowed. “Her name is Maya. Honestly, Jake, can’t you take the time to learn people’s names?”

“Er, yeah. Sorry,” said Jack as he picked up an empty cocktail glass and wondered if he should guzzle one of his own creations. “So, how is young Maya doing, then?”

“She’s actually doing quite well. She’s moved into her own apartment, you know.”

“Ah. I’m surprised she’s living by herself already; I didn’t leave my parent’s place until I was twenty-one!” Jack placed a finger against his chin in thought. “I also figured she’d rather live with you than be on her own.”

“I wish she could, but that would distract her from her training.”

“Training?” Jack was confused for a moment before he remembered a sensationalist TV program he’d seen on modern spiritualism. “Oh, that kind of training. Never really got into that stuff too deeply,” he said evenly.

“Really?”

“Well, all the bigwigs around here always dismiss spirit mediums as bunk. Kind of hard to ignore the majority.”

“I assure you it’s not bunk,” hissed Mia.

Jack took a step back and waved his hands frantically. “I’m not saying it is! Just telling you how things are around here. Believe me, I know better than to go with the flow all the time.”

Mia sighed deeply. “I understand, Jake. It’s just-”

“BANG!” The bar shook as Hammond again smashed his fist against the counter as loudly as he could. Jack sighed and turned to look at him once more.

“Breaking News!” he shouted, gesturing to the same words on the television screen. “Turn it up, Mr. Keeper!”

Jack rolled his eyes. “The things I do to keep my customers happy,” he muttered as he grabbed the remote and turned the volume up.

“Good evening viewers, I’m Lily Jumper.” The newswoman’s pale face looked even more fatigued than usual; Jack idly wondered how many hours a day the network forced her to read breaking news stories. “It is with great sadness that we at DNN have just received word of the suicide death of State Congressman Richard Richardson.” A picture of Richardson, a man in his sixties with slicked-back gray hair and a toothbrush moustache, appeared in the upper-right corner of the screen.

“Damn...” muttered Jack. “That guy’s been in the government as long as I can remember.”

“Richardson’s body was found in his Center City apartment just under an hour ago; reports state that sometime today the congressman shot himself in the head with a .44 magnum revolver that he purchased only several days ago.” Jumper paused and looked off-camera, by her irritated motions it was obvious that she was speaking to someone just beyond the edge of the screen. Several seconds passed before she returned her attention to the camera.

“We have just received an audio file released in response to this tragic, tragic, event. It is a recording of Mrs. Rita Richardson, Congressman Richardson’s wife, apparently taken just moments after she learned of her husband’s death!” Jumper’s eyes gleamed for just an instant before the TV cut away to a red screen with the words “RICHARDSON SUICIDE” prominently featured at the top. The silence was quickly broken by a frantic female voice, the words of whom appeared on the screen as soon as they were spoken.

“Suicide? How could this have happened! I mean, just this morning I was making him coffee and he was telling me how much he loved me! This isn’t happening! This can’t be happening! Why is this happening?!” The frantic voice was replaced by several extremely loud, deafening sobs; even without a picture it was rather obvious that Mrs. Richardson was going through a rather intense emotional breakdown.

Jack absently grabbed a plastic swizzle stick out of a jar and stuffed it his mouth so his teeth wouldn’t grind together. “Good-for-nothing sensationalists...” he growled.

“Indeed, Mr. Richardson’s death is being viewed as quite the tragedy,” said Jumper, the sadness in her voice compromised by the sparkle in her eyes. “While we have not yet received an official statement from the government regard their stance on the departed congressman or when they will begin the process of choosing a successor, we have received a written statement from Mr. Redd White, CEO of Bluecorp, one of Richardson’s largest corporate campaign contributors.” A picture of a rather fruity-looking man with pinkish-purple hair appeared in the spot over Jumper’s left shoulder; Jack recognized it from several large billboards and bus advertisements he’d seen throughout the city.

“In his official statement to the press, Mr. White said the following...” Jumper’s eyes flicked upward to meet a teleprompter and grew wide, as if she couldn’t believe what she seeing. In an incredulous voice she quoted, “‘It is with many... sorrowtations that I mourn the passing of Governmentman Robertson. He was one of the best... governmenters I’ve ever blessed with the honor of my support. It’s... abso-posi-lutely shameful that he was unable to handle the... stressifications of holding a job so dependant on how the votermen viewed him. I hope that no other governmentman will allow... him or her personage to be forcified into such a position.” Jumper paused and blinked a few times before adding, “That’s quite an... interesting statement from Mr. White.”

Interesting doesn’t cover the half of it, lady, thought Jack.

“We will be releasing updates on Congressman Richardson’s suicide death throughout the night as new information continues to reach the DNN news desk. Now, I turn things over to Donald Doomsayer, who has the latest information on the powerful thunderstorms entering District City...”

“Bah! More weather nonsense! Turn the set off, Mr. Keeper!” yelled Hammond sneeringly.

Jack nodded resignedly before grabbing the remote and turning off the TV in one fluid motion. “There, it’s off now. Is that okay with you, Ms. Fey?” Hearing no response, Jack spun around to look Mia in the face. “Ms. Fey?”

Mia’s normally serene eyes were wide and staring; her mouth was slightly open in shock. Her hands were gripping the bar counter so tightly that the knuckles were starting to turn white. Absently, Jack realized he could hear the sound of rain outside; the loud television had drowned it out before. The window flashed brighter than before; a rumble of thunder echoed through the bar. Despite the noise, Mia didn’t even react in the slightest. Something’s wrong here, thought Jack.

Not knowing what else to do, Jack reached a hand across the bar and snapped his fingers in front of Mia’s face. Jack smiled as her eyes suddenly focused upon the source of the sudden noise. “Huh? What?”

“You seemed to be going into a trance, there,” said Jack gently. For a brief moment Jack wondered if that wasn’t such an abnormal occurrence for members of the Fey Family. “You all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” said Mia stiffly. Behind her, the window flashed again, brighter this time. Another rumble of thunder came a second later.

“Are you sure?” asked Jack, keeping his voice low and calm. “You seem a bit... out of it.”

“Well, I assure you I’m alright.” Mia took a sip from her wineglass despite the fact her glass had been empty for the better part of an hour. “Will you look at that, I finished my drink,” she muttered dully as she sat the glass back down. She reached into her jacket and extracted a bill. “For the wine,” she explained as she let it fall to the table. “I need to leave now.”

Jack scratched his head; Mia was acting so... strange that he was starting to get scared. “You’re leaving now? Listen to the weather... it’s pouring out there!” Another burst of lightning illuminated the small bar window; the temporary light source cast strange shadows throughout the barroom floor. “See?”

“I understand the risks, Mr. Keeper. I wish I could remain here but I have quite a lot of research to do.” And with that, Mia grabbed her statue and confidently strode towards the bar exit across the room. She’d made it to the seldom used tables in the middle of the room when...

A blinding flash of lightning; a cataclysmic rumble of thunder. A series of echoing pops; flickering lights fading into darkness. A gasp, a series of thumps, and then...

Jack found himself in total darkness, with nothing breaking the silence save the haunted ringing of his own deafened ears.

-------------

Part 2/3: Tending in the Dark

August 5th, 2016, 9:02 PM

What the hell just happened? thought Jack weakly as he blinked in an attempt to see the hand he was waving in front of his own face. Realizing such an exercise was pointless; he decided it would be best to figure out how the other people in the bar were doing. “Ms. Fey? Mr. Hammond? You two all right?” he called uncertainly.

“Couldn’t be better,” sneered Hammond grouchily. “Don’t mind me; I’m just admiring your lovely décor. I see you’ve chosen a lot of dark colors.”

Jack sighed; Hammond sure could be a stick in the mud when things didn’t go his way. Hearing no response from Mia, he hollered, “Ms. Fey? Are you okay?” Jack grimaced at how stupid his voice sounded when his sentences rhymed.

“I’m okay, Jake,” said Mia, her voice still stiffer than normal. “It’s just... I appear to have fallen over something. Whatever it is, it’s still stuck to my foot. I don’t know if I will be able to stand up properly.”

“Oh! Let me help you up then!” exclaimed Jack as he felt his way along the counter, stopping when he reached the short wooden side door that separated the bar area from the rest of the tavern. With some difficulty he got it open and headed towards the source of Mia’s voice. Unfortunately, he’d only made it part of the way there before the tip of his foot smashed into something rather solid. “Damn it!” he yelled.

“What happened, Jake?” asked Mia, her voice once again concerned.

“I stubbed my toe on a chair,” hissed Jack. “It’s not pushed in all the way.” Wincing, Jack sat on the offending piece of furniture and rubbed at his shoe furiously. “That’s what I get for not wearing steel-toed boots,” he muttered, before adding, “Wouldn’t be so bad if I could bloody see where I was going!”

In response, a bright blue glow erupted from the end of the room. Surprised, Jack looked up to see Hammond using his cell phone as a source of light. He lifted himself off his barstool and approached Jack, waving the cell phone back and forth so he could see where he was going.

“Trying to rescue the damsel in distress, Mr. Keeper? How nauseatingly typical.” Even though Hammond’s face was shrouded in darkness, Jack was sure that he was smiling rather nastily.

“Well, I’m not exactly used to navigating my own bar in the dark,” muttered Jack as he shot Hammond a glare.

“Indeed.” Hammond then walked over to Mia, who was sitting on the ground. He pulled a chair away from the nearby round table and helped Mia onto it.

“Thank you, Mr. Hammond.” Jack noticed that Mia’s voice sounded rather reluctant.

“You are welcome, Ms. Fey,” muttered Hammond in a similar tone. He than placed his hands on the floor and eased himself down with a thump. “You have a piece of string around your ankle,” he said matter-of-factly. He quickly removed it and added, “It appears to be attached to this... uh... thing.” Hammond held up a round object.

“It appears to be an old balloon,” said Mia incredulously as Hammond got back to his feet. “Jake, do you know what this is?”

Jack was glad the DA’s couldn’t see him blush in the darkness. “Er, yeah... I was wondering where the last one went,” muttered Jack sagely. Since the pain in his toe had subsided, Jack got to his feet and gingerly walked across the room and sat in the chair to the left of Mia. “We might as well all sit at the same table. Wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Hammond?” he asked innocently.

“Er, yes,” muttered Hammond as he threw the old smiley balloon aside and sat across from Jack in the chair at Mia’s right. He sat his cell phone down at the middle of the table, illuminating everyone’s face with an eerie blue glow.

Feeling somewhat awkward without the shelter of the bar counter, Jack muttered, “Can’t believe the storm got so bad so quickly.” He stared at the gavel’s tiny window, now a dim panel that occasionally flashed and groaned with lightning and thunder.

“What I do not understand is how the lights went out in the first place,” said Mia thoughtfully. “This is a very important building...” Mia paused to brush aside a stray lock of hair. “Shouldn’t it have a backup generator?”

Jack scratched his head absently. “I can explain that. You see, the backup generator hasn’t been working for several days now. I was hoping they would’ve fixed it by now, but I guess they didn’t.”

“Oh? And how do you know this?”

“Donny’s been complaining about it ever since the damn thing broke,” said Jack levelly. “Understandable, considering that the only natural light in the old parking garage comes from the car entrances, and that’s nowhere near enough to guard the place properly.”

“I see,” said Mia softly, before sighing and looking towards the window. “I didn’t think the storm would be quite this bad. I hope Maya and Nick are okay...”

“I’m sure they’ll be all right,” said Jack cheerfully. “Why don’t you try giving them a call on your cell?”

“I left my cellular phone in my car,” said Mia, her expression downcast. “I didn’t realize I’d forgotten it until the lights went out.”

“Okay, than use Mr. Hammond’s,” said Jack. He reached across the table and slid Hammond’s phone towards Mia with the same finesse he would give a fresh mug of beer.

“Hey!” said Hammond, slamming a fist against the table. “Why don’t you let her use your cell phone instead of giving away mine without asking?!”

“No can do, Mr. Hammond,” said Jack firmly. “You see... I don’t own a cell phone.”

“Don’t own a cell phone?! How can you not own a cell phone in this day and age?!” asked Hammond, his voice rising in annoyance.

“Don’t have much need for one,” said Jack matter-of-factly. “Most of my friends are customers, so I see them face to face on a regular basis. If I need to talk with my family or someone else when I’m at home, I use my home phone. If I need to talk with them while I’m here, I use the bar phone.”

Hammond looked, if anything, angrier. “Then why don’t you let her use the bar phone?!” he growled.

Jack glanced at Mia and noticed she was starting to look upset; he shot her a smile before turning to Hammond and politely telling him, “I would have, but the bar phone doesn’t work when the power’s cut off. It’s one of those oddball cordless phones, and it needs electricity to work properly.” Anticipating Hammond’s next question, Jack quickly added, “And I know this because someone accidentally cut the power to this part of the building a couple months back. I was alone at the time and tried to call the maintenance office, but the phone was dead. I had to lock the bar up and get a security guard’s attention to get the power back.”

Jack smiled at Hammond, who finally looked placated. “Fine. I apologize for my... tactlessness.” He nodded at Mia. “You may use my phone, Ms. Fey.”

Mia smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Hammond. I knew you would make the right decision as long as you had all of the information.”

Hammond’s eyes widened; he obviously wasn’t expecting a compliment. “Humph,” he muttered, crossing his arms.

As Mia began to dial a phone number, Jack leaned towards Hammond and whispered, “You don’t have to hide from us, Hammy. Mia and I both know you’re nothing but a big softy underneath all that gruff charm of yours.”

Jack could see Hammond hunch his shoulders despite the lack of light in the room. “I am not soft!” he hissed. “And my name isn’t ‘Hammy’! I ought to-”

“BANG! BANG! BANG!” The sound of loud knocking echoed through the bar, silencing Hammond’s tirade.

“Now who would be trying to visit at this hour?” said Jack thoughtfully. He carefully hoisted himself to his feet and slowly made to the bar door, making sure not to smash his foot into any more chairs along the way.

“BANG! BANG! BANG!” Whoever it was on the other side of the door, they didn’t have much patience.

“Now, now, there’s no need to repeat yourself!” yelled Jack. Having reached the bar door, he threw it open confidently and found himself blinded by an intense beam of light.

“Is this the Golden Gavel?” The voice was smooth, confident, and most definitely male.

“Yes! This is the Gavel! For God’s sake, get that light out my face!” exclaimed Jack as he turned his head and shut his eyes.

“Oh... I’m terribly sorry,” said the man as he lowered his flashlight. “Never know who you’re going to meet in the dark.”

Blinking frantically to banish the little dancing stars from his eyes, Jack saw that he was standing in front a kind looking man with a boyish face and well-trimmed beard. Looking further, Jack saw that he was wearing a light-colored suit and hat that, while somewhat flamboyant, were hardly out of place when compared to the rest of his usual clientele. Putting out a hand, Jack stated, “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you before. Name’s Jack Keeper; I tend bar here at the Golden Gavel,” he proclaimed, a note of pride seeping into his voice.

The man looked thoughtful for a moment before nodding and pulling jack into a firm handshake. “Detective Bruce Goodman,” said the man.

Jack let go of the detective’s hand and looked upward in thought. “I think I’ve heard your name before,” he muttered. “Didn’t you oversee a big case or something a while back?”

Goodman took a significant pause. “I like to think all of my cases are big ones,” he eventually stated, chuckling. “However, I’m not here to discuss the ins and outs of my job history.”

“I understand,” muttered Jack, slightly dissatisfied. “Pleased to meet you, by the way,” he added awkwardly. “What are you doing around here on a miserable night such as this?”

Goodman allowed himself a small smile. “It was just my luck that I had to confer with a prosecutor about a case on this night of all nights. I was just about ready to leave in spite of the weather when the electricity failed.”

Jack nodded. “I see. Does that mean you’re trying to ride out the storm too? You know, I’d be happy to let you in-”

Goodman cut off Jack by raising his hand. “No, no, I can’t do that. You see, I’m helping out with guard duty.”

“Guard duty?”

“Yes, guard duty. You see, the Prosecutor’s Office has never suffered a prolonged blackout without the availability of a backup generator before. For this reason, Chief Skye ordered the entire building to go on lockdown in case anyone tries to break in. She’s ordered all the police staff stuck in the building to help make sure everything’s on the up and up,” explained Goodman confidently.

Jack was surprised to say the least. “Total lockdown... Lana's being rather thorough,” he said as he twirled a lock of long hair.

“Well, she's rather careful when it comes to situations such as these.” The tone of his voice told Jack he knew more than he was saying. Goodman adjusted his hat and asked, “Are you the only person here right now?”

Jack chuckled lightly. “Nope. I’m entertaining a pair of defense attorneys, Mia Fey and Robert Hammond. Have you met them before?”

“No, but we might have shared a case or two in common,” mused Goodman absently. “If you’ll excuse me...” Goodman reached into his suit and extracted a small phone. Despite the relative dimness of the flashlight, Jack recognized it as one of those walkie-talkie type phones that the TV was always trumpeting as the greatest invention since the gin and tonic. Intrigued, Jack watched as Goodman placed the speaker to his mouth and pressed several buttons.

“Goodman here,” he stated. “I’m at the Gavel and I’ve got me three people just sitting in the dark. What do you want me to do?”

“You said you were at the Gavel, pal?” Jack’s eyes widened as he recognized Detective Gumshoe’s hearty voice, slightly distorted by static. “The Guards have got all the other floors cleared; we’ve got everyone in the building into three groups, each with at least one armed guard or member of the police department protecting them. I’m with the Chief and Mr. Edgeworth, and everything’s as right as rain!” Jack smiled as phone-Gumshoe chuckled.

“I’ve got the rest of the floor cleared. Do you want me to bring my three up?”

Goodman’s phone fell silent, and then... “Nah. Since everyone else is covered, I think it would be best if you stay with them and keep an eye on the group. I don’t want anything happening to my pal Jack anytime soon!”

Goodman laughed softly. “I understand, Gumshoe. I’ll keep the place under tight control. Goodman out.” He pressed a button on the phone and the static ceased.

“Well?” asked Jack, feigning curiosity so the detective wouldn’t realize he’d been listening in.

Goodman adjusted his hat and smiled. “It looks like I’m in charge of bar security until the power comes back on. Doesn’t sound like it should be too hard of a job.”

Jack nodded vigorously. “I’m pretty sure I can put up with you for a little while,” he said, smirking. Childishly, he spun around on one foot, the wood floor squeaking beneath his shoe. “Follow me, Detective,” he said eagerly.

Goodman silently trailed Jack and shined the flashlight in front of him. Jack was thankful for this, as it allowed him to make the twenty-five foot journey without sacrificing another toe to the Almighty Chair Gods.

Hammond and Mia looked up simultaneously at the sight of Goodman’s flashlight; it was obviously far brighter than the cell phone that again sat in the middle of the table. Jack offered the defense attorneys a wan smile.

“The security team here doesn’t think we’re old enough to behave ourselves without supervision,” he began solemnly. “As such, I’d like to introduce you to our official babysitter, Detective Goodman.” He indicated Goodman with a wave of his hand.

“Hello, detective,” greeted Mia, her voice warm as usual.

Hammond merely shrugged.

“Hello to you too, Ms. Fey; Mr. Hammond,” said Goodman politely, before adding, “But I’m not exactly here to baby-sit. The whole building is on lockdown. You see, the Chief’s afraid the blackout offers criminals an all-too perfect opportunity to force their way in here.”

“Really?” asked Mia, her eyes widening. “That’s rather... extreme for such a well-guarded building, isn’t it?” Jack smiled inwardly at the fact that Mia made the same observation he’d made just moments ago.

Goodman shrugged. “Chief Skye is very thorough when it comes to criminal threats.”

“I see. I hope Maya is okay,” murmured Mia, a disheartened look on her face. After Jack let out a confused noise, she hastily added, “I couldn’t reach her on the phone.”

“I’m sure she’ll be fine. What about Mr. Wright?”

The corners of Mia’s mouth twitched upward. “He answered, but he wasn’t very happy. Apparently he had just fallen asleep when I made the call.”

“If I had a quarter for every time that’s happened to me, I’d be a rather wealthy man,” interjected Goodman thoughtfully.

“So would I, detective,” growled Hammond. “Of course, I’m a rather wealthy man even without that additional compensation.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “You’re so full of... yourself, Mr. Hammond. Don’t ever change.”

Hammond frowned. “I am what I am, Mr. Keeper, and there’s nothing you can do about it.” The grouchy attorney paused and looked thoughtful for a moment. “However, you can do something about the nice detective behind you standing at attention as if he were one of those foolish Buckingham Palace Guards.” Hammond waved his hand in an elaborate circle. “Offer him a seat, perhaps?”

“Huh?” Jack looked over his shoulder at Goodman, who was indeed standing rather stiffly. “Oh,” said Jack, coloring slightly. “Sorry about that, detective. Why don’t you sit here?” He gestured at the table’s two remaining seats.

“Thank you, barkeep,” said Goodman politely. He walked past Jack and sat in the empty seat on Hammond’s right.

Jack smiled and was about to take a seat himself when his stomach gave an ominous rumble. Jack chuckled to himself; it’d been a couple of hours since he eaten his obligatory dinner sandwich. “It appears that my tummy is empty and in need of filling,” he announced matter-of-factly. “I might as well get us some snacks if we’re going to be stuck here a while. Does anyone have any objections to salty bar snacks and carbonated beverages?”

Mia and Hammond merely shook their heads no, while Goodman looked thoughtful and said, “Fine, as long as you don’t spike my drink with anything alcoholic. I never once drank the stuff, and I have no intention to start now.”

Jack nodded; while teetotalers never made good bar customers, he had to admire the detective for possessing such firm convictions. “I understand, detective. I wasn’t going to get the alcohol out anyway, in case something big really does go down.”

“Thank you,” said Goodman sagely. “It’s good to know a bartender with some common sense.”

“You’re welcome. Oh, and speaking of common sense...”

“Yes?”

“Can I borrow that flashlight? If I try getting the food in the dark I’ll probably just end up knocking all the ingredients off the shelves or something like that.”

Goodman chuckled. “Of course you can,” he stated, handing him the powerful light source with a smile.

Jack again nodded in thanks; holding the light in front of him, he made his way back to the little wooden door that cordoned the bar area away from the reach of mere mortals. Opening it with little difficulty, Jack strode over to one of the floor cabinets and grabbed two large glass bowls, which he gently sat on the bar counter, one within the other. Jack absently started whistle to himself as he opened a snack cupboard and grabbed a bag of potato chips along with a bag of pretzels. As he sat the bags inside the bowls, he noted that his customers were talking somewhat louder than they had before, though they were still too quiet for him to distinguish individual words. Shrugging, Jack quickly opened the barroom fridge and snatched a bottle of cola before too much cold air could escape into the bar room; if the blackout lasted for too much longer many of the ingredients within would start to spoil. Putting that unhappy thought out of his mind, Jack kneeled down and grabbed four beer mugs out from under the bar and sat them on the counter. Jack stopped to admire his handiwork.

An ordinary man would have to make two trips to get all this stuff back to the table, thought Jack, before his face broke into a wide smile. Fortunately, I’m no ordinary man.

As if he’d been planning such a stunt all along, Jack took Goodman’s flashlight and wedged it between his head and his neck as if it were a violin. After making sure the light was pointing directly in front of him, Jack picked up the bowls with his left hand and wedged them between his right arm and his body. After shifting the weight of the bowls and bags to a proper balance, he grabbed the bottle of cola and wedged it between his left arm and his body. After shuddering at the cold sensation in his left armpit, Jack lowered himself to one knee and grabbed all of the beer mugs with his free left hand; the glasses clinked against each other as he quickly closed his fingers. Smirking, Jack quickly kicked open the door to the bar and made his way back to his beloved customers. As he slowly made his way across the room, making sure not to trip over anything, walk into anything, or drop anything, Jack realized with a sigh that Hammond had pulled Mia into what was undoubtedly a rather long-standing argument.

“I still don’t get how you can call your client a ‘shifty-eyed creep-o’ and not feel the slightest bit of guilt!” exclaimed Mia, her voice loud with disgust.

“There is no reason for me to feel guilty for stating the truth! That man’s eyes twitched like there was no tomorrow. I couldn’t look at him eye-to-eye without getting chills!” retorted Hammond in a tone even gravellier than normal.

“So? He could have had a medical condition! How can you be so insensitive?”

Goodman waved a hand, trying to get Hammond and Mia’s attention. “Now, now, there’s no reason to-”

“Sensitivity is for the weak!” yelled Hammond, slamming a fist against the table and drowning out the rest of Goodman’s plea. “I got the man a not guilty verdict, and that is all that matters.”

“What about trust? What about caring?” snipped Mia.

Hammond chuckled. “What of them? Do they get you evidence? No. Do they sway the judge? No. Such sentiments are nothing more than a waste of time and energy.”

By then, Jack had made his way to the table, but Hammond and Mia were too busy bickering to notice. After carefully sitting down the bowls, mugs, and bottle, he grabbed the flashlight and straightened out his neck with a pop. Jack sighed at the sight of the attorneys arguing back and forth while Detective Goodman merely stared helplessly, unable to get either attorney’s attention. As the argument turned more and more personal, Jack decided he’d had enough.

“Hold it!” he yelled, slamming his palms against the table. Jack’s customers jumped and stared at him.

“That’s better,” said Jack levelly. He allowed himself an overdramatic sigh. “I turn my back on you for five minutes and you’re squabbling with each other like there’s no tomorrow! It’s enough to give a good bartender a headache!” Jack rubbed at the side of his head for dramatic effect.

While Mia had the grace to look embarrassed, Hammond merely sniffed and muttered, “It’s not like I was the one to get all... skittish.”

“No, but you were definitely the one to act all high and mighty, weren’t you?” asked Jack. Hammond merely turned his head and looked in another direction.

Jack was in the middle of elaborately shaking his head in shame when he got another idea. “Well, if none of you can talk without getting into kooky arguments, I’ll have to do all of the talking for our group.” Jack smirked and opened the bottle of cola. Turning his head slightly to the left, he asked, “Jack, would you like some cola?”

Turning his head to the right, he answered his own question. “Yes, I would like some cola, Jack. Thank you for asking.”

“You’re welcome Jack. Would Jack like a lot or a little?”

“Jack would like a lot, seeing as how he might be dealing with these people for quite a while. Don’t you agree, Jack?”

“Why yes I do, Jack. That’s a very valid point.” With that Jack poured himself a mug of soda and took a big swig. He looked up and smiled at the sight of Mia, Hammond, and even Goodman staring at him as if he’d just escaped the loony bin. “Is there something wrong?” he asked innocently.

“I believe that is the question we were about to ask you,” said Goodman.

“Really? I never would have guessed.” Jack shook his head vigorously, as if shaking off a bug. “Seriously though, if you can’t have a decent conversation without tearing into each other, I’ll have to be in charge of the entertainment for tonight.”

“You don’t say...” muttered Hammond skeptically. “What’re you going to do, Mr. Keeper? Tell us a story?”

Instead of yelling at Hammond’s sarcasm, Jack merely leaned back in his chair. A thoughtful expression appeared on his face. “You know... that doesn’t sound like a bad idea!”

“What?” Hammond’s bushy eyebrows were knitting in confusion.

“I said it doesn’t sound like a bad idea,” repeated Jack matter-of-factly. “Back when I was in Junior Scout Camp, me and the other boys used to sit around a campfire all the time, trying to scare the shi-, er, sanity out of each other by telling scary stories and whatnot! It was great fun!”

“Well that’s nice... but what it have to do with this stupid little room we’re stuck in?” asked Hammond, slamming a fist against the table in disgust.

“First of all, don’t slam the little table; you’ll knock over my drink!” Jack took a swig of cola to illustrate his point. “Second, it has plenty to do with this room, which I ask you don’t call stupid!” Jack took a calming breath, and continued. “As for similarities, I believe it’s quite obvious that were in the dark. We only have one major source of light.” He moved the flashlight in little circles, before adding, “I believe it’s quite obvious that being stuck in a small, dark room is making us all rather... unsettled. Don’t you agree, Mr. Hammond?”

Hammond looked stunned for a moment. “Yes, I definitely agree, Mr. Keeper,” he stated, his voice abnormally dull.

“Since we’re on the same page, then, I might as well do something silly like tell you all a scary story. I’m not a great storyteller, but it’s better than being at each other’s throats, right?”

“I guess.”

“What about you two?” Jack asked, looking back and forth to indicate Mia and Goodman.

“I see nothing wrong with it,” said Goodman thoughtfully. “My buddies and I used to tell fish tales all the time back in legal school. It helped take all our minds off the hard work.”

“I think it’s a great idea,” added Mia, smiling. “When I was younger, I did a similar rit- er, thing myself.”

Jack smiled; it was nice to hear some positive opinions for a change. “Excellent! Now all I need is the flashlight and a minute or two to think. Mr. Hammond?”

“What is it?”

“You handle the snacks.” Jack slid all of the food items across the table with a smile.

Hammond groaned loudly, but nevertheless started to fill the bowls and pass out the glasses. Jack leaned back in his chair and made silly patterns on the ceiling with Goodman’s flashlight.

Let’s see, thought Jack idly. I need a story, probably a good scary one. Maybe something about ghosts...? Jack glanced at Mia, who smiled. The stone on her necklace shined ominously in the dim light. Nope, that might be a bit of a sensitive topic.

Jack paused and scratched the right side of his head; it was rather difficult to come up with a story on cue. Hmmm, I guess I’ll need characters. He glanced at the other occupants of the room. These nutty customers of mine will do just fine for that. I also need a setting...

The image of a car driving down a desert highway flashed through Jack’s mind. His eyebrows knitted in confusion; Jack didn’t usually get vivid thoughts so suddenly! Ah, well, better start yammering and see where this leads me.

Jack cleared his throat; his customers turned to look at him.

“I think I got me a decent idea. Hopefully I won’t get too lost trying to work my way through this.” And with that, Jack took a deep breath and began.

-------------

Part 3/3: Just a Little Story

August 5th, 2016, 9:25 PM

“Once upon a time, The Handsome Bartender and his three legal friends were cruising down a desert highway in a roomy red sports car,” said Jack in a loud, clear voice.

“Why are we in a desert in the first place?” asked Hammond sneeringly.

“If you let me keep talking, I’ll tell you,” said Jack evenly. “Anyway, The Bartender was headed for one of those desert cities because they were having... a convention on scientific investigation! You know how desert cities are with science and criminal investigation and junk.”

“Actually, no I don’t,” muttered Hammond.

“It doesn’t matter!” snapped Jack as he tried to keep track of where his story was going. “Anyway, it was the middle of the day time and the car was making record speed when the unthinkable happened... the engine started to smoke, overheated, and the car broke down at the side of the lonely desert road.

‘Look’s like we’re going to have to ask for help,’ said the Nice Female Attorney as she got out of the car.

‘Why should we ask for help? It can’t be that far from here to the next city,’ said the Grumpy Male Attorney as he too got out of the car.’

It was at this time that the Good Detective, the third passenger got out of the car, clapped his hands, and pointed at a nearby sign.

‘Look at that! I don’t think we’re going to be able to get anywhere but dead if we try to walk that far in this heat!’

The Bartender too got out of the car, looked up at the road sign, and saw that it said, ‘Desert City: 75 miles away’ a little forward pointing arrow, as if that was really necessary. ‘I guess you’re right, Detective,’ he said.

‘Well then, what will we do?’ asked the Grumpy Attorney.

‘I could use my cell phone!’ said the Nice Attorney happily. She grabbed a phone and tried to dial for help, but after a few seconds she threw it at the ground in disgust.

‘What is it?’ asked the Good Detective.

‘There’s no signal. There’s no way for us to call for help,’ said the Nice Attorney sadly.

‘Then we’ll just have to start looking for shelter,’ said the Good Detective. ‘Are there any rocks around we might be able to hide under?’”

Jack adjusted the flashlight and scratched his head, trying to think of what should come next. A picture of an old building flashed in his mind.

“‘I don’t see any rocks, but what about that old building back there?’ asked the Handsome Bartender Sheepishly. The other three turned around to see that he was pointing at one of those old western buildings, complete with saloon doors and a couple of tumbleweeds blowing across the building front.

‘Was that building there a minute ago?’ asked the Nice Attorney, confused.

‘I guess it was,” said the Good Detective slowly. ‘Looks like Jack here was the first person to spot it.’

‘Indeed!’ shouted the Grumpy Attorney. ‘Now let’s get inside before we get cooked alive in this miserable desert heat!’ With that, he led the others across the desert road and approached the old building.

‘What does it say?’ asked the Nice Attorney as they came closer to the front doors.

‘Desert Road Bird Sanctuary,’ replied The Bartender. ‘Looks like an odd place too keep a bunch of birds,’ he said as he scratched his head.”

“Bird Sanctuary? That seems rather... random,” said Goodman questioningly.

“Hey, I’m doing the best I can!” said Jack. “So anyway, the Grumpy Attorney led the others through the doors and was shocked to find that the inside of the building wasn’t old looking at all! There were red plush carpets and mahogany tables and chandeliers and fancy murals of birds hanging on the walls. If anything, the place looked more like a big city inn than a small desert shack! So all four friends are just staring at all the stuff this place has to offer when...”

Jack altered his voice to a sweet, feminine pitch. “‘Oh my! We have visitors! Isn’t that great, Birdie?’

The Bartender and his friends all whirled around and saw a Pretty Girl standing before them, a sweet smile on her face.’”

“That’s rather vague, Mr. Keeper. What did she look like?” interjected Hammond.

Jack shrugged. “Now that you say that, I guess it was, Mr. Hammond. Just give me a second.” Scratching the right side of his head, Jack absently thought, pretty girl... pretty girl... Mere seconds later, the perfect image flashed in his mind.

“Well?” asked Hammond impatiently.

“She was short, with big almond eyes and a button nose and an adorable little smile. She wore a white dress, and her hair was long and red, like mine.” Compulsively, Jack seized some of his hair with his fist, lifted it away from his face, and let it slowly cascade back to its original position. “Oh, and she also had a green parrot on her shoulder. Is that good enough a description for you?” snapped Jack, swinging the beam of Goodman’s flashlight to Hammond’s face.

“Yes, muttered Hammond, nodding roughly. Moments later, Goodman made an affirmative noise whilst Mia made a sound comparable to a poodle being trodden upon. His mind elsewhere, Jack took a sip of cola before continuing.

“Now, the four friends were obviously shocked to see this sweet little girl appear out of nowhere, so they all stared at her as if she setting things on fire. Of course, The Pretty Girl quickly figured this out.

‘Oh, did I startle you? I’m terribly sorry,’ she said. ‘You see, Birdie and I don’t get visitors too often.’

‘I can see why,’ said the Grumpy Attorney. ‘Honestly, who keeps a bird sanctuary in the middle of the desert?’

‘I do. Now, are you here for the tour?’

After hearing that question, the Nice Attorney said, ‘No, I’m afraid not. Our car broke down just outside your building. Could we borrow your phone so that we may call a tow truck?’

The girl just smiled and said, ‘I’m afraid not. I don’t have a telephone here. I find it far too... nauseating, being connected to the entire world like that.’

‘So how are we going to get to the city?’ asked the Handsome Bartender.

‘Well... a food truck comes by once a week to replenish my stock of bird food,’ said the Pretty Girl. ‘I’m sure the driver would be able to get you the help you need.’

‘When does the food truck make its next visit?’ asked the Good Detective.

‘Tomorrow morning,’ said the Girl.

‘I see. If that’s the case, do you think you could let us stay here for the night?’

After hearing the Good Detective’s question, the Pretty Girl stood still and took a good long stare at the green parrot on her shoulder. She started muttering something, but none of the other people could hear what it was. After thinking a moment, the Pretty Girl smiled and clapped her hands together.

‘Birdie says yes!’ she squealed. ‘But on one condition.’

‘Name it,’ said the Handsome Bartender.

‘Could you please take a tour of the sanctuary? Birdie’s friends are lonely!’ Of course, the Pretty Girl had to give the best watery-eyed pout she could when she gave the request, and everyone knows the Handsome Bartender can’t resist a pretty girl.’” Jack focused the light on his face and wagged his eyebrows to prove the point.

“I see no flaws in your claim...” muttered Hammond.

Jack decided it would best to leave that statement alone. After taking another sip of Cola, Jack continued, “So the Handsome Bartender just smiled and said, ‘That’s sounds like a fair request. Where you keep the birds? They obviously aren’t in here, and I didn’t see any other buildings in back of this one.’

After that, the girl’s smile only got wider. ‘It’s underground,’ she said as if it were obvious. ‘We wouldn’t want the birdies to get cooked under that hot sun, now wouldn’t we?’

‘I guess not!’

‘Wonderful! I’ll show you four to the elevator!’ said the Pretty Girl, a big smile on her face.

So the Pretty Girl leads the others to this elevator that’s tucked away in the back of the room. They all get in, and the Pretty Girl pushes a button. The elevator goes down awful fast, but it takes a good minute for the thing to reach its destination. Once they reach the sanctuary floor, the Bartender and his friends get out, but the Pretty Girl stays behind.

‘Aren’t you coming?’ asks the Nice Attorney.

‘No, not this time,’” Jack forced an approximation of a girlish giggle. “‘I’m going to go back up and keep an eye out for more visitors. Just take a look around and come back here when you’re done!’ The Pretty Girl flashed a big smile before letting the elevator door close again.

‘Well, that was odd,’ said the Good Detective. “Let’s have a look around, shall we?’

So everybody gazed around the room they were standing in, which was just a little square place with a bunch of bird art on the walls. There were only two doors in the room: the door for the elevator the group had just left, and a big, ugly swinging door made out of gray metal. That door had a sign on it marked, “Sanctuary Hall”.

‘I guess we’d better go through here,’ said the Handsome Bartender. He pushed open the door and led everyone inside.

‘Oh, dear,’ gasped the Nice Attorney as she gazed down the lengthy path.”

“And what, pray tell, did this amazing path look like?” snapped Hammond.

“I’m thinking about it! Stop pressing me!” After taking another sip of cola, Jack pressed his right hand against his head and attempted to come up with a decent description of the sanctuary. After a few seconds, the appropriate image vividly burst in front of his mental eye.

“It didn’t look anything like the bird section of the zoo, that’s for damn sure. The visitor’s part of the “sanctuary” was an ugly hallway that stretched well off into the distance. You see, the hallway was only a few feet wide and a couple feet tall, with round yellow light fixtures hanging from the ceiling every few feet, making the red hall carpet look like a sick shade of orange. Every few feet there’d be a viewing window on either side of the hall which let you look in on the bird environments. Even worse, these ‘environments’ were nothing more than cramped stone cubes, each with a light, a fake plant, and a little puddle of water inside; far too small and plain a bird to fly or have fun in. The squawks and chirps and caws of unhappy birds echoed up and down the length of the place. All in all, it hardly what you would consider an ideal tourist destination.

‘Frankly, this isn’t what I was expecting,’ growled the Grumpy Attorney.

‘I don’t think this was what any of us were expecting,’ said the Handsome Bartender. ‘What do you think we should do?’

‘The girl running the place is the only decent shot we’ve got at getting to the city, and she won’t be very happy with us if we don’t give this place at least a decent look around. We can worry about the condition of the birds here once we’re well away from here.’ explained the Good Detective.

‘I guess that makes sense,’ said the Nice Attorney. ‘I wish we could do something sooner, though...’

‘Let’s just get this over with,’ said the Handsome Bartender. ‘Maybe the sight of visitors will cheer some of these birds up or something.’

So the four of them started making their way down the hall, taking a bit of time to stare at the birds along the way. The mixture of birds the girl had in her little dungeon was very odd indeed; penguins and pheasants and doves and geese and dozens of other birds were just scattered around in no particular order.

The Handsome Bartender decided to stop and spend some time with a cardinal, which was doing nothing but cawing and walking around in stupid circles... like all the other birds, it didn’t have enough space and acted rather ill because of it.

‘Hello little bird!’ said the Handsome Bartender, tapping on the pane of glass.

The cardinal merely squawked even louder and flew full force into the glass, knocking itself out.

‘Well, that can’t be good,’ said the Handsome Bartender sadly. Looking further down the hall, he saw the Nice Attorney staring at another window, a strange look on her face. Puzzled, the Handsome Bartender decided to investigate.

‘I don’t know if it’s sleeping or dead,’ said the Nice Attorney as she stared through the glass. The Handsome Bartender walked up beside her and saw that the cube contained an enormous peacock, stuffed into a space not much larger than itself. The bird was sleeping on a pile of its own feathers; they were falling out because the poor thing was so sick.

‘I know,’ said the Handsome Bartender. ‘Some the birds have room to fly a little, but this... this is just sad.’ After another moment, the Bartender knocked on the window, trying to see if the thing would wake up. ‘Anybody in there!’ he yelled through the window.

All the peacock did was open its little eyes and let out a ‘GREEEEEEEEE!’” Jack allowed himself a smile as his customers flinched at his sudden screeching noise. “After that, he just snuggled down and went back to sleep.

‘Well, that was odd!’ said the handsome bartender loudly. ‘Couldn’t even bother to deal with visitors for one minute, the little bugger!’ The handsome bartender was about to go look at something else when...”

Jack turned off Goodman’s flashlight, plunging the table into darkness almost complete.

“The hallway went dark,” finished Jack ominously, before turning the flashlight back on with a flick of a thumb. “If only for a moment. However, something quite weird occurred in that little... window of opportunity.

‘My God...’ said the Handsome Bartender. ‘The peacock’s gone!’

Indeed, the Bartender’s words were true; the fancy bird had disappeared!

‘What’s gone?’ growled the Grumpy Attorney as he walked over to the Bartender, the Good Detective right behind him.

‘There was a peacock behind this glass just a minute ago. Now the thing’s somehow disappeared!’

‘Are you sure you’re not just imagining things...? A place as... creepy as this can trick the brain into seeing things that aren’t really there.’

‘No, it was undoubtedly here!’ said the Nice Attorney, her voice shaking with fear. ‘I saw it too! It was sleeping, but then it woke up, and it got all huffy and yelled at us and went back to sleep! And now it’s disappeared!’

‘I’m sure it’s no big deal,’ said the Good Detective. ‘There’s probably a logical reason behind this; no reason to get upset or anything.’

The Nice Attorney calmed down a bit and smiled. ‘I guess you’re right. It’s not exactly a tragedy, anyhow. It was a rather rude bird...’

“It was then that the lights in the hall went out again. But this time, they didn’t come back on. Instead, the chattering and wailing of the birds started to get louder and louder; the darkness pressed down with the weight of a thousand gallons of mead. The hall became darker and louder and darker and louder and then... ’AAAYEEEEEEEEEE!!!’” Jack screamed in the loudest, most high-pitched voice he could muster; a fleeting image of Winston Payne being caught in the shower by an axe murderer flashed through his mind as his wail echoed through the darkened bar. Chuckling to himself, he flipped the light back on.

Lowering his voice to a whisper, Jack continued, “The birds calmed down... the lights came back on... but something quite terrible had happened while the hall was dark. For you see... in the space of those few seconds of chaos... the Nice Attorney... disappeared!”

Jack spared a glance at Mia; other then her eyes growing wide, she had no real reaction to being singled out in the story. Jack stopped and slowly ate a potato chip; he figured the pause would build suspense.

“As soon as the others noticed this, they started walking back and forth, frantically searching for her, calling out her name... but it was all for naught. The Nice Attorney was nowhere to be found, and thus she couldn’t reply. The three were about to give up searching for here completely when the Handsome Bartender stumbled upon what remained.”

“What remained?” asked Mia slowly.

“Yes... for you see... all that was left of the Nice Attorney was an ugly deep red stain on the carpet... and, atop that stain lay a single feather from the tail of a peacock; the marker of a sinister grave.” Jack stopped again and reached for the cola bottle across the table; he smiled as he saw that his customers actually appeared anxious to hear the rest of the story.

“As they stared at this grissly bit of evidence, the three remaining friends wondered what they should do next.

‘We obviously can’t stay here,’ said the Good Detective. ‘I don’t know how this could have happened, but I do know that if it happened once, it can happen again.’

‘What do we tell the owner when we get back?’ asked the Handsome Bartender. ‘Without a phone or a car, we have no way of getting to the city. We can’t even hold her accountable for what just happened.’

‘It doesn’t matter!’ yelled the Grumpy Attorney. ‘We’ll probably be better off trying to walk to the city instead of just waiting here! I don’t like these games; I don’t like them one bit!’ With that, the Grumpy attorney quickly started to march down the hall towards the elevator room. After a last glance at the feather and stain, the Handsome Bartender and Good Detective closely followed.

‘Stupid birds,’ muttered the Grumpy Detective while he walked. ‘The things haven’t shut up for one Goddamn second since we got here, and now they’re giving us funny looks, too!’

Upon hearing this, the Handsome Bartender and Good Detective looked around to find that... Indeed! While they didn’t quiet or change the sounds they used, many of the birds were giving them strange glances as they walked by. The Handsome Bartender shivered and focused his eyes on the door at the end of the hallway in a desperate attempt to put it out of his mind.

It only took another minute for the three of them to reach the end of the hall.

‘About time!’ announced the Grumpy Attorney as they stopped before the door to the elevator room. ‘Now we can get out of this hellhole!’ And with that he grabbed the handle, pulled, and... Nothing happened.

‘What’s wrong?’ asked the Good Detective.

‘This... this stupid door is stuck! Indeed, it is fixed so that I can not get it open!’ He pulled at it for another second before spinning around, his eyebrows twitching in anger. ‘Well, don’t just stand there and watch! Help me!’

The Good Detective immediately grabbed the door handle and pulled along with the Grumpy Attorney, but the door still didn’t budge. He turned to the Handsome Bartender and yelled, ‘Come on, give us a hand!’

‘Okay,’ said the Handsome Bartender. ‘But I have a feeling it’s not going to help very much...’ And with that, he too grabbed the handle, braced himself against the floor, and pulled with all his might.

However, just as the Handsome Bartender had suspected, the door still did not budge. The Grumpy Attorney let out an ‘AAARGH!’ as he pulled on the handle as hard as he could.

Unfortunately, by this time the Grumpy Attorney’s hands were getting all sweaty from holding the door handle too long, and he suddenly lost his grip. This wouldn’t have been a big deal all by itself, but the... abruptness of the event caused him to fall backwards, taking the Handsome Bartender and the Good Detective with him. In the span of a second, the three of them were suddenly on the ground in a stupid wriggling heap!’”

Jack made a funny face and waved his arms around erratically to illustrate his point; his customers laughed at the sight.

As the room fell silent again, Jack continued, “After this little... incident, the Grumpy Attorney managed to slowly get to his feet. As he thought of various ways he could punish the door for the crime of not opening like an innocent door should, he found himself interrupted by a voice he hadn’t heard before.”

“Ha ha, hello! Ha ha, hello!” cawed Jack.

“‘What the hell?’ swore the Grumpy Attorney.

‘Hello! Hello!’

The Grumpy Attorney turned to find that the source of the voice was a sickly looking red parrot, sitting on a worn looking perch in the viewing window closest to the door.

‘What was that?’ asked the Good Detective as he stood up and helped the Handsome Bartender to his feet.

‘It looks like that parrot over there thinks our situation is funny,’ said the Handsome Bartender.

‘Oh, really?’ sneered the Grumpy Attorney. ‘Well, I’ll show him who’ll be laughing in the end. With that, he stomped over to the parrot’s little room and pounded on the window glass with his fist.

‘What do you think you’re doing?!’ he yelled.

The parrot merely fluttered his wings as if the Grumpy Attorney hadn’t said anything. ‘Hello, grumpy, hello!” he squawked.

Obviously, this only made the man angrier; he pounded on the glass again and screamed, ‘Are you mocking me?!’

‘Grumpy! Hello! Old! Hello! Ugly! Hello!’”

Jack spared a glance at Hammond; the man looked almost as ready to blow a gasket as his fictional counterpart did. Jack shook his head and decided to bring the teasing to an end.

“After that little string of insults, the Grumpy Attorney understandably couldn’t hold back his temper any longer. He drew back his fist, screamed, ‘You can’t make a fool out of me!’ and slammed it as hard as he could into the observation glass.”

“That doesn’t sound like a very wise decision,” said Goodman matter-of-factly.

“Well, people don’t tend to make very rational decisions when placed under extreme stress,” replied Jack in a similar tone.

“Point taken. So what happened to the... er, Grumpy Attorney?” asked Goodman, shooting Hammond a sympathetic look.

“I’m getting there... Anyway, the only thing that the Grumpy Attorney’s big, meaty, fist did was put a little crack in the glass when it made contact. However, the same can not be said for the effect the glass had on the fist, so a moment later the Grumpy Attorney was screaming and clutching at his hand in pain.” Again, Jack comically mimed the action; Mia laughed and Goodman chuckled while Hammond remained silent.

“The Handsome Bartender, being the compassionate guy that he is, asked, ‘Are you all right?’

The Grumpy attorney merely turned and yelled, ‘It is quite obvious that I am far from “all right”! Indeed, I am in considerable pain right now! Damn it, I’m going to destroy that stupid parrot!’

The next part of the story already in mind, Jack switched off the flashlight. “Before the Grumpy Attorney’s threat could even finish echoing down the hall, the lights again flickered and faded to black. As darkness pressed down with a weight that froze everyone in their tracks, the cries of the birds grew faster and louder and faster and louder... and just before the insanity could become complete... ‘YAAAAAAAAARGH!!!’” This time, Jack’s scream was masculine and pitched abnormally low; it sounded almost inhuman as it cut through the darkness. After fixing a grim expression upon his face, Jack calmly turned the flashlight back on with a click.

“When the lights came back on, there was no need for a frantic search. The insulting parrot was gone, and the Grumpy Attorney had vanished along with him. In the spot where the man last stood was another crimson stain, adorned with a single green parrot feather. For all intents and purposes, the Grumpy Attorney was no more.”

Jack smiled grimly before plucking a pretzel out of a bowl and popping it in his mouth. Absently, he wondered how much longer it would be before the lights came back on; if the blackout lasted much longer, some of his refrigerated cocktail ingredients would begin to spoil. Sighing, he pushed the thought away from the front of his mind and concentrated on how to keep his story going.

“Now then, the disappearance of one attorney was horrifying enough. Now that both attorneys had suffered the same mysterious fate, the Handsome Bartender became quite... nervous.

‘W-what do we do now?’ he asked quietly.

‘I’m not sure. If the three of us couldn’t get that door open, there’s no chance of you and me getting it open now.’ The Good Detective was oddly calm, as if he’d just let all his emotions drop to the ground.’

‘So... that means...?’

‘We can wait and hope that the owner comes down to get us, or we can try seeing what’s at the other end of the hallway.’

‘The other end? Why the hell would we want to go there?’

‘Why the hell would we not?! The owner probably isn’t going to come anytime soon, and nothing good’s going to happen if we just stay here. If that crazy girl managed to build this whole... madhouse underground, she probably put another exit at the other end of this infernal hall. An underground structure with one potential exit just seems rather... stupid, don’t you think?’

‘I-I guess. Let’s just go then; these God forsaken birds are making my heart pound like a jackhammer set to self-destruct!’”

“What kind of allusion is that? There’s no such thing as a ‘jackhammer set to self-destruct’! Have you gone mad, Mr. Keeper?’ asked Hammond crossly.

“Well, er, I... damn, that did sound kind of stupid,” said Jack sheepishly as he scratched the side of his head. “Don’t know why I said that; it just sort of slipped. Forget I mentioned it.”

“I’ll put it out of my mind, but don’t expect me to forget it completely,” growled Hammond.

Jack sighed and shook his head; Hammond always stuck to his abrasive principles no matter what the situation. “Good enough,” he finally said resignedly. “So after the Handsome Bartender and the Good Detective finished their little argument, they proceeded to briskly walk towards the other end of the gloomy hallway, hundreds of feet of in the distance. The Handsome Bartender found it quite nerve racking to walk past the birds yet again; he could no longer ignore the fact that every last bird turned its head to stare at him as he walked by.

‘Almost there,’ said the Good Detective as they passed by the last couple of windows.

As they passed the last viewing window, which contained a common rooster, the Handsome Bartender and Good Detective saw that the hallway turned to the right at the end.

‘Sure hope to hell there’s a door around that there corner,’ said the Handsome Bartender. ‘Don’t think I can stand spending another minute in this terrible place.’

‘I couldn’t agree with you more,’ said the Good Detective.

Unfortunately, it was but a moment later that they reached the corner at the far end of the hall, but the sight that greeted their eyes was hardly what you would call a pleasant one.”

“What did they see?” asked Mia weakly.

Jack rubbed at his head. “They saw, well, they saw, uh...” An image flashed in Jack’s mind; though it seemed rather strange, he decided to use it anyway. “You see, the hall extended for just a few feet, though it was rather wide. Upon the end wall there hung but a simple large white sign. At the top of this sign, the words, ‘DEAD END’ were written in a color of deepest red. The wall beneath the sign was covered with ink of the same color; words so small that the eye merely couldn’t take them all in at once.”

“A sign? Even for this story, that seems rather... strange,” muttered Goodman.

“I know, I know, it’ll probably make more sense to you once I explain,” said Jack dully; ignoring the fact that he didn’t quite understand it himself. “So anyway, the Handsome Bartender and the Good Detective were rather disappointed in the lack of a door at the other end of the long, bird-filled hallway.

‘Damn it damn it damn it damn it damn it!’ screamed the Handsome Bartender.

‘There’s no need to get upset yet,’ said the Good Detective, his voice completely calm. ‘There might still be another way out we’ve missed.’

The Handsome Bartender was skeptical, but there wasn’t really much point in arguing. ‘I guess you’re right,’ he sighed. ‘What should we do now?’

‘Well, it’d probably be best if we go back to where we started,’ said the Good Detective thoughtfully. ‘But first, I’d like you to do me a favor.’

‘Okay... what to do you want me to do?’

‘Can you take a look at the small print on that sign for me? My eyes aren’t as good as yours...’

‘Sure.’ And with that, the Handsome Bartender approached the big ugly sign and started to read the finer red print, which he immediately realized was nothing more than several hundred names, arranged in a list. As his eyes slowly scrolled down the lengthy sign, he realized many of the names sounded hauntingly familiar. People from the City... famous lawyers and detectives... and others, ordinary people that he’d known from days long past. At first, he didn’t understand what any of these people had to do with each other, but then, he realized...”

Jack paused dramatically and pointed the flashlight up at his face to give himself a particularly sinister appearance. “Every last person on that accursed list had vanished without a trace. And not one of them had ever been found... dead or alive.”

“Oh my,” whispered Mia softly.

“Yeah... not a very good sign. However, that wasn’t even the worst of it.”

“What was?” Mia’s voice was even tenser than it had been before.

“Well, you see,” began Jack, slipping back into his ‘narrator’ voice, “The Handsome Bartender was still reading what remained of that list. More and more names, growing ever more recent until...

“GRAAAAAAAH!!!” Jack suddenly let out an agitated scream, though this time he didn’t try to alter his voice. He smirked as he noted his customers still jumped despite the fact that he’d already done this twice before.

Recovering quickly, Hammond shook his head. “What happened this time, Mr. Keeper? Did the poster come to life and bite someone’s arm off?”

Jack chuckled. “No, not that. Just relax and let me keep going.”

Hammond sighed loudly before returning to his gruff silence.

“So anyway, the Handsome Bartender let out a yell as he continued to stare at the end that blood-red list, his hands shaking.

‘What’s wrong?’ asked the Good Detective.

The Handsome Bartender didn’t say a word. Instead, he lifted a shaking finger and pointed to the two names at the very end of the list. The good detective drew closer and found...”

Again, Jack shifted the flashlight to his face. “The last two names on that list were those of the Good and Grumpy Attorneys; the fresh red words glimmering in the sick yellow light of the sanctuary behind them. The Good Detective hissed and jumped back once he made sense of what he was seeing.

‘Their names... what does this mean?’ he asked the Handsome Bartender.

Again, the Handsome Bartender pointed at the sign. ‘It says “dead end”. Get it... DEAD end? A pun... isn’t that just clever?’” Jack let out a shaky, high-pitched laugh.

“At first, the Good Detective just stared off into space and didn’t say a word. Then, he slowly turned around and walked back towards the corner; back to the long hall that was the Bird Sanctuary. Puzzled and shaken, the Handsome Bartender quickly followed.

The Good Detective slowly waked around the corner and stopped right at the end of the hall. The Handsome Bartender watched as he placed cupped a hand around his ear and took in the torturous noise of hundreds of nasty birds chattering their little brains out. His breathing started to grow heavy, but still he said nothing.

‘All you alright?’ asked the Handsome Bartender.

The Good Detective said nothing.

‘Um... are you going to say anything?’ The silence was making the Handsome Bartender even more nervous and scared, which was a rather impressive feat when you consider his rather panicky state.

In response, the Good Detective simply took a deep breath, held it in for just a second, and then...

‘Damn it, they actually did it!’ screamed the Detective, shaking his fist towards the ceiling above. ‘Maniac birds! You killed them all! Damn you... damn you all to hell!’

Before the Handsome Bartender could even say another word, the Good Detective reached into his coat, pulled out a gun, and fired a shot at the nearest viewing window, the one that held a big, ugly old rooster. The glass shattered from the impact, but the bird inside was unharmed. I believe you can all guess what happened next.” Jack smirked and turned the flashlight off.

“Darkness fell once more upon the hallway, and in a matter of seconds, the already noisy birds were screaming in a shared insanity. It was barely seconds before the Handsome Bartender heard yet another example of the sound that’d been haunting him all day...”

“Yeeeearrrgh!!!” Jack screamed his loudest scream yet, a rather destitute-sounding low pitched wail. Jack used the cloak of the sudden darkness to give his throat a little massage before he turned the flashlight toward his face and turned it on one more time.

“The lights came back on, and it was exactly as the Handsome Bartender feared. Like the Nice and Grumpy Attorneys before him, the Good Detective had vanished, leaving behind nothing save another hideous red stain, adorned with a single rooster feather. Even without looking at the horrible poster at the end of the hall, he knew that the last of his three friends lived no more.”

Jack paused and took a final sip of cola as he contemplated how best to end his story. After placing his right hand to his head and twirling a lock of hair for a few seconds, an appropriately simple idea entered his mind. Jack flashed a grimace and began once more time.

“Trembling, the Handsome Bartender slowly began to walk down the hall once more. As he walked by the chattering birds behind the planes of glass to his left and their right, they fell silent in order to send him calculating stares. As he continued to pace, the sanctuary grew quieter and quieter; the once relentless noise being replaced with a silence that weighed down upon his very soul. As he reached the other end of the hallway and sat against the still-locked door that had sealed the fates of all three of his friends, he knew that he would not escape the Sanctuary. After a last sigh of anguish, the Handsome Bartender started the eternal task of wondering when his ordeal would be over, and which of the wicked birds would be the one to do him in.”

Smiling at his scary little ending, Jack pointed the flashlight towards his customers and shot them an expectant look.

Predictably, Hammond merely returned the look with a sneer and asked, “That’s it?!”

“Yeah, that’s all I’ve got, Mr. Hammond. What’d you think of it?”

Hammond’s lips pursed in thought; it was obvious that he was trying to choose the proper words to say. “That was...” he began.

“Yes?” Jack’s eyes widened eagerly.

“That was... the most random piece of dribble I’ve ever had the misfortune of listening to! Honestly, Mr. Keeper, there was practically no rhyme or reason anywhere in the context of that story!”

Having expected a negative critique from Mr. Hammond, Jack refused to let himself look put out. “Well, Mr. Grumpy, if I had used nothing but rhyme and reason, I would have told you nothing more than a boring instructional poem! Honestly... I was making the thing up as I went; you can cut me a little slack!”

“BANG!” went Hammond’s fist against the little round table. “Give the opponent an opening, and he’ll pin you to the ground!” he shouted. “Just like the case I won last month, when the Prosecutor had the naivety to speculate upon the motive of his own critical witness! You see, it was late on the first day of the trial, and the witness had just ranted about how his pants-”

“Well, I thought it was a rather good story,” said Mia in a voice loud enough to drown out Hammond’s little rant. “I’m quite impressed by your talent, Jake; the ability to improvise a tale of such quality is rather amazing. I only wish...” Mia trailed off.

Of course, Jack’s curiosity was piqued. “Only wish what?”

“Did you have to, er, kill off my character so early in the story? I didn’t really have enough time to do much of anything.” said Mia matter-of-factly.

Jack chuckled awkwardly. “I really didn’t know where I was going until I got there, if you know what I mean,” he stammered. “I just got the idea to let you go first, that’s all.”

“I understand,” said Mia, nodding.

“It could have been worse,” said Goodman thoughtfully. “For example, you could have been given a much nastier name, like the Grumpy Attorney over here.” Smiling, Goodman turned to Hammond and tipped his hat in acknowledgement.

Unfortunately, that gave Hammond another opportunity to rant.

“And why did you have to keep calling me grumpy all the time?” he barked. “I cannot help it if my personal philosophy makes me seem distant or self-centered! It wins cases! Sometimes I wonder why I even bother coming here; constantly being insulted...”

Jack was about to open his mouth to argue when he was interrupted by a series of artificial-sounding notes. Looking down, he realized that Hammond’s cell phone was ringing. A second later, he started to laugh aloud as he realized that out of all the songs in the world, Hammond had actually selected the new techno hit “Justice-Man Forever” to be his personal ring tone.

Despite the lack of light in the bar, Hammond made the point of sending Jack his most piercing glare before he picked his phone up, stared at it, pressed a button, and sat it back down on the table without another word.

“Is there something wrong with it?” asked Jack dubiously.

“It’s not my call,” he said simply, before pressing several more buttons and sliding it to his left. “It’s for you, Ms. Fey,” he said dully. “One of those infernal text-messages.”

“Oh!” said Mia, slightly surprised. “Thank you!” And with that, she picked up the phone and started to read. Hammond, on the other hand, poured another glass of cola and tried not to look peeved at the fact that his phone was in someone else’s hands yet again.

Shaking his head, Jack leaned over to Goodman and whispered, “See the madness I have to deal with every day?”

Not missing a beat, Goodman replied, “I know. I’m glad I picked the far less stressful job of police detective work.”

Jack sniggered to himself; it was nice to have someone match his wit for once. “Hopefully this will soon be over,” he added. “Usually I’m getting the place closed by now; I’m going to be too tired to drive home if the lights don’t come on pretty damn soon.”

“Well, it shouldn’t be much longer before power is restored,” said Goodman thoughtfully. “After all, it stopped raining some time ago.”

Jack blinked in surprise; he’d nearly forgotten about the rain. As he stared at his window, unaffected by neither water nor lightning, he realized that Goodman was right. “Well, I’ll be a son of a-”

“Clunk!” Mia sat Hammond’s phone roughly on the table, sighed, and ran a hand through her hair in obvious relief.

“Good news?” asked Goodman hopefully.

“Yes; Maya sent me a message!” Noticing Goodman’s confused look, she added, “Maya’s my sister. Apparently she’d been watching an episode of a television show called ‘The Steel Samurai’ and turned off her cell phone so she wouldn’t get interrupted. I guess the power didn’t go out in her part of the city.”

“Makes sense...” said Jack. “Television’s a rather big thing with teenagers, and even I think the Steel Samurai’s a pretty good show. Isn’t that right, Mr. Hammond?”

Hammond nodded stiffly.

“Only thing I don’t get is why she sent you a message instead of talking to you directly.”

“Oh, she said she was tired and was going to sleep. Oh, and she was worried that a real conversation might get her in trouble with the ‘Ronnie Hamham’ this phone apparently belongs to.” said Mia, plainly amused.

Hammond let out a loud groan. “It’s that God-forsaken phone company!” he yelled. “I don’t know why they can’t get my name right for the caller identification feature. Is it really so hard for them to double check these things before they make them permanent? I’d like to know the name of the moron that made the mistake in the first place. Indeed, if I ever meet that man, I’m going to take my foot and put it right up-”

What Hammond was going to do with his foot, Jack never found out (though he had a guess), for it was that moment that all the lights in the ceiling popped back on at once, blinding all four occupants with the sudden intensity of their glow.

“God damn!” shouted Jack as he placed a hand against his eyes and pushed with significant force. Mia and Goodman let out identical noises of surprise, and while Jack couldn’t quite hear what Hammond was mumbling to himself on the other side of the table, he was fairly sure that it was an oath far fouler than anything he would say.

After a few seconds of rapid blinking, Jack found his eyes adjusted enough to remove his hand from his face. “I guess the electricity’s back on,” he said simply.

“Thank you for stating that fact, Mr. Keeper, I couldn’t possibly have figured it out myself,” snapped Hammond, who was still rubbing at his own eyes rather vigorously.

“People helping others; that’s what life is all about,” said Goodman cryptically as he adjusted his hat. “Now that the lights are back on, they’ll probably end the lockdown. Of course, any police officer that knows his stuff will wait a couple minutes in case another blackout hits...”

Goodman abruptly stopped as a loud beep escaped from his coat; his eyebrows creased as he pulled his walkie-talkie out a pocket a pressed a button. “Goodman here,” he stated.

“Hey, Goodman! It’s Detective Gumshoe! How are things going for you, pal?”

“Quite well. I haven’t encountered any dangerous situations since our last conversation,” said Goodman in a no-nonsense tone.

“I’m glad to hear that, pal! You’re still in the Gavel, right?”

“Yes, I’m still in this little hideaway of a bar you’ve got hidden in the building, if that’s what you mean.”

“Great! Is Jack okay? If anything happened to him while he was under your watch...”

“He’s perfectly fine, as are his customers,” said Goodman quickly. “In fact, this has been my most entertaining assignment in quite a while, thanks to them,” he added, smiling.

“Sounds good! Now, I guess you’re wondering why I’ve called you.”

“Yes...”

“Well, you see, Chief Skye has called off the lockdown.”

Goodman’s eyes widened in surprise. “She has...? Already?”

“Yeah... I’m surprised too, pal! I don’t know why she’s in such a hurry... it’s just been me, her, and Mr. Edgeworth sitting in the same little room for the last hour... we’ve been having a grand old time!”

“I’m sure you have,” said Goodman, though it was obvious from the smirk on his face that he thought otherwise. “Do you have any orders for me before I vacate the building?”

The walkie-talkie fell silent for a second before Gumshoe stated, “Nope. As long as Jack and the gang are all right, there’s nothing else for you to do here.”

“Excellent! I’ll be heading for home then; I’m in need of a good’s night sleep after today’s excitement.”

“I understand, pal! You go home and get your sleep then. Detective Gumshoe out!”

With a slight pop, the walkie-talkie fell silent. Goodman placed it back in his pocket and laughed, his hat bobbing up and down awkwardly in time with his mirth. After he was finished, he looked at Jack and said, “Detective Gumshoe seems to care about you quite a lot, Mr. Keeper.”

Jack shrugged. “What can I say? He’s got good taste in friends.”

“I see,” said Goodman as he rose to his feet. “It’s about time I should be going,” he added.

Jack also rose to his feet and stuck his hand out towards Goodman, just as Goodman had when they first met. “Come back and visit sometime,” he said cheerfully as Goodman accepted the handshake. “You don’t have to drink anything with booze in it if that’s not your thing.”

Goodman released the handshake and adjusted his hat, a thoughtful look on his face. “I believe I will, Mr. Keeper; it’s been a pleasure meeting you. He turned his head back towards the table. “The same goes for you, Ms. Fey; Mr. Hammond.”

Mia smiled and nodded respectfully. “See you around, Detective.”

Hammond also nodded, somewhat more roughly. “Yeah, see you,” he grunted.

Having run out of things to say, Goodman flashed one more smile, tipped his hat, and quickly walked out the Gavel door.

As he left, Hammond too rose to his feet.

“It’d be best if I left as well,” he stated.

Jack merely nodded; after three years he knew Hammond was not a person that cared for handshakes (or physical contact in general). “Goodbye, Mr. Hammond. See you soon.”

“Indeed,” returned Hammond. He stared into space for a moment before adding, “Oh, and add today’s drinks to my tab.”

“Already have, Mr. Hammond.”

“Very well then. I’ll be seeing you later then, Mr. Keeper; ...Ms. Fey.” He then quickly strode to the door and left.

“Well, that leaves just you and me, Ms. Fey,” said Jack matter-of-factly.

“I noticed,” said Mia, smirking. “Of course, I too, should be going. If I don’t start following this new lead as soon as I can, I might not be able to gather any useful information at all.”

Jack rubbed the back of his neck in confusion. “Lead? Information? Ms. Fey... I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

Mia merely smiled. “Hopefully you’ll find out one of these days, Jake.”

“Er, okay...” said Jack, still confused.

“Don’t worry about it,” said Mia reassuringly as she got to her feet. “Now then, where did I put my statue...?”

“Your clock?” Jack looked around for a moment before he spotted it, still sitting on the bar counter. “Its right over there,” he said, pointing. “I’ll get it for you.”

Jack quickly retrieved the errant clock and handed it to Mia with a smile. “Do you want fries with that?” he asked sheepishly.

Mia looked upwards in a mockery of serious thought. “How about... no.”

Jack placed a hand against his heart. “No fries? I’m shocked!”

“Well, I’m not too big on fries... or alcohol, for that matter. I only come here for the conversation... and the Handsome Bartender’s witty stories, of course.”

Jack chuckled awkwardly. “I do the best I can with the idea’s I’ve got, that’s all.”

“Well, I still believe it was rather good. Perhaps you should consider writing a novel in your free time.”

“I don’t know; I’m never really considered myself to be a writer... though I can’t deny that I have a lot of free time,” said Jack, thinking about his relatively small number of customers.

“Well, it’s up to you to decide what you should do with your life.” Mia paused, glanced at the bar door, and sighed. “I really should go home,” she stated sadly.

“It’s all right; I’ve got to clean up and close this place for the night anyhow. Thanks for stopping by, Ms. Fey.” As he had with Detective Goodman earlier, Jack extended his right hand.

Instead of shaking it, Mia merely laughed. “Oh, Jake,” she said amusedly. “You remind me of myself... so professional.”

Jack raised an eyebrow in confusion. “Er, what do you mean by that?”

Mia merely pointed to Jack’s still outstretched hand. “Always with the handshake... trying your hardest not to offend. You’re allowed to give me a hug, you know.”

Reddening slightly, Jack muttered, “Well, it’s not exactly standard procedure...”

Mia tilted her head and glared.

“But that doesn’t mean I won’t do it anyway!” stammered Jack. He then extended his arms and allowed Mia to pull him into an unexpectedly tight embrace. Jack’s face grew redder as various... involuntary thoughts made their way to the forefront of his mind.

Mia released Jack and allowed him a second to recover. “That’s better, Jake,” she stated evenly.

Jack quickly forced back his embarrassment and shot Mia a shrewd smile. “You’d better not tell Phoenix you did that,” he said airily. “He might get... jealous.”

Mia’s face darkened a little, but it was rather obvious that she was prepared for the jibe this time. “You do have a point there, Jake. Perhaps it would be best if I didn’t bring him here at all, then...” she speculated in an equally spacey voice.

Jake shook his head vigorously. “No, you can bring him here! In fact, I want to meet the guy.”

“Why?”

Jack thought back to the intense jubilation and subsequent depression of Mr. Payne; the sudden expression of shock and anger on Mr. Edgeworth’s face. “I find him... interesting.”

“I see,” said Mia with an elaborate nod. “In that case, I’ll make sure to bring him with me next time.”

Jack smiled and widened his eyes. “Promise...?” he asked, drawing out the word as if he were a young child asking for a sweet.

Mia laughed again. “Yes, I promise. Hopefully I’ll be able to come back soon.” She turned and walked to the door. “Take care of yourself, Jake!” she called as she stepped through the doorway and allowed the door to close behind her with a slam.

Jack smiled and shook his head. “One of these days, I’m going to have to tell you how to pronounce my name.” Sighing, Jack started to reflect upon the day as he picked up the four dirty mugs and carried them behind the bar counter.

“Of course, I don’t think she’d remember to call me by my real name even if I told her a dozen times,” he muttered as he as he sat them down in the little bar sink and twisted the red and blue water taps with a flourish.

“Hopefully this little incident will show the maintenance people what happens when don’t fix the damn generator as soon as it breaks,” added Jack as he squirted some liquid soap on his hands and scrubbed them in the stream of warm water. “Honestly... you simply can’t afford to slack off when the stakes are so high.”

Jack grabbed a clean rag from a cabinet beneath the sink and doused it in soap and water, transforming it into the perfect dish-cleaning assistant. Pursing his lips, he began to scrub the used mugs one by one. Washing dirty dishes was a rather boring and repetitive task, but it was hardly one that could be ignored.

“And Ms. Fey has a crush on Phoenix Wright,” added Jack, still not caring about the fact that he was talking to himself at eleven-o-clock at night. “They do seem to be rather similar... hardly surprising.” Shaking his head, Jack sat his rag across the faucet and placed the mugs on a little rack to dry. Of course, he would probably end up drying them manually anyway in a few minutes, but getting the rest of the dishes washed came first.

“She did seem rather happy,” said Jack as he walked towards the little bar door, intent on gathering the rest of the dishes. “In fact, I don’t think I’ve seen her so happy since, well...”

Upon a sudden inspiration, Jack walked along the near wall and stopped before a large bulletin board, which was hung on the bar wall beneath the single frosted window. Known by both Jack and his customers as the “Evidence Board”, it’d been hanging there for nearly fifteen years, gathering photographs of patrons taken during their most unguarded moments. Smiling at the various pictures of happy people and their ridiculous poses, Jack quickly located a single photo and yanked it off the board so he could study it in more detail.

On the right side of the image, a smiling woman with dark clothing and long brown hair sat on a barstool, one delicate hand clutching a coffee mug, the other lovingly slung around the shoulder of the man sitting next to her. The man, a rather handsome person with a pinstriped vest and a striking mane of black hair, sat on the left and mirrored the woman’s pose perfectly, right down to the sly yet cheerful grin. Behind the couple stood a heavyset man with a kind face, bushy moustache, and short iron-gray hair, his considerable stature mostly likely augmented by a hidden pedestal for the sake of the overall pose. The lovebirds sitting in front of him obviously didn’t mind his intrusion in the photograph; despite the small size of the picture it was rather obvious that the two only had eyes for each other.

Sighing, Jack flipped the familiar photo over. Neatly printed on the white backing were the words “The Golden Gavel’s Incredibly Cute Coffee Couple. Taken on February 15th, 2012 by R.C.”.

Jack sighed again as he flipped the photo back over and stared once more at the three people in the image. Though she looked noticably younger in the picture, the woman on the right was undoubtedly Mia Fey. As for the man on the left, Jack knew from his various customers that he was Souryuu Kaminogi; a skilled defense attorney that had met his tragic end at the hands of a psychopathic lunatic just a few months after the photograph had been taken. In the three years Jack had been running the Gavel, Mia had never talked about him at all; Jack figured this was a sign that she still took his death extremely hard.

However, Mia had told Jack about the pompous man standing in the back of the picture on several occasions, as had every other customer that’d been a regular at the Gavel before Jack had started his ‘reign’. The man’s name was Harold Busman, and he was a retired prosecutor-turned-bartender that had single-handedly run the Gavel from the turn of the millennium to his own sudden death in the spring of 2013. Though Jack never had any way of meeting Mr. Busman in person, he’d considered him to be his role model ever since his first day of tending bar.

Grimacing, Jack placed the picture back on the wall, his mind a whirl with thoughts of the past, present, and future.

“I guess everyone has to move on sooner or later,” he stated poignantly. Taking a step back, Jack thought again about the prospect of Mia bringing Phoenix Wright with her during her next visit.

“If they manage to hit it off, I’ll be able to get out my camera and take a picture just like this one,” mused Jack. “And if Mia asks why... I’ll just say it’s for... reference. After all, there’ll be plenty of attorneys in the future that’ll want to know about the case of the silly little clock.” Chuckling, Jack shook his head and turned around, intent on finishing his work.

Unfortunately, Jack didn’t know it then... but that silly little clock was soon going to be at the center of another incident.

And Mia’s promise to bring Phoenix Wright to the Gavel... would be one promise that she wouldn’t be able to keep.

---

Episode III: A Toast to the Sisters

Part 1/7: Death of an Innocent

September 5th, 2016, 9:15 PM

“Yep... this is defiantly a good night,” Jack told himself as he frantically searched through his big shelf of cocktail ingredients. “Now... where are the ones I need?”

After a few seconds of vigorous search, Jack’s eyes fell upon the critical ingredients: a tiny yellow bottle and a large container of red liquid.

“Ah-hah!” he exclaimed cunningly as he grabbed one of the items with each hand. He placed them on an empty stretch of the bar counter, approached the bar refrigerator, and opened it with a jerk.

Thankfully, there was no need for searching this time; the bottle of dark brown liquid sat prominently on the top shelf. Jack grabbed that too and placed it beside the other ingredients with a thump.

“And now I just need something to mix it all together in.” Jack quickly opened the cabinet above the sink and extracted one of his most prized possessions, an oversized screw-top cocktail mixer. Jack lovingly twisted off the large silver lid and gently sat it beside his other ingredients.

“And now for the ice,” said Jack softly as he placed the cocktail glass beneath the lever embedded in his freezer. While an icemaker was rather unconventional for a barroom setting, Jack found it far simpler than trying to pry individual cubes out of the bucket hidden inside the freezer itself. Jack smiled wanly at the familiar plinking noise of ice cube hitting metal. After Jack deemed the number of ice cubes adequate, he turned about, placed the bottom of the shaker on the counter, and turned to his ingredients.

“Now then,” he muttered softly. “I’ll need the perfect balance if I want the perfect flavor.”

Jack then picked up the little yellow bottle and gently unscrewed the lid, which was actually the top of an eyedropper. Jack squeezed the little rubber bulb, extracted a bit of vivid yellow liquid, carefully suspended the dropper above the shaker and counted out twenty drops. Jack quickly replaced the eyedropper lid and sat the little bottle aside before reaching for the larger red bottle.

“Better not skimp on this stuff, knowing those two,” muttered Jack knowledgably as he spared a glance at the two customers in mind. Tongue poking out in concentration, Jack unscrewed the bottle cap and slowly titled the bottle so that the end was suspended above the cocktail mixer.

“Wait for it...”

An extremely thick red liquid poured into the cocktail mixer, creating a strange cascade effect as it slowly seeped its way down the matrix of crystal clear ice cubes.

Having made this drink many times before, Jack quickly uprighted the bottle immediately before the amount of red liquid in the shaker became too great. Jack quickly screwed the lid back on the red container and reached for the largest bottle, the one filled with dark brown liquid.

“And, now for the most important ingredient of them all,” said Jack as he twisted off the lid and poured a liberal amount into the shaker, stopping only when the deep brown solution was only a couple of centimeters from the top. Once satisfied with the drink level, Jack reached under the bar and grabbed an extra long swizzle stick; for this type of drink, its use would be essential.

Placing his left hand on the cocktail shaker to keep it steady, Jack stuck the end of the swizzle stick inside the oversized container and began to stir. He idly hummed to himself as he watched the drink swirl about, gradually growing colder from its continuous exposure to the ice. As he continued to move the stick in a circle, Jack absently wondered if the ice cubes in the drink were starting to get dizzy.

After his left-hand fingers went numb from the coldness of the silver metal, Jack let go of the shaker, brought up two medium-sized glasses from under the bar, and sat them down a short distance away from one another. Jack then took the shaker and unscrewed away the top part of its lid, revealing a built-in strainer. Smirking at the sheer simplicity of the shaker’s design, Jack placed an equal amount of deep brown liquid in each glass.

“Got to add one more thing before I’m finished,” said Jack. He quickly returned to his shelf of cocktail ingredients and grabbed a short, fat jar filled nearly to the top with maraschino cherries. As he had with the ingredients before, Jack sat the jar on the bar counter, twisted off the lad, counted out four cherries, and placed two in each glass. He then resealed the lid and returned the cherries to their spot on the shelf. Having finished the grunt work, Jack finally placed a glass to his face and quietly admired the evenness of the liquid.

“Looks pure to me,” he said proudly. His task complete, Jack picked up the glasses, walked to the other end of the bar, and placed them in front of his two customers.

“Two medium diet colas, flavored with both lemon juice and cherry syrup, stirred, not shaken, and served in glasses with two cherries apiece. Will that be all for now?”

“I believe that’s it,” said Winston Payne confidently as he dragged a glass closer to his side of the bar counter. He took a small sip and made an appreciative noise. “Good as always, Jack.”

“Thanks, Mr. Payne.” Jack then turned his head and added, “What about you, Detective? Anything else?”

Bruce Goodman vigorously shook his head in the negative, causing his hat to fall across his eyes. “No, Mr. Keeper, this should be plenty,” he said as he impatiently returned it to its original angle and took a sip of his drink. “Hey... this stuff isn’t bad!” he exclaimed, his eyes widening in mild surprise.

“I know!” said Payne excitedly. “That’s why I ordered it for you!” He leaned back slightly and smiled. “We non-drinking types have to stick together, you know.”

Goodman let out a soft chuckle. “Of course. So, what were you saying about your case?”

Jack smirked as Payne started to give the specifics of the case he’d won that morning; a rather simple trial in which a pedestrian had been struck by a hit-and-run vehicle. Having heard the story once already before the Detective’s arrival, Jack walked to the other end of the bar, where his third customer was watching a orchestra play on TV as he absently stirred his tea with a spoon. “Do you want me to brew you some more, Mr. Edgeworth?” Jack asked cheerfully.

Frowning, Miles Edgeworth tore his eyes away from the television and looked Jack in the face. “No thank you, Jack. Hopefully by the time I finish this one I’ll be in a state to drive myself home.”

“I see,” said Jack, nodding. Edgeworth had had two glasses of wine when he’d entered the Gavel nearly two hours ago, complaining of overwork. Since then, he’d been watching public television and guzzling tea in an attempt to sober up. The porcelain mug sitting before him was his fourth; Jack absently wondered how he could drink so much without a single trip to the restroom. Sighing, Jack turned and walked back to Goodman and Payne, who was now in the middle of his courtroom tale.

“So, anyway, despite the relative simplicity of the victim’s testimony, Mr. Washer decided to cross-examine it anyway,” said Payne, chuckling. “It was rather pathetic; most of the things he asked had already been addressed by the detective just a few minutes beforehand.”

“Maybe this Washer guy was just trying to be through,” said Goodman thoughtfully.

Upon hearing this, Jack simply had to interrupt. “I highly doubt that, Detective.”

Goodman turned to Jack and tilted his head skeptically. “Why do you say that, Mr. Keeper?”

Jack laughed. “With all due respect, Detective, you’ve probably never had to deal with Upton Washer before. I have. He’s an okay guy, but he’s terrible at listening,” said Jack levelly. “He probably wasn’t paying much attention to the detective’s testimony.”

“I see,” said Goodman, frowning. “So was the cross-examination unsuccessful, then?”

“Not quite,” spat Payne. He paused and took a small sip of cola. “You see, the poor woman didn’t really get a good look at the vehicle that hit her; she only knew it was a green car. Washer managed to stumble upon this fact after holding up the testimony a good dozen times.”

“Even a stopped watch is right twice a day,” said Goodman thoughtfully. “How’d you manage to win the case, then? Was there another witness?”

“Yes and no,” said Payne cryptically. “While there weren’t any other people there to see the crime, there was something else... something much better.”

“I see...” muttered Goodman, before cocking his head in confusion. “Wait, what?”

“It was rather funny... Mr. Washer looked so proud of himself when I told him there were no more testimonies.” Payne paused, plucked a cherry out of his drink, and ate it with relish. “That’s when I told him about my secret weapon.”

“Weapon?”

“Yes, weapon! You see, when the defendant struck the victim with his car, he also ran through a red traffic light. Whenever that particular red-light is run, a picture is taken of the offending vehicle.”

Goodman nodded exuberantly; the answer to his question had been made rather plain. “So the camera took a picture of the defendant’s car?”

“Precisely!” exclaimed Payne, smiling. Absently, he placed his hand near his brow and starting moving it up and down as if there were an invisible spring growing out of his forehead. “Mr. Washer didn’t smile after he realized the camera system took a picture of the offending vehicle... a picture so accurate that the license plate number was easily readable!”

“Ah! So that was the deciding factor?”

“Yep! Once the defendant saw he’d been caught red-handed, he broke down and confessed then and there. And there was nothing that cheeky DA could do about it!”

“I see!” said Goodman, nodding once more. After taking a sip of his drink, he began playing with his hat, a thoughtful expression upon his face. “There’s only one thing I don’t quite understand...” he began.

“Really? What is it?” asked Payne, his voice dripping with skepticism.

“If you had that fancy picture from the start of the trial... why didn’t you show it to the court early on? I don’t see any reason the defendant would’ve withheld his confession if he saw the evidence sooner. Had you done that, the victim wouldn’t even have had to take the stand!”

Payne looked stunned; he leaned back in his bar stool and hiccupped in shock. Wiping his brow, he stammered, “Er, well... you see...”

“What is it?” asked Goodman, smiling as he threw Payne’s words back into his face.

“It... er... well... it was kind of fun, crushing Mr. Washer like that. He might not be a rookie, but that man really doesn’t know how to argue a case.”

“That’s it? That doesn’t sound like a very good reason. Something could’ve come up that wouldn’t have made your case appear as solid as it did.”

Payne adjusted his glasses and looked down at his drink. “Er... well... maybe. But... you see... that’s not all.”

“Not all? What else is left?” asked Goodman.

Looking downward, Payne muttered, “Well... you see, the victim really wanted to testify before the court. She was rather badly injured... she’s currently using a wheelchair... and she wanted to tell the judge exactly what happened to her so he’d consider it in his decision. I... er... figured it would only be fair to give her the opportunity.”

Goodman nodded, slowly this time, and smiled. “Okay... that sounds like a good reason. If the victim wants to testify, she should.” Goodman adjusted his hat smartly and added, “Even if she didn’t know a lot of the answers.”

Payne nodded solemnly, a smile returning to his face. “Anyway, that DNN station’s going to do a story on in a couple of minutes; one of the reporters took a statement from me and everything!” Payne took a sip of his cola and added, “That’s why I decided to visit Jack so late tonight.”

Jack let out a small laugh. “I’m flattered, really. Let me see if I can get Edgeworth to let me change the channel.”

Having laid out his latest goal, Jack looked over at Edgeworth, who was still watching the television with rapt interest. “Mr. Edgeworth?” called Jack.

Edgeworth paid no attention to the sound of his name; his eyes were still glued to the TV set.

“Mr. Edgeworth?” Jack called again, louder this time.

Edgeworth still didn’t turn his head; he raised his cup and sipped his tea as if Jack wasn’t even there.

Somewhat peeved at being ignored, Jack decided to take the only remaining logical action. He curled the fingers of his right hand into a fist, walked over to Edgeworth’s end of the bar, raised his arm high... and smashed it into the polished word surface of the bar counter. “Mr. Edgeworth!” barked Jack.

Edgeworth shook his head and turned to face Jack; he didn’t appear the slightest bit worried at his bartender’s sudden change in demeanor. “I’m sorry, Jack. Did you call me?” he asked innocently.

Realizing that yelling more would only make him appear stupid, Jack ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “Yes, Mr. Edgeworth. I called you,” he muttered tiredly. “May I please change the channel to the news station?”

Edgeworth raised an eyebrow. “Why should I do that, Mr. Keeper?” he asked disdainfully.

“There’s going to be a news story about the case Mr. Payne won in a couple of minutes. He and Detective Goodman want to watch it.”

Edgeworth merely let out an annoyed huff. “Honestly, Mr. Keeper, if I were to try and watch every news story about one of my cases, I’d make myself sick.” He then turned to face Payne, who was sending him a rather disturbing approximation of a friendly grin. Frowning, he added, “However, I guess I can stomach the news for a few minutes.”

“Excellent!” said Jack, clapping his hands. With that potential crisis safely averted, Jack approached the television and changed the station to DNN.

“...Victor Ventnor, head of optometry at the District City Medical Institute, expresses confidence that the VISOR artificial vision apparatus will be ready for public use in eighteen to twenty-four months,” said a dapper-looking man with short black hair and a goatee.

“Artificial vision? I’ll believe it when I see it,” said Edgeworth with a smirk.

“And, in celebrity news, we here at DNN have received a rather disturbing bit of information regarding Will Powers, the star of the new hit children’s action series, ‘The Steel Samurai’. One of DNN’s most prolific Hollywood insiders has made the claim that the true reason Mr. Powers continually refuses to make public appearances is that he suffers from a debilitating disease that leaves him completely without body hair. If this information is true, we extend our greatest sympathies to Mr. Powers, who may be proving to the world that you can still be famous even if you are nothing more than a hairless weirdo.”

“Hey! I resent that!” yelled Winston Payne, his already scratchy voice breaking with indignation.

Jack merely shook his head and sighed as he mentally cursed the news channels for wasting airtime with such irrelevant rubbish.

“...and next, a string of ’30 second stories’! Today’s quirky little news reports include a dog that starts fires, a woman who makes fine art completely out of rubber bands, and a crazy court case where the camera makes the conviction clear-cut. All this is coming up... after the break.”

The newsroom faded away; in its place, a montage of scantily-clad women and overpowered pickup trucks flickered across the screen in an attempt to make everyday people buy one product or another. Tearing his eyes away from the sheer ridiculousness of the advertisement, Jack saw that Goodman was attempt to console Winston Payne, who was more than a bit upset at the fact that the news station was treating his victory as little more than a low-quality joke.

You know what they say, Mr. Payne, any publicity is good publicity,” said Goodman, absently adjusting the tilt of his hat.

Payne dismissed Goodman’s thought with a quick wave of the hand. His eyebrows twitching, he yelled, “Yeah, right! I... I never would have given them a statement if I’d known they would treat the case... like... like this!” He paused for a moment to catch his breath, and then added, “You’d better get me some more diet cola, Jack; I’m going to need it to stomach this!”

Smiling, Jack shot Payne a mock salute and barked, “Yes sir, General Payne sir!” He started gathering the ingredients for Mr. Payne’s drink immediately; the last thing he needed was more squeaky rants grating against his eardrums.

As Jack sat his various bottles and mixers on an empty stretch of the bar counter, Edgeworth turned in the direction of Payne and shot him a contemptuous glare. “Frankly, Mr. Payne, I believe you should be thankful for the opportunities you get; there are many lawyers in this district that never even get to handle a case big enough for television exposure. For example, it’s been over five years since Prosecutor Oldbag...”

A loud fanfare burst from the television speakers; the words “Breaking News” flashed across the screen in angry red letters. Edgeworth ended his little lecture and turned to face the screen.

“Damn it!” shouted Payne abruptly. “Why does something have to come up now, of all times?”

“Don’t know,” said Jack. “Whatever it is, it probably doesn’t matter to us, though.” With that, Jack returned to adding drops of lemon juice to his cocktail shaker.

“Good evening, ladies and gentleman, I’m Lily Jumper.”

Sighing, Jack spared a glance at the news channel’s breaking news reporter. As he’d expected, her supposedly TV-worthy face appeared very pale and artificial.

“I interrupt this broadcast of ‘The Simple News with Sherman Shuman’ to bring you word of a horrific murder that has recently occurred in the East Hill business sector of District City.”

Well, at least it isn’t some vague warning of impending destruction in a strange and distant land, thought Jack dully as he resealed the bottle of lemon juice and reached for the cherry syrup.

“While the actual specifics of the murder have not just been released, we do know that the victim has been identified as Mia Fey, a young defense attorney well-known in District City legal circles for her talents in the courtroom.”

“THUNK!” Jack dropped the bottle of cherry syrup; think red liquid spurted out of the bottle and pooled onto the bar counter. Ignoring the spill and the gasps of surprise around him, Jack dazedly thought, I didn’t just hear that, I didn’t just hear that...

But when he looked at the screen and saw a picture of Mia’s face above the reporter’s left shoulder, he knew his ears had not been deceiving him. Numbly, he took a step back in order to hear the rest of Jumper’s words.

“Ms. Fey’s body was found in her very own law office just over half an hour ago by a detective of the District City Police Department. While the exact cause of her death has not been released to the public, the Department has clearly stated that it was an unmistakable, deliberate homicide.” Jumper paused and shook her head, causing several strands of thick dark hair to fall into her heavily made-up face. Blowing them away impatiently, she continued, “A single suspect has been arrested at the scene and implicated with the crime of Ms. Fey’s murder, but neither the suspect’s name nor his or her motive has been released yet. All of DNN’s various reporters, myself included, will release more information on this tragic, tragic, case as it becomes available.”

Jumper paused again and turned her head; it was obvious by her frantic facial expressions that she was being spoken to by someone off-screen. Frowning, she returned her gaze to the camera and stated, “As the bottom of the hour has just passed, DNN will return to its next program, ‘Yelling about Politics with Old Billy McGee’ already in progress.”

After another fanfare, the television fell silent, only to be abruptly replaced with the gruff sounds of an elderly man ranting about the corruption of one political party or another. Jack heard none of it, the few details of Mia’s murder repeating in his head; a broken record of total and utter shock.

This is... impossible, he thought. Who would want to kill Mia Fey? Why would anyone want to kill Mia Fey?

Jack managed to focus his eyes long enough to notice the huge puddle of cherry syrup on the bar counter before him. Absently, he uprighted the large red bottle, set it aside, and went to the cupboard under the sink for a large rag.

Honestly, she’s one of the nicest people I know. Jack moved the rag in little circles, allowing it to gradually absorb the deep-red liquid before it permanently stained his countertop. Then again, she’s sniffed out a lot of guilty people over the years in the course of defending clients. Of course, most of those people are still in jail... or worse.

Noticing that his rag was too saturated to absorb a considerable part of the spill, Jack took it to the sink and rinsed it under the water before returning to his task.

Then again, many of those guilty parties had families... Perhaps a disgruntled relative took their revenge, mused Jack as he absently cleaned up the rest of the mess.

After the bar counter was completely spotless, Jack stopped and stared at his rag; pure white fabric stained with juice the deep red color of blood. There was a strange beauty in the swirling patterns...

“Jack?”

At the sound of his name, Jack slowly pulled himself out of his reverie. “Huh?” he said, looking around wildly.

“Over here, Jack,” said Goodman in a no-nonsense tone. Next to him, Payne had his head against the bar counter; he appeared to be taking a nap. Glancing in the opposite direction, Jack noted that Edgeworth had stopped watching television in order to engage in an intense staring contest with his cup of tea. Sighing, Jack sat the rag in the sink and walked over to Goodman. “What can I help you with, Detective?” he asked languidly.

“I believe I should be asking you that question, Mr. Keeper,” said Goodman glumly. “You’re obviously a lot closer to Mia Fey than I am.” He paused to take a swig of his drink. “After all, I only met her once... and that was here,” he said with a sad smile. “So, how’re you feeling?”

“Well... first of all, I feel like I should sit down,” said Jack slowly. Jack quickly grabbed his personal chair from its spot at the end of the bar and sat it on the floor across from Goodman with a dull clunk. He then perched himself on the tall chair with a loud sigh.

“Well?”

Jack looked downward for a moment. How do I feel? “Uh... well, I guess I’m, er... shocked,” he began lamely. “I mean... Ms. Fey’s been coming here regularly ever since I started working here. She’d only show up around once or twice a month, but she always wanted to talk. Its fun talking to her... only woman I know that’s witty as I am. Very nice, too; almost as nice as... I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

“It’s okay,” said Goodman. “Better to rant a little if it makes you feel better.”

“Okay,” said Jack, nodding glumly. “Ms. Fey’s also one of the best DAs in the entire city. The only other DA I know that’s good as her is Mr. Hammond. Of course, given a choice between the two of them, I’d probably pick Ms. Fey every time...”

“Why’s that?”

“I’m surprised you’re asking me that; you saw them both at the same time... Ms. Fey always tends to believe in the person she’s defending. Hammond, on the other hand... believes in Hammond. If I ever find myself before one of the judges, I’ll take someone who believes in me any day of the week... I’m repeating myself, aren’t I?”

“Maybe, but I can see why. Trust is a pretty big deal in this business. If I can’t trust prosecutors to use evidence correctly, what’s the point of arresting people? And if the DA can’t trust her client, why would they want to defend anyone? And if a prosecutor can’t trust their witnesses to tell the truth, you might as well kiss that guilty verdict goodbye.”

Jack nodded and was about to comment on how wise Goodman sounded when...

“WAAAAAAAAH!” Winston Payne let out a muted scream; his body shook ominously with several muffled sobs.

Goodman turned his head and gave Payne an appraising look. “You don’t have to hide your face from us, Mr. Payne,” he stated firmly. “Why don’t you sit up and join the conversation?”

With a heavy sigh, Payne drew himself up to his full height; Jack watched as a single tear out from beneath his thick glasses.

“Were you crying, Mr. Payne?” asked Jack dubiously.

“Er... no?”

Jack and Goodman both gave Payne a disapproving glare.

“Uh... I mean yes,” he stammered. “Could you get me some napkins?”

“Sure,” said Jack blankly. He eased himself off his chair with a groan, extracted several napkins from a large package beneath the bar counter, and sat them before Payne without fanfare.

“Thank you,” muttered Payne sheepishly. He quickly pulled the top napkin on the statue and used it to blow his nose. Once he was finished, he sat the disgusting napkin next to his empty glass and sighed.

“I’d better get out the trash can,” sighed Jack. He again got out of the chair, grabbed the small square trash can hidden at the end of the bar, and held it front of Payne.

“Thanks again, Jack,” said Payne, tossing the tissue into the garbage with a sniffle.

Jack nodded before sending an appraising look. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I wasn’t exactly expecting you to... er, react like that. I mean... you’ve complained to me about Ms. Fey more than anyone else.”

For once, Payne actually appeared insulted. “Well, of course I complained about her!” he barked. “She was a rookie that didn’t know her place; a cheeky, condescending little whelp!” Payne shook slightly and took a deep breath before adding, “But that doesn’t mean I wanted to see her get killed!” He smacked a hand against the bar in order to emphasize his point before breaking into sobs once again.

Frowning, Goodman extended his arm and started patting Payne on the back. “It’s alright,” he said evenly. “I’m sure that’s not what he meant by saying that. “Right, Jack?”

Jack placed a hand against his forehead and sighed. “Yeah, that’s right. Sorry, Mr. Payne. I’m obviously feeling a bit out of it...”

“It’s okay,” said Payne. He leaned back and stared at the ceiling, apparently lost in thought. “Y-you know, it’s thanks to her I did what I did today...”

Jack scratched his head in confusion. “What you did today?”

Goodman, on the other hand, merely smiled. “Your witness?”

“Exactly. Back in my crushing days, I never would have let her take the stand. I would have told her it was... too risky.” Payne tore his eyes away from the ceiling and stared at his hands. “I guess... I guess being a trusting softie isn’t so bad after all.”

Jack merely nodded, again lost in thought. He allowed himself a glance at Edgeworth; he was still staring at his tea as if it were the only thing left in the world. Perhaps I should be worried about that, thought Jack blankly.

“I’d better go home...” said Payne, his tone suddenly uneasy. “It’s getting quite late... the missus will be worried.” He extracted a ten-dollar bill from his suit pocket and sat it on the bar counter. “You may keep the change, of course.”

“Thanks,” said Jack with a sad smile. He quietly picked up the bill and put it in the old cash register for safe keeping. When he turned around again, he saw that Goodman had placed some money on the counter as well.

“I wish I could stay a while longer, but I’ve got a lot of work to do tomorrow.” he explained. “Hopefully I’ll be able to stop by again fairly soon.” With a pointed look at his money, he added, “Oh, and you can keep my change as well.”

“Thanks, detective.” Once again, Jack put the money in the cash register before returning to his chair.

Goodman lifted himself off his barstool with a groan. “Take care of yourself, Mr. Keeper,” he said seriously. “In fact...” Goodman searched the inside of his suit, extracted something from a hidden pocket, and sat it on the bar counter. “This is my business card,” he explained. “It’s got my cell phone number on it. If you need anything, just call me; I always pick it up unless I’m on a crime scene or in an important meaning, and even then you can leave a message.”

Jack leaned forward and examined the card; while it was rather simple, a name and phone number was all that was needed. “Thanks, detective,” he said with a wan smile.

“It’s no problem. Either way, I’ll see you soon.” He turned and headed for the door. A second later, Payne gave Jack a serious nod before following him.

“Good man, that Goodman,” muttered Jack, chuckling. He looked again at the Goodman’s business card and sighed. “I’d better file this with the others,” he said matter-of-factly, before picking it up and placing it in a small back bar drawer; one that was filled with not only business cards but financial statements, records of bar tabs, and various other papers critical to running the Gavel. Because of its sensitive contents, was one of the few drawers that Jack tried to keep locked at all times.

Having taken care of the business card, Jack quickly turned to look at Edgeworth, who was still sitting by himself at the far end of the bar, staring at his tea. Jack sighed at the sight; despite his shock over Mia’s death, he didn’t like leaving one of his customers alone for such a considerable length of time.

Jack approached Edgeworth cautiously; he didn’t want to startle the prosecutor with any loud or sudden noise. Once Jack was standing across from him, he softly rapped the bar counter with a single knuckle. “Mr. Edgeworth?”

Edgeworth started at the noise and immediately fixed Jack with an intense glare; his teacup obviously hadn’t been nearly as attention-consuming as the symphony he’d been watching just half an hour earlier. “What is it, Mr. Keeper?” he asked forcefully.

“Er... I just wanted to know if you wanted anything. Some more tea, perhaps?”

“You already asked me if I wanted more tea and I said no,” said Edgeworth, frowning. “Why would I change my mind?”

“Er... I don’t know,” said Jack, rolling his eyes in the direction of the television. “In that case, do you want to talk?”

Edgeworth sat up and crossed his arms. “What makes you think I want to talk, Mr. Keeper?”

Jack placed a finger against his chin in mock consideration. “Well, ever since you heard that... er, news story, you’ve been quiet.”

“I was quiet before they announced Ms. Fey’s death, Mr. Keeper.”

Jack winced at hearing the truth so bluntly, but pressed further nonetheless. “Well, yeah... I guess that’s true, but... you’ve stopped paying attention to the TV as well. In fact, I’ve looked over at you several times in the last few minutes, and all you’ve been doing is staring at that God forsaken tea cup of yours. No offense, Mr. Edgeworth, but that’s hardly what I consider to be normal behavior, even for you.”

“That’s only your opinion, Mr. Keeper. What, pray tell, is your point?”

Jack ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “My point? My point is that Ms. Fey’s... passing is obviously affecting you just as much as it’s affecting me. The only difference is that I told someone what I’m feeling, while you’re just sitting there and keeping it inside. Am I right, Mr. Edgeworth?” Jack placed a hand on the bar counter and leaned foreword so that he could look Edgeworth in the eye.

Edgeworth held the eye contact for about two seconds before he blinked and looked away.

“As I thought,” said Jack smugly. “Now, talk to me.”

Edgeworth let out a groan of defeat. “Very well,” he stated. “But only on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“Get me a shot of whiskey.”

“More booze?” asked Jack skeptically. “I thought you were going to drive yourself home tonight.”

“That’s why I’m only going to have one,” said Edgeworth.

Jack sighed. “Very well.” He quietly turned around, grabbed a bottle of Irish whiskey off of the uppermost of his liquor shelves, and sat it on the bar counter. He then grabbed a shot glass out of a cupboard and sat it on the bar counter as well. Humming a sad song to himself, Jack opened the bottle and filled the shot glass to the proper level before sliding it towards Edgeworth with a sad smile. “There you are,” said Jack cleanly.

“Thank you, Jack,” said Edgeworth. Wasting no time, he grabbed the shot and downed it in a single swift motion. Once the whiskey had made it down to his stomach, Edgeworth leaned back, sighed, and shot Jack an appraising look. “What is it you want me to talk about?”

“Nothing big,” said Jack. “Just tell me how you’re feeling.”

Edgeworth sighed again, louder this time. “Always with the feelings, Jack. Have you ever considered how unbecoming it is to display your emotions so openly?”

Jack merely chuckled. “Unbecoming? Last time I checked, women dig a sensitive guy.”

Edgeworth harrumphed and crossed his arms.

“I can understand why you sulk over this sort of thing; it’s difficult to win in the courtroom when you get all emotional and forget what you’re doing.” Jack paused and tapped a finger against his right temple, another mannerism stolen directly from Edgeworth himself. “However, this is definitely not a courtroom, so there’s no good reason for you to hide your emotions at this time.”

“You may have a point there,” spat Edgeworth. “I feel... upset.”

“That’s it?”

“Mostly. You realize I hardly had what you’d consider a close relationship with Ms. Fey; we didn’t really see each other face to face very often.”

Jack raised his eyebrows in confusion. “You didn’t? But... what about in court?”

“We don’t see each other in court often, either. Think about it, Jack... In the three years you’ve worked here, have you heard or even read about any cases in which we are arguing against one another?”

“None that I can remember...”

“That’s because they don’t exist. You must remember, Jack, I only tend to prosecute defendants that have been arrested by those in the police department whom I trust.”

“You mean like Detective Gumshoe?”

“Yes, like Detective Gumshoe,” said Edgeworth, smirking. “And, since she has stopped by here every now and then, I’m sure Ms. Fey’s told you about her defense philosophy before.”

“Yeah, she only defends those she trusts to be completely innocent.” Jack paused for a moment before he managed to put two and two together. “Oh! So you’re saying...”

“Since the few detectives and officers I trust don’t make such careless mistakes in judgment, I practically never have to prosecute an innocent person in court. In fact, in my entire career I’ve argued exactly one case against Mia Fey, and that was a long time ago... back when Busman was tending here.”

“Oh. So... that means...”

“It means I’d hardly consider us to be close friends or even heated rivals.” Edgeworth paused for a moment and looked upward, a thoughtful expression creeping onto his face. “However... even in that particular case she possessed considerable skill; enough, in fact, for me to call her... an equal.”

“An equal?”

“Yes, an equal. And thus, I am especially upset by the fact that some low-down, good for nothing criminal found it fitting to remove her from this world.”

“So am I, Mr. Edgeworth, so am I...” said Jack glumly. “I’m going to miss her...”

“I’m sure you will,” said Edgeworth, trailing off. “Of course, now that you have me thinking about it... I am currently feeling something else.”

“Really? What?”

“Anticipation.”

“Anticipation? Why that?” asked Jack, scratching his head.

“The murder of an attorney is a serious offense, Jack. The entire district will see it as a matter of pride that the person guilty of this crime will be put away,” said Edgeworth matter-of-factly.

“Right...”

“Therefore, once the morning comes, the responsibility of finding the criminal guilty would’ve normally fallen to the District High Prosecutor,” said Edgeworth with a grim smile.

“Mr. Von Karma.” muttered Jack softly. “But wait... what do you mean by normally?”

Edgeworth titled his head. “I spoke with Von Karma this morning, and he mentioned that he’s already preparing for a different big trial. Thus, the higher ups will have no choice but to assign this case to the Second High Prosecutor instead.”

“Second High Prosecutor? But that’s you, Mr. Edge...” Jack trailed off as the pieces again came together in his mind. “You mean that you’re anticipating...”

Edgeworth smacked his hand against the bar counter. “I’m obviously anticipating avenging my fallen comrade by locking her killer away for good.”

“I believe I understand,” said Jack, nodding vigorously.

“Good. Then you should also understand why I need to leave, now,” said Edgeworth, standing up.

“Of course. You’ll need to rest... and prepare,” said Jack, his voice again downcast.

“Exactly. Now, this is for the drinks.” Edgeworth placed forty dollars on the table; more than enough to cover the drinks he’d consumed that night. “You may keep the lot.”

“Thanks, Mr. Edgeworth.” Jack was about to pick up the money and put it away when...

“Oh, and Jack?”

“Yes, Mr. Edgeworth?”

“Thanks for listening.” With a final nod of the head, Edgeworth confidently strode to the door and left the Gavel.

Jack sighed as he watched the Gavel door close behind him. “You’re welcome,” he muttered, shaking his head in dismay.

Now that there were no more customers to serve, Jack no longer had anything to distract him from the squirming, throbbing ache that had settled deep in the pit of his stomach. He stared blankly at the television set for a moment; it appeared that Old Billy McGee was in the middle of yet another red-faced rant.

“And if we don’t get more laws to monitor these out-of-control companies, we’re gonna end up being nothing more than sheep!” he screamed. “Mindless sheep following the shepherds of corrupt corporations, with dreams of nothing more than buying the next shiny new internet machine or flashy little wire-free phone!”

“What the hell are you talking about?” yelled Jack, incredulously pointing a shaky finger at the TV screen. “‘Shiny new internet machine?’ Have you been living in a cave for the last twenty years? My God, you’re even worse with machines than Ms. Fey...” Jack’s voice died in his throat; remembering Mia’s lack of technical prowess had only served to worsen the pain in his stomach.

Thank God the police already arrested her killer, thought Jack to himself. I’d don’t know if I’d be able to leave the bar knowing a person that terrible was still at large.

Jack tried to listen to more of McGee’s rant, but he simply couldn’t concentrate. After all, the issues of corporate corruption had nothing to do with the murder of one of his most beloved customers. Jack cast a wayward glance at the various glasses and teacups scattered across the bar counter; tragedy or no tragedy he’d have to wash them, dry them, and put them away sooner or later.

“Guess I’d better get started,” said Jack drearily. He was about to start by putting away the first item, the bottle of whiskey Edgeworth had been drinking from, when...

The television suddenly cut to its breaking news fanfare. Jack winced and clutched at his left ear; his head had been but three feet from the speakers when the news channel switched to the overwhelming noise of synthesized trumpets.

Jack quickly took a few steps back and shook his head in self-disapproval; normally he remembered to turn down the TV volume when there was no one in the bar apart from himself. Resigned to the fact he’d be unable to clean and listen to breaking news at the same time, Jack merely adjusted his chair so it was facing the screen and sat down.

“Good evening, viewers, I am Lily Jumper.” The newswoman’s face looked tenser than before; Jack idly wondered how late it would be before her bosses let her go home and get some sleep. “I interrupt this broadcast of ‘Yelling about Politics with Old Billy McGee’ to bring you some new information on the terrible death of respected Defense Attorney Mia Fey.”

You news people never treated her with respect before she died, thought Jack, his brow creasing with fury. Damn hypocrites...

“For those of you recently tuning in, Ms. Fey was found dead in the office of her law firm just after 9 o’clock this evening. Police officials immediately ruled the death a homicide.”

“You already said this stuff,” yelled Jack, shaking a fist. “Get to the new info already!”

“One suspect had been arrested at the scene of the crime; in our earlier report the name was not yet known to us.”

“Right...” muttered Jack darkly.

Jumper paused and shook her head; it was rather obvious that she was trying to create dramatic tension. “However! Just minutes ago we received a full report on the suspect from the District City Police Department, one containing not only her name but the reason she committed such a heinous crime!”

Wow, Jumper’s acting even more savage than usual, thought Jack in astonishment. And the suspect’s a she? I’m rather surprised. Maybe she’s related to that psycho girl Mia put in jail a few years back... Jack involuntarily leaned forward in anticipation; it was obvious that the suspect’s name was going to be announced next.

Sure enough, Jumper smiled a feral smile and proclaimed, “Thus, we here at DNN are proud to tell you that the suspect is none other the victim’s younger sister, Maya Fey!”

Jack reeled backwards in shock; that was by far the last name he expected to hear. The chair started to tilt from Jack’s sudden shift in weight; only by flailing one arm and grabbing the bar counter with the other was he able to stop himself from falling onto the hard wooden floor.

Jumper was still speaking, but Jack was no longer paying attention. Instead, he lowered his head and automatically recalled the various things Mia had told him about her little sister over the course of her many visits.

“I have one sister; her name is Maya. She and I are absolutely inseparable.”

“I bought Maya a cell phone for her birthday. Even with her training, she finds the time to call me and tell me how she’s doing two or three times a week. I didn’t realize how much I missed being able to be able to talk to her so often.”

“It’s actually quite amazing; Maya’s growing into a young woman right before my eyes. I’m very proud of her.”

“Thank goodness Maya sent me a message and let me know she’s alright. I don’t know what I’d do if anything ever happened to her...”

Jack shook his head in dismay; in the three years he’d been working at the Gavel, Mia had not once expressed disappointment or disapproval towards her sister. In fact, he’d gotten a strong impression that Maya was incapable of any wrongdoing, let alone something as... unforgivable as premeditated murder. With a resigned sigh; Jack managed to suppress his confusion and again pay attention to the television screen.

“Of course, we here at DNN express full confidence that Ms. Fey will quickly be brought to justice.”

Jumper paused and started talking to someone off-screen; Jack absently wondered if she ever made it through more than two consecutive stories without being interrupted in such an obviously unprofessional manner.

After a few seconds of inaudible conversation, she returned her attention to the camera and flashed her best feral smile. Her eyes sparkling, she stated, “If my assistant speaks the truth, DNN has just received a photograph of the murderer! Apparently, this is the official picture of Ms. Maya Fey that was taken by the Police Department just minutes after her arrival at the District City Detention Center. Now, if we can get that image on the screen...” A second later Jumper’s heavily made-up face was replaced by the color photograph, and Jack let out a gasp.

He recognized her immediately; after all, Mia had shown him many pictures of her little sister over the past several years. However, all of those photos of a happy, cheerful girl could not contrast more sharply with the image of absolute misery staring Jack fully in the face. Maya’s eyes, normally a bright, vivid blue, were watery and flecked with red; it was rather obvious that she’d been crying rather heavily just before the picture was taken. Her long, bluish-black hair, normally done up in a bizarre series of tresses and ponytails, was lopsided and limp; after all, something as whimsical and irrelevant as hairstyle didn’t matter to a person who was in the process of being branded a murderer. Jack was most surprised by her posture; instead of standing up straight, tall, and proud like most (typically guilty) suspects arraigned for criminal charges, she was slouching forward, not caring about how she appeared in the slightest. Jack thought she looked, in a single word, defeated.

“As you could see, Ms. Maya Fey was clearly trying her best to look sad about the death of her sister! You viewers out there can not deny that this young woman is quite the deceptive little vixen!” announced Jumper proudly as she once again appeared on-screen.

She’s honestly enjoying this. At that miserable thought, winced and rubbed a hand against the white fabric of his shirt; his stomachache was only getting worse.

“Of course, DNN will be bringing you more information on this tragically twisted murder case as it becomes available. However, as 10:00 has passed, we will now be returning to our next quality news program, “The Finger-Pointing Pundit Hour”, already in progress. This has been Lily Jumper of DNN reporting.”

Jack stood up and turned off the TV before the next program could show up; the last thing he needed to hear was a whole bunch of loud-talking loonies pinning their failings on one scapegoat or another.

“I’d better start cleaning everything up,” muttered Jack darkly. He stared at the TV; his own darkened reflection stared back. “You’re going to need a lot of sleep tonight, Mr. Keeper,” he muttered as he raised a finger and absently tapped the screen.

Jack turned around to look down the length of the bar counter; the various dirty cups and glasses looked as formidable as ever. He was about to pick up Edgeworth’s whiskey bottle once again when his stomach gave a rather strong lurch.

I’d better sit down again, thought Jack as he let out an audible groan. Feels like I’m going to throw up if I move too fast.

His task again postponed, Jack feebly returned to his chair and sat down. Breathing heavily and attempting not to make any sudden movements, he again began to dwell upon the circumstances of Mia’s death.

“That breaking news ghoul never did give out a motive. Why would Mia’s beloved little sister want to kill her?” said a small voice in Jack’s mind.

“Maybe the Fey sisters weren’t as close as Mia led me to believe,” replied a second, more negative, voice.

“But still... there’s quite a gap between not loving your sister and wanting to kill her.”

“Perhaps the girl has mental problems. All that spiritual stuff has to wear a person down, after all.”

“But Mia was raised the exact same way as her sister, and she didn’t really act weird, per say...”

“Just because you know one Fey doesn’t mean you know them all, Jack.”

“Still. Remember her face? Was that really the face of a cold-hearted killer? I think not.”

“She could have been faking it.”

“If she was, Jumper’s right, she’s one hell of a deceptive little vixen. For once, I’m really not sure if the police arrested the right person.”

“But if Maya didn’t do it, then who did?”

Jack shook his head is dismay. “I really don’t know,” he said aloud. “It just doesn’t make any sense. Doesn’t make any Goddamn sense at all.”

The pain in his stomach somewhat quelled by his forced stillness, Jack took another long look at the various old glasses and cups on the bar. They still had to be washed and put away, but that was a task that could wait a few more minutes. As for now...

Jack slowly stood from the chair, mechanically grabbed a shot glass out of one of the cupboards and sat it on the bar counter. With a resigned sigh, he opened Edgeworth’s favorite bottle of whiskey, and, for the first time in well over a year, began to pour himself his own drink.

-------------

Part 2/7: Investigating the Investigators

September 6th, 2016, 4:15 PM

The blue blur raced down the leafy green hill as he absorbed the spinning golden circles that lay across his path.

I’m making record time! thought Jack excitedly as he continued to focus solely on the two-screened device he tightly clenched between his fingers.

His path cleared of enemies, the blue blur leapt from a platform and accelerated down the leafy green straightaway, pausing only once to leap across a patch of perilous silver spikes.

Jack’s heartbeat started to speed up; this game always gave him a thrill. Ignoring the bead of sweat on his brow, Jack pressed one of the machine’s many buttons and the blur’s speed increased dramatically.

Now, if I can just make it down the hill without getting crushed, I should be able to get a new 1st-place ranking. Jack barely dared to breathe; the last time he’d beaten his old record on this particular level was over two years ago.

As the blue blur reached the last, steepest green hill, a colossal ball of rough-hewn stone started to follow him on his path. As lateral motion was impossible in this two-dimensional stage, he would have to rely on his intrinsic speed to avoid certain death. Colored sparks of pure energy appeared beneath his feet as he ran faster then he had anytime before.

Jack was now to giddy to keep himself from voicing his thoughts out loud. “C’mon... almost there...” he chanted. He was almost to the bottom of the hill when...

“Almost where, pal?!” interjected a gruff voice.

“Gak!” Jack jumped and nearly dropped the machine in surprise; he’d been so intent on playing his game that he hadn’t really be watching or listening for any customers making their entry. Before Jack could return his fingers to their proper places on the machine’s many buttons, he heard the disincentive pinging noise that indicated the blue blur had met his untimely end; the ball of stone had clearly won.

Closing the machine with a snap, Jack looked up and met the curious eyes of Detective Dick Gumshoe. “Well, Jack?” he asked again, grinning cheerfully.

Jack placed a hand on his forehead and sighed. “Almost to the end of the level, Detective Gumshoe. I might have made it there in record time, too, had you not scared me half to death.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, pal,” said Gumshoe, scratching his head nervously. “I just didn’t know what you were doing. I’ve never seen you use one of those... things before. It looked like you were using it to hypnotize yourself!” Gumshoe’s body shook as he let out a hearty chuckle.

Jack absently looked down at his machine again. “Yeah... I guess it did sort of look like that. Video games do that to me sometimes.”

Gumshoe nodded. “I think I understand, Jack,” he stated warmly, before trailing off and scratching his head once again. “But... why’d you decide to bring it to the bar with you today?”

Jack again sighed; there was no good reason for him to deny Gumshoe the rightful answer to that question. “Nowadays, I only play it when I’m feeling... sad,” he said plainly. “My old two-screen machine lets me forget about all the sad things a while.”

Gumshoe frowned and looked downward. “Makes sense, pal.” he said dejectedly. “So... what’s got you down?”

Jack decided to keep this answer short and sweet. “Mia Fey,” he sighed.

Gumshoe looked just a bit stunned. “Ah... of course. Everyone’s at the precinct’s feeling down about that too; she was a darn good lawyer.” Gumshoe paused and let out a soft sniffle before returning to his cheerful visage. “Well, anyway, don’t you worry about that, Jack... me and my team are doing everything we can to make sure her no-good sister pays for her crime!”

Jack sat up, startled. “What? They put you in charge of the investigation?”

Gumshoe leaned forward and hunched his shoulders in anger. “Of course they put me in charge of the investigation! In case you’re forgetting, it’s my job to be in charge of homicide investigations, pal!”

Jack shook his head; his bad mood was really starting to get him into trouble. “I’m sorry, Detective; I didn’t mean to insult you. I’m just all confused, what with Ms. Fey dead and her beloved little sister getting arrested for the crime and all.”

Gumshoe’s eyebrows started to dance in thought. “You say that as if you don’t think she’s guilty...”

Jack paused for a moment. Did he think Maya Fey was guilty? “Well... I’m not really sure. I guess she might have done it, but... Mia never gave me the impression that there was anything... wrong with her sister.”

Gumshoe squared his shoulders. “Well, I for one am certain that she’s the killer!”

Jack shot Gumshoe a questioning look. “Really? Why’s that?”

Gumshoe merely made a fist and thumped it against his chest. “You’re looking at the detective that arrested her, pal!” he declared proudly.

Stunned, Jack stared at Gumshoe for several seconds before regaining coherent thought. After realizing how uncomfortable he looked, Jack turned away and croaked, “Really?”

“Do I look like the kind of guy that would lie to you?” asked Gumshoe. Not waiting for an answer, he added, “I was the first man on the scene, pal. I managed to catch that crafty Maya Fey before she could even think to escape!”

Jack nodded; despite all of his faults, Gumshoe had always been very diligent when it came to his job. “So... can you tell me why you arrested her?” he asked softly.

“Nope,” said Gumshoe, smiling. “However,” he continued, raising a hand, “You can read about it.”

“Read about it?”

“Yep! You see... a nice reporter lady asked me some questions a couple of hours after I made the arrest. She wrote an entire article about me! The reason I said you could read about it is because I’ve got me a newspaper right here!” Gumshoe reached inside his trench coat, pulled out a folded up newspaper, and slammed it onto the bar counter. Jack was surprised to see that it was a copy of the District City Examiner, not Gumshoe’s beloved District City Revealer.

“I was hoping the Revealer would do an article about me too, but no one from their offices has tried to set up an interview,” said Gumshoe matter-of-factly. “Sometimes I wonder how they get their news stories if they don’t try to get any interviews!” he added, chuckling.

Jack smiled inwardly; how the Revealer made up its ‘news’ stories was hardly a mystery to him. Unfortunately, the events of Mia’s murder were much more complex and difficult for him to grasp. Relived at the thought of finding some answers, Jack was about to take a look at the newspaper when Gumshoe suddenly snatched it away and held it to his chest.

“Hey pal, aren’t you forgetting about something?” he huffed.

Jack was at a loss. “Forgetting about something...?”

Gumshoe pointed in the direction of the beer taps. “I didn’t just come here for the view, pal!”

Jack flushed with embarrassment; he’d been so bent on getting information he’d forgotten to ask if Gumshoe wanted a drink! “Oh! I’m terribly, sorry, detective,” he stammered. “What’ll you have?”

“Plain old beer sounds fine. I’m a bit short on funds this week, but I have enough for one.”

“Of course, Detective Gumshoe." Jack stood up and moved his chair toward the side of the bar before quickly procuring a mug and filling it from the regular beer tap. Once it was filled to the proper amount, he returned to the detective and slid it across the counter with a smile.

“Is that better, detective?” he asked innocently.

Gumshoe stared at the glass for a fraction of a second before raising it to his mouth and taking a liberal swig. “Perfect as always, Jack!” he announced as he slammed it back to the counter.

“Excellent!” said Jack, clapping his hands together. “Can I see that paper now?”

“Go right ahead!” declared Gumshoe, handing the newspaper to Jack with a grin. “The story with me in it’s near the bottom of the front page, pal.”

Nodding, Jack quickly unrolled and unfolded the Examiner; his eyes were immediately drawn to the pictures of both Fey sisters, prominently displayed near the top of the page. Above them, the main headline screamed “A TWISTED FAMILY AFFAIR: DC attorney meets death at the hand of her own sister”. Resolving to worry about the huge main article later, Jack scanned the bottom of the page and found a small article with Gumshoe’s name in the text. Eager to get some answers, Jack started to read.

“SHE DID IT FOR SURE”
Detective Confident in Maya Fey’s Guilt
By Henrietta Happenstance

While many State Citizens are still coming to grips over the arrest of Maya Fey for the murder of her elder sister, there is one man who hasn’t the slightest doubt that the younger Ms. Fey committed the crime.

“There’s no way that anyone else could have done this,” said Chief Homicide Detective Dick Gumshoe. “Believe you me, pal, I don’t arrest people on their suspicious looks alone.”

However, the apparent inalienability of Detective Gumshoe’s conclusion does not mean he will try his hardest to uncover more evidence as he continues to investigate the crime scene.

“You can never have too much evidence, pal,” Gumshoe said. “The more things I uncover about this crime, the faster we can declare Ms. Fey guilty when she goes on trial.”

In addition to confidence in his own abilities, Detective Gumshoe also possesses a firm faith in the prosecutors of the District City Local District.

“With proof like this, no prosecutor can go wrong. Besides, it’ll be Prosecutor Edgeworth arguing this trial, and there’s no way he can ever lose!”

Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth, a genius in his field, will indeed be in charge of arguing State v. Fey before an impartial Judge of the law. While many State citizens view Mr. Edgeworth as possessing a streak of ruthlessness, Detective Gumshoe vehemently denies that this is the case.

“Don’t go knocking Mr. Edgeworth, pal!” Gumshoe said. “He’s done more for this country in the last four years than almost every other prosecutor put together! If it weren’t for him, we’d all be living in chaos!”

In fact, about the only members of the Legal Department who haven’t gained Detective Gumshoe’s support are those who bear the agonizing duty of defending suspects in court.

“Defense lawyers? You can’t trust them, pal!” Gumshoe exclaimed. “They’ll make up all sorts of crazy lies to get killers put back on the streets! Aside from poor Mia Fey, I have yet to find one defense lawyer worth my respect!”

As of the writing of this article, no DA has stepped forward to defend Ms. Maya Fey. It is in this writer’s opinion that that unfortunate task will most likely fall into the hands of a defender appointed by the State.

Jack growled after finishing the article; Gumshoe’s interview hadn’t told him anything at all! Annoyed at the distance some reporters would go to fill a bit of white space, Jack folded the paper into fourths and returned it to Gumshoe with a thump.

“So... What’d you think?” asked Gumshoe brightly.

Normally, Jack would have complained, but he realized that it wouldn’t be in his best interest to anger the best chance he had at learning anything about the investigation. “It was... all right,” said Jack, making sure to choose his words carefully. “I’m still a bit surprised at how... certain you are about the identity of the killer, though.”

Gumshoe nodded. “I don’t get paid to make weak decisions, pal. You would have arrested her too if you’d seen what I’d seen last night.” He stared at his beer glumly.

“Well, that’s just it,” said Jack plainly. “I don’t have any idea what you saw.” He paused for just a moment before blurting, “Do you think you can tell me?”

Gumshoe’s head snapped up immediately; his eyes flashed in sudden irritation. “Hey! What makes you think I’m allowed to tell you about that! No offense, pal, but you’ve got nothing to do with this case!”

Ignoring the slight twinge of hurt in his stomach, Jack leaned forward, gripped the bar with both hands, and looked Gumshoe straight in the eyes. “In case you are forgetting, Ms. Fey was one of my best friends, Detective. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?” he asked softly.

Gumshoe winced and quickly looked away; it was rather obvious that he hadn’t considered that. He absently stared at the wall for several seconds before slowly returning his gaze to Jack’s face. “I’m sorry, Jack,” he said glumly. “I guess a guy would want to know how his friend died, wouldn’t he?”

Seeing no reason to further berate the detective, Jack merely nodded.

Gumshoe took a large swig of beer before coming to an apparent decision. “I guess I can tell you a couple of things, Jack,” he said slowly. “You’ve got to understand, though, there are some things I can’t blab to anyone before the start of the trial.”

“I understand, Detective Gumshoe.” This was a true statement; three years of serving lawyers and detectives had taught him about the penalties of divulging too much information before a case went to court.

“Thanks pal,” said Gumshoe, looking grateful. “So, what was it you wanted me to tell you about?”

“I wanted you to tell me about the crime scene. About why you arrested Maya Fey,” said Jack levelly.

“Oh, right!” Gumshoe’s eyebrows started to dance back and force; it was rather obvious that he was trying to gather his thoughts. “Well... it all started last night, when the department got a phone call from someone who witnessed the crime.”

Jack nodded as a twinge of surprise rippled through his stomach; he hadn’t really considered the fact that there would be a witness to the murder. Of course, he thought wryly, it’d be kind of weird for the police to catch someone at the scene of a crime if no one told them the crime was happening. His intrigue increasing, he asked, “Can you tell me anything about the witness?”

Gumshoe shook his head. “Sorry, pal, but the witness is under protection. I really can’t give you any information on her, you know.”

Well, at least I know it’s a female witness, thought Jack absently. “Okay, go on...”

“It only took me about three minutes to make it to the crime scene; you know how diligent I am,” said Gumshoe, chuckling. “When I got there, I found the victim, dead, and two other people.”

“Two other people?” asked Jack incredulously. “Would that be the Maya Fey and the witness?”

“Nah,” said Gumshoe, waving a hand. “The witness saw the crime through the office window. She never stepped foot in the building.”

“I see,” said Jack, smiling at the fact that Gumshoe had just slipped him more information on his mysterious witness. “If the second person wasn’t the witness, then who was it?”

“The second person was Harry Butz,” said Gumshoe matter-of-factly.

“Harry Butz...?”

“Yeah, Harry Butz! That guy from Mr. Payne’s case last month!”

It took Jack several more seconds of confused blinking to remember that Gumshoe had constantly used the name “Harry Butz” to refer to Mia’s understudy, Phoenix Wright. “Oh, yeah, the rookie lawyer,” mused Jack, nodding. “Why was he there? Surely he wasn’t working that late into the night...”

“Nah, he wasn’t working. I think he mentioned something about taking Ms. Fey out to eat... or something,” said Gumshoe.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure!” snapped Gumshoe, breathing heavily. “Besides, what does it matter, anyway?”

“I don’t know enough to answer that, Detective,” snipped Jack. “So... Mr. Butz was at the scene of the crime. Did he also claim Maya Fey was the killer?”

“Nah... He didn’t say much of anything, pal. Way he was acting, he probably only arrived on the scene a minute or two before I did. He wasn’t even really making make sense when I showed up.”

Jack nodded in understanding; Mr. Wright was undoubtedly closer to Mia than he was, especially considering what Mia had told him last month. “So... how’d you know to arrest Maya, then? Did the witness tell you she was the killer?”

Gumshoe shook his head. “Nope. The witness didn’t really say much about what the killer looked like. I can see why, though; you can’t see inside the Fey Law Office too well from that hotel across the street.”

“I understand,” said Jack, wondering how much information Gumshoe would let slip about the witness before his visit ended. “So how’d you know to arrest Maya and not Mr. Wright?”

“Deciding who to arrest was actually rather easy. The evidence clearly pointed to Maya Fey.”

Jack let out a harrumph; evidence had been mentioned in Gumshoe’s interview multiple times, but the paper had never bothered to explain anything more. His curiosity increasing, he asked, “And exactly what was this evidence?”

“Well, first there was that...” Gumshoe suddenly stopped speaking and clapped a hand against his mouth. Comically, Gumshoe continued to try and speak for a moment, but his words were muffled beyond all recognition.

Jack crossed his arms in clear confusion. “What’d you do that for?”

Gumshoe quickly returned his hand to the bar counter and shook his head in dismay. “Sorry about that, Jack. You see, I almost forgot that I’m not allowed to talk about the evidence yet.”

Damn it, thought Jack, not knowing about this evidence is killing me! “Are you sure you can’t talk about it?” he asked, attempting to sound sweet and innocent.

“I’m sure,” said Gumshoe nodding. “You see, early this morning Mr. Edgeworth told me not to talk about the evidence with anyone who doesn’t have a badge. That means only police and lawyers, pal.”

Jack sighed internally; he knew from experience that Gumshoe would never intentionally violate one of Edgeworth’s direct orders. However, the mention of lawyer badges allowed him to pursue an entirely different line of questioning. “So... did you run into Maya’s defense lawyer today, then?”

Gumshoe sat up taller, his eyes bulging in excitement. “I sure did, pal!”

Jack’s heart gave a particularly loud thump; he knew that a lawyer that went to see Gumshoe before the standard 4 PM deadline couldn’t possibly be a defender appointed by the State. “Who was it? Mr. Grossberg?”

Gumshoe vehemently shook his head. “Nope. I haven’t seen Mr. Grossberg all day, pal.”

Jack was again surprised He had been sure if there was anyone who would have been willing to help Mia’s little sister out, it was Mia’s old mentor. “If it wasn’t him, then who was it?”

Gumshoe leaned forward and smiled. “Why, it was Mr. Harry Butz, of course!”

“Oh, of course, Mr. Butz...” said Jack dismissively. A moment later, he realized the implications of what Gumshoe just said. “Wait, WHAAAAT?!” yelled Jack, jumping back in astonishment. “That doesn’t make any sense!”

Gumshoe scratched his head. “What do you mean by that, Jack?”

“Mr. Wri- er, Butz saw Maya Fey at the scene of the crime! Why would he want to defend the person arrested right before his eyes?!”

“Isn’t it obvious!” snapped Gumshoe. “He wants to try and... er... go and... um... It’s not my job to pick lawyers’ brains! Who do I look like, Psycho Lloyd?

Psycho Lloyd? Sounds like a serial killer... “No... You don’t look like, er... that guy.”

“Then why’d you ask me that paleontology question?”

“Because... I thought you’d realize... Oh, never mind.” It was rather obvious that Jack wasn’t going to be able to convince Detective Gumshoe that Mr. Wright’s attempt to defend Maya Fey seemed odd; he wasn’t exactly the sharpest tool in the shed when it came to such logic. Deciding to worry about the contradiction regarding Maya’s DA later, Jack instead thought about the one question that had been weighing him down the most. “Can I ask you one more thing, Detective Gumshoe?” he began tentatively.

“Sure!” said Gumshoe eagerly, before frowning and adding, “I’m not sure if I can tell you the answer, though.”

Jack nodded to show he understood. He then took a deep breath and blurted, “H-how did she die?”

Gumshoe’s eyes bulged slightly; he obviously hadn’t been expecting Jack to ask him that. He gazed at his drink for a moment before picking it up and taking a huge swig.

“Well?” asked Jack, crossing his arms.

Still looking downward, Gumshoe muttered, “Well... that’s another one of the things I’m not allowed to talk about. The cause of death is a part of the autopsy report, and that is evidence after all.”

Jack ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “Damn it! This is getting really annoying.”

“I’m sorry, pal. If I was you, I’d be ticked off as well.” said Gumshoe, his gaze still fixated on his drink.

Jack exhaled noisily. “I don’t understand why something like that has to be a secret, though. I mean, most of the time the cause of death is one of the first things released to the public! What makes Ms. Fey’s case so special?”

Gumshoe took another sip of beer and finally allowed himself to again look up into Jack’s face. “The way this murder happened is kind of... unusual, Jack. The department thinks it might corrupt the trial if it gets out too early, and Mr. Edgeworth agrees.” He paused to take another sip of beer before adding, “I’m really sorry I can’t tell you more.”

Jack’s stomach lurched; he definitely didn’t like the sound of the word ‘unusual’. As he dwelled on how Mia could have died an abnormal death, a myriad of images suddenly flooded his mind, none of them too pleasant. He started to shudder.

“Are you okay, pal?” asked Gumshoe, his eyebrows knitting in concern.

“Yeah...” muttered Jack hoarsely. “I just need to sit down, that’s all.” He quickly dragged his chair back to the spot across from Gumshoe and did just that. Still feeling somewhat woozy, he leaned forward and placed and let his head rest against the bar counter as unpleasant images continued to swirl about his brain.

“You sure don’t look okay, pal,” said Gumshoe uncertainly, before snapping, “This isn’t a sneaky bartender trick to make me give up restricted information, is it?”

Jack shook his head and slowly forced himself to look back up. “Not quite,” he said dully. “However, I would like to know one thing about Ms. Fey’s death; even you can’t tell me exactly what happened.”

Gumshoe rubbed his stubbly chin appreciatively. “Ask away... and I’ll figure out if I can tell you the answer.”

Jack nodded appreciatively. “Was Mia’s death... a quick one? Please tell me she didn’t suffer...” he pleaded, looking Gumshoe directly in the eyes.

Blinking rapidly, Gumshoe broke eye contact with Jack and stared at the ceiling for several seconds, apparently in deep thought.

“Well?”

Gumshoe put his head back down and smiled. “I guess I can tell you that much,” he said with a wan smile. “You see, her death was... what’s the word? Instantaneous. She passed away before she could even have a chance to suffer. Does that make you feel any better, pal?”

Jack let out a relieved sigh as nearly all of the disturbing thoughts fell away. “Yeah; it makes me feel much better. Thanks for telling me, detective.”

“It’s no trouble, Jack. I just hope Mr. Edgeworth won’t get mad at me you letting you know so much.”

“If he does, I’ll take all the blame,” said Jack simply. “After all, no one can resist my incredible bartender charm.” He let out a soft chuckle to show he was kidding.

“Yeah... you’re good at getting stuff out of people, that’s for sure...” Gumshoe paused and looked towards the door.

“Is something wrong?” asked Jack.

“Nah... I’m just wondering if Mr. Edgeworth’s going to show up. I told him I’d be at the Gavel after my shift and all...”

“Well, you can never be too sure with Mr. Edgeworth,” said Jack matter-of-factly. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s still researching the case... hopefully he can make some sense of things.”

Gumshoe turned back to Jack and smiled. “Yeah, that sounds about right. Of course, with a case as easy as this one, he shouldn’t have too much trouble getting his facts together. I’ll bet you when he does show up he’ll be in a good mood and ready to kick back and relax for a while!”

Jack was about to tell Gumshoe that the odds of that bet were hardly in his favor (not to mention he probably didn’t have enough money to be making bets anyway), but he didn’t even get the chance to open his mouth before...

“BOOM!” The Gavel’s main door suddenly burst open in a single dramatic movement. Despite the heavy looking briefcase in his left hand, Miles Edgeworth swiftly made his way through the obstacle course that was the Gavel’s haphazardly arranged wooden tables. Pausing only briefly to sit the case upon on the ground, he sat on one of the barstools and fixed Jack with a glare of utmost impatience.

Jack stared for just a moment before sliding off his chair and approaching Edgeworth with a smile. “Hello, Mr. Edgeworth!” he greeted cheerfully. “Aren’t we in a hurry this evening?”

“I have no time for your insolence today, Jack. I just want a drink... right now.” Edgeworth sounded rather tired; Jack wondered just how early he’d woken up for the sake of investigating his case.

“Ask and ye shall receive, Mr. Edgeworth,” said Jack somberly. “What’ll you have? Wine? Whiskey? Do you want me to mix you something?”

Edgeworth looked upon in thought for just a second before coming to a decision. “Whiskey,” he stated. “In fact, make it a double whiskey, and give it to me straight.”

Jack looked at Edgeworth a wary look before nodding. “Very well.” He immediately turned and headed for the liquor shelves.

“Hey, Mr. Edgeworth? Aren’t you going to say hi?” snapped Gumshoe, his breathing harsh and noisy.

Even with his back turned, Jack could feel the intensity of one of Edgeworth’s trademark glares. “I will greet you properly after my drink, detective. I am simple in no mind for idle chatter in my current state.”

“That’s a shame,” said Jack. Grabbing an oversized shot glass out of the bar counter, he added, “Picking brains is one of my favorite workday activities. Isn’t that right, Detective?”

“Huh? Oh... of course, Jack.”

Edgeworth fixed Gumshoe with another glare. “What does he mean by that? Don’t tell me you’ve been blabbing classified information about tomorrow’s trial...”

“Huh? Well... I...” stammered Gumshoe.

Jack walked back to Edgeworth and sat both a bottle of malt whiskey and the empty shot glass on the bar counter. “Don’t worry about it, Mr. Edgeworth,” he said genially. “I don’t know anything that won’t be all over the press by tomorrow anyway. And even if I did learn a secret or two, exactly who am I going to blab to?”

“There are people who would pay a lot of money to... er, ‘pick the brain’ of an insider,” said Edgeworth seriously.

Jack laughed. “I’d hardly call myself an insider, Mr. Edgeworth. I’m just here to serve drinks.” To prove his point, his opened the bottle and poured exactly two shots of whiskey into the glass before sliding it across to Edgeworth with a smirk.

“If you say so,” said Edgeworth benignly. He stared at the glass for but a moment before downing the entire double shot in a series of quick gulps.

“Damn, Mr. Edgeworth!” yelled Gumshoe. “You’re going to make yourself sick doing that!”

Edgeworth merely shot Gumshoe another glare. “You’re hardly the proper person to be admonishing me about my drinking habits,” he said coldly. “Need I remind you of the ‘incident’ you had back in December of ‘14?”

Jack shuddered. “Don’t remind me. I never did manage to get that puke stain out my shirt...”

“Hey!” shouted Gumshoe. “I didn’t get my Christmas bonus that year! I was under a lot of stress, pal!”

“If you consider the absence of a two-figure sum to be ‘a lot of stress,’ I’m rather thankful that you never considered becoming an attorney.” Edgeworth shook his head in dismay and returned his gaze to Jack. “Another shot, please, and don’t waste time getting another glass.” To prove his point, he slid the current one towards the other side of the counter.

Jack paused for a moment before nodding. “If you say so.” He immediately reopened the whiskey bottle and placed another shot in the once-used glass.

Edgeworth didn’t even bother with saying thank you; he grabbed the glass and downed the contents the instant Jack had finished pouring them. His eyes bulged slightly before he leaned forward and let out a contented sigh.

“Feeling better, Mr. Edgeworth?” asked Jack hesitantly.

Edgeworth looked Jack in the face and shook his head. “Not really,” he said bitterly. “I’ll probably won’t feel better until tomorrow’s trial is over with and done.”

“Is it really that bad?” asked Jack, his curiosity stirred up once more.

“In a word... yes.”

Jack felt a bead of sweat roll down his face. “Er... could you expand on that? ‘Yes’ could mean one of many things.”

Edgeworth grimaced and shook his head. “Why should I tell you anything more? You’ve probably already heard the entire story from Detective Gumshoe, anyway.”

Now it was Jack’s turn to shake his head. “Gumshoe’s actually a tough nut to crack,” he said with a smirk. “He only gave me a bit of information, and were it not for my friendship with Ms. Fey he probably wouldn’t have even given me that.” Jack looked over at the now smiling detective and tapped two fingers to his temple in salute.

A flicker of surprise flashed across Edgeworth’s face. “Well, that’s rather... uncommon.” He turned and looked Gumshoe in the eye. “I might actually be able to put a good word into your evaluation next month.”

Gumshoe’s mouth fell open in shock. “Really? That’s great, Mr. Edgeworth, sir!”

“Of course it is, Detective. Just don’t screw it up,” deadpanned Edgeworth. He then returned his gaze to his empty shot glass and sighed.

“Are you sure you don’t want to tell me anything, Mr. Edgeworth? You look rather stressed...” said Jack innocently.

“I really should remain silent.”

“That’s what you always say, Mr. Edgeworth,” said Jack seriously. “I don’t see why you keep saying it; I’ve never blabbed about this sort of thing to other people before.”

“Humph.”

Jack smiled inwardly; Edgeworth was definitely weakening. “Besides, I might be able to spot something you didn’t. Just because you’re the best prosecutor in the district doesn’t mean you’re invincible, you know.”

Edgeworth frowned. “Don’t play to my ego, Mr. Keeper. You and I both know that Mr. von Karma is by far the best prosecutor in the district. After all the years we’ve spent together, I can not be anything more than his humble protégé.”

“I guess you’ve got me there,” said Jack softly. “However, unlike Mr. von Karma, you have a bit more emotion than your everyday robot. Because of that, it’s rather easy for me to notice you’re feeling down; you look just as bad tonight as you did yesterday.” Jack paused for dramatic effect; he knew he had to hit Edgeworth where it mattered for him to spill his guts. “Besides... if you work out your troubles with me and Gumshoe here tonight, you won’t be bothered by them during the trial tomorrow.”

Edgeworth exhaled nosily before he slumped in defeat. “I guess you’re right, Jack,” he muttered bitterly. “However, if anything I tell you tonight leave this bar... I will make sure you pay for it.”

Jack looked Edgeworth in the eye and nodded. Having known the man for three years, he knew Edgeworth had the capacity to make him suffer if he really wanted to. However, considering his misgivings about this particular case, this was a risk he was more than willing to take.

Gumshoe let out a noise of confusion. “Are you really going to tell Jack everything, Mr. Edgeworth? I mean, you told me I couldn’t tell anyone about this case, sir!”

Edgeworth turned to Gumshoe and shot him a weak smile. “I assure you I’m not going to tell him everything, detective. Just the things that have been bothering me.”

“That’s perfectly fine with me, detective,” said Jack levelly. “So anyway... what’s on your mind, Mr. Edgeworth?”

Edgeworth looked down and started drumming his fingers against the bar, apparently lost in thought. After several seconds, he finally blurted, “My key witness... is an idiot.”

“An... idiot? What makes you say that?” asked Jack skeptically.

“I met with her earlier today, in order to work on her testimony.” Edgeworth placed a hand against his forehead and sighed. “In the beginning, she didn’t even know what a ‘contradiction’ was. It took me ten minutes of explaining before she even had a basic grasp of the definition.”

Jack let out a low whistle; he was well aware that pointing out conflicts between witnesses and evidence was by far the most fundamental strategy of the modern defense attorney. If the main witness to Mia’s murder didn’t know what they were... “It must have been hard for you to get her story straight.”

“Tell me about it. I actually nearly as much time assisting her with her testimony as I did inquiring about the evidence. Over two hours...”

“Damn,” muttered Jack softly. “Was she at least a cooperative witness?”

Surprisingly, Edgeworth started to laugh, albeit softly. “Oh, she was cooperative. A bit too cooperative, if you ask me.”

“What do you mean?”

“How do I put this? She was... flirtatious.”

“Flirtatious?”

“Yes. She couldn’t go more than 5 minutes without making faces at me or spouting out one double entendre or another. It reminded of when I was younger and got teased all the time by my little sister.”

“I see,” said Jack thoughtfully. “She does seem rather... weird.”

“Hey!” shouted Gumshoe, his face curled into a snarl. “I thought she was rather nice! Don’t start making fun of people you’ve never met before, pal!”

Jack shot Edgeworth a knowing smile. “It sounds like the detective over there fell for your witness hook, line, and sinker,” he muttered under his breath.

Edgeworth glanced at Gumshoe before nodding. “You might be right,” he replied in an equally quiet voice. “I’ll have to talk to him about that later. The last thing I need is my primary detective getting wrapped around a pretty witness’s finger. Of course, I sincerely doubt that he would leave himself too weak to bias after so many years on the force...”

“Hey? What are you two whispering about over there? Are you pals making fun of me?” shouted Gumshoe.

Jack jumped slightly and whirled to face Gumshoe. “Not at all, Detective. We were actually talking about how good of a detective you are!”

Gumshoe let out a sarcastic laugh. “Yeah, like I believe that! It’s one thing to put me down every now and then, but it’s another thing to lie about it!”

Jack let out a sigh; he knew that repeating the fact that Edgeworth really had been complementing his skills would only make Gumshoe madder. Having had a lot of experience with the homicide detective, Jack knew there was only one easy way to get rid of his anger. Adopting a neutral tone, he stated, “I’m sorry, detective; that was rude of me. As a token of apology; you don’t have to pay for that beer.”

As expected, Gumshoe’s anger immediately evaporated. “Apology accepted! Thanks for being so kind to me, Jack!”

“Of course.” Rolling his eyes, he walked back over to Edgeworth. “So... now that I’ve got that little incident out of the way, is there anything else troubling you about tomorrow’s case?”

Edgeworth looked down at his empty glass again; he was apparently lost in thought. After a few awkward seconds, he muttered, “I got a call from the Public Prosecutor’s Office a little while ago.”

“Really? That doesn’t sound like too big a deal.” Jack knew that the Office of the Public Prosecutor was one level above that of the Chief Prosecutor; it was the job of the Public Prosecutor and his employees to help oversee every trial handled by prosecutors in the entire region, District City included. Thus, it was hardly unusual for someone from the Public Office to give a prosecutor direct information regarding a specific trial every now and then. Making sure not to sound too accusatory, Jack asked, “What could possibly be unsettling about that?”

“Well... it wasn’t just any call... it was from Public Prosecutor Parsons himself.

“Ah... yes... Public Prosecutor Peter Parsons.” Despite his standing in the legal system, Jack couldn’t help but laugh every time he heard Prosecutor Parson’s name and title; he always wondered if the man went into prosecuting for the sake of alliteration alone. Personally, Jack had never met Prosecutor Parsons; a man of that stature surely had better uses for his free time than hanging out in a bar with legal workers of much lower status. “So... what’d he talk to you about, Mr. Edgeworth?”

“Nothing too important... Just some pre-trial information, in fact,” said Edgeworth with a frown.

“Than why’s it got you worried?”

“It’s just the way it sounds...” explained Edgeworth matter-of-factly.

Jack was getting more and more confused by the minute. “The way it sounds? What do you mean by that?”

“It’s just...” Edgeworth shook his arms about in a futile attempt to explain. “Aaargh! This is far too difficult. Why don’t I just let you hear the conversation for yourself?”

“Hear it... for myself?” muttered Jack perplexedly.

Instead of explaining himself, Edgeworth merely reached into one of his pants pockets and pulled out his cell phone, which he sat on the table. Amusingly, the outside of the cell phone was the same shade of port-wine as Edgeworth’s fancy suit.

“Since I found the call rather odd, I didn’t delete the automatic call recording after I had finished. It’s still in my phone’s memory banks.”

“Ah! I get it now!” said Jack excitedly.

Gumshoe, on the other hand, suddenly appeared to be rather worried. “You can record messages on cell phones?” he asked, dumbfounded.

Edgeworth shot Gumshoe an appraising look. “Of course you can, detective!” he exclaimed disdainfully. “In fact, with my phone you have to delete the conversations manually just to get rid of them!”

Gumshoe looked down at the floor and scratched at the back of his head; if anything, he looked more nervous than he had before. “I see, Mr. Edgeworth,” he finally mumbled.

Edgeworth, who was busy pushing numerous buttons on his ultra thin phone, merely grunted in the affirmative. “Now... if I adjust the volume to its maximum level, all three of us should be able the conversation...”

Gumshoe moved a seat closer to Edgeworth as he continued to press buttons; Jack placed both his palms against the counter and leaned forward so he could get a better view.

Edgeworth let out a heavy sigh. “The conversation should play when I push this enter button,” he said lazily. “Now then...”

“BEEP!”

“Hello?” Edgeworth’s voice was somewhat distorted as it came out of the phone’s tiny speaker.

“Is this Prosecutor Edgeworth of the District City Prosecutor’s Office?” The second voice was crisp and militant, like that of a drill sergeant.

“Why yes. Yes it is.” Obviously, Edgeworth wasn’t one to waste time on complex greeting procedures.

”Excellent! For a moment there, I was afraid I’d gotten the wrong person! Of course, I dialed the correct number, but still...” Judging by his blatant rambling, Jack could tell that, in spite of his harsh voice, the second person seemed rather nervous.

“Humph. If you’re done with your little speech, may I ask who is speaking to me?”

“Mr. Edgeworth, I’m shocked! Don’t you recognize the voice of the Region’s Public Prosecutor?”

The phone fell silent for several seconds, and then... “Oh! Public Prosecutor Parsons! I’m sorry, sir... with all the static on my end, it’s hard for me to be able to tell one person’s voice from another!”

Jack let out a chortle; it was rather obvious from the recording that there was no static on the line at all.

”That’s all right, Mr. Edgeworth, mistakes happen.” Parsons let out a laugh of his own, though it sounded rather strained. “Before you ask, I’m calling you because of the State vs. Fey trial tomorrow morning; I’ve got several pieces of information you’ll find handy before you march into that courtroom!” Another weak laugh from Parsons, and then an exuberant, “Isn’t that just great?”

”Er, yes,” muttered Edgeworth. ”But wait... you say you’re the one with the information? Isn’t that usually a job for your employees?”

Another pause; Parsons obviously hadn’t been expecting that question. “Well... you see... this is a very important case! We don’t want the media to start chewing you up for being unprepared, now do we?”

“No offense, sir, but the media can go to hell for that I care.” Another pause. ”However, it probably is best for me to get as much information on this case as I can... What do you have for me, Public Prosecutor?”

Another long pause. “Well... here’s the thing, Mr. Edgeworth. This new stuff’s a bit sensitive, so I can’t just tell you over the phone. It’d be best for both of us if we scheduled a pre-trial meeting instead.”

Phone-Edgeworth let out a sigh. “Very well, Mr. Public Prosecutor. Where would you like to meet? Your office building?”

“No, not here!” shouted Parsons. “I mean... it’s far too crowded here, what with it being Tuesday and all... I’ve actually reserved a Conference Room for the occasion... it’s at the Gatewater Hotel, in District City.”

“The Gatewater? But that’s where the witness-”

“Yes, I know. However, I assure you there are valid reasons for us to have our meeting there. Understand?”

Another sigh. ”Very well. Can you tell me when the meeting is?”

“It’s later tonight... 11:00 PM.”

“11:00 PM?!” snapped Phone-Edgeworth, shocked. “Why the... heck would you want to have a meeting so late?”

“I assure you; the details will be made clear at the meeting. Just make sure you’re at the Gatewater before 11:00.”

The cell phone fell silent for a few more seconds before Phone-Edgeworth muttered, “Fine.”

“Excellent! Now, before I get back to work, is there anything you wish to ask of me?”

Phone-Edgeworth answered this question rather quickly. “It’s after 4 P.M., Mr. Public Prosecutor. Have you received the name of the Defense Attorney that I’ll be arguing against?”

Another chuckle from Parsons, somewhat louder than the ones before. “It’s funny you should ask that, Mr. Edgeworth, because I have!”

“Well, who is it then?”

“Just a second, Mr. Edgeworth, allow me to look it up! Let’s see... Ah! It looks like tomorrow’s your lucky day, Mr. Edgeworth!”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Well, it looks like you’re going to be facing a newbie attorney, a Mr. Phoenix Wright!”

“KERPLUNK!” Jack and Gumshoe both jumped in surprise as a sudden clattering noise pierced the air.

“Mr. Edgeworth?! Are you alright?!” Judging by the frantic tone of Mr. Parsons, he hadn’t been expecting the noise either.

“Sorry about that. I dropped my phone.” Edgeworth’s voice was suddenly harsh and flat.

“Well, that’s okay, Mr. Edgeworth! Believe you me; I’ve had that sort of thing happen to me more times than you can count. For example, there was this one time, in law school...”

“I’m sorry to interrupt, sir, but I really need to get back to the investigation. I’ll see you at the meeting.”

“BEEP!”

“Call recorded, September 6th, 4:21 P.M.” droned a mechanical voice.

“Is that it, Mr. Edgeworth?” asked Gumshoe.

“Yes. That’s the entire call,” said Edgeworth, his eyes focused firmly on the empty shot glass before him. “Obviously, the first half is the part that’s relevant. I mean, Mr. Parsons is normally a rather confident person... and the details of day to day prosecution are usually dealt with by people far lower down the chain of command! It doesn’t make any sense!” Edgeworth smacked his hand against the counter to emphasize his point.

Gumshoe’s eyebrows started to dance in thought. “Public Plos... er, Public Prosecutor Parker... Proctor... Plum-popper... THAT GUY sounded really weird, Mr. Edgeworth!” He looked at Jack, an eager smile on his face. “Don’t you think so too, pal?”

“I’m a bit more interested about the end of the conversation, myself,” said Jack slowly. Having gotten confirmation that Mr. Wright was acting as Maya Fey’s defense attorney, he knew he had to tell Edgeworth about his problem regarding the matter.

Edgeworth let out a sigh of irritation. “That’s just like you, isn’t it, Jack? You’re never able to focus at the matter at hand.”

“What you call a lack of focus I call thinking differently, Mr. Edgeworth,” retorted Jack, slightly insulted. “I just thought something I heard at the end of that conversation seemed... odd.”

Discontented, Edgeworth shook his head. “What is it, Mr. Keeper?” he asked reluctantly.

“According to that conversation you recorded, the Defense attorney is Mr. Phoenix Wright, right?”

Edgeworth crossed his arms. “Yes...”

“However, one of the few facts I managed to squeeze out of Detective Gumshoe here is that Mr. Wright was also at the crime scene when he arrested Maya Fey. Is that right?”

Edgeworth shot Gumshoe an irritated glare before muttering, “That is also correct.”

“And therein lies the problem,” said Jack, triumphantly smacking a palm against the bar counter. “If Mr. Wright saw the defendant at the scene of the crime, what possible reason would he have to try and defend her?! If anything, he should be your witness!”

Jack was rewarded with the rare sight of Miles Edgeworth’s widening in surprise. “Just what are you implying, Mr. Keeper?” he asked coldly.

“Well... you see... Ever since I heard about Maya Fey’s arrest on the news last night, this whole case hasn’t been sitting right with me. And now that I’ve learned about some of the facts, the feeling’s getting even worse,” said Jack haltingly.

“So?”

Jack took a deep breath and nervously ran a hand through his hair; he knew that Edgeworth wasn’t going to take his next statement very well. “I... I no longer believe that Maya Fey murdered her sister.”

Edgeworth’s reaction didn’t disappoint. “What?! You can not possibly be serious, Mr. Keeper!”

Jack’s lips twitched in an ironic smile. “I’m sorry, Mr. Edgeworth, but that’s the only conclusion that makes any sense to me.”

Gumshoe sent Jack a disbelieving glare. “How can you say that, Jack?! There’s a witness, and evidence, and everything!” He waved his arms wildly in an attempt to prove his point.

“That’s true, but you yourself said the witness didn’t really see the defendant from up close, Detective.” rebutted Jack smoothly. Turning to Edgeworth, he added, “And you, Mr. Edgeworth, told me that she was an ‘idiot’; a flirty woman who probably still doesn’t know the difference between a contradiction and a contraceptive.” Chuckling at his wry joke, he added, “From what you’ve told me of her, it doesn’t sound like she should have a lot of impact on the judge.”

“But, Jack, you’re forgetting about the evidence!” whined Gumshoe.

“No offense, detective, but I haven’t heard one thing about evidence in this case except the fact it supposedly exists. It’s rather odd how not the slightest bit of information regarding evidence is getting out; it’s almost as if someone’s trying to cover up the fact that no solid proof exists...”

Edgeworth cut off Jack’s rant by slamming an angry hand against the bar. “No solid proof, Mr. Keeper?!” he spat in disbelief. “For God’s sake, the victim wrote down the killer’s name!”

Jack jumped backward as if he had been slapped. “What... what did you just say, Mr. Edgeworth?” he asked weakly.

Edgeworth looked even more irate than before. “Mr. Keeper, it’s rather obvious that I just told you...” he trailed off as he realized what he’d just revealed. “AAARGH!!!”

“‘AAARGH!’ is right, Mr. Edgeworth,” said Gumshoe, shaking his head sadly. “You told me that piece of evidence was the biggest secret of all, sir.”

“What piece of evidence?” asked Jack; his mind a maelstrom of curiosity and confusion.

Edgeworth glared at Jack for several seconds before letting out a large sigh and muttering, “Might as well show you... you’re going to force it out of me anyway.”

Edgeworth leaned over in his chair, lifted his large black briefcase up off the floor, and slammed it against the bar counter. After making sure that Jack wouldn’t be able to see inside, he deftly flipped the briefcase open, rummaged through the contents, and pulled out a single sheet of glossy paper. Sitting the paper face down next to him, he closed the briefcase with a snap and quietly returned it to its spot on the floor.

“Well?” asked Jack eagerly.

“This is a photograph of the key piece of evidence,” said Edgeworth glumly. “Detective Gumshoe here found it next to... the victim’s body.” Shaking his head in dismay, he uprighted the picture and slid it across the bar counter.

Jack let out a gasp as he laid eyes on the picture; the subject was a mere scrap of paper, much smaller than the photograph itself. Upon the scrap was the single word ‘Maya’; despite the black-and-whiteness of the picture, Jack could clearly tell that the name had been written in blood. Jack leaned against the bar and stared at it for nearly a minute before asking, “What does this mean?”

“The meaning of this evidence is obvious,” said Edgeworth, his voice oddly considerate. “After... the victim received her fatal wound, she used the last of her strength to write out the name of her killer. As she was in no condition to search for pen and paper, she accomplished this task with the only writing utensils she had: the back of this old receipt and her own blood. It was this piece of evidence that allowed Detective Gumshoe here to arrest the proper killer.”

Jack remained silent as he attempted to digest this new information. A couple of awkward minutes latter, he finally managed to ask, “So the blood is definitely Ms. Fey’s?”

Edgeworth nodded. “Yes. The blood tests came in earlier this afternoon; there’s no doubt that it belongs to Ms. Fey. The same blood was also found on her right index finger.”

“And she wrote this... after she died?”

“Of course. There’s no other way she could have written something in her own blood.”

Makes sense, thought Jack wryly. But... if she wrote Maya’s name down after she was wounded, that means... Jack suddenly stood up straight and spun to face Gumshoe, his eyes wide with shock.

“Are you alright, pal?” he asked concernedly. Noticing that Jack was still staring at him, he gave his trench coat a nervous tug. “Pal?”

“When I asked you about the circumstances of Ms. Fey’s death earlier, I didn’t want you to lie to me,” said Jack in a low growl.

Gumshoe looked visibly shaken. “W-when did I lie to you about that, Jack?” he stammered.

“You told me earlier that her death was instant. It’s rather obvious from this ‘critical evidence’ of yours that her death couldn’t have been instant.”

“B-but her death was instant! It says so in the autopsy report!”

Am I the only person that sees the obvious?! Moving the evidence picture to a place that Gumshoe could see it, he tapped his finger against the word ‘Maya’ and yelled, “If Ms. Fey died the instant she was injured, how the hell did she write down her sisters name?!”

Gumshoe was starting to shake under the pressure of his bartender’s verbal attack. “I... I... I don’t know how, okay, pal?!” he roared. Visibly struggling to contain himself, he spun 90 degrees on his barstool and gave Edgeworth a pleading stare. “You tell him how, Mr. Edgeworth.”

Breathing heavily to calm himself down, Jack took two lateral steps so he could again look at Edgeworth face-to-face. “You’re the prosecutor, Mr. Edgeworth. Do you know how this is possible?” he asked sharply.

Edgeworth chuckled and shrugged elaborately. “It’s rather obvious, isn’t it, Mr. Keeper? In his efforts to make you feel better, Detective Gumshoe obviously made an error in reading the autopsy report. If you give me one minute to check my copy...”

Edgeworth reopened his briefcase and extracted another sheet of white paper, this one thick and officious in appearance. Smiling benignly, he sat it flat against the wood of the bar counter and leaned forward so that he could read.

“Let’s see here,” he muttered softly as his eyes slid down the page. “Time of death... 9:00 PM... Cause of death... That checks out... Death was...” Edgeworth’s commentary suddenly ceased as he stared at one specific spot on the page, his eyebrows knitted in obvious disbelief.

“Is there something wrong, Mr. Edgeworth?” asked Gumshoe warily.

“‘Victim’s died immediately?’ This can’t be possible...” whispered Edgeworth, his face contorted into a painful snarl. Without even looking up from the paper, he snatched the evidence picture from Gumshoe and started tapping his finger against the two objects in an attempt to make a comparison. “If I’m seeing what I think I’m seeing...”

“Then...?” asked Jack enthusiastically.

Edgeworth smashed a fist against the table and started gritting his teeth in frustration. “Then... Damn it! This is a contradiction so obvious a ten-year-old child could see through it!”

“Hey! I’m not a ten-year old kid!” whined Jack, his hands on his hips.

“My apologies, Jack,” said Edgeworth, clearly distracted as he continued to stare at his conflicting evidence. “This definitely changes things,” he muttered softly.

At the sound of those words, a faint flutter of hope stirred in Jack’s stomach. Making sure to keep his voice from sounding too loud or forceful, he asked, “Does this mean you’re going to drop the case, Mr. Edgeworth?”

Edgeworth’s head snapped up in an instant; he sent Jack a distinctly cock-eyed glare. “Excuse me? What did you just say?” he asked incredulously.

Jack wiped a bead of sweat of his forehead. “I... I just asked you if you were going to drop the case.”

“Really? And what makes you think I would do something as radical as that?”

Jack shuttered at Edgeworth’s sudden coldness, but knew he had to press on. Waving a hand across the picture and paper on the bar before him, he stated, “These things conflict with each other. You just admitted that yourself. If Ms. Fey died without having time to write anything down, then... then someone else would have had to written that message!”

“Someone else, pal?” Gumshoe was gritting his teeth and breathing heavily again; apparently he could remain silent no longer. “Tell me, Jack, who would this ‘someone else’ be?”

Jack smiled; even for someone not in the legal profession, that was a rather easy question. “Isn’t it obvious, detective? The person who wrote that message must have been... the real killer!”

Edgeworth stared at Jack for about a second before he broke into exuberant laughter. Logically, both Jack and Gumshoe turned and stared at him as if he were losing his mind.

“This is hardly the right time to be amused, Mr. Edgeworth,” hissed Jack indignantly.

Edgeworth slowly regained his composure and looked across the bar with a neutral expression. “I’m sorry, Mr. Keeper, that was rather rude of me. It’s just that your explanation was so... quaint! I mean... ‘The real killer’? It sounds like a phrase one would hear in a crime drama, not everyday life.”

Jack nodded sourly; upon reflection he too realized that his statement seemed somewhat inane. However... “Quaint as it may sound, I’m still pretty sure that Maya Fey wouldn’t have written her own name down in her sister’s blood. Only someone trying to frame her would write that... right?”

Edgeworth smirked and tapped a finger against his temple. “It’s a slim possibility, but I’m simply afraid it’s not one worthy of dismissing the entire case,” said Edgeworth seriously.

Jack’s jaw nearly hit the floor in shock. “Slim possibility? It’s the only possibility!” he bellowed.

Edgeworth merely smiled. “You are jumping to conclusions, Mr. Keeper. There is another way.”

Jack tilted his head skeptically.

“Your theory only makes sense if you assume both of these pieces of evidence are correct. However, there’s a considerable probability that one of them isn’t.”

“Yeah!” chimed in Gumshoe. “Like... Maya meant to write someone else’s name on that paper, but she wrote her own by mistake! I do that all the time on suspect reports, pal!”

Jack shook his head sadly as he wondered how Gumshoe managed to keep himself from getting arrested every other week.

Edgeworth, on the other hand, merely sighed and shook his head in the negative. “I’m sorry, detective, but you’ve got the wrong idea. The problem obviously lies with this.” He handed Gumshoe the legal document.

Gumshoe scratched his head in puzzlement. “The autopsy report? What could be wrong with that?”

“If Maya Fey committed the crime you arrested her for, detective, she must have had enough time to write down the name of her killer. There is no other reasonable explanation.”

“And that means...?”

“There’s a very good chance that this report is... inaccurate.”

Jack was stunned. “Mr. Edgeworth, this report is one of the key pieces of evidence in your trial tomorrow! How can it be inaccurate?!”

“Mistakes happen, Jack. The...” Edgeworth paused as he searched for a word. “The pathologists in charge of autopsies are under a lot of pressure, what with our modern initial trial system and all. It’s actually rather likely that someone missed some sort of sign that Mia Fey did not die an instant death.”

Jack nodded slowly; loathe as he was to admit it, Edgeworth did have a point.

Gumshoe, on the other hand, still seemed rather confused. “If this report here is wrong, what are you going to do about it, Mr. Edgeworth sir?”

Edgeworth paused before his face broke into yet another smirk. “Well... I don’t exactly trust my driving abilities right now... so what you are going to do is drive me back to the police station. If we get there fast enough, we should be able to have another autopsy preformed before tomorrow morning.”

Jack blinked rapidly in surprise. “Another autopsy, Mr. Edgeworth? Isn’t that a little extreme?!”

Edgeworth sat up straighter atop his barstool. “You should know by now that I’ll do anything to get my verdict, Mr. Keeper.”

“I know; I know...” muttered Jack dismissively. Indeed, Edgeworth’s penchant for going out of his way to find conclusive evidence had earned him quite a reputation in the District City legal system, albeit at the expense of his reputation in the District City press. Speaking of the press... “You do know that a second autopsy report will... er, seem a lot like a dirty trick if you happen to use it,” added Jack tentatively.

Edgeworth looked pensive for a moment before murmuring, “That is true, Jack. However, it would be foolish of me to worry about my image outside of court.”

“What about your image inside the court? The judge won’t accept evidence if he thinks it’s incorrect.”

Edgeworth looked taken aback. “That is also a valid point.” He then turned ninety degrees in his chair. “Detective Gumshoe?”

“Yes, Mr. Edgeworth, sir?”

“If the second autopsy works out and the court finds it suspicious, I might have to blame the investigation. If this happens, just act as you typically would, all right?”

Gumshoe paused a moment before nodding. “Yes, sir, Mr. Edgeworth, sir! Anything for the case, sir!”

Edgeworth smiled. “Thanks, detective.” He put his evidence back inside his briefcase, extracted a single banknote from his suit pocket, and slid it across the bar towards Jack. “This belongs to you,” he stated evenly. “You may keep all of it.”

Jack gasped in astonishment at the sight of the money. “Mr. Edgeworth... this is a hundred-dollar bill! Y-your drinks didn’t even cost twenty!”

“I know,” said Edgeworth, smirking. “However, there’s a decent chance I might have... lost tomorrow’s case were it not for you pointing out that faulty autopsy report for me. Consider that my thanks for your help.”

“Er... you’re welcome,” muttered Jack awkwardly. Looking back up, he noticed that Gumshoe was staring at Edgeworth with an indignant look on his face.

“You know, Mr. Edgeworth, I helped too, and I don’t see me getting any fancy tips!” he huffed.

Edgeworth didn’t look the slightest bit phased. “I know you helped, detective, and believe me, I am grateful. However, the last time I checked, a lawyer handing his detective money under the table is the textbook example of a bribe. You aren’t asking me for a bribe, are you?”

Gumshoe’s mouth opened in shock. “A b-bribe? No, sir! I... I... would never ask for that, sir!”

Edgeworth smiled. “That’s what I thought. Now lead me to your car... we need to get to the station as soon as we can.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Edgeworth, sir!” stammered Gumshoe, clearly relieved. “Farewell, Jack!”

“Farewell, Detective Gumshoe,” said Jack, trying not to smile. He shook his head as he watched Gumshoe nearly sprinted across the bar and out the door, Edgeworth trailing in his wake.

After the bar door slammed shut, Jack looked down at Edgeworth’s money and sighed.

“I guess I was a big help...” he mused to himself. “However, I don’t think I really wanted to be.”

Shaking his head in dismay, Jack slipped his reward into his trusty old cash register and tiredly sat in his reliable old chair.

“I’ve learned so much... but I just can’t think right now,” he announced sadly. “Perhaps another go at that record time will cure what ails me...”

And with that, Jack reached into his pocket, pulled out his old two-screen machine, opened it up, and started to play.

-------------

Part 3/7: Gross Despair

Jack sighed as he stared down the length of his long, wooden pool cue. “Concentrate...,” he whispered as he painstakingly aligned the brown leather tip with the center of the shiny white sphere. Drawing the stick back an inch, he announced, “Four-ball, in the corner pocket.”

“Clack!” The cue ball jumped, rolled across the smooth, green table, missed the purple number four ball by several inches, and smoothly fell into the aforementioned corner pocket with a thump.

Donny Docket chuckled loudly as he looked down upon the pocketed cue. “That’s two scratches in two turns, Jack,” he said matter-of-factly. “That’s pretty damn lousy, even for you.”

Jack leaned his cue stick against the side of the Gavel’s pool table and crossed his arms. “You know I’m not good at this game,” he grumbled. “I wouldn’t even be playing with you if I weren’t trying to keep my mind off Ms. Fey’s... passing.”

Donny nodded seriously as he fished the cue ball out the pocket and placed it back on the table. “I know what you mean,” he said sadly. “Miss Mia was... quite the woman. Makes me wish we’d parted on better terms.” He grimaced as he leaned forward and up his next shot. “Four ball; side pocket.”

“Clack!” The cue ball leapt forward and hit the purple ball dead-on; it made a loud smacking sound as it flew into the side pocket.

“Hah hah!” yelled Donny, pumping his fist in celebration. “Did you see that, Jack? Perfection!”

“Yeah, perfection...” muttered Jack distantly. He stared at the six balls still left upon the table and sighed again.

“You alright, Jack?”

“Not really.” Jack paused and scratched at his head. “It’s still kind of hard for me to believe she’s gone,” he muttered.

Donny merely stared at his friend for a few seconds before letting out a sigh of his own. “Guess I can’t blame you for feeling blue,” he said softly. “Miss Mia always was one of your favorites... especially after... you know.”

“I know,” said Jack sullenly.

Donny nodded, leaned forward and again looked down the shaft of his pool cue. “Five ball; corner pocket,” he announced.

“Clack!” Jack watched as the white ball rolled forward, bounced off one of the table’s cushioned sides, and lazily made contact with the ball marked “5”. Upon being struck, the orange sphere lazily slid several inches and fell inside the corner pocket with a dull clunk.

“Another one down,” said Donny, his voice much less enthusiastic than it had been just one ball earlier.

Jack merely stared at the side wall; his thoughts were once again focused on Mia’s death and the strange events of earlier that day. He was just about to chance a look downward when something dull made contact with the small of his back. He jumped and wheeled around to find that Donny had prodded him with the end of his pool cue.

“You’re not the easiest person to get the attention of, are you?” he asked, smirking.

Jack merely shook his head and sighed. “Guess I’m not...” he muttered tonelessly.

Donny frowned before fixing Jack with a knowing glare. “Alright... what’s eating at you?”

Jack took a step backwards from Donny and raised his eyebrows. “Eating at me?”

“Yeah!” snapped Donny, waving his free arm about. “You know... what’s bothering you; what’s the problem?”

Jack resisted the urge to growl in frustration. “I thought I already told you what the ‘problem’ was, Don.”

If anything, Donny’s glare only got more intense. “No you didn’t,” he said softly.

Jack started to absently twirl at his hair. “What makes you think that?”

Donny’s face contorted into an amused smirk. “I know you all to well, Jack,” he said simply. “If you’re feeling blue about something, you act sad, but you keep yourself in the game.” Donny paused and absently tugged at his shirt collar. “However, when you start acting all spacey and quiet... that means you’re worried about something.”

Looks like I should give Donny more credit, thought Jack bemusedly. “Alright, you win, Don. I am worried about something,” he said, looking his friend in the eye.

“Score one for the Don-man! Do I know my best friend or what?” shouted Donny, his eyes sparkling in triumph.

In spite of himself, Jack cracked a smile. “You sure do, Mr. Docket,” he said mockingly. Pointing at the pool table, he added, “Now, why don’t you... how did you put it? ‘Get back in the game’ over there, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

Donny gave a mocking bow. “If you insist...”

Jack laughed and moved away from the pool table; Donny immediately moved to the nearby edge and started to line up his next shot.

“Now then,” said Donny smoothly. “While I continue to clean your clock in 9-ball, you just tell me everything that’s troubling you. I assure you, Dr. Docket will help you cure all. Oh, and six ball, in the side pocket.”

“Clack!” The cue ball rolled a third of the length of the table before striking the six-ball off-center. The green sphere, like the orange one before it, rolled directly to the nearest pocket and fell in as if it had been acting under orders.

“Excellent as always, Don,” said Jack grandiosely.

“Yeah, yeah. How about less brown-nosing and more gut-spilling, please,” said Donny curtly.

Jack shook his head in amusement. “Fine.” He paused and took a deep breath. “Basically, I’m worried about what’s going to happen in the murder trial tomorrow.”

Donny let out a light snort. “That’s it?! And here I thought it was something serious!”

“Are you saying murder trials aren’t serious?” Jack blurted with a glare.

Donny jumped and shook his head furiously in the negative. “No way, José! It’s just... I mean... Mr. E’s going to be doing the prosecuting tomorrow! There’s no way he’s going to lose!”

Now it was Jack’s turn to shake his head. “Wait, that’s not what I’m...”

“Now, now, Jack, I know that you and Miss Mia were really close,” continued Donny, completely oblivious to his friend’s protest. “It’s understandable that you of all people should be worried about whether or not her backstabbing sister receives justice.”

“B-but...”

“No buts. I’m sure Mr. E will be able to pull of the guilty verdict. After all, he always does...”

“But...”

“Always,” repeated Donny, cutting off Jack once again. “Seven-ball, corner pocket.”

As Donny drew back to take the shot, Jack blurted out, “But that’s exactly what I don’t want to happen!”

“Clack!” Donny flinched violently and struck the cue ball at an odd angle; it bounced several times, rolled a few pitiful inches along the felt of the table, and tapped the maroon seven-ball with just the slightest amount of force before coming to a complete stop.

“Looks like you’re losing your touch,” said Jack absently.

Donny paid his bad shot little mind. “What do you mean, you don’t want that to happen?! Are you saying that you want Miss Mia’s killer to damn well get away?!”

“Hell no!” shouted Jack, slamming a hand against the edge of the pool table. “It’s just that I don’t think the ‘killer’ and Maya Fey are the same person!”

Donny’s mouth dropped open; he cupped a hand around one ear as if he was unable to hear properly. “How can you seriously believe that? Have you even bothered to read the papers today?!”

Jack sighed inwardly; Donny was obviously even more dependant on the newspapers then Gumshoe had been. Deciding to cut his friend off at the pass, he stated, “Yes, I read a newspaper today, and quite frankly it didn’t tell me much of anything.”

Donny placed a hand against his hip in indignation. “If that’s the case, what makes you think you’ve got the right opinion?”

For once, Jack had a solid answer. “Well, you see, I happened to serve both Mr. Edgeworth and Detective Gumshoe earlier today. With a little prodding, they were more than willing to let some inside information slip.”

Once again, Donny looked stunned. “Really? What’d they tell you?!” he demanded childishly.

“All in due time, Donny, all in due time,” said Jack cryptically. “Seven-ball, in the corner pocket.”

“Clack!” Since they were touching, all of the energy in Jack’s shot immediately went to the dark red ball, which rolled across the table at an insane pace, missed the corner pocket by less than three inches, and proceeded to bounce off of all four cushions before coming to a halt just a few inches away from where it started.

Jack let out a chuckle. “Well, at least I was close that time,” he said wryly.

Donny paid even less attention to Jack’s bad shot then he did to his own. “Who cares?” he blurted eagerly. “I want to hear what Mr. E and Gumshoe told you!”

Jack frowned and crossed his arms. “Sorry, Don, but they let me know that information because they trusted me not to blab about it. It would be... foolish of me to break that trust by giving you all the details.”

Donny glared at Jack for a few seconds before looking downward in defeat. “I guess so...” he muttered sadly. “Still, if you want me to stop believing the big, bad newspapers, you’re going to have to tell me something about what you’ve learned.”

The corner of Jack’s mouth twitched up amusedly; he was starting to get an idea of what Edgeworth and Gumshoe had been feeling when he pressed them for information earlier in the day. “Well...” he muttered slowly, “...let’s just say the case against little Ms. Fey is a lot weaker then the papers claim.”

Donny sent Jack a puzzled look as he absently rubbed a cube of blue chalk against the tip of his cue. “What makes you say that?”

Jack spun his cue in a lazy circle as he contemplated how much he should let his friend know. Reaching a decision, he began, “First of all, there only appears to be one witness testifying about the crime.”

“So? The courts have handed out plenty of guilties after one-witness trials. Seven-ball; corner pocket.”

“Clack!” The cue ball quickly rolled forward several inches and slammed into the seven-ball, which flew to the corner pocket and fell in without the slightest hesitation. Donny sent Jack a sly grin as he waited for his response.

“What you say is true,” acknowledged Jack with a nod. “However, this witness only saw the crime from a rather long distance away, in a place where... his or her view was restricted.”

Donny nodded as he prepared for his next shot. “I guess that does make the case seem a bit off,” he admitted. “But the newspaper also said there was lots of hard evidence against Miss Maya. Do you have to say anything about that?”

Carefully choosing his words, Jack replied, “I’ve heard about a few pieces of evidence. However, the case isn’t quite as solid as the media would like you to believe.”

“C’mon!” whined Donny, waving a hand dismissively. “How bad could it be?”

“Well, for one thing, two of the pieces of evidence Edgeworth showed me didn’t make sense when put together. He didn’t even notice it until I pointed it out to him,” said Jack amusedly.

Donny’s mouth opened once again in surprise. “Y-you had to point something out to Mr. E? That’s crazy!”

“Tell me about it,” said Jack dismissively. “You should have seen the look on his face when he noticed what was wrong; he went from calm to freaking out in less than ten seconds. Then again, that’s also about how long it took him to come up with a theory that worked in his favor...”

Donny shot Jack an appraising look. “Well, if that’s the case, the papers might not be so wrong after all. Eight-ball, in the side pocket.”

“Clink!” Donny’s power shot caused the cue to leap forward, ricochet against both of the long side cushions, and knock the black 8-ball into the nearest pocket in the space of just two seconds.

As the cue ball halted near the exact center of the pool table, Donny let out an appreciative whistle. “Not bad...” he said softly. “And it looks like I’ve got myself a fairly decent set-up to close the match.” Indeed, the yellow and white 9-ball was almost directly aligned with the cue ball and one of the corner pockets.

“That is true,” said Jack serenely. “If only my doubts about tomorrow’s case were as easy to eliminate as the balls on this billiard table...”

“Whoa, Jack, don’t start getting all technological on me now!” yelled Donny as he derisively waved his arms. “There’s nothing you can do about that! If Miss Maya killed Miss Mia, the judge will find her guilty. If she didn’t kill her, he won’t. That’s all there is to it.”

Jack leaned back and shook his hair out of his face. “I know, I know,” he said dismissively. “It’s just... the prosecution’s got Mr. Edgeworth arguing the case, but little Ms. Fey’s only got that rookie lawyer Mr. Wright on her side. It hardly seems fair, especially with all the pressure the courts put on the DAs these days.”

Donny nodded before casting his face into a weary smirk. “What’ll happen, will happen. If that girl really is innocent, the defense will find a way to prove it.” He scratched at his head before lifting his cue and starting to prepare his final shot. “Besides, you know what the politicians say: ‘Swift and harsh justice is the key to law and order.’”

“But-”

“But nothing, Jack,” said Donny, aligning his final shot. “Nine ball in the corner pocket for the win.”

Irate at Donny’s dismissal, Jack blurted, “This isn’t a high-school kiddy court we’re talking about, Don! Would you really be okay with an innocent girl dieing for the sake of ‘law and order’?!

“CLACK!” Donny struck the cue ball with incredible force; the white sphere missed the striped 9-ball by a fraction of an inch, bounced off of three successive cushions, and plunged into one of the table’s two side pockets with the all dignity and grace of a miniature bomb.

Staring at the pocketed cue ball in dismay, Donny let out a loud groan. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” he muttered darkly.

Jack’s rolled his eyes. “Maybe... on a subconscious level, at least,” he said sheepishly. “However, that doesn’t make my question any more irrelevant, now does it?”

Donny let out a heavy sigh. “No, it doesn’t.”

Jack let out a calculating grin; he knew Donny was now taking the issue seriously. “Well...?”

Donny placed a finger against his chin. “I guess I didn’t think about it that way. When you’re innocent, the system really sucks,” he said thoughtfully.

“It sure does,” said Jack with a satisfied nod.

“You have ball-in-hand, Jack,” Donny quipped abruptly.

Jack’s eyebrows rose clear to his hairline. “Excuse me...?” he asked awkwardly.

“You know, ball-in-hand. You can place the cue ball anywhere on the table.” Absently, Donny glanced at the striped nine-ball, which was about a foot and a half from the nearest corner pocket. “Despite your clear lack of skill, you should be able to win this game easily.”

Jack placed a hand against his forehead in surprise. “Me? Win the game? Wow...” he muttered softly.

“Believe me, Jack, I’m just as surprised as you are,” said Donny amusedly. “Now, are you going to put the cue ball back on the table, or am I going to start prodding you again?” He smiled and raised the end of his pool cue threateningly.

“No, I’ll put the ball on the table,” stammered Jack, his hands raised in self-defense. Ignoring Donny’s smirk, he plucked the white ball out of the pocket and stared at table for a moment before sitting it down just three inches away from the 9-ball, which was itself two feet away from the nearest pocket.

“Looks like a cinch, Jack. Don’t screw it up for once,” said Donny teasingly.

“I won’t screw it up if you keep your big yap shut,” retorted Jack. Taking a deep breath, he leaned over the side of the table and started to carefully aim his shot.

“Concentrate...,” he whispered, making sure the cue was placed in the perfect position. Once he was finished, he announced, “Nine ball; in the corner pocket.” His heart pounding, he drew the pool cue back, and...

“Ah-HHHHEM!”

“CLACK!” Startled at the sudden loud noise, Jack’s shot went awry; the cue ball jumped over the nine and fell clear off the edge of the table. Jack watched in shock as the white sphere bounced along the floor, ricocheted off one of the legs of the pinball machine, and bounced off the door to the Gavel’s sole bathroom before coming to a halt.

Donny was amused to say the least. “That reminds me, I have to use the can,” he stated, his face contorted with surprised laughter. “I’ll leave you to talk to Big G there.”

‘Big G’? Confused and irate, Jack spun around on one foot and found himself staring at an elderly man with a round face, bushy mustache, and short gray hair slicked back behind his head. His extremely heavyset body was clad in an expensive orange suit, which slowly moved up and down with the force of its owner’s heavy breathing.

Oh, that ‘Big G’... thought Jack absently. “Good evening, Mr. Grossberg,” said Jack, a sigh of resignation escaping his lips.

Marvin Grossberg didn’t react to Jack’s greeting; his mind was clearly elsewhere. It was in that moment that Jack noticed how downtrodden the veteran defense attorney looked: his head was tilted downward; his lips formed a tired frown; his eyes were closed and unseeing.

“Mr. Grossberg?” asked Jack, his voice infused with sudden concern.

Grossberg’s head snapped upward; he’d obviously heard his name this time. “Oh, hello there, Mr. Barkeeper,” he stammered in his gravelly baritone voice. “You are looking well.”

Jack nodded. “Thank you. You are looking... uh...” Jack frantically cast his mind around for an adjective that was both true and not offensive. “Uh...”

To Jack’s surprise, Grossberg let out a weak chuckle. “It’s all right, my boy. I haven’t been feeling my best today; you don’t have to mince words with me about it.” Grossberg’s head snapped downward again as he let out a sigh.

Jack also gazed downward as he felt a burst of empathy for the old man; he had been Mia’s mentor several years ago and it was rather understandable that he would be saddened by her death. Returning his gaze upward, he tapped Grossberg on the shoulder and said, “It’s alright, sir, I haven’t been feeling too great either. If you follow me to the bar, I’ll buy you a drink.”

Grossberg looked down his nose in confusion. “But what of your little billiard game?”

Jack waved a dismissive hand. “Ah, I’ve already lost that,” he said uncaringly. “Just come along.”

Not waiting for Grossberg’s answer, Jack strode across the bar floor and made his way to his traditional spot behind the bar counter. Jack absently leaned forward on the much-used piece of furniture as he watched his customer slowly waddle his way across the room.

“I never cared too much for these barstools,” Grossberg grumbled as he struggled to sit on top of one. “They’re far too small and unsteady... they pain my buttocks so.”

Jack grimaced slightly; Mr. Grossberg had always been a bit too... revealing when it came those particular parts of his body. Shaking his head to clear it of any disturbing thoughts, Jack asked, “What’ll you have, Mr. Grossberg?”

“Just one of those premium beers,” said Grossberg unhesitatingly. “Tonight, I have no need for anything fancy.”

“Er, Understood,” said Jack levelly as he grabbed a mug and headed for the taps. Deciding now was the best time to acknowledge the elephant in the room, he added, “I’m really sorry to hear what happened to Ms. Fey. She was a rather special person.”

Grossberg sighed heavily. “She sure was,” he said after a slight hesitation. “Undoubtedly the best protégé I’d ever had the honor of teaching. I always assumed she would be the one to carry on my legacy after I passed on... never thought that I would outlive her.” Grossberg sighed again before lapsing into silence.

Jack couldn’t think of a decent response to such a heavy statement, so he merely handed Grossberg his beer with the smallest of smiles.

“Thank you,” Grossberg returned, before taking a monumental swig of the beverage.

As a faint flush echoed in the background, Donny exited the restroom, stared at the abandoned pool table for a moment, and marched up to the bar with a determined expression on his face.

“Hey! Aren’t we going to finish the game?!” he asked, placing his hands on his hips in indignation.

Jack shook his head; this was hardly the time to still be worrying about pool. “Go finish it yourself,” said Jack simply. “You’ve already won.”

Donny looked, if anything, more insulted. “Yeah, but a victory in nine-ball doesn’t count if there’s no one else to see it!”

“But...”

“It’ll only take a minute, Jack! I’m sure Big G won’t mind...” He stepped over to Grossberg and poked him in the shoulder. “Won’t you, Big G?”

“Huh? What?” stammered Grossberg; his confusion obvious.

Jack frowned in disapproval; he was going to have to use tact if he wanted Donny to see the obvious. “Sorry, Don,” he stated neutrally. “We were just talking about Ms. Mia... you know, Grossberg’s former student? They used to be rather close, back in the day...”

Donny’s eyes grew wide. “Miss Mia? But she just... oh.” Jack smiled as his friend’s face grew red; Donny had just gotten the point loud and clear.

“Would you like to join us?” asked Jack, his voice now sticky with false innocence.

“Yeah... sure Jack,” muttered Donny, his gaze directed downward. He perched himself on the barstool immediately before him and gave Mr. Grossberg a sympathetic grin. “Sorry about my rudeness, Big G,” he said solemnly. “I’m not always right in the head, you know.”

Grossberg gave Donny a serious gaze in return. “It’s quite all right, Mister...”

“Docket,” supplied Donny. “I’m Donny Docket; I keep guard over the old parking garage here during the daytime shift. Don’t you remember?”

“Oh... of course I remember, Mr., er... Guard.” Grossberg nodded confidently before taking another swig of beer.

Donny opened his mouth to retort but shut it again upon noticing Jack’s warning glare. Raising a hand to show he understood, he instead asked, “How are you doing?”

Grossberg swigged his beer before replying, “Not so well. As I told your friend Mr. Barkeeper earlier, this has been a rather unexpected shock for me.”

Donny gave a jerky nod. “S’alright, Big G. I don’t think anyone could have seen something this... screwed up happening.”

Grossberg’s eyes shifted to his mug. “No, no one could have...” he muttered absently.

“And Miss Mia was the type of girl any man would like. For example, Jack here was really close to her.” Donny’s turned his head so he was staring his friend in the face. “Isn’t that right, Jack?”

Jack glared at Donny for a moment before responding. “Yeah, that’s right. She didn’t come in here very often, but it was always a blast when she did. I remember when I first met her...”

Donny slammed his hand against the table, effectively interrupting his friend’s tirade. Pointing a finger at Grossberg’s half-filled beer mug, he stated, “Sorry, Jack, but if you’re going to go off on one of your super-duper memory monologues, you’d better get me one of those first.”

Jack let out a chuckle: he did have a tendency to ramble about the past, and Donny had to deal with it more often than anyone else. “Very well, Don,” he said with a smile.

As he grabbed another beer mug, he began, “The first time I saw Ms. Fey was just over three years ago; a week or so after I’d started tending this bar. You see, I was in a pretty crummy mood that day.”

Grossberg looked up from his drink in mild interest. “You don’t say... May I ask why?”

Jack pondered the question as he filled Donny’s mug with beer and suds. “Well, back then, I still hadn’t gotten used to the fact that I would be serving only a rather small number of customers on a regular basis. I didn’t know what to do with myself when there was no one else around. Plus, I didn’t really know any of the prosecutors or police officials too well, so even when I did have customers, the conversations were rather awkward. And on top of that, everyone kept comparing me to the old bartender, Mr. Busman. I mean, don’t get me wrong, he was a great guy, but all the ‘Mr. Busman this’ and ‘Mr. Busman that’ was really annoying.”

“Ah, yes, Harold Busman,” said Grossberg appreciatively. “He was always a true friend and an excellent bartender... it was such a shame to see him pass on...” Noticing the look on Jack’s face, Grossberg trailed off and let out an awkward cough. “But that’s neither here and now, is it? Continue, Barkeeper!”

“Thanks,” Jack said as he inspected Donny’s mug with a small smile. “Anyway, when Ms. Fey come in and asked for a drink, I made the mistake of attempting to refuse service to her.”

Grossberg’s eyes widened in shock. “Refuse service? Why would you do ever want to do that?”

Jack colored slightly. “Well... when I first started serving here, I tried to adhere to a strict policy of only serving Office employees and people who worked in the legal system.”

Now it was Donny’s turn to look confused. “I can understand why you’d want to do that... Chief Wayside was always a stickler for rules... but what did that have to do with Miss Mia?”

Jack’s face reddened further as he thought about what to say next. “Well... let’s just say the... apparel Ms. Fey was wearing that day didn’t match up with my mental concept of typical lawyer dress.” Jack paused to shake his head in dismay. “When she tried to explain that she was a defense attorney, I accused her of sneaking into the Office and lying to my face.”

Grossberg cringed as he listened to Jack’s words. “I believe it’s safe to assume that Mia wasn’t pleased by your accusation, Barkeeper.”

Jack raised Donny’s beer mug appraisingly as he gave Grossberg a nod. “You’re quite right, Mr. Grossberg. As soon as I said that, she pulled her arm back as if she was about to smack me upside the head.”

Before Jack could continue, Grossberg let out a loud chuckle. “I’ve been in that situation before, Mr. Barkeeper,” he said amusedly. “Believe me, it’s hardly what you would consider pleasant.”

Again, Jack gave Grossberg a nod. “I know. But she never did try to slap me... she just shoved her attorney’s badge in my face and ranted at me for not recognizing it.” Jack stared at Donny’s drink as the memory continued to play in the forefront of his mind. “I really should have researched them before I took the job...”

As Jack trailed off, Donny sent him an annoyed stare. “Hey, Memory Boy, am I going to get that beer you’re holding anytime soon?” he snipped.

Jack smacked a hand against his forehead as he realized he’d been waving Donny’s drink around for several minutes without realizing it. “Sorry, Don,” he muttered, sitting the drink in front of his friend with a sheepish grin.

“It’s all right,” said Donny nonchalantly. He paused, lifted the beer mug with both hands, and downed half the contents in a series of large gulps. Slamming the mug back on the table, he sent Jack an approving look and muttered, “Carry on.”

Absently touching a finger to his temple, Jack stated, “Once Ms. Fey was done with her little badge recognition lesson, I felt, rather appropriately, like a piece of dung. I apologized, gave her a free drink, and told her she didn’t have to talk to me after I acted like such an... Ass.”

Grossberg sent Jack an appraising look. “But Mia’s hardly the woman to give up when presented with an option such as that.”

Jack’s lips curled up into a smile. “She sure wasn’t. Instead of leaving me alone, she told me it was alright and asked me why I’d been feeling so upset that day.”

“Mia was always good when it came to feelings,” said Grossberg, gazing at the ceiling.

“Indeed she was. That was the first time I’d gotten the chance to talk to one of my customers (aside from Donny) as an equal and not a bartender; it made me feel really good. It’s partly because of that that I always try to listen to my customers when they’ve got problems and worries: I’d rather see them resolve their issues then merely drown them in booze.”

Grossberg peered down his glasses and gave Jack an appraising look. “You bring up quite a point, Mr. Barkeeper,” he said sincerely. However, he then looked up again and added, “Another beer, if you please.”

Jack resisted the urge to frown. “As you wish, Mr. Grossberg.”

Grossberg sighed heavily as Jack went to get another beer. “You know, Mr. Barkeeper... even after she left my law firm, Mia would visit me from time to time. It is as you just said... I always felt better after speaking with her for a while. She had quite the sense of humor, you see.”

After a few seconds of silence, Donny broke into a sudden (and rather disturbing) series of giggles. “Hey, Jack,” he began in a falsely innocent voice. “You should tell Big G that funny story!”

Jack paused from the task of filling Grossberg’s second mug to send his friend a confused stare. “That funny story...?” he asked uncertainly.

Donny nodded energetically, a large smile on his face. “Yeah! You know... the one with you, and Miss Mia, and your ‘special drink’...?”

Jack’s eyes widened as he realized what Donny was taking about. “My God...” he whispered... “I’d almost forgotten about that!” He too began to chuckle as he quickly filled Grossberg’s mug the rest of the way. “Of course, Mia probably already told Mr. Grossberg about that little incident... isn’t that right, Mr. Grossberg?”

Grossberg looked down at the table, the confusion on his face clearly evident. “I haven’t the slightest idea what you are talking about,” he said softly. “Either Mia never told me this story, or she spoke of it once and I can not recall it.” Grossberg lifted his gaze towards the ceiling for a moment before shaking his head a decisive shake. “It doesn’t matter, Mr. Barkeeper. Even if I’ve heard the story before, there’s no harm in hearing it again.”

“That’s the spirit!” chimed Donny, raising the thumb of his right hand in approval. “But before you begin, Jack...”

“Yes?”

“I suggest you serve your customer his drink first.” Grinning smugly, Donny turned to Grossberg and gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder, telling him, “We can’t have you wasting away to nothing, now can we?”

“We most certainly can not,” replied Grossberg, a small cough the only indication that he understood the sarcasm.

Jack smiled. “Thankfully, that’s one statement I agree with,” he stated, sitting Grossberg’s second beer before him with a flourish.

Grossberg immediately grasped the mug and took a large sip. “Thank you, Mr. Barkeeper,” he said as he returned it to the counter with a clunk. “Now then... tell me the story of Mia and your so-called ‘special drink’.”

Jack bent his head forward in a mock bow. “Your wish is my command, Mr. Grossberg.” He then gazed up at the ceiling, sighing slightly as the appropriate memories came to the front of his mind.

Forcing his face into a neutral expression, Jack began, “It was late in the evening, well over a year ago... the first of April, to be exact. I hadn’t had any customers since early that afternoon, so I’d been keeping myself busy the only ways I know how: watching pointless television shows and playing endless games of solitaire. Because of all that inactivity, I felt pretty damn low by the time Ms. Fey walked through my door.”

“Sounds like her timing was appropriate,” said Grossberg absently.

“Hush up, Big G, you’re going to ruin the mood!” whined Donny, his arms crossed in annoyance.

Deciding it would be best not to point out that Donny’s comment was far more of a mood-killer than Grossberg’s, Jack continued, “Ironically enough, Ms. Fey actually appeared to be in a worse mood than I did that night. She had big circles under her eyes, and when she first sat down it looked like she was going to collapse and take a nap right then and there.”

“What happened to her?” asked Grossberg, his eyebrows knitting in concern. “Had she lost a case?”

Jack shook his head. “Nope. She’d actually tired herself out doing research for the cases she had later in the week, not to mention some other things that had been going on at the time. You can only check out crime scenes and hunt through legal books for so long before it starts to wear you down, you know?”

Grossberg’s merely gave a slow nod that indicated he understood.

Smiling Jack continued, “So anyway, after we talked about her cases and caught up on news for a few minutes, she asked me to recommend her something to drink because she was too tired to figure out what she wanted herself.”

Jack tapped a finger to his chin, the better to look clever with. “At first, I was merely going to suggest she have some coffee, because anything with booze in it would have made her tiredness worse and not better. But then, I remembered the date, and I got an idea. A crazy idea. Yes, I had managed to come up with a rather brilliantly crazy idea.”

As he sipped his beer, a bemused expression appeared on Grossberg’s face. “Exactly what was this idea of yours?” he asked curiously.

Jack let out a light chuckle. “I told Ms. Fey that I’d been working on a ‘special drink’ of my own creation, one that was guaranteed to help her feel better after a hard day’s work. I also told her that I’d perfected the flavor in my opinion, but that I would need someone else to try it out before I attempted to market it commercially. Thus, I offered to make her a free glass and she accepted.”

Grossberg nodded wearily. “So that is the ‘special drink’ you keep mentioning. But how did you come up with it?”

Jack chuckled again, louder this time. “I didn’t.”

Grossberg looked confused. “What?! Explain yourself, Mr. Barkeeper!”

Jack smiled. “In case you haven’t put two and two together, Mr. Grossberg, it was April Fool’s day. My entire explanation was nothing more than the setup to an elaborate practical joke.”

“Me and Jack used to pull off jokes like this all the time,” added Donny cheerfully. “You should be glad you’ve never found yourself at the... er, butt of one before.”

Jack shook his head. “Now, now, Donny, I don’t need you giving away all my trade secrets!” Taking a deep breath, he continued, “I gathered the ingredients for my prank cocktail over at the far side of the counter, so that Ms. Fey couldn’t see what I was doing. I started with a base of plain old seltzer water, and then I added bitters, lemon juice concentrate, mustard, horseradish, Tabasco sauce, coffee grounds, and salt.”

Grossberg’s eyes grew wider with each powerful ingredient. “My goodness... you could have made her dreadfully ill!”

“Nah. If I’d wanted to make her physically sick – and you know I’d never do such a terrible thing,” stated Jack with a glare, “I’d have put some plums in the drink. Miss Fey’s never been able to eat a plum without getting dreadfully ill.”

Grossberg made an odd noise as he stared at his half-empty beer mug. “Really, Mr. Barkeeper? I never knew that. At least that explains why she’d never eat any of my wife’s famous plum pie...”

“That it would,” said Jack thoughtfully. “Anyway, after I’d stirred all those ingredients together in a shaker full of ice, I added some green food coloring and poured the results into a champagne flume. The concoction didn’t smell very good, but at least it appeared to be vaguely consumable.”

Grossberg absently tugged at his suit collar. “What happened next? Surely Mia wouldn’t fall for something so blatantly-”

“Be quiet, Big G!” hissed Donny. “This is the good part!”

Ignoring his friend’s comment, Jack said, “You did have a good thought there, Mr. Grossberg. Normally, Ms. Fey wouldn’t fall for such a thinly veiled prank. However, you must remember that she was rather tired, and thus less alert to such things. It also helped that I managed to keep a straight face when I presented her with that glass of smelly green goop.” Jack chuckled and fixed his face into a heavy grin in order to show what his reaction would have been otherwise.

Grossberg peered at Jack through the lenses of his spectacles. “Mia must have been quite unpleased with you once she consumed that foul substance,” he stated sharply.

“Had my joke turned out the way I wanted it to turn it, she probably would have been rather... displeased,” said Jack bluntly. “Unfortunately for me, it ended up backfiring rather... spectacularly.”

“How so?” asked Grossberg, his eyes glinting.

Jack’s face reddened slightly; the end of this particular story was still rather embarrassing in spite of the fact it occurred well over a year ago. “When Ms. Fey picked up the glass, I made the mistake of standing directly in front of her. Had things gone as planned, she would have merely taken a small sip, made a funny face, and then I would have yelled ‘April fool!’ like the conniving jerk that I am. However...”

“However...?”

“She was apparently a lot more tired than I’d figured, because she took not a sip but a great big gulp of the... stuff. Before I could even say a word in my defense, she leaned forward, her eyes got all buggy, and...”

“And...?”

“PSSSSSSSHT!!! She... spit it back in my face,” said Jack weakly.

His eyes unusually wide, Grossberg stared at Jack for the briefest of moments before breaking into a fit of uproarious laughter. Surprised at the strong reaction, Jack and Donny stared at each other for several seconds before joining in as well.

After several seconds of such random insanity, Grossberg was the first of the men to recover. “If only I had been there to see that!” he wheezed, pounding a meaty fist against the bar counter.

The corners of his mouth still twitching, Jack let out a heavy sigh. “Her reaction had been rather hilarious,” he said softly. “She didn’t realize at first that I’d been playing a trick on her, and assumed that I’d be furious at the terrible insult she’d given my ‘original’ cocktail. It took me quite a few minutes to convince Ms. Fey that I was the one who should be apologizing and not her.”

Grossberg nodded sagely. “Did she forgive you?”

“Eventually,” said Jack with a smirk. “She never did let me live it down, though.”

As he sipped his drink, Donny let out a light chuckle. “Nearly all of Jack’s customers know about that particular incident, Big G,” he said amusedly. “I’m actually surprised you didn’t know it already.”

Grossberg drained the remainder of his beer before letting out a weary sigh. “I don’t know why she wouldn’t tell me such an amusing tale, Mr. Guard. Perhaps she didn’t think my old ticker could take it.” He rapped a fist against his chest to emphasize his point.

“It’s possible,” said Jack seriously. “That seems a bit extreme, though.”

Grossberg coughed. “I guess it does, Mr. Barkeeper. However, as I stated earlier, it is probably more likely that I’ve merely forgotten the incident. It appears that I am becoming more and more forgetful as I age... if initial trials weren’t so quick these days, I might have retired some time ago.”

“Thank God for small miracles,” said Jack levelly. “Would you like another drink, Mr. Grossberg?”

A small smile appeared on Grossberg’s face as he glanced at his empty mug. “Yes, but I believe I’ll have something different this time.”

“Okay,” said Jack cheerfully. “What’ll it be?”

Grossberg glanced at the ceiling, apparently deep in thought. After nearly a minute he asked, “Do you have any of those hard lemonades in your stock?”

Jack gave the Gavel’s refrigerator an appreciative glance. “It’s been a while since I last ordered any, but I believe there’s one or two bottles of it left in the back. Will you be wanting one of those, then?”

Grossberg nodded. “Yes, please. Though, when you find one, would you mind preparing it a bit... special for me?”

Jack scratched at his head. “Depends. What kind of special do you have in mind?”

Grossberg tugged at his suit collar thoughtfully. “Do you have some extra lemons in stock, for the purpose of making cocktails?”

“Yes...” said Jack, not sure where Grossberg was going with such questions.

“Excellent. In that case, I wish for you to find the lemonade and pour it into a tall glass. Then I want you to cut a lemon in two, and place half of it into the drink for me.”

Jack winced in spite of himself; it sounded like the drink Grossberg was asking for would kill him through acid reflux alone. Shaking his head, he asked, “What of the other half?”

Grossberg smiled. “Serve it on the side, of course. I will eat it separately.”

As Jack grabbed a glass and headed for the fridge to start his search for the drink, Donny let out a groan. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Big G. If you’re not careful, you might end up turning into a great big lemon yourself.”

Grossberg let out a weak chuckle. “Mia used to tell me that all the time,” he said thoughtfully. “It got so annoying that I had to stop myself from ordering lemon anything in her presence.”

Jack smirked inwardly as he pulled both a hard lemonade and a single lemon from the cold depths of his fridge. “That must have been torture for you,” he mused.

“It was a minor inconvenience,” said Grossberg seriously. “However, a bit of self-restraint never hurt anyone.”

Jack didn’t answer; he was too busy trying to prepare Grossberg’s drink through a haze of citrus-induced tears. Only after he sat the finished product before his customer he did allow himself to relax.

“Your lemonade, with extra lemon, as per your request,” said Jack with a relieved sigh.

At the sight of the noxious yellow liquid, Grossberg clapped his hands in delight. “Excellent, my boy, simply excellent!” he exclaimed happily.

Donny gave Grossberg a strange look; he hadn’t been expecting such sudden exuberance. “Are you feeling all right, Big G?” he asked tentatively.

Grossberg merely waved a dismissive hand. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” he said grandiosely. Jack watched in amusement as he brought his drink to his nose and took a deep whiff. “Ah, the scent of fresh lemon... like the days of my youth, you see,” he stated, his voice dripping with melancholy.

Jack let out an exaggerated sigh; he’d heard Grossberg utter that particular phrase uttered so many times before that it bordered on the insane. One of these days, he thought resignedly, I’m going to have to ask him why he says that so often.

Before he could take a sip, Grossberg started to absently search the inside of his suit; Jack’s eyes widened slightly as he extracted a long, fat cigar from one hidden pocket or another. “Would you mind if I...?” he asked hesitantly.

Jack stiffed slightly; he’d never considered himself a fan of tobacco smoke. “Actually, I would,” he said flatly.

Grossberg raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

Jack paused as he thought of what to say; he didn’t want hurt his customer’s feelings by stating his opinion that cigars were simply icky. “Well, Mr. Grossberg, with the ventilation in this room as bad as it is, the sten... er, aroma of that cigar would linger in this room for at least several days. Such a lengthy exposure wouldn’t have a very good effect on the taste of my drinks, you see.”

Grossberg twirled the cigar in his fingers as he considered Jack’s words. “Good point, Mr. Barkeeper,” he said slowly. “It would be selfish of me to ruin everyone else’s drinks for the sake of my own satisfaction.”

As Grossberg returned the cigar to its hiding place, Donny sent him an encouraging smile. “Its okay, Big G. You’ve still got your Lemon Overload,” he said cheerfully.

“That is true,” said Grossberg sagely. As if to prove a point, he quickly lifted the glass and downed nearly half the liquid in a single gulp.

Jack resisted the urge to laugh as he watched his friend’s eyes widen in shock. “Are you feeling all right there, Don?” he asked innocently.

“My poor aching stomach,” groaned Donny, rubbing the aforementioned body part with one hand.

His interest piqued, Grossberg turned towards Donny and eyed him with a critical look. “Would you like the other half of my lemon, Mr. Guard?” he asked seriously. “I always found them to be a quite natural remedy for an aching digestive tract, you know.”

Donny’s eyes, if anything, grew even wider. “N-no, that won’t be necessary. I’ll stick with beer, thank you very much.” He quickly lifted his glass and downed some of the contents to prove his point.

Jack started to chuckle in spite of himself. “I’m starting to see why Ms. Fey induced you to restrain your lemon-loving ways, Mr. Grossberg,” he said amusedly.

At the sound of Mia’s name, Grossberg let out a heavy sigh; the distracting talk about lemons had served to take his mind off her death for merely a few minutes.

“Are you feeling alright?” Jack asked the question in a tone much softer than the one he’d used on Donny moments ago.

Grossberg merely shook his head in the negative before taking another large sip of his lemonade. Grimacing only briefly at the taste, he swallowed and gazed at the ceiling, lost in thought.

“Mr. Grossberg?”

“Over three years,” whispered Grossberg, his tone steeped in awe. “Where has the time gone?”

“Where has what time gone?” asked Donny, scratching his head in clear confusion.

Not noticing Donny’s question in the slightest, Grossberg continued, “I might not be able to clearly remember all of my past cases, but I can remember how determined Mia had been to defend the kid in the puffy pink shirt.” He let out a wry chuckle. “I might not be an expert when it comes to youthful attire, but I wouldn’t be caught dead in that thing; that’s for damn sure.”

At the sound of the phrase ‘pink shirt’, the wheels in the Jack’s mind started to turn. “Wait a second, Mr. Grossberg,” he muttered, rubbing at his temple. “You’re talking about the case Mr. Payne’s always complaining to me about. The defendant was Mr. Phoenix Wright, and the true killer was some two-faced girl that kept poisoning people... right?”

Grossberg blinked several times before nodding wearily. “That is correct. One of the most significant cases I’ve ever had the honor of being a part of these past few years.” Grossberg paused to sip his drink before adding, “Actually, I’m rather surprised Mr. Payne is willing to speak to you of that trial... I always considered it to be quite a stressful event in his life.”

Jack shrugged. “I’m a bartender. People will talk to me about anything if they’re in the proper mood.”

“Of course, of course,” said Grossberg dismissively. “Still, that was quite the courtroom battle. You cannot imagine how pleased I was when that manipulative, psychotic... woman got what she deserved.”

“Had I known about the case at the time, I assure you I would have felt the same way,” said Jack seriously. “How many people did she kill?”

Grossberg absently gazed upward. “At least three... maybe four. The details are a bit fuzzy, you see.”

“That’s okay,” said Jack levelly. “Of course, the most important thing is that Mr. Wright didn’t receive the penalty for something he didn’t do.”

As Grossberg quietly nodded and stared at his glass, Jack decided to press him on one of the things he still found odd about Mia’s murder case. “You know, it’s rather strange...” he began softly.

“What’s rather strange?!” blurted Donny, his face once again the epitome of confusion.

Ignoring his friend’s outburst, Jack continued, “That pink-shirted man, Phoenix Wright... He’s also the guy defending Maya Fey in the trial tomorrow, right?”

Grossberg gazed down at his glass and blinked several times in rapid succession. “You know, I believe he is...” he said softly. He shook his head and gave a small cough. “I’m actually rather surprised you were able to make such a connection.”

“You can thank Mr. Payne for teaching me that little factoid as well,” Jack said, absently tapping a hand against his forehead. “He gave me quite an earful on the subject of ‘pink-shirt’ when he lost to Mr. Wright in court a month ago. When I heard Mr. Wright was taking Ms. Fey’s case earlier today, I knew he had to be the same man.”

“I see.” Grossberg gave Jack another nod before drinking deeply from his glass.

Before Jack could press Grossberg further, Donny, his brow clearly furrowed in thought, suddenly blurted, “Wait a minute! I remember that case too!”

Jack and Grossberg looked at Donny, astonished; neither had expected him to remember anything about such an old trial!

Oblivious to the others’ stares, Donny quickly stated, “It happened a few months after I started working here; right before Mr. Busman died. The murder at Phamous University was a really big news story, especially when they found out the killer was that cute little red-headed girl with those gorgeous eyes...” As Donny trailed off, a bead of sweat slowly rolled down his forehead.

Jack shuddered; he could hardly consider a woman who’d killed at least three people to be ‘cute’. “Tell me Donny... what does that have to do with anything?” he asked, annoyed.

Donny jumped at the sudden question. Lower lip quivering, he replied, “It... it just doesn’t make any sense!”

Damn it, Donny, that doesn’t help! “What doesn’t make any sense, Don?” asked Jack, even more annoyed this time.

Donny took a quick sip of beer and started scratching his head. His voice somewhat calm, he explained, “Well... it’s just that... Miss Mia was saved that Wright guy from the gallows back then. That’s a pretty damn big deal, if you ask me.” Donny paused before puffing out his chest and continuing, “So it doesn’t make any sense that he’d pay her back by defending the no-good sister that killed her! I know he’s a defense attorney, but, come on! Pick something a little farther from home, why don’t you?”

Jack stared at Donny blankly for a moment before allowing himself to smirk; his friend had pointed out the oddity in the case before he’d even gotten the chance. “Well, maybe Mr. Wright is crazy enough to believe that Ms. Fey’s little sister couldn’t do such a thing,” he said, smiling.

Donny stared at Jack with narrowed eyes as he took another sip of beer. “I’m on to you, Keeper,” he hissed in mock anger. “Twisting my train of thought around, trying to force a change in my opinion... typical Defense Attorney-style trickery!”

Donny jumped in his seat as Grossberg let out a rather audible cough. “Sorry, Big G; not thinking clearly...” he stammered, his face reddening.

Jack raised his hands. “All right, you’ve got me, Don,” he chuckled. “However, I believe we both agree that Mr. Wright’s a bit off when it comes to picking clients.”

Donny nodded. “Yeah.” Smirking, he turned his body back towards Grossberg. “What do you think about Mr. Wright, Big G?”

In spite of his size, Grossberg jumped as if he’d nearly been struck by a speeding bullet. “You want m-my opinion on this matter, Mr. Guard?” he asked disbelievingly.

“Of course I do!” said Donny brightly. “You’re the big shot DA, after all. If anyone can tell us why Mr. Wright would want to defend this girl, it’s you.”

“I see,” said Grossberg weakly. Deftly, he lifted the half-lemon not in his drink from its spot on the bar and squeezed some of the juice into his mouth. “I-I can not be completely certain,” he began in an oddly wavering voice, “But perhaps this Mr. Wright took the case in an effort to increase his prestige.”

“Prestige?” asked Jack incredulously.

“Yes.” Grossberg paused and adjusted his spectacles with a shaking hand. “After all, he hasn’t taken any big cases before, has he?”

Donny furiously shook his head. “Nah. The case where he beat Mr. P was the only one that made the papers, and even that was rather small potatoes.”

Jack frowned. “So what you’re telling us, Mr. Grossberg, is that he’s only taking this case to make a name for himself?”

Grossberg blinked. “Well...”

Before Grossberg could collect his thoughts, Donny cut him off with a blurted, “That makes sense.” He took a sip of his drink before adding, “Miss Mia was a famous lawyer, so her murder trial’s a really big deal. If he somehow manages to win the case, he’s going to get a lot of good publicity.

“And if he loses?” asked Jack resignedly.

“Well, the papers will be really nasty to him but... at least he’ll get his name out there.”

Grossberg flinched visibly. “T-that is a possibility,” he stammered weakly. “But, let us not be too hasty in jumping to conclusions.”

Jack raised an eyebrow in confusion; why was Grossberg suddenly trying to reject his own theory?

“T-here is also a chance that Mr. Wright is defending Maya for Mia’s sake,” said Grossberg thoughtfully.

Donny nearly fell off his stool in shock. Fixing Grossberg with an icy stare, he bellowed, “Is all that lemon going to your head? That really doesn’t make any sense!”

Grossberg shook his head. “I wouldn’t be too sure of that, Mr. Guard. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in the years I’ve known Mia, it is that she loves her little sister. With Maya in trouble and her unable to do anything about it, I’m sure that Mia would be happy to know someone was helping her... no matter what the circumstances.”

Donny tugged at his shirt collar. “B-but... everyone’s saying Maya’s the killer! You’d have to be crazy to take on a guilty person for that reason alone!”

“Not necessarily,” said Jack pointedly. “This may be the 21st century, but human decency hasn’t died off yet. Ms. Fey was a good person, and it’s not impossible that Mr. Wright’s the same way. Besides, just because a person’s unpopular doesn’t mean no one should stand up for them at all.” Jack fixed Donny with a sharp, knowing glare. “Right?”

Donny cowed back as if he’d been slapped. “Y-yeah, that’s right, that’s right,” he stammered. “But if that’s the case, then...” Donny’s eyes grew big with realization. “Damn... Mr. Wright’s got balls to spare!”

Grossberg and Jack both gave Donny fishy-eyed stares as his lewd comment echoed into awkward silence.

Nearly half a minute passed before Jack broke the silence with a disbelieving “What?!”

His face pink with embarrassment, Donny sputtered, “Well, I’m just saying it takes a lot of guts for someone to put their reputation on the line if they aren’t expecting anything in return. I-I mean, if, God forbid, someone besides Maya offed Ms. Mia, then Mr. Wright’s got himself a really tough deal!”

Grossberg’s hand was shaking as he again brought the lemonade to his lips. “A t-tough deal?”

Jack gave his customer a sad smile. “You’re the most successful defense attorney in the district, Mr. Grossberg. If anyone knows how difficult it is to muster a not guilty verdict in this day and age, it’s you.”

Grossberg nodded uneasily. “Proving innocence is indeed a difficult task... one that takes a great amount of legal skill to accomplish.”

“Exactly!” exclaimed Jack, vigorously nodding. “It’ll take a lot of skill to prove Maya innocent, but as long as someone else is the guilty party, it’s shouldn’t be impossible. And if he can prove that he’s tough enough to get one of his clients not guilty, he’ll probably start getting a lot more real quick.” Jack paused to tap a finger against his temple. “Who knows... a couple years from now he might be as good as you!”

Grossberg paled. “As good as me, you say...?” he whispered.

Jack chuckled. “Sorry if I sound like a bit of a suck-up, Mr. Grossberg, but you have always struck me as a model example of an ideal DA. After all, you’ve got a good win record, a successful practice, strong values...”

“...and the ability to keep them up in spite of a dangerously unhealthy lemon addiction!” chimed Donny, a goofy grin on his face.

Before Jack could say anything, Grossberg started to violently tremble; his round face fell into shadow as he turned his head away from Donny and stared directly at the barroom floor.

Donny’s eyes widened in shock as he witnessed the strange reaction. Placing a steady hand on Grossberg’s unsteady shoulder, he quickly stammered, “I’m sorry, Big G, I didn’t realize the lemon thing was such a big deal for you...”

Though he didn’t turn his head, Grossberg’s case of the shakes immediately stopped.

“Big G?”

“No...” hissed Grossberg, his voice abnormally harsh.

Donny’s eyebrows rose. “No? No what? No lemon addiction?”

“No, not that.” spat Grossberg, even more bitterly.

Jack’s gazed at Grossberg with an expression of concern. “If not lemons, then what?” he asked quietly.

“What you just said.”

Jack’s eyes widened as he absently placed his left hand against his chest in surprise. “No to what I just said? What do you mean by that?”

At this, Grossberg finally lifted his head and looked Jack directly in the eye; his normally genial face was contorted in an uncharacteristic expression of pained anger. “To think... that I am stronger than Mr. Wright...” Grossberg paused to take a deep, hissing breath. “It’s simply not true.”

“Whaaaaaaaaat?” yelled Donny, louder and more exuberantly than ever before. “Are you nuts, Big G? You’ve been a DA for forty years now! How can you say some newbie’s stronger than you are?”

Grossberg now fixed Donny with his bizarre gaze. “I assure you I would not kid about an issue such as this, Guard.” he spat. “If this were untrue, I wouldn’t have done what I did!” He slammed a meaty fist against the bar counter to emphasize his point.

Donny smirked. “Ah, come on, now, Big G! Whatever you did, it can’t be that bad!”

Grossberg’s eyebrows knitted together; he appeared, if anything, even angrier. “Can’t be that bad? What I did was unforgivable!”

Unforgivable? That’s a rather harsh word to use... Voice shaking with trepidation, Jack asked, “Exactly what did you do, Mr. Grossberg?”

Grossberg took in another hissing breath; he was obviously steeling to admit something huge. “What I did?” he shouted ominously. “I... I... I refused!”

Donny slapped a hand against his forehead in exasperation. “Big Geeeeeeee...” he whined. “How are we supposed to understand what you did if you refuse to tell us?”

Grossberg shook his head. “No... Not refuse, Mr. Guard. Refused.”

“Oh...” moaned Jack comprehendingly. “You’re saying that your unforgivable action is refusing something.”

Grossberg sighed. “That is correct.”

So... Grossberg refused something... and that somehow makes Mr. Wright stronger than him? That must mean that Mr. Wright didn’t refuse it... which means... Jack’s stomach gave an awful lurch as the only probable conclusion sprang to the forefront of his mind.

“So, what did you refuse, Big G?” asked Donny, his light tone of voice betraying his obliviousness.

Grossberg shuddered and his lower lip began to tremble; it was apparent that he couldn’t bring himself to say anything more.

Jack decided to cut him a break. “You refused to be a part of tomorrow’s trial, didn’t you? Maya Fey asked you to defend her... and you said no.”

A brief flicker of surprise flashed across Grossberg’s face before he slowly nodded. “You’re correct, Mr. Barkeeper,” he sighed.

Jack looked downward and shook his head; he’d been hoping that his guess wasn’t correct.

Donny, on the other hand, looked confused. “Okay, Maya called you down to the Detention Center and you refused to believe her story. How does that make you weak?”

Grossberg stared at Donny for several seconds before shaking his head in the negative. “First of all, it didn’t happen like that, Mr. Guard. Even if I had been able to meet with her face to face... I wouldn’t have been able to stand it.”

Jack lifted his head and frowned. “You’re being kind of vague, Mr. Grossberg. If you didn’t meet her face to face, how did you...?”

Grossberg let out another sigh. “It was Mr. Wright that asked me to defend Mia’s sister. She’d asked him to request my services on her behalf, you see.”

“I see!” said Donny brightly. “But...”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “But...?”

Donny scratched at his head. “I still don’t see why that’s a big deal. DAs refuse to take cases all the time! I don’t see why you’re tying yourself up in knots over this, Big G!”

Grossberg merely sighed again, this time as loudly and as grandiosely as he could. “Before she left my firm... Mia...” he trailed off.

Donny placed a hand on Grossberg’s shoulder and flashed an encouraging smile. “Go on...”

Grossberg’s face twisted painfully. “Mia... asked me to make her a promise.”

“A promise?” asked Jack, his voice purposefully neutral.

“Yes. She asked me if I could... look out for... her sister in the unfortunate case of her demise. At the time, I saw no reason to refuse, and thus, I promised.”

Before Jack could say anything, Donny jumped and let out a pained hiss. “Oooo, that’s not good, Big G,” he muttered slowly. “If I’d promised Miss Mia something, I would’ve made sure to stick to my word, no matter what it was.”

Grossberg gave Donny a pleading look. “Even if were impossible?”

Donny shrugged. “Well...” Unable to come up with a decent response, he stalled by sipping his drink. “Er... I guess that would be kind of bad... but... I guess there’s no point in not giving it the old college try, eh Jack?”

Jack frowned and crossed his arms. “I would’ve at least made an attempt, or tried to explain to Ms. Fey exactly why I couldn’t do as she asked.” He shook his head and looked to the ceiling. “Of course, that second option isn’t exactly available right now...”

Donny let out a sigh. “So is that why you’re calling yourself weak, Big G? You turned your back on a guilty girl and let the new guy take the fall?”

Grossberg nodded, and then gulped. “The... fall?”

“Well, yeah. That guilty verdict’s going to give Mr. Wright a lot of trouble, being a rookie and all.” Donny paused to adjust his shirt collar. “But it’s not like it’s the end of the world for him, right?”

Grossberg didn’t say a word; he merely turned away from Donny and sipped at what was left of his drink.

Donny’s eyebrows rose in confusion. “Right?”

Grossberg continued to remain silent.

A bead of sweat rolled down Donny’s forehead. “You’re scaring me, Big G...” he whined softly.

In fact, you’re scaring me too, thought Jack nervously. He stepped forward and gave his customer a wary glare.

Grossberg glanced upward and despairingly shook his head. “I tried to warn him that the case couldn’t be won. But, lo and behold, he charged forward and took it anyway. A very strong move, but foolhardy.”

Jack shook his head. “Foolhardy...?”

Grossberg nodded and drained the last of his drink. “Very foolhardy. Of course, I can hardly blame the man... he probably doesn’t realize the magnitude of what he’s gotten himself into.”

Donny shuddered; despite having nearly finished his beer, he appeared to be more sober now than he’d been when he’d entered the bar. “Exactly what did he get himself into?”

Jack leaned forward eagerly; he desperately wanted to know the answer to that question as well.

Grossberg must have noticed this, as he abruptly straightened himself up gave both Jack and Donny an unexpectedly cold stare. Shaking his head, he droned, “I’m sorry, but I can not say anything more.”

Jack jumped back with a start. “What? But... but... this sounds important, Mr. Grossberg!”

Grossberg’s expression softened, but still he shook his head. “I’m well aware of that, Mr. Barkeeper. However, I can not and will not drag any more innocent people into...” He suddenly trailed off and coughed lightly. “Sorry, but I refuse to speak further on such matters.”

Before Jack could figure out how to reply to that, Donny sent Grossberg a glare more thoughtful than any he could remember seeing in recent times. “You know, Big G,” he said softly, “You’ve been doing a lot of refusing today.”

The bar fell into a heavy silence. Jack’s face fell into a deep frown; he knew Grossberg was holding back something big... no, something huge; something directly related to Mia’s murder. As his eyes fell once more upon Grossberg’s stubborn face, he resignedly shook his head: there would be no easy way to get the truth out of this man. Sighing deeply, he was about to ask Grossberg whether he wanted another drink or was ready to leave when...

The sound of ridiculously loud music filled the air; Jack and Donny both jumped as the slow jazz piece noisily filled the entire room.

“What the hell is that racket?” yelled Donny, his hands clasped against his ears.

“Sounds like it’s coming from you, Mr. Grossberg,” said Jack, wincing.

Grossberg blinked a couple of times before nodding his head sheepishly. “I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Barkeeper, that is the song of my cellular phone. I make it that loud so that my old ears can hear it regardless of its location on my person.” With that, he forced himself to his feet, pulled a burgundy-colored cell phone out of his pants pocket, opened it and held it to his face. “Grossberg and co. Law Offices, Marvin Grossberg speaking.”

A loud masculine voice burst from the receiver in Grossberg’s hand. Though Jack couldn’t distinguish any of the caller’s words through his still ringing ears, he could tell that he sounded abnormally eager.

In a matter of seconds, Grossberg’s look of mild geniality twisted back into the loathing expression just as intense as the one he’d been wearing just a few minutes earlier. “Oh... it’s you,” he angrily spat into the receiver. “Figures that you would call me at such an hour.

Donny stared at Grossberg with a wide-eyed expression bordering upon alarm. “Big G...” he whispered, “Who is this guy?”

In lieu of answering, Grossberg merely thrust one meaty palm before Donny’s face. “One moment, you. Allow me to move somewhere more comfortable.” he hissed into the phone.

Jack merely looked at Grossberg in bewilderment as he turned on his heel and walked most of the way across the room, settling down once more in a chair near the Evidence Board. Try as he could, he could no longer hear a word of what either Grossberg or his mysterious caller was saying.

Donny turned to Jack and looked at him with a rather neutral expression. “Well... that was rude,” he said lightly.

“Perhaps,” replied Jack softly. “Then again, it’s only natural to want to hold certain conversations in private.”

Donny nodded, but he didn’t seem convinced. “Yeah, but that was scary, Jack. I mean, Big G’s usually a nice guy. What sort of client does he have to make him so... upset?”

“Hmmm,” muttered Jack thoughtfully. “When you put it that way, it does seem rather odd.” Inside, Jack was being to wonder. One odd phone call is weird enough, he thought seriously. But this makes two odd phone calls in the same day. Could it be... a pattern?

“Are you all right, Jack?” asked Donny warily. “You’re starting to get all bug-eyed on me here...”

Jack blinked and shook his head. “Sorry, I’m just thinking about something strange I heard this afternoon...”

“You mean when you were grilling Mr. E and ‘Tective G about the Mia case?” Donny leaned forward, an eager expression on his face. “Tell me, Jack, tell me!”

Jack ran a hand through his hair and sighed; at this rate he wouldn’t be maintaining any of the confidentiality he’d promised Edgeworth and Gumshoe earlier in the day. “Well, if you must know...”

Jack trailed off as he watched Grossberg slam a fist against his table in a burst of range. “NO!” he shouted. “I simply can not give you what I do not have! You, sir, are daft!”

Jack stared at the old attorney, his mouth agape. When he regained the power of speech, he turned to Donny and asked, “What the hell was that all about?”

“I don’t know. Maybe they’re arguing over some sort of representation fee?” returned Donny perplexedly.

Jack thought about it a moment and shook his head. “No... If that were true, Mr. Grossberg would be arguing over getting something, not giving it away,” said Jack quietly. “Strange...”

Before Donny could reply, Grossberg again slammed his fist against the table. “The painting? You can’t! It’s my pride and joy!” he yelled.

“Painting? What does he mean by that?” whispered Donny furiously.

“Not quite sure,” muttered Jack, shaking his head.

“The hue of the sky! The color of the sea! The weave of the straw hat! I refuse to part with it!” bellowed Grossberg, angrier than ever.

Donny started scratching his head in confusion. “They’re arguing over... artwork? Odd thing for a client to want...”

Jack frowned. “Something tells me this isn’t an ordinary client.”

Donny glanced at Grossberg again before giving Jack a slow nod. “Yeah...”

“Bang!” The intensity with which Grossberg hit the table this time was nearly enough to make the entire bar shake. “All right! All right! You win! I’ll be there in thirty minutes!” Grossberg paused for a moment to listen to the voice on the other end. “I look forward to seeing you too,” he spat sarcastically. “Farewell!” With that, he tore the phone away from his ear and closed it with a resounding “SNAP!”

Jack and Donny both stared at Grossberg as he returned to the bar, his gait slower and somehow more... defeated than it had before the phone call.

Donny sighed wearily. “Big G, exactly what were you-”

Grossberg merely held up a finger to stop him. “Not one word, Mr. Guard,” he said resignedly.

“But-”

“Not one word,” repeated Grossberg, his face momentarily stern. “Now then, Mr. Bartender, I must be leaving, so here is your fee...” He reached into his suit pocket and extracted a single $50 bill. However, instead of placing it on the counter, he merely held it in front of his face and gave it a wistful stare.

Now what’s wrong? thought Jack warily. “Mr. Grossberg...”

“Money,” muttered Grossberg, his tone weak and weary. “The key to so many successes... and yet also the key to so many downfalls...” As if he’d just realized how odd he sounded, he shook his head and placed the bill on the table. “You may keep it all.”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure, Mr. Grossberg? Your drinks cost less then half that.”

Grossberg nodded. “Yes, I am sure, Mr. Bartender...” he paused and gazed at the money on the counter. “I am certain that you will put it to a respectable use.” He shook his head once again. “So long, Mr. Bartender... Mr. Guard.”

“So long, Big G!” Donny chimed cheerfully.

“Hope you feel better soon,” added Jack seriously.

Grossberg merely shook his head. “Hope...? Hope is only for the young and foolhardy, Mr. Barkeeper.” He let the statement hang in the air as he lumbered across the room and left through the barroom door.

“Well... that was sudden,” said Donny dully, still staring at the spot where Grossberg had stood a minute before.

“Indeed,” muttered Jack. He quietly removed the banknote from the counter and placed it in the old cash register. Seems today is my lucky day when it comes to tips, he thought wryly.

“Jack?” Donny’s voice sounded uncertain.

Jack turned around, a neutral expression set on his face. “What is it, Don?”

“What was it you heard earlier today? You know... the strange thing?”

Jack smirked; Donny wasn’t going to stop pressing him for information anytime soon. Jack paused for dramatic effect before blurting, “You remember who Peter Parsons is, right?”

Donny’s nodded his head rapidly. “Of course I do! He runs all the Prosecutor Offices in the region! Hard to say his full name and title, though...”

Jack nodded. “Good. You ever see him in person?”

“Not very often,” replied Donny, scratching his temple in thought. “He usually drops by once or twice a year to meet with Lana and some of the other bigwig prosecutors. Most of the time, lawyers meet with him in his office building, not ours.”

“Sounds reasonable,” muttered Jack tersely. “Now, when you’ve seen... how does he normally act?”

“Normally act...?” Donny scratched his head in confusion.

“You know, what’s his personality like?”

“Oh...” Donny moaned understandingly. “Parsons is one tough cookie, Jack. I think he used to be in the military... the first time I met him, he yelled at me for ten minutes because I didn’t greet him with a salute!”

Jack nodded again, this time more warily. “I was afraid you’d say something like that.”

“Why afraid, Jack? It’s not like you ever have to deal with that nut...”

Jack sighed; now he had no choice but to spill the beans. “Well, you see, Donny, Mr. Edgeworth got a call from Mr. Parsons earlier today, and he didn’t act like that at all. If anything, he was nervous!”

Donny’s eyes widened in shock. “Wow! I don’t think I’ve ever heard him sound like that! What was he talking about?”

“He was talking to Edgeworth about the case... he wanted to meet with him in person to discuss it, and he set up a meeting for...” Jack turned around and glanced at the small annular clock mounted on the bar’s back wall; it read 11:13 PM. “Right around now. Kind of an odd time, don’t you think?”

Donny nodded furiously, and then let out a lengthy whistle. “Wow. Mr. Parsons acting nervous; meeting with Mr. E in the dead of night; all the newspapers being hard on Miss Maya without knowing all the story; Big G acting all stubborn and screaming over the phone about paintings... maybe there is something funny going on with Ms. Mia’s murder case...” he stated in awe.

Jack let out a mental cheer; he’d finally gotten Donny to put everything together! “I’m glad you’re starting to see what I see, Don,” he said warmly.

“Yeah...” muttered Donny sagely. “Of course, that doesn’t mean I think Miss Maya’s 100% innocent, either.”

Jack nodded. “I can live with the fact that I can’t 100 percent change your mind.” He allowed a cocky grin to slide onto his face before adding, “No matter how hard I try.”

Donny smiled, snapped his fingers, and pointed at Jack’s face. “Damn straight, buddy.”

Jack nodded and glanced at the clock again before letting out an exaggerated yawn. “It’s getting late, Don. I’m going to have to start cleaning up now if I want to be out of here before midnight.”

“I understand,” said Donny evenly. “I should really be going too, but first I’ve got to do one little thing...”

“Really? And what would that be?”

In lieu of an answer, Donny merely stood up, reached into his pants pocket, and extracted a familiar looking white sphere. “I’ve still got ball-in-hand... or ball-in-pants, as it were,” he said, waggling his eyebrows.

“I’m not going anywhere near that joke, Don,” said Jack, his expression cockeyed. You go do that while I start washing up.”

Donny put his hands together, smiled, and chimed, “Okay, Jack!” before elaborately jogging over to the pool table.

As he sat Grossberg’s used beer mugs in the sink, Jack shook his head and sighed.

“I hope that Mr. Wright knows what he’s doing tomorrow,” he said to himself. “If anyone can figure out what the hell’s going on with this case...”

“Nine-ball in the corner pocket for the win!” called Donny furiously. Jack didn’t even get to turn around before...

“CLACK!”

“Plunk!”

“YEAH! Did you see that, Jack! IN YOUR FACE!” screamed Donny, manically jumping up and down.

Jack smiled and nodded before again muttering, “If anyone can figure out what the hell’s going on with this case... it’s going to be him, not us.”

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And that's all for the story... if you want to see the old reviews and all my commentary, dig around the old topic. You might find something... *turns into a glowing ball of light, spins around, and drifts into space*

---

Okay... and now for the new part! Huzzah!

This is Part 4/7... and it is titled "Bait and Switch". I believe you can figure out what the title's reffering to if you think about it hard enough...

While this part isn't finished, what I've got up so far (~7000 words) introduces an Original Character: (District) Defense Attorney Upton Washer. As you can tell by the pun in his name (Hint: Reverse the order of the names and drop the second syllables), Mr. Washer is not the best in the biz when it comes to defense. As a matter of fact, my original concept of his role was rather simple: The Defense's Answer to Winston Payne. He exists to prove that not all DA's are brilliant geniuses, and, more importantly, to fill two holes in GS1 canon. The first hole he fills is minor and explored in this Part. The second one, which will take me a long time to get to, is far more substantial. I have one vague allusion to it in this part; anyone that guesses it gets a sugar merit cookie.

Also, Jack does a lot of thinking in this Part, so I changed the format of his thoughts. Now, all of Jack's thoughts are in italics AND surrounded by 'SINGLE QUOTES'. ¿Comprende?

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Part 4/7: Bait and Switch

September 7th, 2016, 4:45 PM

“With a little luck, Central West Train Station’s grand reopening will bring an end to the traffic problems that have been snarling District City’s railway system these past few months,” declared the tweedy-looking male reporter on the Gavel’s television screen.

“Fat chance,” sputtered Jack, his loud voice echoing off the various walls of his bar. As he was again without customers, he saw no reason to be discrete while criticizing the newsman’s false optimism.

Obviously unaware that he was being lambasted from afar, the reporter added, “After the break, I will be speaking to photographer Gary Fisher about the new black-and-white craze sweeping professional photography circles.”

Jack frowned. “Black and white photography? Didn’t they stop doing that around fifty years ago?” He shook his head. “Damn filler stories.”

Before the television could cut away to commercials, the reporter blurted, “Oh, and if professional photography isn’t your thing, don’t forget to stay tuned for the Legal Lowdown with Bill Grantor at the top of the hour. Ol’ Bill’s going to give you all the things you need to know about today’s biggest court cases, guaranteed!” The reported flashed one more phony-looking smile before the screen faded to black.

Jack let out a groan of frustration. “That’s the only thing you’ve been saying all day!” he whined. Indeed, he’d kept his television tuned to the city’s sole News station since he’d opened up the place over three hours earlier, and he hadn’t learned one thing about what was happening with Mia’s murder trial.

‘Well, at least I’m fairly sure they haven’t gotten a verdict yet,’ he thought coolly. After three years of following the city’s legal events, he knew that the verdict in a major trial was typically made public just minutes after the final gavel slammed down, often in the form of a breaking news story. The fact that such an event had not yet occurred was as much reassuring as it was unusual.

Before Jack could think about the issue any further, a chime rang through the bar, and Jack turned to see District Defense Attorney Upton Washer making his way across the barroom floor.

Washer was hardly what Jack would call a typical-looking man; his height and frame were about the only things average about his appearance. His face was thin, pale, and oily; his eyes were open unnaturally wide. His greasy-looking hair was short, plastered to his skull, and (most abnormally of all) dyed a luminous shade of orange. His clothes were just as off-key as his hair: his suit was lime green, his tie was bright purple, and his shoes were light blue (and undoubtedly made of suede). To Jack, Washer looked like nothing more than a batch of badly mixed margaritas.

Once Washer had made it to the bar counter, he heaved himself onto a stool and shot Jack a blasé smile.

Jack sighed inwardly; Washer had a habit of never starting his own conversations. “Good afternoon, Mr. Washer,” he said levelly. “How’re you feeling today?”

Washer’s wide eyes widened even further, as if he was shocked that someone was talking to him. “Me?” he stammered, pointing a slender finger at his own chest. “I’m not feeling good at all, Jack. In fact, I feel sad; depressed; down in the dumps! That’s why I decided to come down here, you know!”

“I guess that makes sense,” said Jack dully. “Do you want something to drink, then?”

“I see no reason why I shouldn’t!” exclaimed Washer, his thin, warbling voice infused with artificial brightness. He lifted a hand, held it above his eyes as if scouting for something, and swung his head back and forth for several seconds before declaring, “Ah!”

“Spot something good?” asked Jack, his tone blasé.

“That is correct; affirmative; a truth! I wish for you to prepare me a whiskey sour!”

“You’ve got it, Mr. Washer.” As Jack turned and walked the few short steps to his shelf filled with cocktail ingredients, he absently wondered how Washer could have “spotted” a full cocktail just by looking at the base parts. ‘No matter,’ he thought. ‘Hopefully that damn Legal show will be on the TV once Washer’s got his troubles off his chest.’

Knowing better than to let the silence linger, Jack asked, “So... what’s got you feeling down, Mr. Washer?” As he waited for an answer, he quickly searched the shelves and plucked off the ingredients he’d need.

“Well, Jack, you know how it is...” trilled Washer languidly.

Jack sighed; Washer never had been the type of man to get to the point fairly quickly. “Sorry, Mr. Washer, I don’t know how it is. Could you enlighten me?”

“I’m sorry...” muttered Washer, confused. “Did you just ask me to frighten you?”

Jack’s face twitched in an effort not to sigh again. “No, I said ‘enlighten me’.” he repeated loudly. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Oh! I get it; I comprehend; I understand!” Washer paused for just a moment before saying, “To be honest, it’s quite simple. I’m stuck in a rut!”

“A rut, you say...?” As Jack asked Washer simple questions, the instructions to making a Whiskey Sour echoed dully in the back of his head. ‘First, fill the cocktail with shaker with ice...’

“Exactly!” shouted Washer, snapping his fingers in delight. “I’m stuck in a rut; a hole; a depression! Seems like nothing I’ve been doing lately has been turning out right!”

“That does sound pretty rough,” Jack commented. ‘Start with one part bar syrup...’

“I know!” spat Washer loudly. “It’s like this, Jack: In the past two weeks, do you know how many cases the District Defense Department’s assigned me?”

“I know you fought a case against Mr. Payne two days ago, so you had to have at least one...” ‘Add two parts lemon juice...’

“That’s correct! I only had one case; a single case; a solitary case! Can you understand how... insulting that is?!”

Jack paused. “I once had a day where I sat here ten hours and only ended up entertaining one customer,” he said thoughtfully. “Would it be something like that?”

“Like that? How should I know that? I’m not a bartender!” spat Washer indignantly.

“And I’m not a lawyer,” countered Jack fluidly. ‘Add three parts bourbon, seal, and shake.’

When Jack lifted the cocktail shaker and directed his eyes to Washer again, he found that the man looked oddly contrite. “You have a good point there...” he said meekly. “But still!”

“But still...?”

“Not only have I had just one new case, but I lost it as well! And to Winston Payne, of all people! It’s an outrage; a scandal; a disgrace!”

“I guess...” said Jack half-heartedly. “But Mr. Payne isn’t that terrible a prosecutor. He used to be a big deal a few years back. And besides, your defendant was guilty, wasn’t he?” Jack didn’t even bother to wait for a reply; he started shaking Washer’s drink in order to force the man to mull things over.

After Jack sat the shaker on the bar counter and turned to get a glass, Washer let out a disgruntled sigh and hissed, “Yes, I guess he was. I still wish they’d assigned me more cases, though.”

As he poured Washer’s drink and added the garnishes, Jack gave a strong nod. “Well, you never know what’s going to happen next, Mr. Washer,” he said sensibly. “You might get a big case before the day’s done, for all we know.”

Washer ran a hand through his florescent hair before letting out a troubled laugh. “I’d like to agree with you, Jack, but on a day like this everything just sort of seems discouraging; unpromising; hopeless. I don’t think anything’s going to cheer me up.”

Jack shook his head before flashing Washer a reserved smile. “Well, for what it’s worth, your drink’s done. One Whiskey Sour, shaken to perfection and topped with the traditional orange slice and cherry.” He sat the drink before Washer before pulling out his chair and placing it so he could listen to both Washer and the television, which was finally close to finishing its segment on cheap outdated film.

“So, I’s implores all of yous peoples out theres to comes to the Great Grayscale Gallery in District City’s Museum of Arts comes this November!” declared a shaky looking young man with spiked platinum hair and an old-fashioned camera around his neck. It’s goings to be awesomes!”

The camera shifted to the tweedy-looking reporter, who blinked several times in rapid succession before adopting a smarmy smile and announcing, “And that’s the straight scoop from one of the most... interesting photographers ever to come on this show!”

‘You don’t say... In fact, I think this is the only time I’ve ever seen a photographer on this program,’ thought Jack wryly.

“And that’s all the time we have for today, folks! I’m Andrew Reid; don’t forget to tune here tomorrow; The Legal Lowdown with Bill Grantor starts right... now!”

Less than a second later, the television erupted into a cacophony of sound that was the Legal Lowdown’s theme song. Jack shuddered slightly at the instrumental music’s rapid beat and unyielding pause; somehow, the melody made him feel like nothing more than a dirty rat trapped in a backroom corner. Thankfully, it was but a minute before the theme (and its accompanying random images of courtroom action) faded away and the weary, bearded visage of Mr. Bill Grantor took its place.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” he greeted in his signature low rasp of a voice. “Welcome to the Legal Lowdown, wherein I bring you news and analysis in on some of the most pressing and noteworthy court cases occurring in District City today.”

“I don’t know why they let this man do the daily legal show,” Washer trilled indignantly. “The man’s tedious; tiresome; boring!” He adjusted his lurid tie for good measure.

“Of course,” continued Grantor, “On this day, there was but one legal drama that’s been capturing the attention of not just our fare city but that of the entire region.” He exhaled slowly in an attempt to create dramatic tension.

“Quit stalling, you bearded old sheep,” Jack muttered indignantly. “Everyone knows what trial you’re talking about.”

Grantor stabbed a gnarled finger into the air. “And that, dear viewers, was the conviction of Amateur League baseball player Aaron Hanks in regards to the brutal assault of fellow athlete Homer Baseman!”

Jack’s mouth fell open in shock. “WHAAAAAAT!” he screamed, angrily clenching his fists and thrusting them to his sides. “What about Ms. Fey’s trial?!”

“What about it?” Washer asked crisply. “It’s sad for me to say this, but just because you knew Mia; I knew Mia; we knew Mia doesn’t mean her sister’s trial is TV-worthy!”

Jack turned to Washer and shook his head. “It was all over the news yesterday! I didn’t see or hear anything about this Hankie guy! He didn’t even kill anyone!”

Washer looked pensive for but a moment before shrugging his shoulders and turning his attention back to the TV screen. With a small sigh, Jack followed suit.

“...the incident, of course, occurred in a narrow alleyway located near the Center City Business District. At 7:35 AM on the 4th day of this Month, the victim, Mr. Homer Baseman, was brutally hit in the back of the head with a single blow from a wooden baseball bat.” A photo of a light brown bat with distinctive yellow stripes appeared over Grantor’s left shoulder. “The stripes painted on the assault weapon are, without a doubt, unique. Mr. Hanks is the only man in the DCLB who possesses a bat with such a lurid design.”

Washer let out an indignant squawk. “What do you mean, ‘lurid’? That bat is magnificent; wonderful; a work of art! I want one like that!”

‘I’m not surprised...’ thought Jack, staring at the DA’s equally bizarre clothes.

“...Thanks to a vigilant witness, Mr. Hanks was quickly apprehended at a local eatery three blocks away.”

‘He went out to eat? Odd behavior for a criminal... even if he isn’t a suspected murderer.’

“Though it was but a single day in length, today’s trial was somewhat lengthy, thanks to the efforts of esteemed Defense Attorney Robert J. Hammond.” The familiar grumpy visage of Hammond appeared above Grantor’s right shoulder.

“Oh, so it was the Hamster that got the case,” Washer sputtered resentfully. “He gets all the big breaks... good to see him fail like the rest of us attorneys!”

“In spite of Mr. Hammond’s insistence that Mr. Hanks did not commit this heinous crime, his labors were utterly destroyed by the meticulously organized case presented by award-winning prosecutor Manfred von Karma.” Jack winced slightly as a picture of von Karma, his elderly face frozen in its usual harsh, uncompromising expression, appeared above Grantor’s left shoulder.

Washer chugged the remainder of his drink before staring at the TV with a sudden, bizarre fury. “They’re devoting all this time to von Karma winning a case? That’s redundant; pointless; a waste of time! You might as well do a story on the sun rising each morning, or two and two making four!”

Jack mulled the odd analogy over for a moment; another addition to Manfred von Karma’s thirty-nine year-long perfect win record did strike him as rather routine. “You know, Mr. Washer, I actually agree with you,” he said softly.

Washer merely flashed an uneven smile and turned back to the TV.

“In addition to the fingerprints upon the assault bat, which indicated the suspect gripped it like a club; Mr. Hanks’ fate was sealed thanks to the testimonies of three witnesses.”

“Only Von Karma can build a case without tons of physical evidence. I’m telling you, that guy’s inhuman; possessed; demonic!” squeaked Washer, his glass shaking in his hands.

“The first of these witnesses was, of course, the victim himself, infamous shortstop Homer Baseman of the Central DC Bullwhips. Though he did not see the victim before receiving the concussing blow, he did hear the voice of his attacker quite plainly!”

‘I guess that’s credible... though I would’ve turned around if it were me,’ thought Jack.

“While Mr. Hammond did manage to cast a small amount of suspicion on the credibility of Mr. Baseman’s non-visual testimony, his words were quickly supported by those of the second witness, 10-year-old Hyde Wolfe, a Center City paperboy. You see, young Mr. Wolfe was in the middle of his paper route when he witnessed the defendant entering the alleyway of the crime!

“Damn, that’s rough,” said Jack disparagingly. “I don’t think I would have been able to testify in a courtroom when I was that young.”

Washer grimaced. “And he must have had his story worked over by Von Karma! I bet he was petrified; terrified; scared stiff!”

“In spite of the matching testimonies of these two witnesses, Defense Attorney Hammond managed to invoke reasonable doubt in the judge’s mind by questioning the credibility of such an exceptionally young witness. It was in light of this development that the impeccably skilled Mr. von Karma brought his final witness, Ms. Kate Felinity, to the stand. Amazingly, the testimony of this witness was far from circumstantial. From the vantage point of her alleyway window, she had seen the assault in its entirety!”

Jack let out a confused noise. ‘If von Karma had a witness like that, why didn’t he make her the first one on the stand?” he thought, irritated.

“Leave it to von Karma to foresee the Hamster’s objections. That man’s conniving; scheming; a master manipulator!” shouted Washer, his body shaking as he started to lose his breath.

“The sudden revelation of this witness’s significance had not been anticipated by Mr. Hammond, and thus he raised an objection to the late calling. However, Mr. von Karma quickly explained that the witness, being ninety-two years of age, was a rather frail individual, and thus wouldn’t have been called to the stand had her testimony not become essential to the case’s resolution.”

‘Oh...’

“According to a report from our courtroom correspondent, Mr. Mack Headshaker, this final testimony was quite excessive, as Ms. Felinity had a nasty habit of going off on bizarre tangents about the behavior patters of her many pet cats. However, all of Miss Felicity’s statements in regards to the actual assault were perfectly clear and meshed with the other testimonies exactly. Because of this, the Judge had no choice but to declare Mr. Hanks guilty on the charge of intentional assault. We at DNN have received word that an appeal will be filed at a later date, but with such an airtight case it is unlikely that Mr. Hanks will be able to escape another, speedier conviction. Once this occurs, Mr. Hanks will be incarcerated in one of District City’s higher-security prisons for a period of twenty to thirty years, as is the standard for this unmistakably heinous crime.”

At the sound of Grantor’s latest words, Jack let out a hiss of frustration. ‘Assault may be heinous, but murder is even more revolting,’ he thought furiously. ‘Why won’t you talk about the Fey trial, damn it?!’

“After the commercial break,” Grantor droned, “We will be discussing...” The newsman suddenly stopped speaking and stared bluntly at the screen; it appeared as if were bewildered by something occurring just behind camera.

“Quit stalling! Just say it!” blurted Jack, ignoring Washer’s sudden cockeyed stare.

“...the Aaron Hanks assault trial in further detail!” blurted Grantor in an uncharacteristic display of emotion.

“What?!” For the second time in just a few minutes, Jack found himself utterly shocked. “What else is there to talk about?!”

“After all, this monumental conviction has several important implications! For example...” Grantor’s eyes grew wide as he searched for an end to the sentence. “How will this verdict affect the carriers of Mr. von Karma and Mr. Hammond? And what implications will Mr. Hank’s permanent absence have on the District City League of Baseball? I promise you that these answers will be answered after the break!” The sight of Grantor’s uncharacteristically stressed face quickly faded out.

Jack stood from his chair, grabbed his remote, and turned the television volume down to a dull whisper with a weary sigh.

“Well...” muttered Washer, his voice laden with the uncertainty he normally had in the courtroom. “That was... er...”

“Weird? Strange? Out-of-place?” snapped Jack irritably.

Washer’s wide eyes grew wider. “Yes! That’s exactly what I was thinking! I couldn’t have put it better myself!” he chimed.

‘I figured you’d say that.’ Shaking his head, Jack said, “That Grantor guy usually doesn’t sound so... spontaneous when he’s doing his show. I wonder why he acted that way.”

“Who can say?” asked Washer bluntly. “Maybe someone was... oh, I don’t know... yelling at him off-stage?”

“If that were true, I think we would have heard it.”

“Oh...” Washer toyed with his orange hair before letting out an uneasy laugh. “Shows you what I know.”

‘It sure does,’ thought Jack wearily. “You know, Mr. Washer, I’ve been hearing so many weird things these past few days that it’s not really surprising me anymore.”

Washer tugged at one of his neon suit sleeves. “Sounds like you’ve got a story to tell, Jack,” he said absently. “If you want to talk, I’ll try to listen... as long as you get me another drink first.”

In spite of himself, Jack managed to smirk; even someone as inattentive as DA Washer knew about his tendency to ramble. “All right, Mr. Washer. Would you like another whiskey sour?”

Washer limply waved a hand. “No... Just get me a light beer out of the tap. I want something with a bit more... er... stuff in it.”

Jack nodded. “If you say so.” As he prepared the drink, he said, “Ever since poor Ms. Fey got murdered, I’ve been seeing a lot of odd stuff happen.”

“Odd stuff? Like what odd stuff?”

“Well, first there’s the fact that the police arrested her for the crime in the first place. From what Ms. Fey told me before she passed, her sister never would have done that.”

Washer let out a laugh as he scratched the front of his head. “So... you fancy yourself a defense attorney now?” Judging by the smile on his face, he obviously thought that a foolish notion.

Jack frowned and shook his head. “Nope. I gave up on that fancy a long time ago. But still, Maya Fey’s arrest is only one odd thing, even if it’s a big one.” It was at this time that Jack had managed to fill a mug with the beer Washer had requested. He sat it before him with a weary smirk.

“Thanks, Jack,” Washer muttered before he took a sip. “So, what’s the rest of it?”

Jack placed a finger to his temple. “Well, yesterday they were trumpeting Maya Fey’s guilt all over the media. Of course, they normally do that no matter who the defendant is... but it still felt harsher than normal. Plus, I’ve talked with some of the people working on the case... what the newspapers are saying and what’s really going on are completely different. And then, after all that attention they poured on the case yesterday... I haven’t heard one damn thing about it today! It’s like it fell off the face of the Earth as soon as it started! Do you get that?”

Washer blinked once, and then twice. “I... think so. But what does that mean? It’s all erratic; arbitrary; random!”

Jack frowned. “To be honest... I don’t know. But seeing Mr. Grantor act all crazy on the TV just now only adds to the strangeness of it all. Throw that in with some damn suspicious sounding phone calls, and it’s almost like...” he trailed off as he searched for the correct words.

“Like what? Speak to me; explain to me; enlighten me!”

“I hate to say this... but it’s almost like one of those conspiracy theory shows they have on the Documentary Channel... As if there’s some big, shadowy organization manipulating this thing behind the scenes, you know?” Jack paused and firmly shook his head. “It’s probably not that crazy, but still, there have been so many little oddities it makes my stomach hurt.”

Washer sipped his drink before a thoughtful look appeared upon his face. “That doesn’t sound quite proper, but... who knows? Maybe there’s something about that case after all. In my opinion-”

Exactly what Washer’s opinion was, Jack never learned, for it was that exact moment that the Gavel’s door flew open with an incredible crash. Startled, Jack and Washer both turned to see an obviously irate-looking Robert Hammond storm his way across the room. His eyes intense; his teeth exposed, he made his way to the bar, forced himself upon a stool two seats away from Washer, smashed his fist against the bar and barked, “Double Scotch on the rocks!” before neither Jack nor Washer could speak so much as a word.

‘And a hearty hello to you too, Mr. Hammond,’ thought Jack despondently. Knowing better than to egg on someone of Hammond’s countenance while he was suffering a loss, he merely nodded before zipping to the alcohol shelves and grabbing a bottle of scotch posthaste.

Washer, on the hand, had no desire to use such discretion. “So... the great attorney Hammond finally drops the ball on a noteworthy case. How does that make you feel?”

“Shut it, Washer...” Expectedly, Hammond was not in the mood to deal with smarmy puns.

“But it’s only one little error!”

“I said SHUT IT!” Jack winced as he heard Hammond smash his only bar counter with as much fist-power as he could afford. Thankfully, the clatter hadn’t been enough to knock over the double scotch with ice that now regally sat on the back counter. Jack wasted no more time in giving it to Hammond—his bar counter didn’t need to suffer any more collateral damage.

“Better.” With that, Hammond downed the double shot in a matter of seconds, a slight tightening of the face his only reaction to the power of the dark brown liquor. He then slammed the glass down and grunted, “Another!” before Jack could even ask him whether he liked the flavor or not.

“Now, now, Hammond!” chimed Washer, absently twirling a bit of greasy hair between his fingers. “You don’t want to jump of the deep end; you’ll end up vomiting; retching; getting sick!”

“Didn’t I tell you to shut it?” asked Hammond dangerously.

“Sorry,” quipped Washer, unwilling to press the man further.

Jack merely shook his head futilely as he handed his grumpy customer another drink. As soon as Hammond had downed it, he quickly asked, “You want to tell us about your case?”

“If you get me a double whiskey, we’ll talk,” spat Hammond, his teeth gnashing in annoyance. “Of course, you probably know everything from that hellish chatter-box over there.” He deftly pointed at the bar television in order to underline his point.

Jack glanced at the devise with an absent smirk. “We learned some things,” he said balefully. “They’re still going on and on about you and that damn Hanks guy... don’t know why... the trial over Ms. Fey’s murder strikes me as far more important.” Upon recalling the events of the past two days, Jack’s expression quickly reverted to one of gloominess.

Hammond must have noticed this, as his angry continence softened for just a few brief moments. “Ms. Fey’s death is quite a blow to the defense establishment... I’ll miss her competition...” Hammond quickly shook his head, purging his expression of such weak emotions. “But that’s neither there nor here. What matters to me is that repulsive Mr. Hanks refused to follow my expert advice!” He again banged a fist against the table. “And he made me lose for it! Now get me that whiskey!”

Jack sighed. “Yes, Mr. Hammond.”

In the time that Jack was making the drink, Washer broke the silence. “So... What advice did the esteemed Mr. Hammond give that could have saved Mr. Bank’s case?”

Hammond let out a growl, but did not shout at his fellow DA once again. “I had the perfect method with which to reduce the Hanks’ sentence, but... he pushed it away! The fool forced me to go against Von Karma with a plea of total innocence!”

“Sounds interesting,” muttered Jack, sitting Hammond’s next drink before him with little fanfare. “What was your original plan?”

Hammond let out a huff before draining the whiskey just as he had the bourbons before it. After a brief pause, Hammond continued, “It’s quite simple. In my research, I found that at the same time that Hanks was supposedly striking that smarmy Baseman with his dopey little bat, there was a robbery attempt at a convenience store approximately two miles away.”

Confused, Jack merely scratched at his head.

Hammond let out a dramatic sigh. “I guess I should explain myself more clearly. You see... the man who robbed the connivance store used a baseball bat as his weapon of intimidation, much like any cash-strapped minor league player would. However, his efforts proved fruitless when the store owner activated a hidden police alarm. Upon realizing the police could come arrest him at any given moment, he left the store and fled to the West, in the direction of the Center City restaurant that Hanks was arrested in. Finally, though the store security cameras didn’t get a very good picture of the attempted robbery, the man that try to get the money wore clothing and possessed a body structure similar to that of Aaron Hanks. So you see...”

“Wait!” shouted Washer. “Are you saying that...?”

“Yes. I found it a rather distinct possibility that Aaron Hanks tried to rob that convenience store. Thus, I attempted to explain to the fool that he should admit his crime. Had he done so, it would have been obvious to the judge that he couldn’t be attacking Baseman two miles away! I would have won! I would have won and finally stripped Von Karma of his God-damned perfect record!”

Washer stared at Hammond for a moment before breaking into a series of irritating giggles. “Mr. Hammond... did you actually believe that von Karma would crumble under the old double-jeopardy ploy? For heaven’s sake, that’s crazy; that’s insane; that’s absurd!”

Hammond held up a shaking fist and gritted his teeth; he was making a visible effort not to jump up and thrust it into the face of the oddly-dressed man sitting before him. “Von Karma was there to find my client guilty of assault... nothing else,” he growled.

“It doesn’t matter! The most you could have done was make von Karma call a recess, and a short one at that! He’d shoot that alibi in one hour, flat!” He snapped with both hands to emphasize his point.

Uninterested in hearing Washer and Hammond’s banter about von Karma’s abilities, Jack turned and spared a glance at the TV screen. Unfortunately, he eyes fell upon nothing more than a tasteless commercial for classic British cars.

‘I don’t know why they bother advertising these things. Damn relics have terrible mileage, not to mention their steering wheels are on the wrong side...’ he thought absently. Just when he was about to ignore the television once more, however, the red sports car faded and Grantor appeared once more, a picture of Mia displayed just above his right shoulder. Jack’s heart thumped heavily in his chest as he grabbed his remote and turned the volume up nearly as high as it could go.

“Hey!” squealed Washer. “That damn thing’s so loud I can’t hear myself speak; talk; think!”

Jack merely shushed the public attorney before he could get on a roll; he wanted to hear as much of Grantor’s report as he possibly could.

“...though we are, of course, running short on time, I will attempt to inform you of today’s progress in the Mia Fey murder trial without, er... dragging the details out too long.” droned Grantor, chuckling awkwardly.

‘Of course, you couldn’t have done that with Hammond’s case, couldn’t you?’ thought Jack, irked.

“As you are all well aware, Ms. Fey, a prominent defense attorney, was murdered two days ago in her very own law offices. Her sister, Maya Fey, was found at the scene of the crime and arrested for this grievous offense.”

Jack pursed his lips in apprehension; he was getting rather sick of hearing facts he already knew.

“Maya Fey’s trial, which started at 10:00 AM this morning, remains inconclusive. This occurred for a variety of reasons.”

Jack let out a breath he didn’t even know he’d been holding; as much as he hated to admit it, a part of him had expected Maya to get a guilty verdict regardless of the day’s information blackout.

“The prosecutor of this case was Mr. Miles Edgeworth, a brilliant and youthful man who has yet to be defeated in court.”

‘Brilliant and youthful? You sure are pouring on the praise, Grantor.’

“Much of Mr. Edgeworth’s case against Maya Fey rested on the shoulders of one witness: Miss April May.” Above Grantor’s left should appeared a picture of a rather absent-minded looking woman with large, round eyes, pouting lips, and long pink hair.

‘That woman must be the ‘idiot’ Edgeworth was talking about yesterday. Awww... she looks all sweet and innocent, like a Boston Cooler full of cherries.’ thought Jack.

“Miss May claimed to witness the crime from the window of her room in Gatewater Hotel, across the street from the scene of the crime. Her testimony, which at first appeared to be rock solid, was immediately attacked by Defense Attorney Phoenix Wright.” A picture of Mr. Wright, his brown hair as spiky as ever, appeared above Grantor’s right shoulder.

“Good god!” squealed Washer. “That man looks like a porcupine! His hair is crazy; eccentric; bizarre!”

Hammond waved a hand through the air. “Look who’s talking,” he spat, staring at the other man’s bright orange locks.

Jack made another shushing noise before the two of them could start bickering once more.

“Thanks to Mr. Wright, Ms. May’s testimony was found to contain numerous weaknesses, many of which pertained to her unusually accurate description of the murder weapon: this statue-shaped clock.”

Jack gasped as the all-too familiar statue of a man lost in thought appeared in the spot above Grantor’s left shoulder. It had to be the clock that Mia had shown him on her visit—her final visit—last month, it was the only such clock around that wasn’t hidden away in an evidence locker somewhere.

‘I can’t believe that another person would use that thing as a murder weapon. It looked innocent enough when I saw it... when I touched it...’ His eyes still fixed upon the TV screen, Jack absently walked over to the little bar sink and started to wash his hands.

“After several testimonies, Mr. Wright managed to prove that Ms. May’s information on this clock had been obtained through the use of a highly illegal wiretapping device. At the end of her testimony, she was arrested for her crime. As you can see from the official police photograph, she was rather displeased with this turn of events.” A second later, Grantor’s face was replaced by a still photograph of Miss May, obviously stuck in a middle of a fit of anger.

‘“Displeased” is an understatement...’ thought Jack as he stared at the formerly pretty witness’s twitching eyes, downward-pointing eyebrows, and snarling lips. ‘Forget Boston Coolers... that girl’s more like a pink lemonade spiked with 190-proof.’

“In spite of this particular instance of the witness’s guilt, however, it appeared that Mr. Edgeworth would still triumph and get Maya Fey her own guilty verdict. However, it was at this time that Mr. Wright made a rather sudden and desperate move.”

“Ho boy...” muttered Washer. “Whenever I make a sudden and desperate move, I find myself losing the case five minutes later.”

“He managed to get the court to call another witness, a hotel bellboy whose name is currently unknown, to the stand. In the course of one convoluted testimony, he got this bellboy to divulge the existence of another witness to the crime.”

Jack’s eyes widened. ‘Another Witness? Mr. Edgeworth didn’t mention anything about that.’

“In spite of Mr. Edgeworth’s protests, the judge found this discovery grounds to suspend the trial for the remainder of the day. The significance of this witness, whose name is currently unknown to us, has yet to be determined.” Grantor paused to blink owlishly several times before adding, “Dear me! It appears we’re just about out of time! Of course, this means that I must conclude today’s Legal Lowdown. Stay tuned for the best political news show on the airwaves, The Straight Dope with Mary Janeiro, right here on DNN. Ladies and Gentlemen, I bid you peace of mind and a good evening.” With a brief fanfare, Grantor’s newsroom faded away, replaced by one of DNN’s pointless self-promoting commercials.

Temporarily stunned by the sudden end of the program, Jack turned the machine off without a word.

Hammond looked at Jack blearily; his drinks were finally causing him to lose some of his trademark focus. “Well...” he growled, “That was irrelevant.”

Washer rapidly bobbed his head up and down in agreement. “I’ll say!” he exclaimed. “That Grantor guy is hopelessly out of tune... they stopped sending TV shows over the airwaves half a decade ago!”

Hammond let out a growl of despair. “I think you’re missing the point, Upton.”

“No, I think you’re missing the point, Robert.”

Jack hissed through his teeth; he couldn’t even think clearly about what little he learned while the two defense attorneys sniped at one another.

“Don’t you ‘Robert’ me, you...”

“BANG!” Too annoyed to merely speak up, Jack smacked a hand against the bar in order to get his customers’ attention. He resisted the urge to crack a smile as both Washer and Hammond sent him deeply offended looks.

“Sorry about that,” he said self-consciously. “But all of you’re back and forth’s giving me a headache.” He paused to stare at the TV. “But seriously, what kind of a trial summary was that? It wasn’t even half as long as all of that prattle about your case, Mr. Hammond.”

Hammond blinked once before ruffling his hair and giving a jerky nod. “Indeed, Mr. Keeper. I can’t understand why they’d make the information about Ms. Fey’s murder trial so short... when they dragged MY failure out to twenty minutes!” Hammond smashed his own fist against the bar counter in a fit of dejection.

Washer scratched at his head as he finished the last of his beer. “Well, what can you do? When it comes to defense, the news people have always been partial; unbalanced; biased! When we lose, they scream it from the rooftops, and...” He paused and fiddled with his tie as his face assumed an expression vaguely resembling deep thought. “I hate to praise the competition, but that Wright kid’s got talent; aptitude; a gift! I haven’t prolonged one of Edgeworth’s trials in well over a year!”

“Of course,” muttered Jack, frowning wearily.

Hammond gave the television any icy stare. “Those pea-brained reporters ought to play fair, damn it! Of course, that’s not going to happen as long as they keep their heads so far up-”

Before Hammond could get the chance to finish his stereotypically rude statement, a jarring series of noises burst from Washer’s suit pocket and resounded throughout the barroom.

Jack winced. ‘His ring tone sounds like a dying animal getting run over by a giant moped.’ To his disgust, Washer held the phone in the air and cheerfully listened to the cacophony for several seconds before answering.

“Upton Washer, Attorney at Law! Who may I ask is talking; calling; speaking?”

A jaunty male voice sounded from the receiver next to Washer’s ear; his already wide eyes grew wider with friendly recognition. “Ah! Niño! What’s a guy like you doing blabbing to me at a time like this?”

Jack frowned at the annoyingly cheerful tones Washer used while on the phone; unlike Grossberg, he saw no need to step away from the bar counter while he had his conversation.

“Now, now, Niño, you always know I’m up for a favor! Just tell me what you need?” Washer’s wide eyes gained an attentive quality as he listened to the response. “No, I haven’t been assigned any cases... hell; I haven’t had a decent case in a month.” Another pause. “A murder case? Sounds great; magnificent; perfect! That’ll do wonders for me!” He toyed with a strand of hair and smiled. “So... who’s the poor soul that got themselves into this mess?”

As he listened to the reply, Washer’s mouth fell open in shock. His eyes nervously flitted between both Jack and Hammond before he stammered, “A-are you sure, Niño?” A brief pause. “But isn’t he...?” Another pause, longer this time. “All right, all right, if you’re absolutely certain... can you tell me anything more?” This time, as he listened to the response, Washer’s genial face turned to a small frown. “Dinner meeting? I guess I can do that. If I leave now, I should be able to get to your office in forty minutes or so.”

Though Jack couldn’t make out the caller’s words, he suddenly sounded rather angry; Washer visibly shook upon hearing such a tone.

“I-I’m sorry! I’m not at the Defense Department Building right now! I told you I have no cases!” sputtered Washer, his voice tense. “I-I’m at the Prosecutor’s Office, and that means I have to drive further; longer; extra!”

Again, the voice sounded irate. Jack tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach and make out the caller’s words, but he couldn’t.

“I’m not lying to you! I don’t have any other cases! I’m at the Golden Gavel... you know, the bar in the basement?”

The man on the other end of the phone conversation returned to his earlier excited tones. Wiping his brow in obvious relief, Washer chimed, “Well of course it’s still open! It reopened three years ago, remember, Niño?” A pause. “Yes, I'm sure it’s been that long. You know what they say, time flies when you’re having fun!” He smiled as if he’d cracked a joke, not spouted a cliché. “Bartender’s named Jack Keeper,” he stated, sending the aforementioned bartender a nervous glance. “He replaced Mr. Busman, and he’s had the job ever since.” Another pause. “What’s he like?” He paused for a moment, nervously taking in Jack’s confused expression, and continued, “Well... he’s... a class act! He’s been entertaining nearly everyone in this here building these past three years, and I don’t think I’ve ever heard of him making a mistake!” Another pause; the voice sounded even more fervent than before. “Yeah... he talks to the prosecutors and detectives all the time... likes to ask questions... he’s a total insider! Oh, and he’s smart as a whip, too! You should hear him go on about conspiracy theories...”

Jack flushed in spite of the unsettled feeling in his gut; coming from a man like Washer, so much glowing praise felt oddly wrong.

“...so, do you understand now, Niño?” A brief pause. “Good.” Washer adjusted the neck of his suit in relief. “Just give me a sec to make my escape, and I’ll be there in well under an hour... I promise!” He chuckled weakly. “See you soon, Niño.” Washer let out a loud sigh as he pressed a button and snapped the phone shut.

Before Jack could even say a word, Hammond turned to Washer and growled, “What in the depths of hell was that about!?”

Washer violently flinched, as if Hammond had fired a gun. “W-what do you mean by that? That call was normal; typical; routine!”

Jack frowned and shook his head. “For a normal phone call, you seem awfully nervous.” He tried to ignore the tense knot developing in his stomach; the odd range of emotions Washer had exhibited were similar to the ones Grossberg had gone through the night before. “Who’s Niño?”

Washer adjusted his orange hair as a drop of sweat fell from his brow. “Niño is... an acquaintance; a companion; a friend of mine!”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “Sure...” he drawled. “And what did he want you to do?”

Washer’s sweat grew even more profuse; it was fairly obvious that he didn’t want to answer the question. “He... he wanted me to defend a murder suspect... I’m a defense attorney, remember? He’s got a lot of connections, and he uses some of them to help me out when I’m down.” He glanced through the room once or twice.

Jack absently rubbed the back of his head. “I guess that makes sense. Why’d you tell him so much about me, though?”

“A-about you?” stammered Washer, lilting. “Well, Niño’s heard of the place before... he just hasn’t been here since you showed up. He’s a curious character.” Absentmindedly, Washer tugged at his neon purple tie. “Now... how much for my drinks?”

Jack sighed and mentally added the cost of Washer’s drinks in his head. “Nine-fifty.”

Washer handed Jack a single banknote. “Here’s ten. You can keep it, Keeper.” He flashed a nervous smile.

Jack nodded. “Thanks.”

“No problem. Now then... Jack, Robert, if I may...” He lifted himself off his barstool and sauntered out the door.

As soon as the door closed behind him, Hammond let out a huff. “Weirdo.”

“Now, now, be nice, Mr. Hammond.”

“Fine.” Hammond looked vaguely thoughtful for a moment before finally saying, “Weird person.”

Jack sighed. “Close enough.”

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All right... for the hell of it, I'll put in some odds and ends on the various things explored in this little bit of literary... stuff.

Upton's style of chatting; talking; speaking: Many of the PW characters have ideosyncracies in their speech, and this is the one I thought appropriate for the esteemed Mr. Washer. If it annoys you... good. It's meant to be annoying. Washer doesn't realize that lists of three synoynms doesn't make his words any tougher; stronger; more durable.

Upton's age: Since I never mention it in the text, Mr. Washer is around 35-40 years of age. That's not a real important fact in the context of this story, however.

Hammond's case: Though it's mostly filler, I put that long diatribe in there for 2 reasons. 1) I wanted to show that there are cases in the PW world even when the main ones are progress, and 2) is related to one of these...

Golden Questions: What makes them Golden? Nothing, really. Basically, these are the questions I use to construct GG's plot; issues that are connected to the canon but never explored within it. By attempting to explain them without breaking canon, I make the story unique. For III-4, the questions are as such.

1. Redd White threatened Phoenix Wright with a bad attorney. Who could he be?
2. What effects do White's manipulations have on the area media?
3. Why is Edgeworth prosecuting such a monumental case and not Von Karma?

And I'm sure there's more, but I'm very tired. Anyways, I don't have much of this part to go (maybe 2000 words); if life cuts me a break I'll have it in a week or two. {Part 5's going to be the real killer to write, IMO...} Chao!

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It was great when I read the first two chapters at the old forums, and it's still great now as I read chapter three (or at least what there is so far).

Can't wait for the next part of chapter three.

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Still quite good.

Rawr write more.

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Still loving it DSL. I demand more, and this time, I expect the chapter to be 2,000,000 words. They're just far too short right now.

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Yay! I was hoping you'd continue the Golden Gavel, but I'd pretty much given up by now. Another nice chapter, if a bit short, but I must admit to not realising who Niño was until half way through the phone call.
Also, can you tell us who Jack's Edgeworth is yet? Please? Go on, you know you want to...

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Washer is such a fruity looking man, but I like his habit of putting 3 synonyms. XD

I still love this. <3 Heh, I had a feeling Redd White is involved with the media.

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All right, this is a short update, but I have to wrap up the old Part (Make sure to check my 4th post if you don't know what I'm talking about) before I work on the next one.

Thanks to Luigi, CFtF, HH, Impulse, and Aurezi for not forgetting about me; I'm glad I didn't scare most of my fanbase away. (I have a feeling it's going to be difficult to find newbies who want to read through 70,000+ words of text all crammed on one page. I'm definatetly putting this on FF.net and the Main site once I get Ep. III done.)

Anyways...

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Feeling drained, Jack made himself a cola, sat in his chair, and turned the television back on. ‘Hopefully, the newswoman will talking about something important for once,’ he thought wearily.

The television screen was split; upon the left half sat a ditzy looking woman with long silver hair. “...and that’s why... the Moderation Party... will take back... the legislature... in 2016...” she slurred. “We need... to adopt... a jury system... and end this... tribunal madness!”

“Liar!” snapped the man on the right half of the screen, a rather irksome looking character with sunglasses and a buzz cut. “You and your whole damn party are nothing more than a bunch of good-for-nothing flimflammers! Only under the guidance of a single judge can we quickly get this country’s criminals off the streets and into jail... where they belong! That’s why the Law and Order Party will maintain its majority for a long time to come!” Panting, the man wiped some sweat from his forehead.

The split screen cut away to a shot of host Mary Janeiro, an elderly yellow-haired woman whose serious dark clothing humorously contrasted with the shocked expression on her face. “That’s sounds... nice, Congressman Roberto. Any more comments?”

“Ha ha!” exclaimed Hammond jovially. “Nothing more entertaining than watching a couple ‘a pundits snap at each other! Get me a beer, Mr. Keeper! I’ve got to keep seeing this!”

Jack warily fulfilled Hammond’s request, the man was starting to get rather inebriated. ‘At this rate, I’m going to have to call him a taxi before I let him go,’ he thought balefully.

Once he’d sat the beer in front of Hammond (who started to guzzle it quite voraciously), Jack sat in his chair and resigned himself to the fact that’d he have to watch a bunch of biased politicians scream at one another. The two party hacks, however, didn’t even manage to finish their next argument before a fanfare blasted from the speakers and the ever-familiar “Breaking News” screen appeared in their place.

“Damn it!” Hammond shouted, “They were just starting to get into the good part!”

The corner of Jack’s mouth twitched upward. “If we’re lucky, this story won’t take up too much time then,” he said neutrally.

“Whatever.” Hammond shot Jack an exasperated look before returning his attention to the TV monitor.

“Good evening, DNN viewers, I am Lily Jumper.” As usual, the dark-haired reporter’s heavily made up face didn’t quite hide her fatigued demeanor. “I interrupt this broadcast of The Straight Dope with Mary Janeiro in order to bring you a rather important update in the events of the Mia Fey murder trial.”

Jack jumped and sat up straight in his chair as his stomach performed a little flip-flop. ‘It’d better be important, if you’re actually bothering to interrupt another show for once.’

“As many of you viewers may know, Miss Mia Fey was found dead in the office of her law firm two days ago. A detective on the scene arrested her younger sister, Ms. Maya Fey for the crime. Her initial trial started earlier today.”

Jack let out an impatient growl. “Enough with the recaps! Get to the point!”

“I suggest ya’ show some... restraint, Keeper,” Hammond slurred morosely.

Before Jack could dwell upon the irony of that statement, Jumper continued, “Just a few minutes ago, we here at DNN have learned that the State has dropped all charges against Maya Fey in relation to her elder sister’s murder.”

Jack’s breath caught in his throat. ‘Did I just hear what I think I just heard?’

“Thus, as of this hour, Ms. Fey is a free woman.”

Jack managed to sit shock-still in his chair for all of two seconds. Then he was up on his feet, leaping up and down upon the floor, and pumping his fist into the air like a man possessed.

Hammond stared at Jack with an expression bordering on horror. “The hell’s wrong with you, Keeper?! There grain alcohol in your soda or somethin’?”

Jack laughed and shook his head. “No, Mr. Hammond... don’t you see?! I knew Mia’s wasn’t murdered by her sister... I knew it!” No longer able to express his happiness in words, he clenched his hands into fists and whirled in a circle, his hair flying erratically from the force of the spin.

“Well, stop it already! Damn news broad’s still doing somethin’!”

With no small effort, Jack managed to stop his celebration long enough to return his attention to the TV screen, where, once again, it appeared that Jumper was arguing with someone out of the range of the TV camera. Confused, Jack watched this exchange go on for nearly half a minute before the newswoman finally returned to her normal pose.

‘Strange,’ thought Jack. ‘If I didn’t know better, I’d say she looked afraid.’

Jumper blinked at the screen several times before stating, “Of course, this development comes in light of a new suspect being charged for the elder Ms. Fey’s grizzly murder.” She paused and adjusted her hair for dramatic effect.

Jack let out a growl at Jumper’s constant sawing. “C’mon, you damn harpy! Just tell us who really killed her!” he hissed.

“Interestingly enough, the newly charged suspect is none other than the former suspect’s so-called defense attorney... Mr. Phoenix Wright!”

Unlike when Jumper announced Maya as the original murder suspect two days before, Jack did not flail about. In fact, for a moment, he didn’t react at all: he merely stared at the television as if it he’d never seen it before; his shock was so great that he did not move so much as an inch upon hearing the announcement.

Hammond made a noise somewhere between surprise and disappointment. Loosening his tie, he muttered, “Well... that was unexpected.”

Thankfully, Hammond’s voice was enough to force Jack out of his stasis. “Unexpected?!” he shouted. “Hell, try impossible!!!” He paused to force out an exasperated breath before muttering, “This isn’t right... this can’t be right!”

Hammond cleared his throat and shook his head, the annoyance on his face clearly evident. “You simply can’t be satisfied, can you, Mr. Keeper?” he said sardonically. “We might s’well hear what the news ghoul has to say first...” Again, he calmly returned his attention to the TV screen, where it appeared that Jumper was once again dealing with the nuisance of an off-camera interruption.

“All right, all right, I understand!” she snapped, her dismissive gaze focus on someone off to the left side of the screen. Hissing in discomfort, her face turned back to the camera as she stated, “Although we are not currently in possession of an official police statement regarding Mr. Wright’s arrest, DNN has learned from a... rather trustworthy and accurate source that Mr. Wright was surrounded and arrested just outside the offices of the Bluecorp Corporation, presumably while working on a faulty investigation that would throw detectives off of his trail.”

‘Once again, she’s already making the defendant seem guilty before he’s brought to trial. ‘Trustworthy and Accurate source’ my ass...’ thought Jack savagely.

“In spite of his craftiness, police managed to take Mr. Wright into custody with relatively little fuss. In fact, as you can see by this official Police Department Photograph, he still appears rather surprised that he’d been caught in spite of his wiles!”

Jack let out a small noise of astonishment; while Phoenix Wright’s picture wasn’t as dramatic as the Maya Fey’s had been two nights ago, there were still some notable differences between the image on the screen and the pictures he’d seen on prior news shows and newspaper reports. First and foremost was the expression on his face: Mr. Wright didn’t appear to be so much angry or upset as dazed at the fact that he’d been taken in. His eyes were wide, much of his skin was pale, and his mouth was partially open. Additionally, the spikes of his hair appeared to be somewhat off-kilter, and...

“Looks like the man took a blow to the face,” Hammond grumbled. “Stupid rookie... tryin’ to defy arrest like that.”

Before Jack could consider that, Jumper continued, “As for the issue of motive, police sources remain unclear, but we have received word from elsewhere that Mr. Wright’s motive is fairly easy to figure out. Considering that the dear Ms. Fey was Mr. Wright’s direct superior and the only lawyer outranking him at the Fey and Co. Law Offices, it’s rather obvious that Mr. Wright killed Ms. Fey in order to take her place at the head of an accredited law firm. Furthermore, by taking Maya Fey’s case when she received the blame for this grizzly crime, Mr. Wright gained the opportunity to both argue in a well-publicized case and, presumably, to later run it into the ground in order to save his own skin. The entire news team here at DNN, myself included, can only hope that Mr. Wright will pay for this ghastly, ghastly murder.” Jumper paused and fluffed her hair as she blinked her heavily made-up eyes. “More details on this newly reformed murder case will be released as they become available, but for now I must return you to The Straight Dope with Mary Janeiro already in progress. This is has been Lily Jumper of DNN reporting.”

Not wanting to hear any more political yelling, Jack switched the TV off before the closing fanfare finished its blaring.

“Hey! I was watching that!” Hammond growled indignantly. “Why’d you turn it off now?”

Jack ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “Sorry, Mr. Hammond. After three days, all this stuff about Ms. Fey’s case is getting hard to take in. Maybe I should take tomorrow off...”

Hammond sighed. “Maybe. But... I don’ see why you’re so caught up in this anyway. First you’re happy ‘cause one person got off... and now you whine about the other? Don’ seem like you’re going to be happy no matter what happens, way you’re carrying on,” he brooded.

Jack frowned. “I guess...”

Hammond slammed his mug against the bar in satisfaction. “See? Now... I know you’ve always had a bit o’ a soft spot for the defense, but... we’re not all good guys here. I mean...” He sloppily waved his hands about. “There’s nothin’ I see that says the rookie man didn’t do it, so...” More hand waving. “Why worry about it?”

Jack sighed. “I know, it’s just...”

“Just what?” asked Hammond.

“Just...” Jack trailed off as several possible responses flashed through his mind. ‘Well, Mia helped out Mr. Wright when he was in trouble... Mia was willing to give him a decent job... She thought he was going places... hell; she had a thing for the guy... It sounded like Wright was defending Maya with everything he had... not to mention all the people that have been acting strange, Washer included...’

“Well, Mr. Keeper?”

“Just everything,” muttered Jack dejectedly. He paused to grab his cola off the back bar and took a large sip. “Tell me, Mr. Hammond,” he added tentatively, “Do you think there’s anything weird going on with the Fey Case? You’ve got to admit the change in defendants is rather crazy.”

Hammond let out a heavy breath and drained the last of the beer that sat before him. Then, he lowered his eyes and stared at the empty mug, apparently lost in thought.

Jack allowed Hammond to ponder for nearly a full minute before cutting him off. Smirking slightly at the turnabout, he asked, “Well, Mr. Hammond?”

Hammond blearily looked up, took another deep breath, and then... “I’m just one man, Keeper! How the hell’m I supposed to know what’s going on!?”

As the proclamation rang throughout the room, Jack lowered his head, sighed, and muttered, “For once, Mr. Hammond, it looks like you hit the proverbial nail right on the head.”

-------------

For once, I think the ending's a bit bleh, but it's hardly an absolute travesty.

Obviouslly, all I had to do here was update my precious bartender with the new order of things, and plan out his reaction. My favorite part is where Hammond says that not all DA's are good people. The delicious irony...

Obviously, I'm not in much of a commentating mood today. Hopefully, before TOO long I'll be able to write up Part 5, The Manipulator and the Subserviant (On second thought, I have a better allusion to use in my chaper title). I don't like making people wait, but it'll probably take me a decent amount of time to get this baby up, as I have to contruct this plot VERY carefully in order to keep it from falling off the cliff of realism and/or turning Jack into an overvigilliant Male Mary Sue. (Also, I finally answer the "Jack's Edgeworth question" from before. Hopefully my presentation won't be too clichéd...)

So, until next time... Super Magic Girl Fun Time a go-go!

That didn't make the least bit of sense...

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I meant to post earlier myself. Silly me.

Anyway, this is still the best story in the universe. I've been looking forward to the piece covering the change of defendants for a long time; thanks for not disappointing me. As I was holding out for confusion and shock - whilst, for natural reasons, not rivalling that of the shock regarding Maya's arrest -, it was a bit "puzzling"; that Jack is worried so much yet does so little is stronger than it would seem.

Much of what I like about this story I've covered already. But - and I don't believe I've mentioned this - one of the things that pulls me is the little things you add. In dialogue and story-telling, I mean. Most authors (I myself when I give writing a shot) generally try to skip to the biggest points and "purposes" of the interaction between two or morepeople in order to best convene the next plot detail or advancement. In your case, it often feels as if they're reguarly chatting normally, and interesting facts and words happen to slip by and focus the subject. It's that kind of stuff which impresses me.

Washer and Hammond were well played out in this part. Upton is now one of my favourite visitors to the Golden Gavel; his design is nutty and his own quirk isn't annoying, but rather "adorable", so to speak (I know how that sounds, but it's for lack of a better word). It's amazing how good company he made from a spectator's view during the Legal Lowdown; the rivalry between him and Hammond draws not only an applaudable moment, but also runs a parallel between Defence and Prosecution.

Robert Hammond: it's great how you take a victim, a "plot-device", and give them their own being. In his previous part of the story (the blackout), he seemed a bit too stereotypically scroogy for my tastes (then again I had a similar, less dark outlook on him; an attorney who drives for victory alone in his profession; not a bad man, but just better than Von Karma in principle). It almost makes me wish Hammond were still alive to see the result of Turnabout Goodbyes. In this one, I don't think you could have had anyone better to accompany Jack during the stomach-clenching twist of events we had here. Save Goodman or Donny; but I'm biased to those two as well.

So, come on. You can go at least twenty-four hours without sleep, food or your own obligations save writing this story. There's the whole day-break between now and Phoenix's trial (not including the day White had him arrested). Give me the next chapter!

EDIT: In retrospect, the single strongest few lines have to be the ones at the end: . It sums up all the "worth" that Jack can actually do to help; he's concerned, and he's not buying the media's lies, but he can't just walk up to Bluecorp and force a confession from the real culprit. Jack can theorise, but he can't get to the bottom of the mystery. All he can do his hope for the good guy, even if the good guy doesn't know that he's without support.

Also, upon going over some of the story again, I've got another suspicion of his "Edgeworth"; IT HAS TO BE LILY JUMPER!!!

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Last edited by Dr. Mancusio on Sun Apr 22, 2007 3:13 pm, edited 3 times in total.

Huzzah, another great chapter! What a great writer you are DSL-69, it's been a long time since I've rabidly checked for updates on a fic every day. I love how you write conversations, and how every character seems to fit in to the game world. From my repeated (awful) attempts at fic writing, I know that isn't easy...
And I know I've already said this, but I love the references you put in. The GS4 one in this episode made me smile, and it makes me read through every chapter twice to try and find them. It's the details you put in that makes me adore your writing.
Please try and get the next chapter finished! The suspence is killing me!
It's Godot isn't it? No wait- it's Redd White! Or... Gant? Larry? von Karma...? Oh, I can't wait!

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Nice 4-4 reference you slipped in at the start. I like the way this fic is going.

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Aha! A nice backstory, sort of! Sort of "Behind the Scenes" At Pheonix Wright, Kinda what everyone else does and sort of delving deep into they're subconcious, and showing us a public view of the cases. Plus Edgeworths Reaction to Pheonix coming into his life!

10 of 10, I say! Nay, 11 of 10! Kudos for the use of original characters!

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This fanfic was good in the old forums, and it's still good now. Good show!

*Just finished reading episode I*
My god that was great. I was laughing so hard my laptop shook. The references to Payne's hair in the third/fourth games and Lotta, Payne's drunken stupor, Edgeworth's snappy statements, it was all great...and the characterization was lovely. Wonderful writing.

Edit: And now I've read episode 2. Still love your writing. Your characterization is spot-on for Mia, and I love the personalities you gave to Hammond and Goodman, they suit them rather well, I think. I also liked the MiaxPhoenix mentions and the bit about Kaminogi at the end was sweet. But now I have to wonder what went on at Edgeworth, Lana, and Gumshoe's end...I'm sure Gumshoe kept them quite..."entertained." The bit about Lana being careful in situations like that was a sweet mention, I love all the references you slip in to different cases and characters.

Edit: Okay, I've finished everything you have up so far. Still great writing and I like your OCs. I must say, I've spent the better part of today reading everything you have up here, and I didn't take many breaks. That's how compelling it all was. I love all the details you put in. Your method of asking questions, as you were talking about near the end, is a good one and it's probably one thing that makes your fics so compelling--they have a real purpose and focus to them, something to delve into. I like how you take already-existing characters, named and unnamed, and give them life and personality that they didn't have before. Overall, very worth-while fics and I'll be looking forward to more =)

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New shooter... ha ha!

Okay, now that that bit of irrelivancy is out of the way, I can get on with posting the first half of the next part of the story. (I admit my progress is agonizingly slow. If I finish paralelling AA1 before 2009 I will consider myself either a writing god and/or clinically insane). First, some responses for my lovely reviewers... (I'll make them individual this time while I'm awake).

Dr. M: Damn, I wish I could leave reviews that long for other writers; it's quite flattering. I'll admit, my obsession with making things flow in the story is the main reason I don't update all too quickly; when combined with my reluctance to write scenes out of order I can get hung up on a tricky sequence for days at a time. (And no, Lily Jumper and Jack Keeper have do not have a common past together. I made up Lily at the very start of the fic as a personification of PW's tendancy to not give the defendant a fair shake. Though, now that I look at it, their names are very similar...)

Impulse: Details are what make the world go 'round. I tend to think them up either while I'm writing or else when I'm doing something that has nothing to do with anthing PW-related. (I wish I could focus that random energy into things aside from fic-writing sometimes...) I also believe you correctly guessed the "Jack's Edgeworth" person while making random guesses in the old topic, but of course you also picked about thirty other people. I will admit, since I thought up the depth of this connection while writing late Chapter 2 (though it was always planned at a lower level), I will probably have to rewrite an eariler scene or two in order to add clues and slightly alter Jack's reaction to things. (Such a cross to bear...)

BS: Yes, that's definatly a reference, though you might wanna watch what you say around these parts... *shifty eyes*

Mr. M: Ayup. Characterization is what makes the world go 'round. (Wait, didn't I say that before...?) It's a shame that the fates of Hammond and Goodman are already sealed.

l33t: This is a show? *eyes the pretty curtain* Oh... I guess it is...

SZ: Yay, another convert (Random thought: It seems that about half of my Fiction Fans are females aged 12-16... I have yet to find the reasons why. *chuckle*)

Obviously, thank yous are in order as well. (<--- I should be the only one allowed to use that smiley...)

So... where was I? Ah, yes... this is the first half (third?) of Part III-5, which is (now) titled The Man Behind the Curtain. *cues green smoke* In this part, in case you haven't figured it out, a certain [note: certain is such a superfulous word] corperate executive makes his one and only appearance at the legal system's favorite bar. It's a good thing that each of these Episodes I'm writing (though I've been working with the third one for a good 6+ months now) is technically its own story arc with a different character/event to focus on, as, overall, I might not be able to write another Part this psychologically dramatic before the Case 4 or even the Case 5 analogue. However, I had this planned out from practically the very beginning... I knew I had to do something cool with the day of space between Maya and Nick's trials, after all.

Sadly, this first excerpt (~6700 words) of the part is mostly setup; the cool stuff doesn't happen until immediately after this portion. However, I do manage to include Donny (for a short while), bring back Upton Washer (Did I mention how suprised I was at the positive reader responses toward Washer? I feel kind of sad dragging his character down to size) and introduce another OC in person (though his part is hardly the largest). But, enough of my infuriating spolertries! Let's get down to buisness!

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Part 5/7: The Man behind the Curtain

September 8th, 2016, 6:42 PM

“Wow, Jack,” muttered Donny Docket, staring at the piece of paper in his hand with an expression of startled awe. “This is really... something, that’s for damn sure.”

Jack smiled lightly; he could tell that his best friend was only trying to be polite. “It’s alright, Don,” he said. “It only took me a few minutes to make it, anyway.”

Donny blinked twice and shook his head. “No, it’s all right... I just didn’t realize you could be so... perceptive. So this is all the weird stuff you could think of?”

Jack nodded. “Yep. I didn’t realize how much of it there was until I actually bothered to write it all down.” He paused and shot Donny a coy smile. “Can I have it back, please?”

Startled, Donny merely nodded, sat the paper back on the bar counter, and slid it back to Jack with little fanfare.

“Thank you,” said Jack politely. From when he’d finished opening the bar at 2:00 until Donny had stopped in just after six, Jack had had no customers, and thus, he’d spent the idle time mulling over the various things he’d seen in the three days previous. He’d bothered to write them down on a spare pad of paper so that he could look them up over at once. Smiling, he paused for one moment to again admire his handiwork.

Odd Things I Have Seen

Maya accused of murder first – Nobody thought otherwise
Murder trial evidence not thoroughly examined
P.P. Parsons scheduling late-night legal meeting with Edgeworth
Mr. Grossberg mad at himself about refusals – What’s he hiding?
That Phone Call about Paintings
Yesterday’s News – They talked about Hammond’s case and ignored Mia’s
Washer talking to some guy named “Niño” – acting weird(er)
Sudden switch of defendants in Ms. Fey’s trial – What the hell?

Shaking his head, Jack then returned his gaze to Donny with a sigh. “It’s defiantly longer than I first expected it to be... but it hasn’t really helped me at all. All it’s telling me is that something might be going on, but I have no clue as to what.”

Donny sipped his beer appreciatively. “I don’t there’s any point in telling you you’re wrong, is there?” He spun the piece of paper around and looked at it again. “Have you seen Mr. E or ‘Tective G today... tried to talk to them about this?”

Once again, Jack shook his head in the negative. “Nope. I tried calling Detective Gumshoe a little after five, but I only got some stupid message saying the call couldn’t be completed. Considering what he knows about cell phones, I wouldn’t be surprised if he kept it turned off without one of those voicemail programs picking up the slack.”

Donny gave the paper another thoughtful look. “What about Mr. E?”

Jack gave his friend a small smirk. “As much as I wanted to, I don’t think Mr. Edgeworth would appreciate getting a call from his bartender while he’s in the middle of preparing a case.”

Donny laughed. “I guess not.”

“I’d hoped that he would have shown up here by now, with a case this hectic, he usually stops by when his investigation’s done.”

“Well, maybe he’s not done yet, then.”

“That could be,” Jack said tentatively, “but still... Most of the facts of the new Fey case are the same; they just managed to change defendants somehow. Unless Edgeworth comes here, I don’t think it’s my place to bother him about the details of his job.” He sighed. “I wish I could find a way to learn more... to do more... the way things are going, all the unknowns about this case are killing me!” He tugged the collar of his button-down shirt in exasperation.

Donny shot Jack a sharp look. “Man, you look like you need a vacation. I haven’t seen you act this stressed since after...” he trailed off and shook his head.

‘He’s right,’ thought Jack solemnly, ‘I am starting to go off my nut.’ Frowning, he asked, “What do you think I should do, Don?”

“I suggest you watch some TV, get your mind off of it all,” Donny said patiently. He drained the rest of his beer and leapt to his feet; the bulge of his stomach shook rather amusingly from the suddenness of the action. Reaching a hand into his back pocket, he continued, “Hell, while you’re at it, you open this up to the comic pages and read those.” He extracted a rolled up newspaper and sat it on the counter with little fanfare. “It’s not much, but it’s the best you can do without getting drunk off your own stores.”

“If you say so, Doctor Don,” muttered Jack, unrolling the newspaper so that he could see the front page. Upon seeing the headline, he disdainfully added, “Of course, I could also read the story about Mr. Wright’s arrest, which happens to take up most of the newspaper you neglected to tell me about for half an hour.”

“Say what?” Donny snatched back the newspaper so he could look at it himself. “Oh, yeah, that too.” he finally said, scratching at his head sheepishly. “I’m surprised I missed that; I must have gone straight to the sports page today.”

Deciding it’d be a waste of energy to stay mad over a newspaper, Jack said, “It’s all right, Don. I’ll read this, and then I’ll watch something nice and stupid... there’s got to be four or five reality shows on the TV at any given time anyway.”

“Good for you, Jack,” Donny said cheerfully. He reached into his pocket, extracted a wallet, and pulled out some banknotes. “Three for the beer,” he said, handing them to Jack.

“Thanks,” said Jack. As he placed them in the old cash register, he continued, “Where are you going to go now? Home?”

Donny smiled. “Yeah, but only to change my clothes. Once I get my party outfit on, I’m going to head to the District Hideaway!”

“That’s one of the big clubs in the Center City area, right?”

Donny smiled. “It sure is! Hopefully, there’ll be a girl there who’s willing to give good old Don Juan a chance,” he gushed.

‘That’ll be the day, all right,’ thought Jack. “Good luck, Don.”

“That’s the spirit! Bye, Jack!” Donny whistled a cheerful tune as he made his way across the room and out the bar. As soon as the chime went off and the door closed behind him, Jack put Donny’s mug in the sink, moved his chair to the middle of the bar, and sat on top of it with a sigh of content.

‘Donny may not have the skills of a bartender or a lawyer, but he’s probably knows what he’s talking about when it comes to relaxing. As soon as I read this damn newspaper story, I’m going to take his advice.’ Having assured himself of his plan of action, Jack leaned forward, grabbed the newspaper—a District City Examiner—and unfolded it so he could see the headline in full.

“Wright’s Wrong Move,” he read. ‘An attempt to be funny through use of a pun. How nauseatingly typical.’

Before he tried to read the text, Jack stared at the two large pictures that were fixed just below the headline. The one on the left he’d already seen; it was the Police Department Photo from last night’s breaking news story. The other picture, however, was completely new to Jack: it showed the lowest floors of an oddly bright blue building; the photograph was focused on the sets of glass doors that obviously formed the structure’s front entrance.

Jack absently read the caption: Accused murderer Phoenix Wright made his last stand here, in front of the main entrance of the Bluecorp Building in the Center City Business District. ‘Such a grand-looking place,’ he thought. Sparkling doors of crystalline glass just a few feet away from the curb of the busy street way.’

“Oh dear, I must be becoming a poet,” Jack verbalized luridly. Shaking his head in amusement, he started to read the article.

“WRIGHT’S WRONG MOVE”
Young Defense Attorney Arrested In Front of Center City Crowd
By Henrietta Happenstance

Yesterday evening, local defense attorney Phoenix Wright was arrested and charged for the murder of his boss, Defense attorney Mia Fey. Mr. Wright, a very cunning man by nature, might have gotten away with his insidious crime had he not tried to take his deceptions too far.

“From what I understand, Mr. Wright had managed to fool many of our best and brightest into believing that the defendant’s sister was the culprit,” said Neville Specter, District City’s Chief of Detectives. “However, when he tried to take his ‘investigation’ to illogical extremes, he was recognized for his crimes and arraigned by several police officers.

Indeed, multiple members of law enforcement were involved in Mr. Wright’s arrest, which took place in front of the Bluecorp. Building, an incredibly large edifice located in the heart of Central District City. After his arraignment, Mr. Wright was interrogated for several hours, but as of yet he futilely maintains a plea of innocence, citing his lack of motive. Several legal experts, however, disagree with this foolish notion.

“I possess the belief that Mr. Wright committed this horrific act for the sake of power,” said Mr. Bill Grantor, legal commentator and host of DNN’s ‘Legal Lowdown’. “By eliminating the person in a position nearest to his, he gained the opportunity to take control of a law firm that’s been earning prestige in legal circles for three years now.”

The quest for power, however, may not be the only motivation behind Mr. Wright’s actions. Other, more basic theories have been cropping up throughout the last twenty-four hours.

“From what I’ve heard, the victim and the defendant had been involved in a rather, er, steamy relationship at the time of the incident,” Specter said. “I am, in fact, quite intrigued by the possibility that the victim possessed some sort of lapse of morality, which could logically...”

Exactly what logic Chief Specter was talking about, Jack never learned, as he’d thrown the newspaper to the ground with a cry of disgust. “Stupid rag has gone too far...” he muttered darkly. “It’s one thing to paint a defendant a killer... but... Ms. Fey, immoral? I ought to put this in the sink and burn it.”

Angrily, he picked the newspaper up and stared at it one more time. ‘It’s definitely a load of rubbish,’ he thought absently, ‘but it’s definitely an odd thing, too.’ With mild trepidation, he stashed the paper under the bar and hastily scribbled a note about it at the bottom of his list.

‘And now that that’s taken care of,’ he thought curtly, ‘I’m going to see what piece of mind-numbing madness I can find on this silly TV set.’ After briefly standing up and pouring himself a cola, he sunk into the lightly padded back of his old chair. Drink firmly in one hand and remote in the other, Jack settled down, turned the set on, and started flipping through channels.

“Click!”

“YEEEEEAH! Coming up next on the Crazy-Ass Techno Countdown is our #6 song... Justice-Man Forever!” shouted a tall young man with a bright pink Mohawk, skin tight leather clothing, and several dozen facial piercings.

“Not my glass of wine, there...” muttered Jack.

“Click!”

“Today, in a watershed moment for modern science, medical researchers have proven that sticks of wax have no health benefits when rubbed repeatedly upon the skin. Whether these findings translate to common glue sticks has yet to be determined...” droned an astute looking woman with orange-yellow hair.

‘My tax money better not have funded that waste of time...’

“Click!”

“And now... we shall determine which of these various bikini models and shirtless male B-celebrities can make it across the perils of the swimming pool of mayonnaise!” declared a tall, silver-haired woman, her taut and expressionless face reflecting the results of at least a dozen elaborate plastic surgeries.

Jack shook his head as gazed at a line of scantily clad men and women, standing before what was undoubtedly an Olympic-sized swimming pool filled with mayonnaise.

‘Normally, I’d try to avoid this,’ he thought resignedly, ‘but it’s definitely about as mindless as I can get on TV around this hour. Even the Steel Samurai requires more brain activity than this reality junk.’ With a heavy sigh, Jack leaned back and started to watch, but he didn’t even get to see the start of the race before...

“Bring-ling-ling!” Jack jumped as a loud electronic jangling emanated from the bar’s phone, nestled in the wall near the small door separating him from the public space outside. Grumbling at the interruption, he forced himself up from the chair, walked all of two steps, wrenched the black cordless receiver from its equally black storing cradle, and thrust it to the side of his head without fanfare. “This is Jack,” he said flatly. “Who’s speaking to me?”

“Ah, J-Jack! H-how are you doing; faring; feeling this fine evening?!”

Jack frowned slightly; not only had he never received a phone call from Upton Washer in recent memory, but the man sounded even more nervous than what was typical for him. “I guess I’m all right, Mr. Washer,” he said cautiously. “I hate to sound rude, but for what reason are you calling me at this hour?”

A pause, and then: “W-well, Jack, the reason for my call is quite basic; ordinary; simple! I n-need you to get your bar ready for some VIPs!”

Jack made an absent noise. “VIPs...?”

“Yeah! You know... bigwigs; important people; major players? I’ve got two of them with me and we’re heading straight for you, pal!”

‘Somehow, I never saw Washer as a ‘pal’ kind of guy,’ thought Jack dully. In a relaxed voice that hid his bewilderment and excitement, he said, “So, Mr. Washer... exactly who are these... ‘Major Players’ of yours?”

The phone fell largely silent; Jack could only make out a few vague, muffling tones that indicated that Washer was undoubtedly speaking with someone else. After a few seconds of this, Washer finally stated, “N-now, now, Jack, there’s no reason to get nosy; inquisitive; curious! You’ll find out when we arrive!”

Annoyed, Jack covered the receiver with his hand and let out a mild oath. Taking a deep breath to keep himself relaxed, he asked, “And exactly how long will it be before you and these mysterious big-shots... arrive?”

Another pause. “Oh... I’d say around... t-ten minutes! Better get cracking, Jack!”

‘He’s really not putting me in a good mood here.’ Running a frustrated hand through his hair, Jack levelly stated, “I guess you’re right. I’ll be seeing you, Mr. Washer.”

“All right, Jack! Goodbye; farewell; sayonara!” An instant later, the connection broke and was replaced by a dial tone. Jack turned off the cordless phone and sat it back in the cradle with a sigh.

“I wish Washer would have explained himself better... that man makes me want to tear my hair out sometimes,” he announced to the empty room. “Like it or not, I’d better make sure this place is in working order, though.”

Turning off the TV with a click of the remote, Jack set himself to making sure the Gavel was as presentable as it could be. Grabbing a trusty washrag out from under the bar, he started by leaving the main bar area and wiping each of the bar’s four wooden tabletops to a healthy gleam. Once he’d finished with that, he sat the rag down and proceeded to set the pool table up in case two of the three visitors wanted to play a game.

‘Of course, that leaves someone with nothing to do... better make sure the pinball machine is working,’ Jack thought absently.

Placing a coin in the gimmicky machine, he managed a little smile as the various lights started illuminating the playing field, a darkly whimsical display of bumpers and obstacles set atop a board that depicted scenes of fancifully old magic tricks.

“Pinball Magic.” He quietly read the machine’s name as he reflexively launched the balls up the ramp and let them fall back down below the bright yellow flippers. “I don’t know what the pinball company was thinking when they made this contraption,” he mused, “They should have stuck with making video games instead.”

As soon the pinball game was done declaring his intentionally abysmal score, Jack quickly looked at the walls and the floor (they were fairly clean), and managed a glance at the little bathroom (it was clean too). Having done the best he could do as far as the public space was concerned, he took his washrag back to his bar area and proceeded to wipe the bar counter down as best as he could.

‘I wonder how a person such as Mr. Washer got into close contact with so-called important people,’ he thought absently. ‘He doesn't seem like the sort of man that would really attract the rich or powerful...’

About a third of the way down the bar, Jack noticed a ring shaped stain had congealed where Donny’s drink used to be. Frowning, he tightened his grip on the washrag and started scrubbing the area harder.

‘And, while I’m at it, exactly how important can Washer’s “big shots” really be? I mean, I’ve been tending to famous legal workers for years. In fact, I’ve served pretty much all the Chiefs this city’s legal system has to offer: Chief Gant, Chief Specter, Chief Wayside, hell, even Chief Lana, I guess...’ Jack paused poignantly for just a moment before continuing to work his way down the bar.

‘Also, Mr. Washer sounded damn high-strung while he was bragging his techno-colored head off. Considering that Washer’s always high-strung to begin with, that’s quite odd. I guess he could just be nervous on the phone, like he had been with that ‘Niño guy’ yesterday evening.’ Shaking his head in vein, Jack quickly started wiping the last bit of the bar counter.

It was only once he finished the wipe-down and returned his precious washrag to a spot near the sink that he heard the all-too-familiar door chime. Turning around, he was greeted by the odd sight of the fairly average-sized Mr. Washer leading two of the most burly-looking men he’d ever seen to the stools on the other side of the bar counter. Washer reminded him of nothing more than a decorative swizzle-stick with a couple of bodyguards as he let his two companions sit down on either side of him.

“A good evening to you, Mr. Washer,” Jack stated evenly. By speaking first, he hoped that Washer would provide him with the identities of his acquaintances.

“Yes! G-good e-evening to you too, J-Jack!” Obviously, Mr. Washer’s nervousness was even more prevalent then ever. After pausing a moment to wipe the sweat of his brow and collect himself, he continued, “I-I’d like you to meet my... friends.” He paused, gulped, and continued, “This man (he pointed to the person on his right) is M-mister Peter Parsons. Y-you know... the p-public p-prosecutor?”

‘Oh my,’ thought Jack dazedly, ‘He hadn’t been lying about “big-shots” after all.’ In the pause of a second, Jack quickly memorized everything about Prosecutor Parsons’ appearance. He had a stern, square face, complete with a creased forehead, heavy jaw, and cold, pale-blue eyes. His dark green suit was not that of a businessman but an army officer, complete with brass buttons, a rather familiar looking row of gold metals pinned on his chest, and silver rank insignias—replicas of the State prosecutor’s badge—gleaming on each shoulder. When combined with his shaved head and prominent barrel-chest, it gave him the airs of a man who shouldn’t be messed with.

Remembering what Donny had told him about Mr. Parsons two days earlier, Jack quickly put his feet together and lifted his hand to his forehead in salute. “I am Jack Keeper. It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir!” he snapped enthusiastically.

Parsons blinked several times in surprise before returning the salute and allowing his face to break into a rather un-military looking smile. “At ease, Keeper,” he pleasantly grumbled after returning the salute himself. “I must admit, I’m looking forward to trying out this canteen... especially after all the stuff Redd told me about it... isn’t that right, Redd?” Both he and Washer turned their heads toward the man on the far left. Jack quickly followed suit, and his eyes widened in surprise.

Jack felt an odd familiarity upon looking at ‘Redd’; he realized almost instantly that he’d seen him somewhere before. Physically, he had an appearance roughly equivalent to Washer and Parsons blended together; while his figure was as large and hulking as the Public Prosecutor’s own, his absurd pink suit, lurid jewel-pattered tie, and the obnoxiously large diamond adorning his breast looked like things that (aside from him) only Upton would have worn. Redd’s face, and not his suit, however, was what set off bells of recognition in Jack’s mind—the sharp purple eyes, dark eyebrows, unnaturally large smile, and (above all else) finely groomed purple hair were all enormously familiar to him.

“You’re a well-known person,” Jack said, pointing at Redd uncertainly, “But for the life of me I can not remember your last name.” Fiddling with a button on his shirt, he added, “I guess I should get out of this bar more often.”

Redd’s already wide smile grew wider. “Is that so?” he asked, his tone flamboyantly pompous. “Well, I guess I can forgive you this once, as a drink-usher such as yourself possesses a most decorative excuse for not knowing my full title, in spite of how exalted my personage may be. I am Redd White, and I am the President, or, to use an equivalent term, the C.E.O. of the Bluecorp Conglomerate.”

‘Huh?’ thought Jack confusedly. ‘Drink-usher? Exalted personage? What kind of fruitcake phrases are those?’ A second later, however, this confusion turned to surprise as he realized why White seemed so familiar. ‘Redd White... his face is featured on bus advertisements and billboards throughout the city. No wonder, considering how he’s the President of that Bluecorp company.’ Jack paused eyes widened further as he realized the significance of White’s job. ‘The Bluecorp building... that was the place Mr. Wright was arrested!’ Jack adjusted his collar and tried to look as dignified as he could; with customers such as these he might finally be able to get some of the answers he’d been looking for!

“Is there something wrong, Mister... Mister Taker?” White added haughtily. “My compatriots and I are getting quite unpatient, that is to say unsettled, by your lack of bartending initiative!”

‘No need to act rude and screw up my name,’ thought Jack roughly. Holding back his indignation behind a mask of professionalism, he stated, “I’m sorry, Mr. White. I... I’m just trying to take all the information in, you know? If you three know what you want, just give me your orders.”

In spite of looking rather ill, Washer managed to speak first. “I’ll have a whisky sour, and make it a d-double,” he stammered.

Parsons went next. “A fine Tennessee bourbon would hit the spot for me!”

Nodding, Jack then automatically directed his attention to White. “And you, sir?”

White’s face briefly lost its jovial look as he scratched his chin in deep thought. After a few seconds, he finally spurted, “I desire a Cosmopolitan, if you please!”

Jack smirked and gave the three a little bow. “Just a few minutes, then.” As he made his way to the bar shelves and started taking down the bottles he would need for the three rather different drinks, White began to speak, his tone more than loud enough for everyone to hear.

“The Golden Gavel... such a cheerific place.” Even when reminiscing, there was a streak of arrogance in his voice that didn’t quite go away. “I have not bothered to access this locale for quite sometime... In fact, not since your precedent was here, dear bartender.”

“Would that be Mr. Busman you’re talking about, Mr. White?” asked Jack, mixing together a whisky sour with little conscious thought.

“Why, I am certainly speaking of him, Bartender! Are you even attempting to audit my words?”

“Er, yes...” muttered Jack, turning his head so that he wouldn’t contaminate any drinks with forehead sweat. “It’s just that I’ve never come in contact with a dialect quite as... unique as yours before.”

Another hearty laugh, this time from Prosecutor Parsons. “Well, Redd here’s always made his own rules when it comes to vocabulary,” he said, his voice still rather cautious in spite of its militancy. “It’s one of the things that helped him rise to the top of the corporate chain of command!”

White laughed heartily. “You are too flattericous, Mr. Person,” he said offhandedly.

“I see,” muttered Jack, cautiously filling up Parson’s beer. Turning to face White, he added, “Forgive a bartender’s ignorance, but what type of company is your Bluecorp, anyway?”

White’s already large smile grew larger. “If you must know, my good bartender, we at Bluecorp specialize at buying and selling information. In the past ten years, I have built it up from a singleton-run operation to one of the most spectakerific research conglomerates in the world!”

Jack made a thoughtful noise. “So... by information, would you mean mailing lists? Name, age, consumer habits, that sort of thing?”

“That would be practically correct. Is that not right, compadres?”

“Aye,” Parsons said tersely.

“That would be right; accurate; a truth!” Washer added ungainly.

Seeing that he would get no more information on the subject at the time, he merely finished making White’s cosmopolitan, sat all three drinks before their owners, and waited patiently for their replies.

Both Washer and Parsons drank without a word. Instead, they turned towards Mr. White, obviously interested in hearing his opinion first. Jack began to feel nervous as White took great care in wafting and sniffing his cocktail before taking but a tiny sip.

“Well?”

White made several smacking noises with his tongue before allowing himself to swallow. He paused just a moment more and declared, “This is a most splendiferous concoction! I only last tasted such a decadent cosmopolitan when Mr. Busboy made it for me!”

As Parsons and Washer nonverbally agreed with White’s opinion of his drink, a calculating expression crossed Jack’s face. “You sound rather fond of Mr. Busman,” he said neutrally.

White took a large sip of his drink before nodding voraciously. “That is a truth! For you see, no insult towards your personage withstanding, Busboy was definitely the paramount example of what a good drink-usher should be. He was a kindly man... he made incorrigibly good drinks... he knew a great many things about the workings of the system... and he was very cooperative. A fatabulistic combination, wouldn’t you think?”

‘Well, I’ve definitely heard all of that before, except perhaps the ‘cooperative’ bit...’ thought Jack absently. “That sounds about right,” he said. Placing a finger against his chin, he added, “Was your fondness of Busman the reason you’ve never dropped by here since I got the job?”

White looked vaguely pensive for a moment before leaning forward and crossing his arms. “I believe you could say that, bartender. Once Busboy had so... sadistically passed onward, I decided to go to other drink-warehouses out of respectitude. I received word that this place had opened from numerous personages, but I honorifically did not think to make my presence here until now.”

‘Odd way of showing your respect, if you ask me...’ Pulling a stray strand of hair out of his face, Jack asked, “So... why’d you decided to come here now, then?”

White took another sip of his drink before sitting back up, his cheerful visage once again firmly in place. “Why... it’s quite simplistic, bartender! Mr. Wash-up here was ever so kind as to again bring this lovely location to the front-most sector of my mind!” Almost mindlessly, he spun his barstool so that he faced Washer and not Jack. “Isn’t that right, my friend?” he shouted, slapping the defense attorney in the small of his lime-suited back.

Upton jumped in surprise from the contact; he hadn’t expected the conversation to suddenly jump to him. “I-I guess that would be an honest; fair; balanced description of things,” he trilled nervously.

Jack frowned as Upton returned to silence. ‘Washer hasn’t been talking much, and Mr. Parsons has been saying even less,’ he thought critically. ‘And they don’t seem to care in the slightest that Mr. White’s butchering their names and dominating the conversation.’ Tucking those thoughts in the back of his mind, he looked at Washer and asked, “So... when were you and Mr. White chatting things up about little old me?”

Upton flinched visibly at the question; Jack noticed that beads of sweat were starting to form on his forehead. “W-well, it was when I-I... er...”

“Now, now, Uppity, there’s no reason to be impolite to the bartender, is there?!” White interrupted loudly. Looking Jack in the eye, he added, “After all, I belie it to be quite apparent to him that the two of us spoke, at length, over last night’s supper arrangements. You heard us conversing upon the telephone, did you not?”

Jack’s eyes widened with surprise; given that Upton only talked on his phone once the prior night, he could draw but one conclusion. “Wait...” he muttered, giving his shirt collar a compulsive tug. “So that means... you’re the man called Niño?”

White merely downed the last of his Cosmopolitan and widened his ever-present smile. “But of course! Blanco Niño, or Niño for short, is my pseudonym... my nick-name, if you plead. Of course, only my dearest compadres are allowed to call me that... is that not correct, fellow drink-mates?”

Parsons sat down his mostly-empty beer mug and nodded. “That is an affirmative! Niño and I have been brothers-in-arms for several years now!”

Upton merely nodded, his fingers fumbling over his now empty drink tumbler.

Noticing this, Jack asked, “Would you like another one, Mr. Washer?”

This time, Washer merely shook his head in the negative, fidgeting faster than ever.

‘Washer’s acting progressively more strange... just as he was during his conversation with White last night... I wonder what Mr. Parsons thinks of White asking requests from the defense?’ Seeing no reason to keep silent on this point, Jack leaned forward and asked, “So... how did things go with that murder suspect you were talking about?”

To Jack’s surprise, both Washer and Parsons reacted to this question, the former going into stammers while the later flinched and nervously toyed with the medals on his chest. ‘A low-level DA and one of the most powerful Prosecutors in the state... both of them equally upset about the same case. I think I know where this is going... but... what does it mean?’ Jack decided to take a risk and glare back and forth between the two suspicious-looking men, but he didn’t even get an answer before White intervened.

“There’s no need to resort to intimidating tacticries, bartender, no need at all! I find it ineffable that you would lower yourself to such a level! Now then...” White leaned back slightly and turned his arms outward; almost magically, the various jewels on his hands and chest twinkled in the bar light. Allowing himself a small chuckle, he continued, “The man whom I’d been speaking to Wash-up with did not partake his servitude. A shame...”

“I see,” muttered Jack dully. “And, if I may be so bold to ask... what was this defendant’s name?” Jack hated sounding so confrontational, but he had to make sure that he wasn’t just imagining a connection between this set of oddities and all the ones he’d seen before.

Unfortunately for him, Washer merely jumped yet again and placed his head in his hands. He was clearly trembling, and seemed unable to speak. Parsons turned his barstool away from Jack and began to conspicuously rub the top of his shaved head. Alarm bells started going off in Jack’s mind as he fixed White with an intense questioning glare.

Predictably, the irksome man was not annoyed in the slightest. “Now, now, bartender... there’s no need to be hasteful. I believe that it is quite obvious that my compadres are suffering from an infliction of the cranium, and thus, are in need of more liquids. I believe it best that I, in my unfathomable generosity, buy their next drinks. Do you not agree?”

‘Okay, now he’s just trying to distract me...’ Avoiding the urge to grind his teeth in frustration, Jack stated, “Fine. Mr. Parsons; Mr. Washer, what would you like me to get you?”

Turning his barstool back to its former position, Parsons looked thoughtfully at the back of the bar before stating, “I’ll have a-”

“Whiskey!” White interrupted grandiosely. “A fine whiskey for both of these gentlemen, if you please.”

“Uh, are you sure that they actually want-”

“Yeah, w-whiskey!” Parsons announced suddenly. “That’s exactly what I was going to say, Mr. White! You were going to ask for one too, weren’t you, Mr. Washer?!”

Washer’s snapped his head upward in response to the direct question. “Y-y-yes, I was!” he squeaked unconvincingly. “I c-cannot help but admire the flavor; the quality; the brownness!”

‘“Brownness”? Dear God, Washer’s synonym train is starting to derail...’ Knowing that arguments would be futile, Jack merely nodded his head, turned around, and grabbed one of his better (and fuller) bottles of whiskey off of a bar shelf.

“This Wiseguy brand Whiskey’s been aged for fifteen years,” he announced matter-of-factly. Placing it on the bar, he added, “While it might not be at the tip of the quality pyramid, it’s pretty damn close.”

“Fifteen years? A most splendiferous vintage!” White declared. “Drink up, amigos!”

As soon as Jack had given the two lawyers their drinks, they downed the contents as quickly as they could. Jack frowned as Parsons expressed his appreciation of the fine whisky with a more ungainly belch.

“Sorry about that,” he said weakly. “But, damn, that’s some top-notch rations right there! I aught to have some more of that!”

‘Looks like the Public Prosecutor wants to get a decent buzz right here and now... and I can’t exactly deny service to someone with this much... brass. I’d better see if I can get some information out of him before he gets too far gone to answer...’ Snapping himself out of his mental reverie, Jack carefully leaned one arm against the side of the bar counter. “So... Mr. Parsons, sir...” he began cautiously. “What do you think about all the things that have been happening with the Fey Murder Case?”

Parsons went stock-still; though this reaction was the opposite of all of Washer’s it was still obvious that the man was shocked. “What... what... what do you mean by that question?” he asked haltingly.

Jack took a step back and looked down at his clasped hands in an effort to appear innocent. “I don’t mean to offend or pry, Prosecutor Parsons, sir...” he said levelly. “It’s just that Ms. Fey was a dear friend of mine, and I’ve been paying especially close attention to everything that’s been happening in that case these past few days. The information has been changing so quickly... so I’ve been getting rather confused about it. I’m just hoping that your opinion will be able to answer some of my questions, that’s all.”

Unfortunately, Jack’s emotional statements forced Parsons on the defensive. “Well, I... I,” he glanced leftward; “I must ask exactly what... what... what questions are you speaking of?” he finally forced out.

‘I’d better be careful on this... don’t want to sound too suspicious.’ “Well... what do you think about the State’s change in defendants? That move always struck me as rather... strange.”

Though he remained stiff, Jack noticed that sweat was starting to form on the Public Prosecutor’s head. “Well... about that... did you... did you read about that in the paper?”

Jack frowned, though he made sure to keep up innocent airs. “Well, I did read one, but the reason they were trumpeting didn’t make much sense... they were saying that Ms. Fey did something that I know she never would have done. Isn’t that... odd, Mr. Parsons, sir?”

Parsons’ eyes bulged; it appeared that he no longer knew exactly what to say.

Surprisingly, it was not Jack or White but Washer that broke this latest silence. “J-Jack, please!” he stammered. “I know that your intentions are good; proper; moral, but don’t you think you’re being a bit hasty with your words?” His voice rose in pitch as he continued, “After all, there are some things that can’t be revealed; divulged; ...d-disclosed to the public!”

Before Jack could even formulate a reply, White smacked a hand against the bar to get everyone’s attention.

“A thousand apolitudes, my dear bartender, but it appears that Person and Washup’s cranial complexities are only getting bigger, and a reductification in their stress-cells will be needed to query them relief.”

Jack absently adjusted his collar. “And... exactly what does that mean, Mr. White?”

White’s smile grew almost impossibly wide. “It’s quite simplistic, bartender. These two people will require spirits and solidarity in order to regain their balance!” He paused and placed a hand against his heart; Jack turned away as light reflected off the jewels on his hand and into his face. “Thus, Mr. Taker, I will be foraying into a great sacrifice by purchasing that spirit-bottle from you in its entirety.” Turning to Parsons and Washer, he continued, “Then, you two will retire to one of those tables, most hopelistically the one nearest the door, and let out your troubles in the form of cooperative drinkery!” He paused, reached into the left side of his suit, and pulled out a pack of ordinary playing cards, which he sat before Washer with a flourish. “This should give you something to finagle with while you drink.” He paused to turn in his chair and face the rest of the barroom. “Hell...” he muttered, “You can also partake in the use of that pool table and that etherilic ball-pin machine.” He turned back to Jack and smiled. “Do you not agree with my logisticry, Mr. Bartender?”

Jack frowned, and his stomach gave a little gurgle. ‘I may be a bartender, but I don’t like the idea of people recklessly drinking themselves stupid for no good reason.’ Knowing better than to flat-out deny White’s offer, he turned to Washer and Parsons instead. “What do you think about Mr. White’s idea?” he asked.

“I think it sounds on the up-and-up!” Parsons blurted quickly. Washer merely nodded his head in agreement.

“Uh... are you sure...?” muttered Jack, wiping his brow.

“On a footnote,” White added, “It will give us a most centrific opportunity to speak mano a mano about varied things.” He gave Jack a most significant look.

In a flash of realization, Jack realized that White had likely been hoping to speak to him ‘mano a mano’ all along. Ignoring the gurgle of his stomach, he slowly nodded and muttered, “Very well.”

White clapped his hands together; his smile stretched to almost impossible proportions. “Splendiferous! Now, if my poor fluxed friends would so kindly take their leave...,” He fixed Washer and Parsons with a piercing glare.

“Of course, Mr. White, of course!” said Parsons, obviously thankful that he was getting away from Jack and his questions. “And thanks for the hooch! Come on, private.” He grabbed the whisky bottle, shot glasses, and playing cards before lifting Washer from his seat and steering him towards the other end of the room.

White chuckled as he watched them settle down near the bar door. “Now then, Mr. Bartender, we can converse in relative privatude, can we not?”

“Yep,” said Jack matter-of-factly. ‘I don’t know where he’s wants to say to me,’ he thought to himself, ‘but I have an unsettling feeling that it’s going to be something huge.’

-------------

Okay, wasn't that fantabulistic? Obviously, the next part's going to involve some intense one-on-one banter. Also, I'll manage to reveal the identity of Jack's Edgeworth equivilant (though I put at least one, if not two, half-decent clues in the story within this post). Now, what can I waste time mentioning...

New OC's... joy!: Obviously, the new guy in this section is PP P. Parsons, a man that had been verbally mentioned in III-2 and III-3. Techincally the millitary quirks are a bit canon-bending, as the Public ("Chief") Prosecutor Redd White talked to in the game sounded like nothing more than a nervous desk jockey. However, since he's so nervous around White, I can merely plead plausable deniablity as far as that quirk goes. I try to make most of my OCs (aside from Jack) fill some sort of hole in GS Canon... just as Washer and Donny (!) do.

Additionally, I mentioned a man known as Neville Specter... this is the Chief of Detectives, a.k.a. that nervous, oblivious man who sits in the back of the Police Department doing anything but what he's supposed to do. Expect him to make an in-bar appearance in Episode IV.

Real-Life References: I made three of these that are significant enough to mention, I'm going to single them out and pick them apart because I think it's fun.

Pinball Magic Pinball Machine: This is a real pinball machine that was made in 1995. Why did I mention it in the fic? Because it happens to be made by some no-named company called 'Capcom'. Just an homage to the great corporation here.

Useless Sticks of Wax: A subtle reference to the Head-On product, which consists of wax and not enough active ingredients to do anything whatsoever. Obviously, the State's not the best in delagating money to science here...

Wiseguy Whisky: A parody of Wiser's, a high-quality Whisky brand distilled in Canada. While the actual drinks are only secondary to the plot in my fic (shhh...), I figured it'd be appropriate to knock off a real alcohol brand every now and then.

And that's all I can muster. I'm sure there's weird typoes here and there throughout all the preciding post; forgive me for fatigue is now starting to set in. (It took me 90 minutes to make this post...) Note (once again) that once I finish Episode III I'm going to try and pick up a beta or three and start re-posting this story on FF.net, the main CR site, and maybe even one or two other places if I get lucky.

However, that will come later, so... whoosh!

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Fantabulismistic!

only thing I could find was:

"Parsons’ eyes bulged; it appeared that he know longer knew exactly what to say."

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Weeeeeeee! New chapter! Before I get to 'reviewing' I'm going to try and solve the Mystery of Jack's Edgeworth...
Okay, here's the list of people I guessed in the old topic-
Lana
Franziska
Chinami
Godot
Maggey
Garyuu
Blue Badger
Sahwit
Dr Stiles (Don't ask...)
Now, I'm gonna remove all the completely random guesses, and all the guys, considering your comment in the old topic.
Lana
Franziska
Maggey
Alright, now's where I could enter the realms of random guessing, but after reading through the latest chapter a couple of times, I think I've found a clue...

Now why would Jack pause 'poignantly' at the mention of Lana? And why would he call her Chief 'Lana' as opposed to Chief 'Skye'?
*Pursuit~ Cornered plays*
Because Lana is Jack's Edgeworth!
...
I'm completely wrong aren't I?


Anyway, moving on to my 'review'. Another lovely chapter, there. You've nailed Redd White, (although it did take me a little while to work out what the hell he was saying a few times, but that's no different to in-game), and I presume Mr Busman was under White's thumb as well? I've found one typo,

but it may be intentional, considering it's Redd White talking...
Also, I've said said it before and I'll say it again, the real-life and in-game references you put in your writing are one of the main reasons that I check your fanfic for updates pretty much every time I come on here.
I'm looking forward to the next chapter, so don't go throwing yourself under any buses, OK?

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Last edited by Impulse on Sun May 06, 2007 5:36 pm, edited 1 time in total.

Whoop, new update =D
This chapter is love as usual. I...really don't have much in the way of coherent comments to make right now >>; I loved the head-on reference and cliffhanger, though =)

Also, most of your fans are girls from the ages of 12-16 because...um...girls from the ages of 12-16 like reading about lawyers in bars o.0 Who'da thunk it?

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I swear I'll get around to reading this. This week.

You have my word.

AND MY AXE.

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Ah, finally came back to this after the forum transfer. These new chapters are great! keep up the good work!

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No... I'm not missing in action. Graduation preparations are quite strenuous, and that's all I have to say about that.

I wish I could go through with my usual ritual, but I'm simply too fatigued. I don't want it to be more than a month between updates, so heres the next 10,000 words or so of III-5. I think I've made this one chapter TOO epic... 17,000 words and I'm still only 2/3 done. (I think I'll keep it split in three when I post it on websites... if it weren't for my viginette formatting the size of this climax would make the rest of my fic dull in comparison)

Anyway, read and comment; I'll try to provide more background to this horrifically long exchange when I have the time and sanity.

-------------

“Now then,” began White, his voice fairly serious, “Before we dispense with the conversations, might I suggest you vend me another Cosmopolitan? It would be most prudential to have one as we vocate with one another.”

“All right,” said Jack plainly. As he obtained the ingredients, he decided that there was no longer any point in prolonging the inevitable. “So, Mr. White... what is it that you want to talk to me about? I presume it has to do with what you and Mr. Washer were talking about yesterday...”

Somewhat predictably, White smiled and nodded. “That would be abso-posi-lutely correct, Mr. Bartender! Of course, such conclusives are not exactly difficult to drive to...”

“Right, right...” muttered Jack dismissively. “So... what exactly did Mr. Washer mention that made you decide to stop by?”

“Nothing in particulate,” White declared, derisively shaking his head. “To be honest, what Wash-up told me was merely a tokenesque amount of information, enough to invigorate my senses and want to learn more.”

“Okay...” said Jack absently. “So you came here... to learn more about me? Why?”

“To be quite plaintive, I found you to a rather... interest-worthy person, do you not understand?”

“I guess,” muttered Jack softly. In spite of himself, he smiled as he finished stirring White’s cosmopolitan. He sat it in front of the pompous man with nothing more than a thin smile. “So, Mr. White. What do you want to know?”

As he gently sipped his drink, White’s face took on an expression that was almost pensive. “To be blunt, I would like to learn anything that you are willing to impart upon my personage.” Noticing that Jack was sending him a confused expression, he added, “Why don’t you commence by conveying to me the story of your lifetime?”

‘My life story? That’s a quite a tall glass of information he’s ordering,’ thought Jack tersely. He mulled the request over for nearly half a minute before making a decision. ‘I’ll just give him a little of what he wants, and try to get some information out of him when I’m done.’

“Well, Mr. Bartender? What reason have you for such a long pauselation?”

Jack sighed and shook his head. “Sorry... just thinking of where to begin, that’s all.” Taking a deep breath, he began by plainly stating, “My life has been, for the most part, a rather simple one. I was born in December of ‘88, and I lived my childhood in a fairly decent section of District City... the Northwest Suburbs, to be precise. The days of my youth (he suppressed a chuckle as he used one of Mr. Grossberg’s favorite phrases) were rather pleasant; I had two loving parents and plenty of good friends. When I graduated from the local high school—that would have been in ‘07, mind you—I honestly had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. I enrolled in one of the local colleges as a business major... but I didn’t really enjoy it, and my grades were hardly what you’d call the best. After my freshman year, I dropped out, and started working odd jobs in order to earn enough money to do something else with my life.”

“That sounds most arduous, dear Bartender. Continue,” muttered White, his arms crossed.

‘He doesn’t seem to be as interested as I figured he would,’ thought Jack confusedly. Shaking his head, he continued, “I drifted from job to job for the next two years, not really making much of an impact anywhere. At the time, I was afraid I’d be living that way forever—but I got kind of lucky.”

“Do continue,” said White, his expression still strangely bored.

Adjusting his collar nervously, Jack continued, “When I was 21, I... er, managed to get access to a rather decent amount of money. It wasn’t a huge amount, mind you, but it was enough that I was able to stop working my butt off for a time. Not knowing what to do with myself, I bought myself a plane ticket and flew across the seas to Europe. When I first went there, I was only planning to stay for maybe two or three weeks, but I was having so much fun living the good life that I ended up staying for well over a year overall.”

“I see,” said White, his voice still oddly detached. “What did you do on such a lengthful excursion?”

“Normal stuff,” said Jack simply. “Saw the sights, stayed in hotels... you know, tourist stuff. I went everywhere: France, Britain, Germany, Italy, Spain, Bolognia, the Netherlands... it was what you’d call a total trip, to be honest.”

“That sounds quite plausonable,” muttered White. “And why did you return here?”

Jack awkwardly scratched at the back of his head. “To be quite honest, my funds were starting to get low. It’s probably a good thing, too: by the end, I was really getting tired of the excessiveness of it all. So I moved back here and got a place in the city. Only problem was I still didn’t know what to do with my life.”

White merely sipped his drink, his face still pensive.

‘Better get this finished with.’ “So,” continued Jack, wiping the sweat from his forehead, “I started combing the papers, and I read about a place in the city that offered bartending courses. I’d always been fascinated by all the whimsy and skill the bartenders in Europe showed, so I thought, ‘Why not?’ I aced my way through the courses over the, er, course of a year. It wasn’t very long after I got my license that my friend told me about the position here opening up. When I heard the specifics, I knew that the Golden Gavel was the place for me.”

White lifted his head a bit. “Is that it?”

“Yep, that’s it. I don’t really have what you’d call a very interesting life, you know?”

Only now did White lift his head and smile. “That is only your opinion, Mr. Bartender.”

“Really?” asked Jack. ‘What’s he playing at?’

“That would be an affirmatory! And by that, I mean yes.”

“And why do you think that?”

“The facts are quite simplistic. While you have given me a summation of your life that definitely isn’t a suspect, you have failed to speak at length of the most prominent part: the time you’ve spent peddling alcohols in this drink-conservatory!”

‘I’d better play dumb, here.’ “And exactly why would that be of any interest to you?” Jack asked, fixing his eyes upon his hands.

“Oh, come now,” White said dismissively. “I and you both understand that this is a most specialistic establishment we are conversing within. This, like the many drinkeries that only personages of my ilk can attend, is a place that possesses considerable exclusitivity. Am I not correct?”

Jack merely nodded and wondered where White was going with such flattery.

“Thus, having access to a legalistic clientele that no one else can proclaim, it’s sensical to say that you’ve partaken in many... interesting conversations during your three year tenure.”

“I guess you could say that...”

“But of course!” White’s eyes were practically sparkling as he smoothly sipped at his cocktail. “Now then... continuing with such proper logistics, it only stands towards reason that you would have had access to some rather... how should I say... restrictive information? By which, of course, I mean things that are not released to the whimsy of the general public.”

‘I don’t think I’m going to like this,’ thought Jack, waiting for the flamboyant CEO to continue.

“After all, it is a rather common fact that drink-ushers tend to hear things that many persons do not here. Of course,” he added quietly, “I’ve also confirmated this fact a number of times from experience.”

“I guess I’ve heard some stuff over the years,” muttered Jack, tersely crossing his arms. “What of it, Mr. White?”

White paused to glance over his shoulder at Parsons and Washer; the two men were enthusiastically drinking at the other end of the room and paying the bar area no attention at all. Satisfied that he was not being watched, he turned back to Jack, laced his fingers together, and stated, “I have a proposal for you, Mr. Bartender.”

“A... proposal?” Jack said slowly.

“Indeed, a proposal!” White’s voice was low and confident as he explained, “My organization—Bluecorp, that is—has been made an uncountable number of advancements in the field of information gathering ever since I first initiated it back in twenty hundred and six. A large portion of our business model involves the things that you had partaken in mentioning a numeration of minutes ago: gathering the basic consumerist statistics of various personages and creating profiles that could be properly exported to various smaller conglomerates—for a weighty fee, of course. However, there is more to any business or personage than that which can be sighted by the eye, and Bluecorp is no exception.”

“That’s a nice bit of philosophy you’ve got there,” Jack said blankly, “But what does that have to do with me or any ‘proposal’?”

“Quietude! I am getting to that!” He allowed himself one more feverish glance around the room before continuing, “Bluecorp consists of two sectors: one for the gathering of public information, and one for the more, shall I say, subtlelicious sorts of facts and details.”

A bead of sweat rolled down Jack’s forehead. “Subtlelicious...?”

“A central part of my company... the heart, if you may iterate, involves the gathering of information for the sake of various investigations. Such operations are ineffably delicate... and thus, they do not receive as much attention as our more basic matters.”

Jack frowned. “So... you’re running some sort of detective agency, then?”

“But of course! After all, there are many esteemed personages in need of a bit of information. When I realized that this grand opportunity existed so many years ago, I had no choice but to throw myself into the proverbial ring.” White paused and shifted his hands; again, the rings and jewels that adorned his body gleamed in reflected light. “And... as you can see, Mr. Bartender, I have succeeded most splendiferously thanks to these endeavors.”

“I guess I can’t deny that,” said Jack, chuckling blandly. “You still haven’t explained why that has anything to do with a proposal, though...”

White merely laughed. “Must I make my words obvious to the point of ridiculosity? I would like to add your most humble personage to my core organization!”

‘Looks like I’ve hit the “jackpot”,’ Jack thought sardonically. “So... if I were to become a part of your most wonderful organization, what would I have to do?”

Now, White crossed his arms, a thoughtful expression working its way onto his face. “Your tasks would be quite simplistic, Mr. Bartender,” he said bluntly. “I am well aware that you are quite proficient at conversing with your various patrons. It would be imperative that you continue to utilize that skill. Upon certain occasions, I would be able to schedule a meet with you so that I may inquire upon anything Bluecorp needs to know.”

‘Yep, I was right. I really don’t like the sound of this,’ thought Jack. Knowing better than to refute the flamboyant man in the middle of such a critical lecture, he merely nodded and asked, “Would that be all I need to do, Mr. White?”

White’s oft-present smile faulted for an instant. “Well, it would be quite unproper of me to say that, wouldn’t it? In all honesty, there would be occasions—very rare occasions, if I may add, in which I would task you with gaining data on a particular subject. It is to be expected, of course, that I would only do this for highly imperative clients, and thus, should not be too ginormous a worry. Do you not understand me?”

‘Loud and clear, Mr. White, loud and clear.’ Jack absently glanced towards the bar’s tiny window a moment in an attempt to gather his thoughts.

“Well, what of it, Mr. Bartender? I know this an offer of most auspicious magnitude, but your silence is quite irking...”

‘Now... I know he’s not going to like this.’ Brushing some stray hair away from his face, Jack gave White a wary smile. “I’m quite sorry, Mr. White,” he said coolly, “But I think I’m going to have to turn down your offer.”

Someone predictably, White’s eyes snapped to Jack’s face and widened in surprise. “A thousand apolitudes, but what did you just say? I’m fairly ascertained that I did not hear you correctly.”

“You heard me,” said Jack, absently staring at the spot just over his overbearing customer’s violet hair. “I’m politely declining your proposition to have me become a part of your... corporation.” He made sure to add a light note of disdain on the final word.

For a brief moment, White’s lips gave an ominous twitch, but he quickly returned to his normal smiling composition. “Well... if that is the case, may I be so bolded as to inquire why...?”

‘Better soften the blow, here.’ Shaking his head slightly, Jack stated, “It... isn’t in me.”

“‘Isn’t in you’? What kind of bluntesque statement is that?”

Jack allowed himself to again look directly at Mr. White’s ever-smiling face. “I’m just not the type of person who likes to spy on people, that’s all.”

White frowned and crossed his arms in defiance. “I would hardly confuse the most influential information-gathering industry in the District with brutal spying, Mr. Bartender. It is a great insult that you would make such a quip at my corporation’s expense.”

Jack paused and glanced around the room; everything was as still as ever save the two lawyers quietly getting drunk at the other end of the room. “I’m sorry, but I call them as I hear them. There’s no way around it.”

“But, I must digress-”

“Sorry, but there’s no digressing here, Mr. White,” Jack said, his tone suddenly firm. “It’s not ‘information gathering’, it’s spying. Just because you put some turkey gravy into a fancy snifter doesn’t suddenly make it a fine cognac, after all.”

Jack smirked as White finally let his mouth open in shock. “That is, without a doubt, one of the most questionable analogisms I have ever heard,” he said slowly. As if suddenly realizing his break in composure, he rapidly shook his head and the grandiose smile returned to his face. “Perhaps you are not yet in complete comprehension of the benefits involved with joining my company’s most valuable service. If you were to give me but a pimento of the information Bluecorp requires, I would find it well within my affluence to make sure you are justly rewarded for your hard work.” He furthered his point by allowing his jewelry to sparkle in Jack’s face once more.

‘Nice try, but it’s not going to work.’ Shaking his head, Jack said, “Were you not listening when I told you my story, Mr. White? I grew tired of excessive living years ago, before I even took this job! Money may be a necessity in this world, but I really have any pressing need for more than I have now.” He paused and scratched his chin in thought. “Besides, I just don’t have it in me to keep tabs on my customers, many of whom are my friends.” Jack paused again to take a deep breath; he didn’t know exactly how someone as self-assured as Mr. White would take his next statement. “And... if I may speak more broadly, Mr. White, sir, your so-called detective agency just doesn’t sound like a very... clean way of doing business.”

As Jack expected, White’s eyes flashed with outrage, but aside from that his jovial expression remained unchanged. “That is nothing more than a flat statement from an even flatter man, Mr. Bartender.” He paused and leaned forward slightly. “Asides, if I may express my own opinion... ‘Cleanliness’ is nothing more than a world for deluded simpletons. Business is all survival for the strongmen. If you are unwilling to get yourself a bit sloppy, your moralisms will take you nowhere.”

“Well, I’ve made a pretty good name for myself here without any of that,” Jack said plainly. “None of your little insults are going to make me change what I believe about the world around me.”

As he downed the last of his second drink, White’s face appeared fairly pensive. “Have I been insulting you, dear Bartender? For that, I must apologize,” he said, bowing his head.

“Er, okay,” muttered Jack, surprised that White was willing to apologize to him after he’d unkindly badmouthed White’s precious Bluecorp corporation.

“Perhaps I have misunderestimated you,” White continued, his tone still bizarrely contrite. “There is more than one way to peel a banana, after all.”

Jack merely stared; once again, he had no idea exactly what his irksome customer was going to say next.

“You see, what you said just now reminded me of something myself and Mr. Wash-up had touched on when we were conversing one day before.”

“Really? And that would be...?”

“Is it not obvious? Your aptitude, by which I mean your liking, of conspiratory theoretics!”

“Uh... you mean conspiracy theories?” asked Jack, sweating.

“That would be a correction!” White exclaimed exuberantly. “Though Wash-up only mentioned it a singular time during our telephone conversation, I managed to speak to him at length on the subject as we consummated our suppers later on.”

Jack’s stomach twitched slightly; he absently rubbed it to help relieve this discomfort. “So... exactly what part of my so-called ‘liking’ did you talk about for so long?”

White allowed himself a chuckle. “Again, the answer is fairly forward-straight, Mr. Bartender. We conversed at length about your deluded outlooks towards Ms. Mia Fey’s murder case!”

Taken aback by the swift change of subjects, Jack jumped backwards in surprise. “How dare you say my ‘outlooks’ are deluded!” he snapped, his hands on his hips. “It doesn’t matter what you and Washer (he spared a glance at the DA and his prosecuting companion; they were now playing a sloppy game of cards at their table on the other end of the room) were yapping about last night; it doesn’t give you the right to jump to any conclusions!”

White shrugged and shook his head. “And that is where you leave the path to correctitude, dear bartender. After all, I possess an aptitude towards that trial that you, like most personages, simply do not.”

“I don’t follow...”

Again, White shrugged. “Come now. There exists a public link, albeit a small one, between myself and the before mentioned events. Given how, earlier, you claimed to be oh-so close to Ms. Mia; did you not put this thing on mental notice?”

“A... ‘Thing’?” Jack pondered the question for half a second before being struck by the obvious. “Oh!” he snapped. “The new defendant, Mr. Wright, was on your company’s property when he got arrested!”

White chuckled. “That is something I cannot deny, dear Bartender. Now, allow me to ask you something else. Why was foolish attorney arrested at the offices of Bluecorp, of all places?”

‘That’s definitely an important question. I’m surprised he’s bringing it up.’ Thinking back to the newspaper Donny had given him, Jack replied, “Well, the Examiner said he was ‘taking his investigations too far’ or something like that.”

“Ah hah! So you have been paying attention to events, after all! That will make things much more simplistic for you...”

“‘Simplistic’? Why’s that?”

“Allow me to ask you another question, then, Mr. Bartender. Why was it on my property that that man was charged for his crime?”

Jack frowned. “I’m not sure.”

“I will tell you, then. That foolish lawyer was incarcerated because he was spotted by the critical witness.’

“‘Critical witness...’?”

“But of course! The most critical personage who, having witnessed the most horridific actions of that murderous Mr. Lawyer a trio of days ago, was able to identify him last evening after a most fate-worthy collision of paths!”

Jack looked to the ceiling as his brows knitted in thought. ‘If that were really true, than why wasn’t Mr. Wright arrested in the first place?’ With a sigh, he asked, “And this person would be...?”

Now, White let out a hearty laugh. “Come now, Mr. Bartender, there is no need to play dumb. I believe it is most apparent that I am speaking of none other than myself!”

Jack’s stomach gave an ominous lurch as his mouth opened in shock. ‘I should have known...’ Regaining his composure, he merely asked, “You?”

“That would be a correction! It is actually quite lucky that I managed to report him out! After all, otherwise, who knows what would have happened?”

As he nodded politely, Jack’s mind was rapidly shifting into overdrive. ‘Okay, so he didn’t bother to mention being the witness when I first brought up the case, and he let Washer and Parsons (who KNEW he was the witness) shake like leaves. And, if that weren’t enough, how could a man who’s got dozens of people searching for information 24-7 take two days to tell someone that the courts made a mistake in finding a killer?’ Absently, he wrinkled his nose. ‘It’s just as I’d suspected. There’s something seriously rotten going on here.’

“Are you all right, dear drink-usher? I know that must have been quite an impaction on your already befuddled head, but there’s no need to look ill over it!”

‘I’m only appearing “ill” because I’m NOT befuddled, you fool.’ Making an effort to not appear weak or suspicious, Jack asked, “Why, exactly, are you... making this known to me, Mr. White?”

White shrugged. “I am attempting to offer you a service, Mr. Bartender. Over the length of my conversation, I have realized that you do not seem to consider me the most trustful of personages. I am hoping that by deflating your impressions of oddities in Miss Mia Fey’s case, which is must obviously taking the majority part of your attention right now, I can prove that I am worthy of your respectitude, and thus reconsider your impressions of my most generous job offer.”

Jack frowned. ‘I don’t think there’s any way I’d be willing to change my mind on that issue. Thankfully, he doesn’t need to know that.’ Knowing this would be his only chance to get some real answers in regards to Mia’s murder, he feigned politeness and nodded. “I can see your point, and thank you for this opportunity, Mr. White. Why don’t you tell me what you can about what you saw, and then I’ll see if everything checks out.”

“Splendiferous! If you will make me but one more lovely Cosmopolitan, Mr. Bartender, I will commence.”

Jack nodded and once again gathered together the ingredients; he only made the drink instinctively as he listened to its owner’s words.

“Three nights ago, I was staying at the Gatewater Hotel with my secretariat, Ms. April May. At 9:00, I was quietly perusifying, or, in simpler terms, reading, some papers near the window. It was at that very moment that I heard a bedlam coming from outside! In my surprise, I turned to look at the building that was across the way. It was at that moment that I saw her: A long-haired woman, being attacked by a man with spiky hair! Obviously, that man was the new defendant, the foolish young attorney! Upon seeing such a horrific scene, I called Ms. May over post haste! She, of course, was horrifified as well. The victim then ran off, to the left if I recall, but the man gave chase! In the end, there was a terrible impaction! Thus, it was all over...”

Jack made use of the time spent shaking White’s vodka and triple sec concoction in order to process what he’d just heard. ‘Judging by how concise he was; that’s probably what he’s going to say in court tomorrow. But if my gut feelings are correct, that can’t be the truth... I’m going to have to play lawyer and see if I can get him to say something that I know is wrong. Hopefully, I’ll be able to figure out the realities of Mia’s death from there.’

Decanting White’s drink into an empty martini glass, Jack asked, “So you and April may were sharing a room together? Why would you be doing that?”

Surprisingly, White let out a hearty laugh. “I may be a personage of great importance, but even I still feel the need to spend the day with a sweet young woman and ‘get away from it all’, so to speak. It is most certain that our activities (he waggled his eyebrows) have no relevancy to what I witnessed.”

“Of course,” muttered Jack, willing himself not to blush. ‘However, that raises a very important point.’ Deftly waving a lemon-slice garnish in the air, he asked, “All innuendo aside, Mr. White, what about the fact that Ms. May was using a wiretapping device on Miss Fey’s phone? That’s hardly a typical activity two people do when they’re trying to ‘get away from it all.’”

White merely shrugged and shook his head. “I assure you, Mr. Bartender, I knew nothing of my secretariat’s actions! That is a separate crime that has no bearing upon what I witnessed! Asides, it would be hardly possible for me to condone such underhanded methods!”

‘You mean like trying to hire a bartender to become your informant?’ Jack clenched his one hand and sighed, that particular “contradiction” wouldn’t really get him anywhere, the way White was acting. Jack decided he’d have to press something else. “So... you definitely saw Mr. Wright murder Ms. Fey with your own two eyes?”

“That would be most correct!” White exclaimed. “It was, as I said, a horrific thing to behold, but my eyes do not tell lies.”

‘Of course they don’t. Your brain, on the other hand, is a different story.’ “So, Mr. White, you said that Mr. Wright cornered Ms. Fey, and that’s when she tried to run away?”

“Abso-posi-lutely, Mr. Bartender! That nasty Mr. Lawyer snuck up on his victim most insidiously. She ran off to the left, presumably towards the door, but she simply wasn’t fast enough. Her death is a tale of much tradidgery, I must admit.”

As he stared at Mr. White’s (rather poor) attempt at looking disheartened, Jack let out a deep sigh. ]‘I know there’s got to be something way off about this guy... and yet, nothing he said sticks out enough for me to deny it. Thankfully, it’s his actions that make him stand out, far more than his words.’

“Believe me; I know all too well about how sad Ms. Fey’s death is,” Jack said seriously. “But, if I can be quite honest, it’s not the actual murder itself I’m very interested in. Do you mind if I ask you some other questions instead?”

White looked thoughtful for a few seconds, and then exuberantly nodded. “What kind of personage would I possess were I not to let you gain what you seek?” he asked declaratively. “Of course, I can only ask but one thing in return...”

‘Uh-oh.’ “And that would be...?”

“That you would give to me my most beloved drink, which you have been twirling in your hand for a trio of minutes now.”

‘Oh.’ Suppressing his embarrassment, he smiled and sat the cosmopolitan before White in a single deft moment. “I apologize for my distraction, Mr. White. This case obviously preoccupies me.”

“Think nothing of it, dear bartender. Now then, your questions...?”

‘Let’s start with the most obviously glaring thing on the list, then.’ Placing a single hand against the bar, he asked, “What I want you to tell me is quite simple, Mr. White. Given the fact that you clearly saw Ms. Fey get killed by her underling, Mr. Wright, why did you let the blame fall on Maya Fey for two days?” Grimacing, he lifted the hand and let it fall back to the bar with a smack. “Surely a person as... knowledgeable as yourself would have been able to say something beforehand... if not immediately, then assuredly before the start of the trial.”

White appeared fairly surprised at hearing such a question, but his countenance was, in this case, nigh-unbreakable. “You are passionate about things you do not completely understand, dear bartender. How should I iterate this...?” He paused. “Though I may look like an incorrigibly strong person, even I have rare instances of weakliness. Upon witnessing Ms. Mia’s most horrible death... I became afraid. As soon as I was able, I departed for my home and secludilated myself there for quite a duration. In an effort to fortify myself I avoided the newspaper and television reports, and thus did not realize that Ms. Mia’s dear sister had taken the fall. It was only upon returning to my offices last night that I ran into the true killer, and, despite my renewed horrifications, quickly informed some constables so that he received the arrest he deserved.”

‘I’m surprised; he doesn’t really sound like he’s lying through his teeth. There is, however, one thing I don’t get...’

“Mr. White,” Jack said bluntly.

“Yes?”

“I can see why even a... phantasmal man such as yourself would be afraid upon witnessing a murder, but...”

“But what?”

Again, Jack placed a hand on the bar and leaned towards his customer. “But... why didn’t the police question you for your side of the story? Not only was Maya Fey wrongly implicated by the judicial system, but your very presence as a witness was hidden by the courts! How could your entire involvement possibly be deleted like that?”

White looked shocked for the briefest of moments; he covered it up by taking a large sip of his drink. “Well, you see, Mr. Bartender,” he muttered, crossing his arms.

“See what?”

“You see... it’s like this,” he muttered, his face still unusually dispassionate. “I left the hotel room rather quickly, and the police didn’t really discern my presence until afterwards. They wanted me to... er, tell my story, but... I was, as I said, unconsolable at the time. Thus, they left me alone until I realized their error.”

“No offense, but doesn’t that sound kind of fishy, Mr. White? Surely, if the police department comes across a witness, they’ll do everything to make sure he’s at least thoroughly interrogated, if not officially prepared for the witness stand.”

“Er, well-” White sipped at his drink again, “-to be quite simplistic, I am a personage of considerable importance, and thus, the police... respect my wishes.” Sitting up straight, he added, “I assure you, they did do everything they could.”

‘Hmmm... I might not be a mind-reader, but I’m fairly sure you’re stonewalling me. Time to try yet another angle.’

“So, Mr. Bartender... Are you satisfied with our communiqué?”

“Almost,” Jack said tonelessly. “There’s just one more thing I need to understand...”

“Ask away, if you must...”

“How did Mr. Wright’s actual arrest go? The papers didn’t really explain much on that particular issue.”

White raised an eyebrow? “Does that really have any signifitude? What matters is that Mr. Lawyer will pay for Ms. Mia’s death.”

Jack frowned and nodded. “I’m just trying to understand how things got to be the way they are, Mr. White. Once I understand that, I shouldn’t have to cling to ‘conspiracies’ any longer.”

“Oh, very well,” muttered White, frowning. “The events of Mr. Lawyer’s arrest are very simple. Having partially recupricated from the shock of seeing that horrific murder, I thought it best to return to my position as ‘El Presidente’ of my beloved company. Sadly, it seemed that a personage such as I simply could not garner a break! Shortly after entering my building, I came head to head with that man’s horrendously spiked visage! Thankfully, he did not recognize me, and thus I immediately called for the building’s security forces, as well as the local constables. That sneaky Mr. Lawyer tried to flee the scene, but he couldn’t escape the long appendages of the law!” He sipped at his drink appreciatively. “It would be quite difficult for you to comprestand how relieved I was when that man took him down...”

Jack absently stared at the ceiling as he contemplated White’s latest words. ‘I wish I’d heard more about Wright’s arrest than what I read in that stupid little newspaper article,’ he thought glumly. ‘Nothing really stands out as inaccurate or odd... except...’

“Mr. White,” stated Jack, standing up straight and crossing his arms.

“Oh, what is it now, Mr. Bartender?”

“What do you mean by ‘that man taking him down’? Are you talking about the police station or something?”

White spared a quick glance around the room before breaking into a hearty laugh. “Of course not, dear bartender! I am, in fact, speaking of when that bumbling detective took the man down the stairs and out of my sight! As I mentioned, it was a most indeniable relief.”

Jack made a curious noise. ‘Did he just say what I think he just said? If so, I think I can trap him...’ Steeling himself for verbal impact, Jack leaned forward and grabbed the bar counter with both hands. “Mr. White,” he stated bluntly. “I hate to accuse, but what you just said sounded rather... off.”

White wasn’t the least bit phased. “Oh? How so?”

“You said that a ‘detective’ took Mr. Wright ‘down the stairs’. Pardon me if I’m wrong, but I could have sworn that I read the arrest took place outside the building. If that’s true, exactly what stairs are you talking about?”

White’s mouth dropped open for a brief moment; he sipped his cosmopolitan in lieu of saying any words. Only when he had finished taking a rather lengthy draught did he cross his arms and mutter, “There’s no need to sound so... forceful, now, Mr. Bartender.” Snapping back to his normal haughtiness, he added, “It’s rather logistic that I’m referring to the stairs at the front of my building! Does that not quell your infernal nit-pickery?”

Jack shook his head; he was struggling to keep a smile from forming on his face. ‘Wow... I actually caught him in a lie. Let’s see where he leads me once I rub it in his face.’ Putting on his best neutral expression, he said, “Got you, Mr. White.”

“I beg your pardons?”

“I said, ‘Got you’.” Tapping a finger to his temple, he continued, “I know you don’t think I’m the smartest person around, and, most of the time, I’d honestly agree with you. However... you’ve finally ‘misunderestimated’ me one time too many!”

“Really? And why would you say that?”

Now, Jack did allow himself to smile as he reached under the bar and grabbed the newspaper he’d put there so long ago. Unfolding it with relish, he said, “You say you speak of the stairs in front of your building? I say you’re wrong. After all-” he placed the paper before White so that he could see- “Isn’t that the front of your building-” he tapped a finger against the photo of the obviously stair-free blue structure- “Right there?”

White’s mouth now dropped open for more than a second; Jack felt an odd satisfaction as he watched a single bead of sweat roll down his forehead. “I am guessing that is correct,” he muttered, placing both fists against the table. He shook his head several times, but only managed to partially regain his composure. “So, then... exactly what did you prove by pointing out my mind-absence?”

‘Think things through, Jack. Better to overshoot the mark than fail to approach the target.’ Staring towards the ceiling, Jack said, “Since there are no stairs anywhere near the front of your office building, it’s obvious that the so-called capture of Mr. Wright didn’t occur where this stupid paper said it did. Obviously, things must have taken place higher up in the building...” Jack paused and gave White’s jewel-encrusted suit an appraising glance. “Perhaps in the top-story office that any decent company president would be expected to have?”

White’s mouth again dropped open; apparently Jack’s speculation had struck gold.

Before his customer could attempt to further defend himself, Jack smacked a palm against the bar and continued, “Plus, if you don’t mind me repeating myself, you said that Mr. Wright was ‘taken down’ by a single ‘detective’. This article, however, clearly says that he was ‘arraigned by several police officers’! Clearly, both the location and nature of the arrest are contradictions!”

White was now visibly sweating. “So... might I re-state... what exactly did you prove?” Though his voice was still forceful, it was beginning to waver.

Jack frowned and crossed his arms. “It’s fairly easy to see that, if the newspaper needed information on this arrest, it would look no further than you to give the order and circumstances in which things... went down. Judging by the way you’re acting, the newspaper account is undoubtedly false, and thus... the source of the lies in this article... was you!” Smiling in triumph, Jack allowed himself to point a finger straight at White’s pompous face.

Clearly nervous, White quickly looked around the room once more. Seeing that Washer and Parsons were completely distracted by the whimsy of the pinball machine, he turned back to Jack... and laughed.

“Oho! That’s... quite a tale you’re spinificating right there. Surely, a so-called intelligent person such as you can faithfully discern the flawities in your argument!”

“Flawities...?”

“Yes, flawities! You are not in need of an ear exultation, are you, Mr. Bartender?” He paused to chuckle as he sipped some more light red liquid out of his martini glass. “Exalted personage though I may be, this here periodical would have to verificate, or make sure of, my words with background research, would it not?”

Jack thought about that, and frowned. ‘He does have a point there...’ “I guess it would,” he admitted out loud.

“Ha! So... if what you claim to be false actually was a falsity, it would have been unproven through the efforts of the people at the publishing company.” He shook his head and laughed again; a huge smile consumed his face as he continued, “I don’t have the meanifications to force them to see things my way without... awkward situations, after all. Do you not understand?”

Jack was about to mutter an agreement, but he clamped his mouth shut as he mentally absorbed the full impact of White’s words. ‘He says he can’t force people without “awkward situations”, eh...? But... everything that’s been going on these past few days has been nothing but awkward!’

“Are you feeling all right?” White asked perplexedly. “Don’t inform me that your head is becoming inflected too...”

Holding up a hand, Jack finally chimed, “Don’t mind me. I just... realized... that I need to check something!” Without waiting for a response, Jack again reached underneath the bar and pulled out the list of oddities he’d written earlier that day.

“Would that be one of your drink-cost tabulations?” White asked, clearly confused.

“Yeah, sure,” Jack quipped. Thoughts flashed through his mind as his eyes raked his way up and down the list. ‘My beloved customer just made a big mistake, saying that. That arrogant smile of his... it just makes me want to...’ Jack’s train of thought briefly stopped as he physically shuttered. ‘All right, all right... What do I already know about this man?’ He allowed himself a brief glance at White’s pink-suited visage. ‘He’s a big shot; the head of a company that ‘gathers information’. Judging by the way he asked me to start keeping tabs on my friends for financial gain, he definitely already has a lot of other informants that are doing just that. And that wiretap his secretary was using... somehow, I doubt that Mr. White was really unaware of his underlings using such methods.’ Jack was starting to feel a bit hot under the collar; with his free hand he absently drew himself a glass of water from the sink faucet.

“Are you ascertained that you are not feeling ill?” snapped White, his tone still vaguely unsure.

Jack merely nodded before pressing the glass to his lips and taking a sip. Looking down at the list once more, he thought, ‘If Mr. White has a big company with plenty of cash resources, tons of people slipping him info for personal gain, and underlings that spy on people without anyone knowing the wiser... than he must have secret information on half the important people in this city! And with all that knowledge of things people want to stay hidden, he can force ‘awkward’ situations to happen at the snap of his fingers!’ Trying not to visibly shake, he managed to detachedly focus on each of the individual items on his list.

‘Maya’s arrest... that might have been an honest mistake at first, what with all the evidence pointing at her, but the local news was unusually savage—if White can make them report lies, he can probably make them exaggerate the ‘truth’. The evidence problems... Edgeworth was all frazzled over that call from Mr. Parsons-’ he spared a glance at the burly Public Prosecutor, who was now drunkenly cheering Washer as he played the pinball machine- ‘It’s fairly obvious that White’s got Parsons outflanked, now that I look at it; that might be why he scheduled that bizarre late night meeting, at the scene of the crime no less. Mr. Grossberg was practically hysterical when he talked about Mr. Wright taking Maya’s case two nights ago... he refused to explain what horrible thing Wright had gotten himself into... but it looks like I know now.

“My, my, Mr. Bartender, you’re getting more pale-like by the minute! Should I call in someone from the field of medicry?”

Jack wordlessly shook his head as he continued to emotionlessly sort out the list in his mind.

‘BOTH of the weird phone calls I’ve heard these past two days we’re from White, not just Washer’s; Grossberg’s crazy behavior pretty much confirms it.’ Jack’s realized his heart was hammering like mad as he looked into Mr. White’s face once again. ‘I’ve had so many questions... but it looks like all of the answers are pointing to one man. One man... and he’s sitting right in front of me.’

“Pardon my inquisitude, dear Bartender... but is there any reason you are placing your eyes upon me like that? It’s quite... distending.”

Jack took a big sip of water before averting his gaze. “My apologies, Mr. White,” he said in a conspicuously friendly tone, “but I’ve merely been thinking about some... interesting things. I assure you, there’s no need to be concerned.”

“Ridiculosity! Unload your thoughts, and I will see if I can, with my wonderful mind, provide some assistitude.”

‘You asked for it...’ Jack took a long draught of water before slowly nodding. He absently looked at the two manipulated lawyers across the room; they were still playing at the pinball machine and probably wouldn’t be any help anyway.

“Like I said when your two ‘friends’ were still sitting beside you, I’ve been watching the specifics of the Mia Fey murder trial very carefully. What I haven’t mentioned, however, is that not only have certain parts of the actual case struck me as off-key, but the actions of several people I know have recently been abnormal as well.”

White’s eyes flickered, but his face remained impassive. “And you are pontificating on this because...?”

“I am elaborating on this because... as these... observations have piled up, I’ve been constantly nagged by the impression that somewhere there was a link; a single hidden force that was somehow causing all of these... awkward situations.”

White chuckled. “I and you both know that those are the conclusifications of a typical head-in-the-clouds conspiracy theorist, Mr. Bartender.”

Jack shook his head in the negative and flashed an ironic smile of his own. “That too, had been what I tried to tell myself at first. After all, conspiracies are for cheap detective novels and tin-foil wearing recluses, are they not?” He held out a palm so that White wouldn’t interrupt. “This time, however, I’ve become very convinced that the conspiracy is real.”

“And what dare you mean by that?”

Again, Jack shook his head. “Now, now, Mr. White. There’s no need to play dumb anymore. Ever since you’ve made the mistake of walking into my bar, you’ve been rather intent on showing me how important you are, what with the money and fame you’ve earned in the field of ‘gathering information’.”

White didn’t look pleased. “If you insisted on slathering my title, I must demand an explanation-”

“-And you will get one,” Jack snapped. His voice trembling with conviction, he continued, “Considering your actions earlier this evening, the most obvious of which being your ‘proposal’ for me to spy on my customers, many of whom are my friends, I think it’s logical to assume that you have already used a lot of... less-than-legal methods in order to get information before. A lot of this information must be very secret... things people don’t want others to know. So, if you tell people that you have the ability to let their secrets slip, it’s fairly easy to conclude that they’ll be willing to do anything to keep you happy and follow your orders... no matter how many ‘awkward situations’ will arise.” Jack realized he was starting to sweat; he grabbed his glass of water and raised it to his lips with a slightly shaky motion of the arm. “So... mere bartender though I may be, I can put two and two together. The conspiracy is real, Mr. White... and the conspiracy is you.” He placed his hands against his hips and braced for impact but...

...It never came. As, White merely shrugged and laughed again, Jack held back a snarl of rage—was there no perturbing this man?

“That’s a cute little pronouncement you have there, Mr. Bartender. It is, however, most certainly lacking one thing.”

“Oh? And what is that?” Jack snapped.

“You claim that it is my personage behind your delusions, Mr. Bartender. That I am forcing everyone to say what I wish for them to say?” When Jack nodded, he continued, “That’s all well and good, but you haven’t addressed is that: For what reasons would I, your-so called conspiracy, do what you claim I have done?”

“W-what do you mean?” stammered Jack, now utterly confused.

“You outwardly point that I am the force behind all your observations, Mr. Bartender. If what you thought was, in actuality, realistic, why would I make things happen in the ‘odd’ ways they’ve happened? For what purpose would this affluence garner me gain?”

Jack made a low, thoughtful noise. ‘If I relax and think things through, I should be able to figure it out.’ Absently, he scratched at the back of his head. ‘Aside from Mr. White, there were three people that either saw or came across the crime scene. Maya Fey, who was arrested first; April May, a witness convicted on charges of wiretapping; and Phoenix Wright, who was at the scene and is now accused of the murder, thanks to this man. If the “conspiracy” truly is real, White first managed to force media pressure on Maya Fey in order to vilify her in the eyes of the public. He made sure that no veteran attorney would defend her (Grossberg’s actions confirm this) in the hopes that she’d get a quick guilty verdict.’

“Your eyebrows are exercising most ferociously, dear Bartender. Are you finally developing the head-pains that I mentioned before?”

Jack merely shook his head in annoyance; White had interrupted his train of thought. ‘However, Maya Fey didn’t get a quick guilty verdict. Somehow, Mr. Wright managed to both prolong the trial and figure out that there was another witness to the crime. While investigating, he went over to Bluecorp... and White had him arrested. So... what would he gain from this action? He would get the lawyer off his trail, and have him blamed for Mia’s death.’ Jack sipped his water and started rubbing a hand against his chin. ‘As a matter of fact, it seems that that crime is being pawned off to anyone that could’ve possibly committed it. Maya Fey, Phoenix Wright... he’s been trying to make others pay for the crime of killing Mia. And if they didn’t kill her, and that April May woman didn’t kill her (after all, Wright hadn’t found her out), then that means Mr. White’s the only person that could have...’ As if felled by a gunshot, Jack’s mind reeled as the answer became obvious.

“Dear God, Mr. Bartender! Now you are turning a most unsightable shade of vermillion! Whatever could be your illness now?”

Now that he’d pieced the key truth together in his head, Jack was beyond mincing words. “I’m not the sick one here, White.” he spat. “You are.”

White merely countered with one of his ridiculous shrugs. “Why, exactly what implitude do you mean by that?”

“Oh, come on!” Jack shouted. “Did you think I wouldn’t be able to figure things out? What you’re ‘garnering’ by being the master of manipulation is obvious: Your own ill-gotten freedom!”

Again, a shrug. “And for what reasons would my freedoms be, as you so brutalestically claim, gotten ill-ly?

Jack un-tucked his shirt and starting wringing the end of it in his hands; the nerve of this man to keep playing dumb! Lowering his voice to a hiss, Jack continued, “Given all the facts, even a child can see why your freedom’s ill-gotten! You are the man that killed Mia Fey! And now... you’re using all the information you’ve gotten from your ‘detective agency’ to make someone else take the fall!”

As could be expected, the arrogant smile quickly vanished from White’s face. The expression that replaced it, however, was not one of anger or shock; if anything it appeared that the man was only mildly displeased. Looking down at his glass, he muttered, “So... you are now most suddenesquely implying that I killed Miss Mia?” He stared at the rings on his fingers and heaved a dramatic sigh. “Very well. For what reasons do you believe that to be the so-called truth of which you seek?”

His vision going foggy with anger, Jack let out a bitter laugh. “It’s the only way,” he spat, biting off each syllable with a singular effort. “You’re the only person who hasn’t gotten any blame for any crime, be it murder or espionage. You have enough power to influence the public prosecutor, the defense attorneys, and the people in the media... pretty much anyone with an important job and a secret to hide.” He paused to wipe one shaking hand across his brow; every point he was making was helping him figure out something else. “And, since almost everyone in those fields have things to hide, the only people you couldn’t control are those you haven’t investigated yet... like Mr. Wright, who only had one decent case under his belt before this came along... and those who have an unusual degree of moral fiber... people like Ms. Fey, or, as you’ve been calling her, ‘Ms. Mia’. Odd that you’d use her first name, Mr. White... It’s almost as if you’d been... acquainted with her somehow.” After this last statement, Jack sucked a breath in through his teeth and shot White a poisonous smirk.

In spite of Jack’s angry accusations, White still seemed oddly detached. “Your ramblifications are quite... forceful, Mr. Bartender. However, it can easily be ascertained that you have no evidential proof.”

Jack merely let out another laugh, as hearty and strangely pitched as that of a TV-movie madman. “Of course there’s no ‘evidential proof’!” he exclaimed, fixing White with a wide eyed stare. “You’ve made sure of that ever since you did the deed!”

White’s frown grew deeper; he raised an eyebrow that clearly meant, ‘Explain!’

Jack’s was starting to sweat; he flapped the bottom of his shirt back and forth to help cool himself down. “On the first day, all the evidence pointed to Maya Fey. You must have known she was heading for the crime-scene when you did the deed... after all; you managed to use Mia’s... Mia’s blood on that bit of paper and write down Maya’s name, didn’t you?”

For the first time since Jack’s accusation, White actually looked faintly surprised; it took him a moment to remember that details on the blood-inked note hadn’t been released to the general public.

“Yes, I know about that note,” he admitted, his voice soft and full of venom. “I guess you’re right about my having access to secret information after all.” He let out another bitter laugh. “So... had things gone to plan, Maya Fey would’ve been found guilty and your name never would have come up, right? Mr. Wright, however, managed to wrangle it out of the court somehow. He was on to you, wasn’t he, Mr. White? He wouldn’t have gone to your office had he not been.”

White continued to give Jack an apathetic frown.

“So... you had a dilemma. You had to get rid of Mr. Wright somehow, so he wouldn’t get to say anything in court... today. So, you changed your plan. In order to cover your ass... you shifted the blame for Ms. Fey’s death to the one man that was capable of revealing the truth. Thanks to your so-called ‘power’, the big-shot overseeing the case (he sent Parsons another dirty look; the puppet was still ignoring his angry outbursts in favor of Washer’s playing of the pinball machine) couldn’t even try to stop you. Of course, this meant that Maya Fey had to be cleared of all charges, but so what? She was obviously just a scapegoat of convenience, after all. And thus, you managed to hide the fact that you killed Ms. Fey.” Here, Jack paused and let out a dull chuckle. “That is, before you fouled it all up by coming here and making a ‘proposal’ to buy off my soul.” Triumphantly, Jack placed his hands against his hips and shot White a savage smile.

As his accuser finally fell silent, White looked up to the ceiling, raised a ringed hand from the bar... and let it rest across the bottom of his face as he let out an elaborately bored-looking yawn. “That was a most lovely story, Mr. Bartender,” he muttered languidly. “But... now that it is finished, I must ask...” He trailed off.

“What must you ask?” Jack inquired bitterly.

“I must ask you... what now?”

“‘What now...?’” Jack scratched his head in bemusement.

The arrogant smile returned to White’s face as he shook his head and shrugged. “You have labeled me the killer of Ms. Mia; have you not, dear Bartender? I am humbly inquiring as to your actions upon coming to such a gasticious conclusion.”

Though White seemed to be making a big deal of this question, Jack thought the answer rather obvious. “What do you think I’m going to do? I’m going to call up building security... get every security guard and police officer down here post-haste! You may have the esteemed Mr. Parsons in your power, but two or three dozen officials throwing your ass into a holding cell should give the State enough time to force the truth out.” As he smiled and went to use the bar phone, he thought, ‘It might be hard to get security to put this man in detention, but if I can get enough of them behind me I should have some “power” of my own. I’ll have to try and contact Maya Fey, and hopefully Mr. Grossberg... once White gets detained they should be able to help get him locked away.’ Cursing the weakness of the System for everything he was going to have to do, Jack lifted the phone off its cradle, dialed the proper number, put the phone to his ear...

...And pulled it away in shock as he was subjected to one of the most unearthly-sounding shrieks he’d ever heard; it sounded like an electric banshee had taken possession of his telephone receiver. His right ear ringing in pain, he slammed the receiver back in its cradle in a single swift motion.

Swearing under his breath, Jack furtively rubbed at his ear for several seconds before the ringing died away. Only then did his brain finally register the sound of soft, arrogant laughter. Clenching a fist in frustration, he wheeled around.

As he’d expected, the laughter was coming from Mr. White; his oversized chest heaved up and down as he reveled in Jack’s discomfort.

‘You horrible...’ Jack absently reached for the bottom of his shirt and started wringing it in frustration as he waited for White to stop.

Melodramatically wiping a tear from his eye, White shook his head and flashed a grin—a grin more sinister than any he’d possessed before. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Bartender...” he said, his voice dripping with mock remorse, “But I’m afraid that such flambiverous actions can not be allowed to occur. I wouldn’t want you dragging the title of my personage in the mud, now wouldn’t I?”

As White’s eyes gleamed, yet another conclusion fell into place within Jack’s mind. “You knew that was going to happen, didn’t you?”

White merely laughed again; a laugh more disturbing than any of the many others he’d exhibited all night. “But of course!” His eyes sparkling in sync with the jewels on his suit, he reached into an inside coat pocket and extracted what appeared to be a small black cube with a tiny antenna. Smirking, he sat it on the counter with unadulterated relish.

“Such a splendiferous device this is... You see, it nullificates all frequencies in ascertained ranges... or, to be more specific, ranges used by talkie-walkies and phones both cordless and cellular. It’s rather weakly... it doesn’t block anything outside this drink-house... but I believe that its strength will be all that is desired.”

‘A phone jamming device? No wonder he’s not worried about speaking so freely...’ Knowing that there would be no way to get the word out as long as that machine continued to function, Jack took a step forward, made a grab for it...

...and was instantly rebuffed as White smacked his arm away in a single surprisingly fluid motion. His face contorted into another freakish grin as he returned the cube to the recesses of his lurid pink suit.

“Now, now, Mr. Bartender, there’s no need to get grabacious here! If you make another attempt to damage my machineries or do harm to my personage, I assure you that the results will be most unpleasant.” Almost absently, he spun and looked at his oblivious companions, both of whom had finally left the pinball machine behind and were making a ruckus rolling balls around the pool table. “I had been hoping to take my compadres to their homes at this time, dear bartender, but it appears that that is not to be, as we are not yet done with our conversions.” Spinning back towards Jack, he stopped for a moment as his eyes lazily raked the length of the space behind the bar counter. “So... why don’t you just drag that horrific-looking chair over here and have yourself a seat? It will take me but a few more minutes to explain what will happen to you if you continue to peddle your lies.” As the smile on White’s face grew to hideously large proportions, Jack began to realize that he’d just gotten himself into a situation that was well over his head.

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So... like Phoenix, Jack's smart enough to figure out the truth, but, also like Phoenix, he's not quite tactful enough to think through the potential consequences of being so candid.

On that note, I've always considered White to be a very diabolical villain, with power to make up for his occasional lapses in judgement. The key thing I'm going to show through this Part is what happens when White faces an opponent that he crush with few reservations.

Oh, and yes, I have yet to answer the "Jack's Edgeworth" question. That facet of the bartender's complex life will come in the third part of this mega-chapter, I assure you.

Now, before I smash my head through the keyboard... *flee*

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Jack's the same age as my brother would be then, it seems.

Good chapter. White really is a dick, it's almost a shame he got stuck with such a crappy case.

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This chapter... makes me look at case 2 in an entirely new way.
Great job.

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This... is one of the best fanfictions of all time... I am in total awe...

AWWWWWWWW!

*smacks self*

Anyway... I love it, I really do. I cannot wait to see you continue it. Jack is such a cool character, you should have entered him into the contest!

Keep on the great writing!

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Man, oh man, how I love the way White is trying to hide his misdeeds by using big vocabulary. That's just SO him. I think this chapter had alot of suspense too, since you don't know when White will go crazy on Jack.

Still lovely as always.

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YAY! NEW CHAPTER! NEW CHAPTER! NEW CHAPTER!
Err...Yeah. I really like this chapter. I think you've got Redd White's character spot on, and I was quietly cheering Jack all the way through it. Seriously, my family were all like 'What are you cheering about?'.
Anyway, I'm looking forward to the chapter and the big 'OMG JACK'S EDGEWORTH REVEAL!!!!!!!!!!!1!!!!2!!!!!!!!!one+shifty!!!!!!!!!!!!
I already know who it is, but I'm still excited! Keep up the good work!

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DSL was judging, I believe. SO he COULDN'T have entered Jack.

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I've delayed long enough in a review as it is. While I won't get everything I want covered in this, (I'm a purist, really) I hope to give this one enough enthusiasm.

Redd White was a fearful character for me to combat when I first came across him. And to extents he still is: it's a shame that his case isn't highlighted more other than "Mia's dead, and Edgeworth was there! :O". His villainy is terrifyingly evident too. My perception of him was always as a cruel bully who always held the trump cards, and has never been successfully opposed in his life. So when Phoenix retaliated with fury in court the following day, I could imagine him feeling all but crushed: he didn't have a hand to play against him either (the exact parallel in this scene: Jack could have gone as far as he liked, but White still had complete control over the situation).

Againly, it is mustified that I conplend your being upon an epic, fantasticous and inter-universially noosing the prestige-smitten Redd White of Bluecorp with perfecting respects and unflushed amendmation! His grammabulary is splendiferously powersupplused, wrafting him upon both the exoholic tauruses of sinisterity AND comicanderous action! I APPLAUTE YOU!!

The parallels you run between Phoenix and Jack enrich the experience. You don't make them alike in character - Jack's suspicious, very social, and more like Mia or a veteran Phoenix - but their own 'heroics' are aligned: Phoenix as the lawyer Jack may have been wormed out of being, and Jack rooting and trying to help in any way he can (which he very nearly does, to my appraisal). The mock-cornered scenario made this scene. White states the contradiction of direction multiple times, yet for natural reasons Jack can't get that. Instead, he finds a whole other way of doing it, and traps White in a way I wouldn't have anticipated. You had me silently rooting for him all the way.

Washer and Parsons were brushed aside in the second part here: in the first, though, I felt they were overly suspicious in behaviour. Granted, White is a fearful man when you're under his thumb, but I felt it was slightly overexaggerated. They were clearly grateful to be out of the spotlight I can imagine and feel here.

I suppose I'll admit it now, I'm guilty to liking the numerous Phoenix/Mia 'moments' throughout the story: if a pairing must be forced into the story, then...well, it's the only one I got any possible vibe from: may as well see it supported.

Finally, a quick question: does anyone else ready the Phoenix Wright soundtracks from finalturnabout.com whilst reading this? If you play True Evening of Grief for the entire Murder scene at the second chapter's opening, then it feels even sadder. Not to mention Shelly De Killer's theme for this current segment here: a mafia-ish tone is in order.

Long story short: DSL-69, I heart you(r work). Give me more!

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Well, it's that time again...

Since I have the luxury of posting this while awake, I'll give you the luxury of individual responses to your varied reviews.

BS: Indeed, White is quite the dick. My extreme urge to highlight his dickosity is why III-5 is probably one of the longest Parts I'll ever write... ever. Additionally, it's why the Case 2 analogue will probably end up being longer than the Case 3 analogue (If I ever make it there).

Headbang: That's my duty here. Glad I'm pulling it off.

Magmar: I'm glad you think Jack's so great; indeed, I couldn't enter him because (1) I was judging the fanfiction OC contest, and (2), I always wondered how I'd be able to enter him without forcing people to read this entire fanfic. He's in every scene, and friends with all the decent characters. How unbalanced.

Aurezai: Making up all of those words is fun for me, if not for my spellchecker. Only now, after two months of writing like that, am I glad that I don't have much farther to go as far as Mr. White is concerned. And, as for flipping out, I get somewhat close...

Impulse: Always so exuberant. It makes me smile. I'm hoping that I lay down the facts in a manner that eludes all of my previous misgivings.

Dr. M Damn, if this is how you always review, you should start stapling them together and selling them as novels. Let's see what I can bring up...

The fake cornered scene was fun to construct. Since some facts were missing from Jack's mind and others were not encountered in canon, I was able to finangle a decent trap.

The parallels between Jack and Phoenix are almost always intentional; since the beginning I've wanted to set up MY main character as if he were Phoenix in an alternate universe. You'll notice me adding at least two or three more in this update alone; the ramifications of such similarities are supposed to resound all throughout the analogues to the entire first game.

Also, this is why Pheonix will ALMOST NEVER physically make a Gavel appearance; it's almost like placing a positron and an electron in the same room and hoping the plot doesn't explode. In the entire 1st game, I have one scene in which Nick enters the bar, and it's not when he's in pristine condition. (Wonder when it is? Just look for the aftereffects in canon)

I admit that I brushed Washer and Parsons aside in my last writing, I bring Parsons back briefly in this part but keep Upton on the sidelines. In retrospect, I wish I'd simply had White send the two lawyers out to his car the entire scene (while extracting the one thing that he gets from Parsons in the subsequent writing).

The reason I use Phoenix/Mia as a ship was... well... while it's not very canonical looking now (what with Kanimogi and all), it USED TO BE very canonical before the release of AA3 upon the world. If you look at AA1 as a standalone game, there's no Kanimogi or Whiney Nick of the past to temper Mia's feelings. However, it's, for the most part, a moot point now anyway.

As for music... with Redd White I associate Matt Engarde's two tracks, only sped up 12.2% (and thus raised two semitones) to reflect his less serious character.

So... anyway, on to the story now!

-------------

Having no idea exactly what to do next, Jack gritted his teeth and pulled his chair back to White, making little effort to keep the chair legs from scraping against the polished wood floor. Unable to think of a decent way to circumvent his customer now that he’d revealed his ‘weapon’, he merely threw himself onto the seat and insolently crossed his arms.

Upon seeing this gesture, White merely laughed and smiled. “Judging by your impossachievable effort to light my head on fire with your eyes, I presume you will not be stewarding me another drink.”

Jack merely growled in response.

“I see.” White glanced over his shoulder for a moment before reaching back into his inside coat pocket. “Thankfully for me,” he muttered, “a vaulted personage such as I has other methods with which to relax.” The sinister grin back on his face, he slowly extracted one of the longest cigars Jack had ever seen. He twirled it around the ringed fingers of one hand several times while he produced a jewel-encrusted lighter with the fingers of the other.

Jack managed to stopped grinding his teeth long enough to hiss, “I don’t like smoking in my bar.”

White’s eyes widened in mock surprise. “Really? I don’t care.” Chuckling, he fluidly bit off the end of the cigar, placed it in his mouth, and set it alight. His eyes gleaming, he then inhaled gratuitously, leaned forward and blew smoke directly into Jack’s face.

“Damn you...” was all Jack managed to get out before his head gave an almighty throb and he started coughing unrestrainedly.

“Now, now, dear Bartender, there’s no need to extol that sort of horrific language at me!” Again he puffed on the cigar, though he did not aim the smoke at Jack this time. “Were you not so pre-justified against smoking, you would soon find out that a cigar can be just as flavorous and variated as any decent bar-drink.” Another puff. “You can only get a torpyramid this long from Central America or that Europe place you went to... Baloney, I think it is? They say a baloney cigar can actually make your life lengthier... but this Caribbean is splendiferously spicy, so I really do not mind its unhealthitude.”

Jack let in a hissing breath through his teeth; he had better things to do than listen to this... murderer talk about cigar flavors.

“Now, now, Mr. Bartender,” White responded dryly, “There’s no purpose in hounding me; I’ll reanimate the point soon enough.” He paused and appreciatively gazed at the cigar smoke swirling above his head. “Now... as I had spoken earlier... I must line out what will happen to you, foolish Bartender, if you commence to usher lies with your drinks.”

Jack sat up straight with a start. “But I’m not telling lies, Mr. White. You killed Ms. Fey... that is the truth.”

“Quietude! I find it quite... irregular that you would continue to stick with that claim.” He paused and gave his cigar a little puff. “As far as the courthouses are concerned, your impressions are nothing more than a conspiratory theorem. With an assurance to rest, Mr. Lawyer will pay for his crimes, and no-one can possichivily stop that from happening!”

Seizing an opportunity to argue a point, Jack retorted, “Are you sure about that, Mr. White? You might have the DAs and the esteemed Mr. Parsons under your control, but that isn’t everyone. None of their flimflamming matters as long as the Judge has a good head on his shoulders.”

White removed the cigar from his mouth and smiled; once again, it was a grin of the creepy variety. “The Perfectly-Mysterious Judge? He is as big a fool as can be. Besides, he has his secrets like any other typical personage... I can tell you things about his family that’ll make your hairs do end-stands!”

‘Does that mean the Judge is under his power, too? God damn it, if that’s the case, then it’ll be almost impossible for the truth to get out! Unless...’ Taking a deep breath through his mouth to gather himself without getting dizzy from smoke, he said, “Well, even if the Judge has problems... what about Prosecutor Edgeworth? He might not be an angel when it comes to ethics, but I know he’s got it in him not to deal with your... crap.”

White’s smile grew larger; somehow, his teeth managed to sparkle in spite of the big dirty cigar interposed between them. “You mean Miles?” he asked incredulously. “That man has so many secrets I wouldn’t know where to commence in telling them! Of course, the beauty about that particular personage is that I don’t even need to hang any threats over his worriful little head in order to make him act as I please!”

Jack felt a bead of sweat roll down his face. “What do you mean by that?”

“It’s quite simplistic, Mr. Bartender. So simplistic, in fact, that you should be able to comprestand it even without my explanations!” White shrugged as he gave the cigar another charismatic puff. “But, if you must have things spoken out for you...” He shook his head. “My direct affluence is not needed to persuade that prosecutor fellow, as he is already under the pressure of two other things.”

“...Two things?” asked Jack, his voice oddly small.

“That would be an affirmitory!” Holding up the pointer finger of his left hand, he continued, “First, there is the fact that this particular prosecutor has a perfectionist record! Of course, such merits are to be expected... he was raised by a man with similar convections, after all!”

‘Manfred von Karma,’ Jack thought resignedly. ‘How many times has he bragged about how he’s prepared Edgeworth to carry on his perfect legacy?’

“Thus, it would be impossachievable for Mr. Prosecutor to find Mr. Lawyer anything but ‘Guilty’ for the crimes he so obviously committed!” Before Jack could speak, he held his left hand up again, this time with two fingers extended. “And, going further, there is another thing that guarantees that this man will make sure every stop is pulled to keep lies away from the court!”

Jack frowned. “And that would be...?”

“That would be his unyieldable respect for higher authorities! As long as from above the orders do come, Miles will make sure that they are carried out!” Here, White allowed himself a particularly sinister laugh. “Before you digress on this point, Mr. Bartender, allow me to show you some proof on the futility of your... resistance.” His face settling into a relaxed expression, he spun his barstool around and called, “Mr. Person! Would you be so kindly as to grace us with the presence of your personage for ‘un momento’?”

Jack let out a resigned sigh as the most powerful prosecutor in the entire region wearily stood from the table he’d been sitting and slowly stumbled his way across the room. He hadn’t made it halfway to White before he tripped on his feet and nearly fell over; the silence of the barroom was briefly interspersed with the creaks of the barroom table he used to steady himself and the squeaks of Upton Washer’s drunken laughter.

“That’s a good man, Mr. Person,” White said after Parson’s eventual arrival, his tone similar to that of a man praising his dog. “Now, it seems that I and the good bartender here are having a bit of an... un-agreement on subjects that need not be further mentioned. In order to dispense of such unfortunateness, would you be so kindly as to let me borrow your cellular phone?”

Parsons blearily blinked several times before he comprehended the message. “Cell phone, you say? Of course! Just a moment, sir!” He failed to notice Jack frowning at the honorific as he dug into a pants pocket and extracted a mottled green cell phone. He stared at it for a moment before handing it to White with unreasonably loud laughter. “Here’s your phone, sir!” he declared, his tone more simpering than ever.

White merely chuckled before offering Parsons a half-hearted salute. “A thousand thankitudes, Mr. Person,” he said blandly. “Dismissed!”

Parsons let out a giggle and returned the salute before making his way back to the table on the far side of the room. Jack distressfully shook his head before returning his attention to the ever-gleaming face of his most terrible customer.

“Now then, Mr. Bartender,” muttered White, stuffing his cigar into his mouth and manipulating Parsons’ cell phone with surprising ease. “Take a brief listen to this conversion... and you’ll find out just how point-free Mr. Lawyer’s case truly will be!” His teeth still somehow gleaming in the bar-light, he deftly poked a final button.

“BEEP!”

“Hello?” Jack felt a rush of déjà vu as he heard Miles Edgeworth’s voice come out of yet another cell phone speaker.

“Mr. Edgeworth? This is Parsons.” For once, Parsons’ tone matched the militancy of his attire; he’d obviously made this call during a time of extreme confidence.

“Of course it is,” Edgeworth said crisply. “How could I not recognize the voice of the Region’s public prosecutor?” Even without an accompanying image, Jack could hear the smile in his voice.

“Silence! I don’t have time your dilly-dallying, sold... er, prosecutor! Do you understand me?” Jack winced; this was the first time he’d heard Parsons in such a mood.

“O-of course, Mr. Parsons. Why do you wish to speak with me?”

“We’re having a slight change of plans in that Mia Fey murder case you’ve been working on.”

“Really?” Edgeworth asked incredulously. “I’m sorry that I failed to end the trial immediately as we hoped, but-”

“But nothing, Edgeworth! It’s a damn good thing you didn’t get everything sorted out, or else things would be FUBAR right about now!

Several seconds of silence, and then: “FUBAR? What do you mean by that?”

Parsons let out a brash-sounding laugh. “Well, FUBAR is an abbreviation that stands for-”

“No, no, I know what FUBAR means! I’m asking you why you’re happy that I failed in my endeavor!” In spite of Parson’s relatively angry mood, it was obvious that Edgeworth was getting upset.

“It’s quite simple, Edgeworth! Maya Fey’s not the defendant anymore!”

More silence. “Did... did I hear you correctly?”

“You sure as hell did! We’ve finally got a link from our hidden source, and he’s set us up with the real goods!”

“You mean that...”

“Yes, White’s agreed to testify, and he’s found us the real killer!”

Still more silence. “And that would be...?”

“The defense lawyer, Phoenix Wright! Who else could it possibly have been, Mr. Edgeworth?!”

Another silence, longer than any that came before. “You are sure of this, Mr. Parsons?”

“Sure as shit, Edgeworth! ...Oops, sorry about that.” Phone-Parsons took a calming breath, and then: “Now then, there’s one thing I’ve got to make plain to you, so listen up!”

“I’m listening...”

“Whatever Mr. White testifies to tomorrow... it will be the absolute truth. Do you understand that?” Parson’s voice left no room for disapproval.

“I... I believe so,” Edgeworth stammered. “Of course, it will still be the defense attorney’s job to pick apart that truth in a search for lies...”

For the first time in the conversation, Parsons let out a nervous chuckle. “Don’t you worry about that, son. The defense situation is already being taken care of.”

‘He’s got that right,’ thought Jack, shooting a withering glare in Parsons and Washer’s general direction.

Phone-Edgeworth, however, was not yet convinced. “There is still the matter of the judge, Mr. Parsons. He will also make sure that Mr. White’s testimony receives due examination.”

Another nervous chuckle. “That’s been taken care of too, Mr. Edgeworth. I assure you, if you raise an objection, the judge will listen to you loud and clear.”

“...I see. Is that it?”

“For now. The updated information and your duties should come in a matter of hours.”

“Very well,” muttered phone-Edgeworth resignedly.

“Oh, and Mr. Edgeworth...?”

“Yes?”

“Do make sure you get Mr. Wright the guilty verdict.”

“You know as well as I do that no other option exists for me, Prosecutor Parsons.”

Phone-Parsons chuckled. “Of course, Mr. Edgeworth. Dismissed!”

“BEEP!”

“Call recorded, September 8th, 5:43 P.M.” The drone of the mechanical voice resonated into silence as Jack wearily returned his gaze to White’s hated visage.

“Do you understand now, Mr. Bartender?” White asked haughtily. He paused to flick his cigar; a considerable pile of ash was slowly growing atop Jack’s formerly clean bar counter. “The judges, the lawyers, the prosecutors... to me they are mere toys. Instruments of amusement! There is no way that Mr. Lawyer could possachievably avoid his fate.”

‘So that’s it,’ thought Jack despairingly. ‘He’s got every last person under his thumb; not one person who knows the truth will be able to do anything in court tomorrow. Looks like there’s only one way to deal with this after all.’ His mind again made up, Jack stood from his chair and crossed his arms in a show of resolution.

“Is there something wrong, dear bartender? Have you finally decided to cease with your most foolrific crusade?”

Jack shook his head. “Hell no.”

“Excuse me?”

‘This whole conversation has become a battle of wits. If there’s any hope for the truth at all, I have to regain the initiative.’ With a small sigh, Jack said, “Your control over things is impressive, Mr. White, but the truth remains unchanged. If you get what you want tomorrow, I will have no choice but to fight for what I believe in.”

White smacked a hand against the bar counter; Jack coughed as a great cloud of used cigar ash flew towards his face. “Your words are harsh, dear bartender! What you tell me, here in this drink-house, is un-relevant. The courts decide the penalties, so once the gavel goes ‘bang bang’, Mr. Lawyer’s fate will be sealed!” He took another puff of his now half-consumed cigar with sophisticated relish.

Jack took a hissing breath and shook his head once more. “Given how much fun you’ve been having ‘playing’ with the legal system this past decade, you should know that even an open-and-shut case stays on the books for two years before it is closed for good. That’ll be plenty of time to get the word out to people that matter...” Jack paused and examined the fingernails on his slightly shaking hands. “After all, I have a lot of ‘connections’ too, you know.”

White stared at Jack for several seconds before breaking into a fit of haughty laughter. “Oh, you provide me with such entertainment, Mr. Bartender!” he declared, waving his lit cigar around like a carcinogenic magic wand. “Surely you must realize that, as a drink-pusher, your ‘friends’ will hardly be able to take your legal advice without tonnages of doubt.”

Jack frowned. “Perhaps. But, unlike all of your ‘puppets’, you don’t really have any way to stop me. I’m an eccentric ‘flat-man’; a guy with no true power to speak of, after all. You don’t have any ‘handle’ with which to control my behavior!”

“You have no power? That is a correction,” White muttered seriously. “However... when you say that I possessify nothing with which to control your actions... that is where your tongue runs past your brain!”

“Where my tongue... huh?” Jack’s eyebrows knitted in confusion.

“You have your weaknesses, Mr. Bartender. Every single person I’ve ever had the honor of dealing with has their weaknesses... except for Ms. Mia, of course.” He paused; a thoughtful expression fell upon his face. “No... nullificate that... Ms. Mia did not have a weakness of moralisms, but she most definitely did have a weakness of the cranial structure...” He flashed a most wicked of smiles.

Taken by surprise, Jack gripped the edge of the bar counter in an effort not to launch himself at his horrible customer. His voice deathly low, he ground out, “You... son of a-”

“Yes, my mother was quite the repulsive matron,” White interrupted smoothly. “Of course, she wasn’t quite so barbarous once I threatened to tell my father of her relations with the local post-man...” White paused and shook his head. “But that is irrelevant, dear bartender. What I wish to impart upon you is this: You are currently in possessification of a very large weakness—one sufficient enough to ensure you that you shall remain silent.”

‘He can’t be serious,’ Jack thought absently. “So, Mr. White... what is my so-called weakness?”

White paused for just an instant before letting out a great burst of laughter. “You don’t have to look hard to find your weakness, Mr. Bartender,” he proclaimed. “It’s all around us!”

Jack looked wildly around the room for a short while before he started to get an inkling of what White was talking about. “What, you don’t mean-”

“Yes. I’m talking about your bar, foolish barkeeper. You know... the one that makes up half your title; the one we’ve been conversing within for a number of hours now?” He paused to visibly sneer. “The tavern that, being a place of exclusitivity, is completely not known to the generalistic public?” When Jack remained silent, he continued, “Yes, I believe you now comprestand what I am getting at.” He puffed his cigar appreciatively. “Your one big mistake this entire night, dear bartender, is misunderestimating just how far my affluence extends. If you dare to both refuse my corporation and work directly against my most humble personage, I will misclose the existence of this drink-house in such a vengeful matter that not only will you be vanquished from this building; you will also, through the use of self-absorbing media, be made into a figuration both well-known and well-despised by the public-at-large. Have fun trying to accrue a new job for yourself after that, Mr. Bartender!”

‘Damn it, he’s got a point,’ Jack thought. ‘This place has always been rather secretive... hell, some of the people that work here don’t know it exists!’ He paused to look out the now darkened square of the frosted bar window. ‘And I’m sure that Mr. White can do what he claims he can... he’s got a grip on at least the local media, after all. But to let this... asshole get away with Mia’s murder? I couldn’t live with myself if I did.’

“So... what will it be, Mr. Bartender?” White chuckled at his use of a question that bartenders had been asking for decades.

Jack sighed as he absently wondered how much further this horrible man could be pushed. “I’m sorry, Mr. White,” he said softly. “Though I love this job more than almost anything in the world, I will not keep it if it means burying the truth. I may not be a lawyer, but I choose the side of justice.”

Like he had an uncountable number of times before, White puffed at his cigar and laughed. “Such moralisms, dear bartender! They almost bring a tear to my eye...” He mimed the act of wiping a tear from his face with a perverted glee. “But, I must digress.”

‘Ugh... there’s no way to stop this man from smiling for more than a minute,’ Jack thought despairingly. ‘What’s he got up his sleeve now?’

“Your intentions, while oh so... nobleist... do not lift water, I’m afraid.”

“How so?”

“Once again, it’s quite simplistic. Your oh-so-incredible will to jettison your job under the pressure of my conglomerate only makes sense if you were looking out solely for yourself. But, with an assurance to rest, if you try to defy me, your personage will not be the only one... taking the fall.”

Jack’s stomach started to throb; he forced himself to dutifully ignore it. “...Excuse me?”

“After all, my dear bartender, you claim to possessify many friends within the walls of this most lovely building... some of them have been close to you for a lengthier time than others. Now then, you wouldn’t want to see any negatative attention placed upon their personages, would you?”

‘I have a bad feeling about this one... I guess it’d be best to devalue his threat before he gets a full head of steam.’ After taking in a breath of acrid smoke-filled air, he stated, “I hate to make assumptions, but I’m fairly sure you’re talking about my friend Donny Docket?” When White merely flicked his cigar in response, he continued, “Well, I don’t like to make assumptions, but I know Donny’s no fool. If the truth costs me my job, I doubt he’ll want to work here anyway.” He allowed his face to twitch into a smirk.

White gave his now mostly-consumed cigar one more thoughtful puff before looking Jack in the eye... and flashing him a grin more hideously triumphant than any he’d given before. “Your securiguard friend?” he sneered. “I could care less about him. A personage in that position does not have much to lose, after all. I am, to be quite truthful, speaking of your other old friend, the fall of which would be quite a different novel altogether.” He finished with a sinister smirk of his own.

Jack frowned for around half a second before he realized just what White was insinuating. Wincing at the intensifying pains in his stomach, he muttered, “Wait... you don’t mean...?”

White added to the ash pile on the bar counter with an air of extreme relish. “Come now, dear bartender, there’s no need to chop words with me! Though I may not be the best when it comes to remembrating the titles of non-famous personages, I can clearly recall the conversions I shared with Wash-up last night. And, though he mentioned a large numeration of things about your personage overall, I most specifically recall him stating that you possessified not one, but two old friends that work in this building: That securiguard you just mentioned... and the Public Prosecutor, Ms. Lana Skye!”

White’s obvious mangling of Lana’s title went unnoticed as a myriad of thoughts flashed through Jack’s embattled mind. In the end, however, his brain settled on one simple word: ‘Crap.’

White chuckled at Jack’s obvious discomfort. “Were you so deluded as to presume I would not be bringing that upward? I am an expert when it comes to collecting information, after all.”

Jack sighed. ‘I guess I should have seen that coming, even if I haven’t really considered Lana a friend for quite a while... ever since she started working in this place.’ Jack frowned and looked upward; his eyes followed the many curls of smoke floating in the air as he organized his thoughts. ‘Perhaps I can bluff him still...’ Snapped out of his reverie by White’s obnoxiously loud cough, he looked the horrid man in the face and muttered, “If Mr. Washer over there was... loose enough to tell you I used to be friends with the Chief Prosecutor, I’m sure he also mentioned that we haven’t so much as spoken to one another in well over a year. What makes you think that I should care if you add her name to your target list?”

White merely stared at Jack for a few seconds before bursting into a tremendously annoying series of wheezing giggles. Dusting the pink fabric of his suit in an offhanded manner, he stated, “Now, now, dear bartender, let’s not be coy. It should be most apparent that your constant use of moralisms in opposing my corporation and the desires of my personage should be quite evidentiary enough, shouldn’t they?”

Jack merely gave White a condescending look that meant, ‘You tell me.’

“No? Well, in that case, I guess I shall be forced to rely on some realistic evidence of my own, hmmm?” In lieu of explaining himself further, White reached into an inside coat pocket (‘The one opposite the jamming device,’ Jack noted) and pulled out a somewhat thick packet of papers, which he nonchalantly dropped onto the counter area directly before him.

Jack nervously ran his hands through the hair at the back of his head. “...And that would be?”

“This would be a stack of papers... papers that retain excerptations from one of those forever-prolific online blogs. Most specifically, it details the mundane squabblings of a personage that uses the un-mature title of ‘DonnyJuan69’.” Wincing at the horrid screen-name, he continued, “This information is relatively old-dated, but my secretariats did a good job at finding them in the recesses of the Internets. A cursory examination of the the details within confirms that it was authored by your foolish securiguard friend.”

Jack took in a breath of noxious air as a bead of sweat rolled down his face. ‘Donny never told me he had a blog... Did he not want me knowing what he had to say...?’

“Though it seems that my underlings had a difficult time pushing their way through all of the youthly whinings, strange abbreviations and horrific grammar-how any personage can rectify the English language with such effort-free mannerisms travel beyond me-it gives me quite a story of your early days-the secondary school days of you and both of your compadres, in fact.”

“I... see,” Jack muttered weakly.

“The parts I’ve taken explain only the things of highest signifitude: How you met Ms. Lana—some drivel about a class-house trial; not surprising—and about all the altercations you went through in the subsequent years... were I a weaker man, I might actually find myself moved at some of the more pository points of such touching stories...” He shrugged and shook his head; the now tiny stub of his once-large cigar was making smoke trails as if it were a patriotic sparkler. “But, as I was just stating, the purposes of such papers are quite simplistic: Considering that you, Ms. Lana, and your securiguard friend have ties that so rooted-deeply, I find it quite difficult to think that you would no longer care for her in the slightest... your current moralisms only add to the tangible proof.”

Jack let out a soft groan. ‘He must have always been planning to drag up all these threats had I merely rejected his spy-offer... my finding out he’s a no-good murdering bastard only makes him far more willing to be as hurtful with them as possible.’

“Furthermore,” White continued, oblivious to Jack’s deliberations, “It easily comes to my attention that your dear friend Ms. Lana had, even during the mindless days of secondary school, possessed a most intensified desire to become a prosecuting attorney later in life. You and I both know that she finally acceded to this ambition just over three halves of a year ago.”

‘That’s right,’ Jack thought sadly. ‘Right when her caring personality went straight to hell.’[/i]

“So, dear bartender, it comes to this: If you are to continue to oppose me by peddling your lies—and that’s what the world will perceive them as, lies—you will quickly find that, aside from your own personage, most of the blame in regards to your suddenly exposed drink-house will fall upon she who leads this building: Ms. Lana herself! With people like Mr. Person over there upon my side, it will be most simplistic to have her disbarred and thrown from the building as well. So, dear Bartender... Do you truly wish to oppose me, and live with the knowledge that you one-handedly destroyed your beloved old friend’s greatest dream?” White’s face twisted into a hideous grin.

Jack merely stared at the floor as he rubbed at his intensely aching stomach. ‘He’s finally got a hold on me... I guess I should have expected him to press the right button sooner or later. Still, I can’t let him know just how successful his latest attack was.’ Wondering just what he could do next, his eyes fell upon the packet of papers sitting on the counter before him. ‘Maybe if I can figure out just how much information is missing, I’ll be able to wrangle a way out of this mess...’ His mind made up, he leaned against the bar and made a one-handed grab for the packet with a quick, “Here, let me see that...”

As soon as Jack laid a hand on the papers, White again seized his wrist and held it down with an extraordinarily strong grip. Before Jack could even consciously attempt to free himself, White shot him smile, plucked the short stub of his cigar out of his mouth with his free hand, and ground the lighted end into the back of Jack’s palm.

Jack stared at White for a single horrified instant before the pain from his hand slammed into his mind with all the subtlety of a ten-megaton bomb.

“Gaaaaaaaaaaah!” he yelled, wrenching his hand from White’s grip and blearily staring at his attacker in animalistic shock.

White merely smiled. “Is there a problem, dear bartender?”

Obviously, Jack no longer possessed any capacity for acting nice. “Of course there’s a problem, you bloodsucking bastard! You just burned my goddamn hand!” he snarled.

After a quick glance over his shoulder, White merely laughed as he watched Jack run the angry red wound under the water of the barroom sink. “Oh, did I?” he asked mock-innocently. “What will you do about it, Mr. Bartender? Have me arrested for assault? You will not be able to do it, just as you will not be able to lift a finger against me after my day in court tomorrow! Even in this case, it would be your word against mine, and compared to me, any squabbles you produce will be dismissed as trifilitic!”

His face pinched in pain, Jack merely turned and gave White the hardest stare he could muster; it was tempered by his efforts to wipe tears of pain out of his eyes with his uninjured left hand.

White merely examined the jewel sewn onto his lurid pink suit as his lips curled into another sadistic grin. “I had warned you that any sudden moves towards my personage would be met with swift rebuttal. I had hoped that you wouldn’t dare test my reflexives again.” Shaking his head, he shrugged and returned his gaze to Jack’s face. “Asides, that tiny little mark I gave you will serve as a most prudent reminder... for now you have learned the cost of opposing me in its entirety. After I destroy that pathetic Mr. Wrong’s impertinent effortudes to defend himself in the court-house tomorrow, I and my corporation will be making sure to keep an eye on you for any... indesirable behaviors. Heck, it appears that I might be able to get you to take up my proposal after all... After all, were you to move but one hand against me... I will personally see to it that the lives of you, your securiguard friend, and Public Prosecutor Lana are burninated into cinders.” As he returned his papers to their place inside his coat, he threw back his head and let off a riotous burst of laughter that pegged him for the criminal mastermind he was.

Although he was somewhat distracted by the now competing pains in his hand and his stomach, Jack managed to listen to White’s bragging rant closely enough to discern one more new fact. “Did you just say Mr. Wright’s going to be defending himself in court tomorrow?” he asked neutrally.

“But of course, dear Bartender! I have not an idea why he would do something so foolish... especially with Mr. Wash-up so wanting to offer his services.”

‘If that’s truly the case, I might be able to get off one last parting blow.’ Setting his teeth in a pained grimace, Jack growled, “Perhaps you’re not as invincible as you think, White.” When White merely raised an eyebrow in amusement, he continued, “Like I said once before, Mr. Wright’s obviously on to you. If he’s smart enough to reject every offer of council and only rely on his own self, then he can say what he wants without anyone there to betray him! As long as he can do that, he can force out the truth!”

White shrugged and flashed an impish grin. “Don’t make me laugh, Mr. Bartender! Mr. Wrong... Force your ‘truth’ out from me? That man is a newbie, barely freed from law school! He has a lesser chance of causing injury to my personage than a woolly-hatted tramp has of winning the lotto-drawings! To be most honest, such accusations are patheterifically weak!”

“I wouldn’t be too sure!” Jack snapped, his voice ringing with heavy confidence. “He might have only won one big case, but if Mr. White learned anything from his boss, he’ll be able to force it out of you!” He flashed White a pained grimace. “After all, Ms. Fey was an infinitely better person then you ever will be.”

White actually appeared shock for a brief moment before regaining his eternal smile. “Ms. Mia?” he asked, his voice dripping with haughtiness. “Ms. Mia was an idiot for even thinking that she could bring my personage downward. And... If you really think of Mr. Wrong with such highness...” He paused for a few seconds and scratched at his chin thoughtfully before snapping his fingers in sudden enlightenment. “I believe that I will be able to prove to you just how power-free that man truly is.”

“How?” asked Jack, confused.

“It’s quite simplistic, dear bartender. I will, of course, utilize my affluence just to dismiss the thought that anyone can even attempt to oppose my most splendiferous personage!” Another pause for thought, and then: “After the trial starts tomorrow at 10 AM, keep a very close eye on the televisor network that calls itself DNN... you know, the Dense Nitwit Network?. When all hope is gone, I will make Mr. Wrong’s weakness public to all the world, just for you.” In a quieter voice, he mulled, “That will keep those network people in line in addition... some fools in the press are making attempts to defeat me that are even more foolish than yours in their ridiculosity. They too will learn tomorrow, or else...” Noticing Jack’s mildly hopeful expression, White trailed off. After making an elaborate show of staring at a nonexistent wristwatch, he clapped his hands together and declared, “Well, will you notate the hour, Mr. Bartender! It appears that I must finally vacate this horrific drink-house, lest I not be in my most abso-posi-lutly perfect condition for the trial tomorrow!

‘It’s about Goddamn time,’ Jack thought wearily.

“Now then, I have had quite a decent time conversing with you tonight, so I’m going to reward you with quite the tippage before myself and my compadres retire!” Laughing, he pulled a large stack of hundred-dollar banknotes out of his pants pocket and pushed five in Jack’s direction.

‘A monetary bribe as well? How disgustingly trite.’ A pained frown on his face, Jack used his uninjured hand to push the bills back across the counter. “You can keep this, Mr. White,” he said simply. “I don’t accept blood money.”

White merely stared at Jack for one more moment before fluently taking the banknotes back. “Still with the moralisms, dear Bartender? You humor me. I will not stop you from bequeathing yourself with a good foot-shooting, if that is your desire. Farewell!”

With one more flash of his jewels, White finally left the bar counter and headed over to his deadweight companions, which had, predictably, fallen asleep at their table from too much booze. Jack let out a sigh at this; he didn’t even have unreliable witnesses to speak of his and White’s final altercations.

“Come now, compadres! I require your wakening post-haste!” Jack could only watch with a frown as he managed to get the still heavily intoxicated lawyers to their feet. Hearing their mutterings of confusion, he declared, “Now now, there’s no time to waste in conversing with Mr. Bartender before your departure! I assure you, everything has been taken care of thoroughly in that department!” Chuckling, he used his massive arms to guide the two men to the door and send them through.

“Head out afore me, dear compadres!” he declared. “Down past the night securiguard stand... in the main block, my limousine lies in awaitance!”

‘Of course it does; a manipulating bastard like you can get away with having your limo parked in the high-ranking prosecutor’s garage,’ Jack thought bitterly. ‘Now just leave, already!’

Sadly, it seemed that White wasn’t even able to heed Jack’s unspoken commands, as he stuck his head through the half-open doorway before it firmly closed behind him. Jack sighed and irritably made eye-contact.

“Oh, might I remind you, if you ever regenerate the urge to defy me again, simplistically look at that beloved mark on your hand and rememberate this night. After all, as I’ve already said unnumerable times... If you were to fail to comprestand the situation that you, by your own foolish moralisms, have gotten yourself involved in...” He paused for a moment, and then: “You will find your world destroyed so thoroughistically that you’ll wish that I’d merely impacted you with a clock instead.” After a final burst of laughter over the stricken expression on Jack’s face, he declared, “I will see you again, dear Bartender!” before allowing the door to close.

‘He’s finally gone,’ Jack thought wearily. For a brief moment he considered running over to the phone and making an attempt to have White arrested anyway, but it didn’t take much thought after the verbal (and physical) beating he received to realize that it would be a hopeless endeavor.

Of course, thinking of his injury only intensified the harsh pain on the back of his right hand; he looked at the perfectly round, blood red burn mark with an expression of utmost loathing.

‘Bastard injures my hand and gets away with it,’ he thought spitefully. ‘Wonder if he managed to do the same to Mr. Wright when they had their unreported meeting.’

Wincing, he again ran his hand underneath the cold water of the bar sink; he’d have to get some sort of bandage on it before it got infected.

“Of course, with my luck, the damn thing’s probably going to get a big-ass blister; that bastard ground it into my skin for so long,” he muttered aloud.

As he thought again of the man who’d occupied the barstool behind him for the past few hours, he gritted his teeth in malice.

‘I never could have guessed that I’d learn so much when that man first walked into the room. Of course, I also never could have guessed that I’d learn who Mia’s killer was and not be able to do much about it.’

‘Certainly,’ Jack thought, ‘I can still try to oppose White if he gets away with Mia’s murder, but... It looks like the only reason he confessed was because he exactly how to discourage me from speaking up.’ Sighing again, he removed his hand from the water and started blotting it dry with a clean dishtowel.

‘Threatening to ruin my life was bad enough. Threatening to ruin Donny’s life was even worse. And threatening to ruin Lana’s life...’ Jack let out the largest sigh he could muster at the thought of the Chief Prosecutor. ‘He knew that me, her, and Donny’d been friends since secondary school. He knew of her dreams and ambitions, and gleefully pointed them out as he added her to his hostage list.’ Almost absently, he turned from the sink and grabbed one of White’s dirty cocktail glasses off of the bar counter.

“It doesn’t even matter that I haven’t even talked to her in over a year...” he mused, not really caring that he was speaking out loud once more. “Or that she went all cold and damn well told me we couldn’t be friends after she got the job running this place. White knew that my ‘moralisms’ wouldn’t let me want to sacrifice her out of spite.” Noticing again the glass in his hand, he roughly sat it in the sink and went to grab another one.

“So, where am I at? I know the answer to every last thing I’ve been wondering since Mia died... I know who her killer is... I know that the Mr. Wright isn’t the killer... I know that I can’t speak up without having my old friends’ lives ground into dust... and I know that, unless Mr. Wright manages to pull off a miracle defense in his own goddamn trial tomorrow, Murdering Mr. White’s going to come back in here and use the leverage he’s gained to make me his filthy spy-slave... which is exactly what he wanted all along.”

Unconsciously, he thought of White’s sneering face... of Mia Fey’s death... and all the lives that White was messing with, and would continue to mess with, no matter how much of the truth he personally knew. He thought and thought, until...

“Damn it all!” In a fit of rage, Jack took White’s used glass and hurled into the sink with as much force as he could muster.

“KSSSSH!” The force of the thrown glass striking the glass already in the sink was enough to break both of them into several hundred pieces. Ignoring the mess he created, Jack turned from the sink, sat down in his chair, and threw his head into his hands in a fit of despair.

All that remained in his mind was a single unanswerable question: ‘What the hell am I going to do now?’

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Awww, isn't he such an adorific little emo?

Since I've spouted a lot of shit in that last part, let me see if I can refine some of my more important points.

The Old Friendship between Jack and Lana: This seemed a lot better when I started writing the story than it does now, but hopefully I'll be able to keep cliches or canon God-modding to a low level. Now... the most obvious thing is that this is another parallel between Jack and Phoenix; the now broken friendship between the Bartender and the Chief Prosecutor is supposed to resemble that between the Defense Attorney and the Demon Prosecutor. Hell, I even started things with a class trial, but this trial is at the high school level and, if and when I give it full description, is, unlike little Nick's one-objection wonder, a moderately complex day-long school trial with a more tangeble crime, four witnesses, and a clear resolution. Oh, and additionally... I want to stress that I'm not going to bring this relationship into the realm of romance, for the simple reason that that would bascially torpedo existing canon. Like Phoenix, Jack merely doesn't understand why such a good friend, someone who was always smiling and looking out for him and Donny, would suddenly turn cold upon getting a promotion.

And, as for SL-9... Jack DOSEN'T completely grasp the fact that it is the case itself that led to Lana's personality change. While he knows some of the details (even ones that aren't available in canon), he wasn't really offered a close examination towards the facts of the case in depth, and only understands that she somehow changed in spite of a prosector's valient sacrifice to save the sister she'd been raising for so many years. (After all, that is what most people percieved). Until Episode IV, at least, Jack's attitude towards Lana has been somewhere between Phoenix's GS1 'How could my friend change like this?' attitude and Phoenix's GS2 'How could my friend do this to me?' attitude. Ironically enough, the resolution of the Redd White case might force him to try and go on the hunt for more information once again.

FUBAR: Is a military acronym that stands for Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition. I like interupting swears with humor.

DonnyJuan69: Did you see how I poked fun at a screenname that looks kinda like mine? Did you? Did you did you?

That Cigar: Unlike Grossberg, White has no reason to heed Jack's anti-smoking talk. The Bolognia country he keeps mentioning is a fictional European nation used in GS4; even at this stage I try to integrate as many things as I can. The cigar burn he gave Jack was supposed to be a parallel to when he punched Nick during canon; of course, it's a bit more nasty since Jack can't really do anything to him in return. It may also serve, as White kept insisting, as a reminder.

On Watching DNN: This is something that will be made clear in III-6; it's a cool way for me to fill in every missing moment I can.

So... that's that, until I get at least half-way (all the way, hopefully?) finished with Part 6 of this killer episode, titled First Blood. In it, I introduce the esteemed High Prosecutor Manfred Von Karma to the Gavel, so that we may fully view his lovely reaction to Edgeworth's first-ever courtroom defeat.

Until next time... don't mind me spamming this smiley.

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