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Prologue, 7:12 PM
Saying that a weight had been lifted from his shoulders was an understatement. Still, hours after the trial ended, he’d signed all the paperwork and Miles was officially released, nothing felt real.
To his surprise, Wright, Larry, and Maya were still there when he got out. Gumshoe rushed to his side, congratulated him again, telling him he just knew he didn’t do it, waving his arms, making the usual ruckus. But Miles couldn’t make out the platitudes coming from his mouth. Those words, Not Guilty, reverberated over and over in his ears, as they had been for the past hour. There was now proof, on paper, beyond a doubt, that he hadn’t killed his father. He’d never killed anybody at all.
Every part of him felt exhausted, raw, and by all rights he should’ve gone straight home. He pictured him going home to his dark apartment by himself and being forced to process all that had happened and had been revealed to him in the last three days.
He would usually occupy himself with work tonight, but all his cases had definitely been rescinded on account of him being arrested for murder three days ago. He didn’t believe Chief Prosecutor Skye would take kindly to being called past 7 o’clock at night in what was effectively still the holiday season to request them back, even if he got the impression she didn’t like this time of year much either. He would have to call Franziska eventually, something he did maybe twice a year regularly. At the moment he wasn’t sure where to even start if he had to explain why her father was in prison, and when he talked to her about this, he would have to choose his words carefully.
“Mister Edgeworth? Did you hear what I just said?” Gumshoe looked at him.
“Er, no, Detective. Could you repeat that?”
A quick look of pity that Miles was too tired to fight broke out on Gumshoe’s face before disappearing. “I was reminding you, sir, that Wright, Maya, and Butz and I were talking about getting dinner. On me!" he said, and then added hastily. "That is, er, if you were alright with it.”
Wright stood up. “There is a diner Maya and I usually go to for burgers after w—” After winning a case, he was going to say. The entire two cases he’d previously won, against Miles. But Wright caught himself. “—that we like around the block from here. But I mean, we’d be up for going anywhere you wanted, obviously.”
Miles looked at him. He was uncharacteristically timid, standing five paces away like Miles was a stray cat and he was trying to figure out how close he could get without scaring him off. There was a strained edge to his voice, like he was bracing for Miles to say no.
And he might’ve, but he had second thoughts. What Wright had done today, it went beyond something you can ever properly thank someone for, ever. The things he’d put him through already in the past few months didn’t help. It would be nice not to disappoint him. At least once.
He exhaled to four bated breaths. “I could go for something to eat. A diner sounds fine to me.”
Wright’s face slipped into a relieved grin, and Larry, Gumshoe, and Maya erupted into cheers. He resisted the urge to start speed walking in the other direction and swallowed the fleeting embarrassment as Larry grabbed him by the shoulder and they walked out the courthouse doors.
_________
7:54 PM
The diner in question was a hole-in-the wall at the shopping center two blocks away from the courthouse. Minus the counter and a handful of tables at the front, everything was covered in a fine layer of dust. The tables in the back half of the restaurant were covered in cardboard boxes of assorted items: plastic utensils, cleaning supplies, and holiday decorations, the latter someone had gone to the trouble of opening halfway and leaving a tangled web of Christmas lights resting on a chair. There was one miserable looking waitress who had given them all a dirty look when they’d come in. Even so, the sun-faded, laminated menus had obnoxiously cheery, pun-laden nicknames for all the meals that Miles had managed to avoid saying when ordering.
Gumshoe, unsurprisingly, was thoroughly charmed by all this. “You can’t put a price on an all-day breakfast, pal!” he said as they sat down.
Apparently you can, and it’s just a smidge below nineteen dollars for a plain-looking omelet. Miles’ grilled club sandwich wasn't half bad though.
Thirty minutes through, they were consoling Larry for his most recent breakup, and he was thinking of quitting his job. From the sound of it, this happened often, and his blurry memory of Larry when they were children tracked with this. Miles couldn’t for the life of him recall why, but even for a child, Larry Butz left a vague impression of aimlessness in his mind.
“You know, I’ve thought of becoming a cop.” Larry said. “What would you say it’s like, Detective? Pick up a lot of girls?”
Almost by instinct, Miles looked over at Wright, and with a nervous jolt in his stomach he realized they had barely spoken a word to each other since leaving the courthouse. He hadn’t had many conversations with Wright that weren't across the length of a courtroom, or with a pane of glass between them, at least not as adults. He’d spent the last few months ruminating on this man, trying to decide if he was some foolhardy buffoon who was beating him by dumb luck or a secret mastermind sent by karmic retribution to ruin his life. Sitting across a table from him was an adjustment.
When their eyes met, Wright raised his eyebrows as if to say Can you believe this guy? Even so, he had mostly been listening attentively to Larry. He was certainly quieter than he was in court.
Gumshoe chuckled. “‘fraid not, pal. A uniform doesn’t attract girls like you’d think, but I’ll tell ya, getting out and about helps.”
“Damn! What a waste.” he said.
Wright cringed. “Er, Larry, I know this breakup isn’t easy, but maybe hinging your next job on if it could help you find somebody isn’t a good idea.”
Maya snorted and Phoenix gave her a shove that was probably intended to be playful.
Gumshoe continued. “Er, I dunno. I think the most attention from women I get for any of my cop duties is when I’m out walking Missile.”
“And that makes sense.” Maya said, looking up from her burger. “Missile is a-dor-able.” She ordered a gigantic burger with a side of hashbrowns, and was eating with an animalistic veracity.
Miles looked on. As much as he liked dogs, talking about your dog felt like scraping the bottom of the barrel, conversation-wise. About as desperate as discussing the weather. Having a dog near you attracts people like moths. He’d done Gumshoe the favor of walking Missile around the police station once after using him on a case while Gumshoe was absent, and somehow after that everyone in the police station started regarding him as a “people person” and attempted acquainting themselves with him much more after that.
“That’s it!” Maya turned to address Larry and Gumshoe. “If the competition has one— no offense, Gumshoe—”
“None taken, pal.”
“—I've been telling Nick for ages that we should get a pet for the office.”
Wright sighed and put his fork down, running his hand through his hair. “We don’t have enough room for a dog. Or money, for that matter. And Charley is… kinda like a dog.”
“It doesn’t have to be a dog! It could be something smaller, like a hamster. A pet could be a total draw—”
“Hamsters don’t draw people to law firms, Maya.”
“Then maybe we should go bigger then! A gerbil! or a guinea pig. Or what about a ferret?”
Larry and Wright collectively jumped. Larry, who’d been blissfully sipping from his cup of orange soda, straightened up. “Oh, no way.”
A pause. “Uh, Why not?” Maya said.
“Ferrets are illegal in Japanifornia, pal.” Gumshoe said to Maya. “At least without a permit. Destructive to the environment and all that. You can rack up serious fines for those little guys, even if they are pretty cute. Not my department, but even I know it’s not worth it.”
“As if!” Larry said. “Not to mention they smell and poop everywhere.” Wright nudged him, shooting him a look. “So I heard.”
“Hm.” Miles said. “If you are claiming to not have seen a ferret before, you seem awfully set against them.”
Larry’s mouth puckered. “Am not!”
“Oh, you are!” Maya cut in, mouth filled with burger, nearly hopping out of her seat. “Cmon, what’s the story?”
“Geez, Edgeworth.” Wright said. “We got you out of jail, what, two hours ago? Already on the case again?”
“A prosecutor is always on the case, thanks, so don’t try and change the subject,” he mused. “Can I help it if you two bumbled your way into saying you’ve witnessed illegal activity, if not been a part of it?”
Wright groaned, “Okay, it's not that bad, it was a long time ago, it’s just—“ he and Larry glanced at the detective.
Gumshoe chuckled. “Listen, pals. After what you’ve done today, you could have an illegal animal in your briefcase right now and I would still turn a blind eye. Tonight, anything you say, tomorrow it’ll be—“ he mimed zipping his mouth shut. “Honest.”
He sure hoped the detective didn’t mean anything, but knowing Gumshoe and his subservience to him (which ranged from “annoying” to “slightly creepy” depending on the day), he was thinking he really did.
Wright sighed. “It was in college. I was studying through pre-law, and Larry was taking gigs on Craigslist. He found a post that said they were looking to sell some… god, what was it?”
Larry cut in. “Memory foam pillows! They had a dozen memory foam pillows and they said that they would give seven hundred fifty bucks to whoever could sell them all after I paid a ‘salesman fee’, and it seemed totally legit, so I took it.”
“Once again I have to ask, how is paying you seven hundred fifty dollars for selling a dozen memory foam pillows reasonable?”
“I thought they were just really fancy ones! So I load the crate in my car, take it home, and pry it open, and inside it's inside is a dozen drugged, flea-ridden ferrets instead. I was so pissed! So I called the guy and as soon as I got a hold of him, he blocked me. My roommate would’ve freaked out if I kept them there, so I called Nick.”
“Yeah, and they stayed in my dorm for five days until we were able to get rid of them! You remember how hard it was to drag that crate into my room past my RA? When they woke up, they were so loud you could hear them through the walls. They bit me all over and kept trying to get out of that crate.”
“So how’d you get rid of them?” Maya said.
“We figured out I had a classmate who worked at a pet store.” Phoenix said. “She said to leave them there and she would call animal control, and pretend someone just dropped them at the front door. Still though, I had a huge audition that week and midterms the week after, so the whole thing was a hassle.” He looked over to Miles. “You look pleased as punch.”
Miles realized he was smiling.“I— You did theatre in college?”
“Yeah. Is there a problem there?”
“No problem. It’s just… in character, I suppose, considering your courtroom theatrics.”
Wright’s head was being propped up by his hand, one peculiar eyebrow raised. Miles was trying to make eye contact, but kept watching that strand of hair that fell down his forehead move. “Oh yeah, because you aren’t dramatic, right?”
“Not particularly.”
Phoenix cleared his throat and straightened up, stuffing an unwrinkled napkin down the front of his shirt and pitched his voice down. “‘Maybe you should be stripped naked for making a mockery of this court!’”
Miles stiffened, felt his face get hot. “I’m sure I didn’t say it like-”
“You totally did.” He said smugly. “Just like that.” To peals of laughter from Larry, Maya, and (slightly faltered, when Edgeworth eyed him) Gumshoe.
When it dies down, Larry cut in. “Have any of you guys been to that Bar Arcade across the street?”
“You haven’t been?” Maya turned to Wright. “Nick, you know that arcade place across the street? We’ve gotta go there after this, it’d be so fun!”
He hasn’t been there long. If he stayed about forty-five minutes more, he thinks, he and Gumshoe would leave and he would fulfill the obligation of staying. But he didn’t say a thing. He just listened to Maya and Larry shout “Bar-cade! Bar-cade!” and promised himself he would convince Gumshoe to give him a ride soon, when the time was right.
_________
8:22 PM
“You know, Nick,” Maya turned around, skipping backwards a few paces ahead as they were walking down the street. It was darker than when they entered the diner, he noticed. Japanifornia was more or less seasonless, but in the dead of winter the wind cut through your clothes just a little harsher. “I am going to be eighteen just a few months from now. I don’t think it would be out of the question for me to get a drink today.”
“Uh huh. Like Mia wouldn’t kick my ass if she heard I let you have a real drink,” Wright said, playfully poking her in the ribs. “If you’re such an adult, Maya, you can start by not leaving your nightguard around the office.” She stuck her tongue out at him.
Miles had heard Wright and Maya Fey discuss Mia before in the last few days. Something about it bothered him, in how oddly casual it was for a mentor and sister who died so recently. He glanced sideways at Larry, who just shrugged, before Maya turned to Larry to say something.
Miles mumbled, “The office— does she live there? Where she found her sister’s corpse?”
Maya and Larry were a few paces ahead. Wright flinched. “Yeah. I mean, I asked her about it multiple times, said she should share my place while she’s in the city, but… I guess she likes it. I think the good memories outweigh the bad associations for her. She does seem to think about death a little differently than most people do.” A few paces in front of them, Maya turned from talking to Larry and waved. “Mia had a kitchenette for the breakroom and she turned a closet into a cot, anyways. I do overnighters so often, I’m in the process of cancelling my own lease, actually, so I can just move in there.”
Miles thought about that. His first impression of Maya Fey had been her mugshot in the file Gumshoe handed him for Fey v. State. Even now, he still thought about that photo. She must’ve been made of tougher stuff than she appeared. Still, just a few months ago, he was planning to have this girl put away for a capital crime. There was a chance she wouldn’t even be alive right now if Wright lost and her execution was accelerated, which wasn’t unusual. The thought tugged on Miles like a noose. As Gumshoe held the door open for them all and they walked through the bar arcade, Miles started to feel sick.
A squeal, audible enough to be heard over the arcade machines, shocked him out of his thoughts. “Mr. Edgeworth!” Maya turned around to him. “Look!”
There, right next to a row of tables, was a Steel Samurai pinball machine.
She grabbed him by the arm, (not half as violently as he’d ever seen her grab Wright, but still a shock) and led him to it.
“You know,” Maya stage-whispered conspiratorially when they got to the machine, “If the lights and sounds are bugging you, I totally get it. Being from Kurain, it wasn’t easy the first time I was here. It gets better the more you do it.” She winked.
Miles didn’t appreciate being talked down to by a teenager, no matter how well-meaning her intent was, but realized he must’ve been wearing a mortified face when she turned to him and tried to be cordial. “As a matter of fact, Miss Fey, I'm doing quite alright. But I appreciate your concern.” He actually was sensitive to loud noises as a child, but Von Karma wouldn’t allow it, and Franziska was obsessed with arcade games as a child anyways, so he was dragged to many hotel casinos. Maya was Franziska’s age, which was supposed to be young. An age which, on paper, was supposed to be protected, given the benefit of a doubt. It didn’t make the inconsolable shame currently boiling in his stomach any better.
“Mr Edgeworth!” Gumshoe called over. “Did you want a drink?”
Wright had taken off his suit jacket at their table in the corner and from the look of it had loosened his tie, as if he could be set on edge any more tonight. Just one drink should calm his nerves a bit.
“Er, yes, detective,” he said, as he glanced at the drink list handed to him.
When he was done figuring out his order, Maya had already stuck two quarters in the machine and pressed the start button.
It was emblazoned with the logo, and had the Steel Samurai and Evil Magistrate across from each other on either side of it, with the backdrop of Neo-Olde Tokyo in the background. The designs and the details in the machine itself were certainly not from the Powers run. The machine had to be about thirty years old, and was lovingly detailed on the inside. A true fan, or someone who at least did a lot of research, must have designed it. Some truly heinous part of him that he went out of his way to regularly repress felt giddy just looking at it.
“It’s weird this one’s here,” Maya said, pulling the tabs on the machine. “The designs look like they are from the eighties tv show.”
“I wouldn’t know. I’m not very familiar with the Steel Samurai franchise,” he said.
Maya frowned. “You did tell Will Powers you were a fan a couple months ago,” she said. “It was after the trial ended, I think.”
Damn it. He did say that, didn’t he? The Powers case had been so stressful, he’d forgotten Wright and Maya Fey were present when he said that. “I suppose I've caught a few episodes and left them on,” he replied. “I am certainly not an expert, though.”
“Well, this show is pretty great too. I have a DVD set. I watch it with my little cousin all the time.” Maya said casually. “I always liked it, especially when they introduced the Samurai’s Furnace Blade—“
“Inferno. Inferno blade.”
Maya turned away from the game to give him a knowing look. The Inferno Blade wasn’t something most casual Steel Samurai fans were aware of, as the season where it was introduced was considered lost media for a number of years, and didn’t even air on television. He supposed he walked into that one.
“Well, from what I know about the franchise,” he said, trying to word his response to not completely backtrack. “They did get a lot of details right. The Takai Mountain looks very well done.”
“Right! The music is even the Twin Saber Medley in the series finale.”
“Indeed.” Miles said. “Though they are including the underwater Hayakawa temple, which wasn’t even part of this series, not to mention a part of a terrible installment.”
“Terrible? What’s so bad about The Twisted Temple?”
“It’s downright insulting! It wasn't anything like the Samurai’s real backstory, and that part about tanuki overtaking the city was, to put it simply, hot garbage.”
“Oh, c’mon”, Maya said. “Just because it’s a bit goofier from most of the movies, doesn’t mean it’s that bad. It might be a little rough around the edges, but it also fleshes out Princess Yuki and her relationship with the Steel Samurai, which none of the movies ever did before that, not even the manga.”
Miles shrugged. “That is true.”
“See! I’m just saying, at least it was fun. At least it’s not the live action remake of the Little Samurai series, which was—“
They both shuddered. “Awful.”
He pointed. “We would have to agree to disagree about the love triangle though.”
“Hey it’s campy, I didn’t say it was perfect.” Maya said, but held out her hand anyways. They shook on it.
Maya Fey was very good at pinball, but Miles had learned to be a good sport about it. By the time they got back to the table, Wright and Larry were gone, but he could see Gumshoe sitting at the table. He wished he hadn't.
“Detective, what’s in your hand?”
Gumshoe looked puzzled. “Er, your drink?”
“Your.. other hand. Your right one.” Miles said. “And please do not tell me it's a stein of beer you’ve already guzzled half of when you were going to drive me home?”
Gumshoe looked down, slowly, and froze. “H-Hold on a sec, pal!” Gumshoe blustered. “Butz was gonna be D.D.!”
“Was anyone talking about little ol’ me?” On cue, Larry and Wright had returned. “Woah, they have red wine here? Classic, Edgey.”
“Larry,” Miles said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Did you or did you not agree to be designated driver tonight?”
“No way! I thought that was Gumshoe!” He pointed at the detective.
“I could’ve sworn you were.” Wright said.
“Nope. I took the bus here. I’ve been drinking ever since we got to the diner, dude.”
“I didn’t even know they served alcoholic drinks there.” Wright mumbled.
“They don’t! I just poured some tequila that I carry around in my flask. Look!” From his jacket, he pulled a flask.
“You snuck that past security to get into the courtroom? Really?” Wright turned to Maya. “Maya, do you remember any of us talking about who was supposed to drive us?”
“Hey, don’t look at me!” she said, spinning lazily on a barstool. “I can’t even drink, remember?”
“What a disaster.” Miles grumbled, looking at his watch. “Even now, a taxi back to my neighborhood is going to be ludicrously expensive.”
“Doesn’t have to be.” Wright said. “The bus stops leaving downtown at 10:00, more or less. If we leave in, I dunno, an hour from now? We can catch it back to our office. Gumshoe, do you think if you took the bus back with the rest of us, could you take a taxi back to the court parking lot when you’ve sobered up with Larry and get you and Edgeworth back to your houses from there?”
Gumshoe scratched his head. “I think so.”
“Okay. Problem solved.” Wright slumped down in his chair and took a sip of his drink before looking to Miles, who settled down next to him. Not for the first time tonight, Wright studied his face, top to bottom, with the slightest hint of concern. “How is the wine?”
Miles took a sip and paused. “Terrible.”
Wright laughed. It was a nice laugh, he noted. And maybe a little familiar.
_________
9:40 PM
“I s’ppose this is how it feels when I arrest someone and they have to sit in the back of my police car, huh?”
“Considering your police car is still a car, I doubt it feels any different from being in the backseat of a regular vehicle,” he said. “Even if this driver is driving like they are wearing a blindfold and have a brick on the gas pedal.”
As if to accentuate his point, the bus came to a sudden halt at a stop that shook the entire bus and Miles gripped his seat. The reason he avoided buses was the same reason he didn’t like rollercoasters or airplane turbulence, but with a couple slow breaths he would be fine.
He couldn’t tell how much of this was being exacerbated by the drinks. He wasn’t truly drunk at all, just that slight feeling with every jump his brain wasn’t quite secured in his skull when one gets tipsy. The second drink Gumshoe gave him was just enough for him to feel slightly out of his depth; he wasn’t a “drink to get drunk” type.
He couldn’t say the same of Wright and Larry. Larry’s face was bright red, and Wright’s was… getting there. A few minutes ago, Maya remarked she’d never heard “The Wheels on the Bus” so Larry started a rousing rendition for her. Wright complained, but when it became clear they weren't going to stop, he joined in. He was now waving his hands like he was conducting an orchestra, jacket abandoned in his lap. Now the three of them were singing it in front of him and Gumshoe.
Gumshoe said, “Is it a bad time to say I get very carsick on buses, sir?”
“Yes it is, detective.”
“Edgey!” Larry called two seats in front of him. “You’ve been so quiet over there!”
He looked over. “You were making all the noise this bus needed, I believe.”
“Oh, come on, Edgey! We sang on the bus, remember.”
“Many children do,” he said. “But I’d hardly call that drunken, tuneless discordance ‘singing’.”
“We aren’t even that drunk!” Phoenix said, leaning over across Larry’s lap. “The case is over, we won, we’re in a good mood.”
“If there were any tables here, I half expect you’d be dancing on them.” Miles said.
“Hey, I’m not a table dancer until I’ve had at least two more drinks in me.” Wright said. “Hold on, this is us.”
In front of him Wright reached his arm up, and pulled the yellow cord for their stop. He fuzzily remembered he had to tear his eyes away from gravity pulling Wright's shirt sleeve down his forearm and exposing the tiniest bit of bicep. Not before burning his noticeable tan into his retinas, though.
As Wright turned around, he turned his body forward again, and felt a pull keep him in place and heard a horrible, horrible, sticky noise. He looked down. There was a wad of chewed, dirty pink gum that was gluing his cravat to the back of the seat at a right angle from his own.
Wright turned around, and the others looked to him, watching his hand remove itself from the problem area. As he reflexively got it off, the more it spread.
“Ewww,” Maya said. “Tough luck.”
“Jeez, will it… come out?”
“Wright, this is cambric. Chewing gum stuck on a bus seat for God knows how long doesn’t just come out.” He sighed.
“Look, I’m sure it’ll be fine.” He nudged Miles and ushered him to the front of the bus to get off. How come everyone was bodily dragging him places all of a sudden? “Just—“
The bus suddenly stopped to another grinding halt for their stop. Something Miles should’ve been anticipating, but as soon as he felt the floor shake he yelped and his arm shot to the nearest pole.
The other four must’ve seen this. Wright was turned towards him. He was wearing that same stupid face when he reached a realization in court, but pinker.
Miles gave him a look, like Well? To which Wright closed his mouth, then opened it again, hand hovered over Miles’ back.
“Watch your step. On the stairs down there.” he gave a pitiful thin-lipped smile.
“Yes, Mother Hen.”
There was a cold silence when they got off the bus, and unsurprisingly, Wright was still trying to talk. Miles avoided his gaze, he knew he was giving him that look again. Like if he stared at him hard enough he could run a throughline between Miles, age eight, and Miles, age twenty four, and fix every faulty part of him. Miles wished he could return the look, if only to show him what it felt like.
“Sorry, I didn’t know— I didn’t think that—”
“You didn’t have to.” he responds with finality.
Wright looks at him and gives in, sucking in his breath. They walk in silence for a few blocks, trudging past another strip mall and turning the corner. Larry, Gumshoe, and Maya behind them. Then they reach a gas station, a flickering fluorescent sign outside and ads for discounted beer plastered over the windows, Larry standing in front of it like he’d just found a lost treasure. “Bingo!”
“Ni–i–ck! We ran out of Doritos, remember?” Maya blurs past them, the door swings open and shut. Gumshoe followed the two in. He would have to keep an eye out for that, he thought. Maya and Larry could be a bad influence on him.
The air is cold, heavy with condensation, and Wright starts rifling through his wallet. “Do you want to see me dance on a table?”
Against his better judgment, Miles hears himself respond, “Sure.”
When they walked in, Gumshoe was idly browsing the snack aisle, which Maya Fey had already made a beeline too. Larry was browsing the packs of beer stacked in the corner, and Wright was going that way as well, so Miles just ended up trailing next to him. He didn’t spend a lot of time in liquor aisles. Wright was running his finger down the shelves, clearly thinking hard. Miles’ eyes landed briefly on a brand of bourbon.
“Something catch your eye?”
“I suppose… I just remembered my father used to keep this brand of whiskey in our liquor cabinet. He’d come home and have a small drink when he was working on a particularly hard case.” he said. “I honestly hadn’t thought about it in years.” he added, more to himself than anybody else.
“I can kinda see it. I’d see him when he’d pick you up from school.” Wright avoided that last bit, which made Miles grateful. He didn’t want to think about when or why this image from so long ago resurfaced, not now.
“You knew him?”
“Yeah, kinda. He always said hi to me and Larry. He always seemed like a nice guy,” he said. “I could see him drinking something old timey like that.”
Edgeworth turned to him. “Did my father strike you as particularly old?”
“Shit. I mean, not that he seemed old to me, I just meant.. distinguished. Like a detective or something.”
Somewhere, Miles heard Gumshoe bump into a shelf. “My father wasn’t a detective. He was a defense attorney.”
“I know he wasn’t, he just dressed like one, or something.” He started to splutter. “Old timey, but classy, you know? With the trenchcoat, and everything? He looked like Asian Gregory Peck, or something.”
“Who?”
“Gregory Peck, like...the actor? Like, Roman Holiday? To Kill A Mockingbird?”
There was silence, and now it was Wright’s turn to be incredulous. He put down the bottle he was eyeing. “You’ve never seen To Kill A Mockingbird? Really?”
“I’m afraid I can’t say I have.”
“I just can’t believe that you of all people haven’t seen it. It’s one of the lawyer movies. It’s kind of dated, but—“
Miles must have been giving him a look, because he kept stammering. “No, I meant— look, it doesn’t matter. What I’m saying is, he’s a good looking guy! I— nevermind.“ he stopped.
Miles raised an eyebrow. “Wright, how many drinks did you have?”
“Ugh. Forget I said anything.” He said, waving his hands in defeat. His face was red again, and turned with two bottles in his hands to check out.
“Are you guys talking about old movies?” Maya said, bounding over, with her arms full of chip bags and dropping them all on the counter in front of the cashier. “I don’t know why Nick likes those so much. You should see him put Roman Holiday on. He’s watched it like a zillion times, and it still makes him cry every time.”
“Jeez, Maya,” Wright said, smiling slightly and glancing at the cashier (an attractive, youngish woman, in her late twenties, early thirties) somewhat apologetically, who was quietly chuckling. “I know there’s some of them you liked.”
“I dunno, I kinda liked that one you showed me? Umm, with the Russian lady.”
“Ninotchka?”
“That’s the one! She was pretty funny.” she said as Larry and Gumshoe trailed up to the front. Wright smiled and swiped his card in front of the cashier.
They headed out, Miles sighed. “I didn't see much I could use to clean up this mess in a way that was convenient.”
Wright patted him on the shoulder. “You don’t think we have laundry detergent? Some host you think we are.”
_________
10:11 PM
Miles was in the bathroom of Wright & Co Law Offices wearing, of all things, one of Wright’s tshirts, but he was doing his best not to think too hard about it. The gum had glued Miles’ dress shirt and cravat together, and he was now in the bathroom changing into a spare shirt Wright gave him. It was a black t-shirt with a logo of what looked like a metal band. He and Wright must’ve been about the same size, and yet it felt a tad tight in the shoulders.
“It’s not usually this messy,” Wright said apologetically when they first got in the door. “We were kind of in a rush out the door to get to court this morning.” He locked eyes with Gumshoe and he knew he wasn’t thinking about the mess either.
Their eyes were both drawn to the window that once had Mia Fey’s body slumped against it just a few months ago. Instead, a table with legal documents strewn all over it, with the occasional haphazard wrinkled jacket or empty chip bag laying on the ground. There was what looked like a stack of mangas (definitely Maya’s, and suspiciously looked like the covers of the Steel Samurai in Olde-Olde Tokyo series) on the sofa in the corner. Between the clutter and the warm glow from the lamp that Wright must’ve replaced, you could almost ignore that Wright and Maya were making themselves at home in what had recently been an active crime scene. Almost.
As he opened the bathroom door, Maya and Wright were at the counter with a variety of bottles and sodas scattered over it. “Hey, Edgewor— Shit, Nick, watch where you’re pouring that, it’s getting everywhere!” Wright looked down at the drink he was pouring, and saw it had overflowed and was dribbling over the sides of the glass. “Jeez,” he mumbled.
“Holy shit, dude!” Larry said from the couch. “Edgey in something that’s not super fancy? That’s surreal.”
Miles flushed. “If it matters, Larry, you’re not going to see me wearing this—”
“No, it’s good, dude! It looks really good on you. You wore something like that out, you’d have chicks crawling all over you.”
“He’s right, sir!” Gumshoe gave him a thumbs up. “Kinda weird to see you not in your, er, ruffle thing, but, looks pretty good!”
Miles almost snorted, both out of embarrassment, and out of Larry and Gumshoe’s well-meaning presumptuousness, and found himself making eye contact with Wright again, who looked like he absolutely knew what he found so funny.
“I think it looks awesome! So chic.” Maya chirped. “With your suit jacket over the shirt it looks almost like you’re some kind of… rockstar prosecutor!”
“It’s not bad, but who’s ever heard of a rockstar prosecutor?” Wright said.
“Speaking of, Nick, did you see how that cashier was totally flirting with you?” Larry said. “Giggling and everything!”
“I’ve seen her there before, she’s pretty cute,” Wright said. “But I think she was laughing at me, Larry, I don’t think that’s the same thing.”
For no reason at all, Miles said, “Wright, what sort of drinks do you have?”
“Let’s look,” Wright said. “Just a mixer or two, vodka, and some stuff Larry left over last time he was here.” He went back behind the counter. And Miles got a quick but not unsatisfying view of his backside.
Larry, speaking of, suddenly drifted over to Gumshoe and Maya, who was munching on a bag of gummy worms. From the sound of it, Maya was trying to explain her new vegan diet that she heard was supposed to increase her spiritual abilities tenfold.
(“Er, pal, did you check the ingredients on the back of that bag?” “Yeah, just some stuff called gel-a-teen, what’s that?”)
“It’s nothing fancy.” Wright said. “Nothing compared to whatever they have at those prosecutor shindigs you’re invited to.”
“You’re not missing much. They’re not fun,” Miles said. “Just a lot of networking, and a myriad of opportunities to see your colleagues embarrass themselves.” And that was true. If you were smart enough, parties with connections could get you some good information, Miles knew. Policemen, other prosecutors, clients, they all could let slip some important information if you just had one drink and let them get as drunk as they wanted, maybe even encourage them if you’re sly enough about it. But he wasn’t going to tell Wright that.
“That sounds super fun, actually,” Wright said. “I bet I can guess who the sloppiest drunk is. Is it Payne? Please tell me it’s Payne.”
“I’m not going to tell you that.”
“So it’s totally Payne, then. Got it.” Miles rolled his eyes and Wright responded, “Um.. Do you want something else to drink?”
“Looking at what you have, I could go for a Moscow Mule.”
“Okay, but can you pretend you want a beer for a sec? I’m trying to do something.”
“Okay.” Miles said. “I want a beer.”
“Sure thing,” Wright said. Before he handed a beer can to him, he tossed it lightly in the air and it rolled over his furthest hand down his arm, and up his shoulder, and grabbed it when it reached up to his neck, and handed it to Miles, with a wide, satisfied grin.
“Wow. That was something,” Miles said, and was surprised to hear in his voice it sounded like he meant it.
“Thank you,” Wright said smugly. “I learned it in college. It’s even more impressive when you can toss it in front of you at the end from behind your back, but I hadn’t gotten that far.”
“Interesting,” Miles said. “I take it you’re trying to impress me then?”
Wright’s face froze into an expression an awful lot like the one he had in court when Miles brought up a contradiction in his case, and took a sip of his drink, ears burning. This might’ve looked even better on him.
A little while after they all sat down and talked, Larry announced he was going to head out.
“Yeah, I need to wake up early.” Larry said. “I still need to explain to my boss why I dipped in the middle of the day!”
“Sounds good to me,” Gumshoe said. “Sir, are you ready to go?”
Miles stepped over to him. “It’s quite alright, Gumshoe. You two can go home right now, I think I’ll wait until my clothes are drier.”
“Mr. Edgeworth, are you sure? It’s no bother, I can wait—“
Miles waved him off. “Don’t worry about it. Here, let me pay for your ride.”
“Wha— you don’t have to do that, sir! Honest!”
“It’s no bother. You deserve it for coming to my aid these last few days. Larry as well.” he said, trying to find the words. “I know it wasn’t easy... Thank you.” He clapped Gumshoe on the shoulder, and hoped that would be sufficient.
Gumshoe looked like he was about to cry. “Oh, thank you very much, sir!” He gave him a proper salute. “I’ll see you first thing tomorrow at work, then!”
“I’d hope not, detective. It is still a Friday.”
Gumshoe laughed, as he put on his coat with Larry and trounced out the door, “Ha! Right! Bye, have a good night everyone!”
Larry cut in, “Edgey, it’s so cool to see you, dude! And it’s awesome you’re coming over after being on the dark side.” He came in for a hug, which Miles didn’t move in or out for. “I was serious about bringing you with me to pick up chicks. We should all go, I’m a great wingman.” he winked, and reached out and punched Wright on the arm three times— “Nicky,” and gave Maya a little noogie. “Kiddo,” he said, and grabbed a gummy worm from her bag, and left as she let him take one somewhat resignedly.
“‘On the dark side’?” Miles said as he left, unsure whether to be perplexed or offended. “What am I, Darth Vader?”
“He didn’t mean anything by it, don’t worry. He gets really goofy when he’s drunk.” he said. “That was… nice how you offered to pay for Gumshoe’s ride. He really seemed to appreciate it.”
“Well, it was that or talk about giving him a raise,” he said. “The former is much easier.”
_________
11:02 PM
Eventually, Maya Fey excused herself and went to bed, and that left Miles and Wright. The rain was pat-pat-pattering against the window. They were talking on the couch, about being a lawyer, about investigating the case at Gourd Lake and Lotta Hart. Somewhere in between those two things Miles had thought, what the hell, and grabbed one more drink from Wright’s fridge. He was telling Wright some story about an infuriating witness years ago and Wright had laughed, head back, and took another swig of his beer. Miles was trying to ignore all the photoshoots in softcore porn magazines he’d anxiously flipped through in European convenience stores in his teens that had a man suggestively chugging a beer bottle like that swimming in his brain.
But after a while, his eyes were watching the door to Maya’s room at a pause in the story. “You didn’t notice Maya acting weird, did you?”
“I haven’t spoken to Miss Fey for any amount of time before tonight to say I know what’s usual or unusual for her.”
“Right, it’s just…. I dunno,” he said. “She just seems a bit more quiet lately. When she does, she’s talking about her training a lot. I think something’s bothering her.”
It took a minute for Miles to figure out there was some sort of response expected of him here. “I wouldn’t be at liberty to say. It’s possible, but she seemed lively to me. Perhaps it’s just you having a tendency to… fret.”
“Fret?” Wright gave him an incredulous look. “Am I a guy who frets?” he said.
Miles almost laughed. Was he this lacking in self awareness? Really? Pulling an example should’ve been easy, as he’d been doing that all night. Practically the only thing he could remember about him when he saw him again was what a sweet, sensitive boy he was as a child. But the biggest one, that had been hanging over both their heads ever since he heard Wright’s name again for the first time, cast a shadow over everything else. Some part of him suspected, but when Wright told him at the detention center he still wasn’t sure he heard him right. It was too insane. So of course this was when he looked clueless.
“It did sound like,” he said slowly. “You had a very particular reason for becoming a lawyer,” and hoped he would fill in the rest.
“Oh! Yeah,” he chuckled, scratching his neck. “I mean, I could’ve been overstating that.. I was studying art and law for my undergrad. But Mia found me in a tough spot when we met. I think her helping me made me really set on it.”
The way he said it, Miles thought it sounded like he could’ve been backtracking, but he didn’t press him on it. He wasn’t sure he was equipped for the real answer. And as for the “tough spot” went, the vagueness seemed deliberate enough it made him want to steer the conversation back to steadier waters.
“I met Mia Fey in court once”, he said. “It was my first case. Hers too, I believe. She was a… good lawyer, even then.” Complementing a defense attorney felt strange in his mouth, but it felt like the right thing to say at the moment. “She must’ve only improved from there.”
Wright seemed about as surprised he was at his compliment. “Wow. She said you were really..”
Mia Fey was foul mouthed in court as it was. He couldn’t imagine what she would say to Wright in private. “You don’t have to finish that sentence.”
“Fair enough.” Wright said. “I did see your suit from back then.”
“That was an invitation to stop talking, Wright.” he said.
Wright shook his head, smiling, and Miles realized he was smiling too. “Well, anyways, Mia was great. Taught me everything I knew. Defendant’s laws. Witness laws. Amberson v. State proclaiming right to the evidence being protected from tampering. Albertson v. State proclaiming right to… er, the will and the pets thing.”
“Some niche rulings, I’ll give you that,” Miles said. “But you’ve got it backwards. Albertson was the one which assured the defendant’s rights if the evidence has been tampered with prior to a case by their own defense. Amberson assured that if a will was used as a motive for a murder by the prosecution, defense has a right to suggest any pets who are bequeathed to in the will as potential co-conspirators.”
Wright put down his beer. “Wait, really? That couldn’t have been right, she drilled me on that a hundred times.”
Miles smiled. “She should've made it a hundred and one then. I’m certain of it.”
“Wh– hold on.” He stumbled as he got up and walked over to the bookshelf next to the window and grabbed a book from the shelf; well, barely a book, but more of a giant, leather clad binder.
Wright came back, walking slightly bowlegged like a cartoon character, and he sat back down next to Miles, shoulder to shoulder. He ceremoniously spread the book across both their laps so they both could properly see it, like two children sharing a picture book. Miles wondered if that was something they’d ever done, and that’s why the analogy bubbled (ha ha, beer) to the top of his mind so quickly.
Wright squinted and flipped through the index, “Albertson…. page seventy-eight,” and flipped through to that page. He had a little scar on his lip. Miles wondered if he should ask about it.
“Well, huh. You’re right.” he frowned at the page. Wright closed the book and kept his hands in his lap, with his pinky finger creeping up against Miles’ outer thigh. He wasn’t moving it.
“Amberson… what you did, with the Yogi’s parrot.. that’s where you got the idea?”
“I wasn’t really thinking about it at the time, but yeah.” he said.
“What do you mean, ‘you weren't thinking about it at the time’?”
“I mean, I dunno. I just remembered reading the case in law school and it just…. happened, I guess.”
Miles shook his head in disbelief, bumping shoulders with Wright as he did. “You can’t even remember the name of the case, or the details, but you were still able to remember it enough to make a cross-examination like that barely justifiable on the spot like that.” he guffawed. “It’s amazing.”
“It’s amazing?” he smiled, teasingly, and even as he said it, there was no malice. “If that’s your way of complimenting me, Edgeworth, thanks.”
You know what I mean, he wanted to say. You’re it, Wright, you really are.
He realized he wasn’t saying anything at all, just looking at him. And Wright was looking back.
All the years he’d fantasized, out of hope, or fear, some journalist or even Von Karma himself would leak DL-6. All the defense attorneys that gave him dirty looks in the hall, all the prosecutors that kissed up to him at an arm's length but talked about him behind his back, anyone and everyone would finally know what was suspected but until then not definitely proven: Miles Edgeworth had always been rotten to the core. What happened then was fuzzy: sometimes it was with a noose, or a gun in his mouth, or an elaborate legal process that would lead to a state execution, he didn’t particularly care which, it changed often. What mattered is he didn’t have to pretend to be better than he was anymore. It would be all over.
That same instinct reared its head looking at Wright. He wanted to lean in with booze on his breath and whisper, give him names and ages and execution dates. He wanted to tell him nasty tricks he’d used against honest lawyers both as novice as he was and ones that had been practicing for twenty years, many of them the tricks Von Karma used, that he hungrily learned watching from the witness box as his protege. He wanted Wright to do him one last favor by listening to all his dirty laundry he’d never told anyone and recoiling at it before coming to his senses and never saying a word to him again.
But Wright wouldn’t do that to him, would he? He just wouldn’t.
Damn him for it.
That was when Wright’s eyes shifted away. He moved away from Miles to fiddle with his beer on the table. “Well, don’t be too hard on yourself, I’m not perfect. Maybe now I’m making a name for myself, I was thinking I should take a card from your book, fashion-wise. Maybe some nicer shoes.”
“Mhm?”
“Sure”, he said, too breezily. “If it were up to me, I’d be wearing crocs to work, so maybe I am just jealous of your commitment.”
“I doubt even you would wear crocs to work.”
“Hey. Don’t knock it til you try it.”
Miles laughed, a real one. Damn him for that too.
For a minute, all that could be heard was rain coming out of the drainpipe outside, and looked at the clock. “It’s time I get going.”
“Right. Yeah,” Wright said, scratching his neck and standing up. “Your shirt is probably still drying, but I can go—“
“There’s no need,” Miles said. “I’m sure we’ll run into each other in court when we are back at work, or I can arrange Gumshoe to pick it up from you and we can exchange.” He took his coat he’d neatly folded on the couch and started to put it on.
“We should do this again sometime,” Wright said, circling around the coffee table to lead Miles to the door. “It's probably good for you.”
“Sure.”
“I'm serious! You do this, maybe once a month, by next year Larry will turn you into a real party animal.”
“In a year from now, if I was foolhardy enough to blindly follow Larry’s recreational advice, I’m certainly going to end up in jail again.”
Wright smiled dryly. “You wanna wait in here til you call the cab? It’s pouring pretty hard out there.”
“I’m sure I’ll be fine, Wright. Have a good night.” he said, smiling back.
“Alright, you too.” he responded, nodding. Always understanding, always nonjudgmental. “Good night.”
He left, taking his time down the four flights of stairs leading to the ground floor of Wright’s building, and called his cab. He knew if he looked up he could probably see Wright looking out the window, he didn't care. Wright doesn’t know what he’d be in for, he tells himself, not really.
In the meantime, he pulled out his phone and called a cab as the rain continued to fall. It may have been a momentary lapse from sheer exhaustion, but the new day would be coming soon, and despite it all, he wasn’t dreading it.