Stephen Penner - Presumption of Innocence

The bartender cocked her head, then put her hands on her hips and stood up straight, showing off her large breasts and curvy frame. "Oh, yeah? Why not?"

Brunelle's smile actually became a bit more genuine. He enjoyed an unscripted question and answer exchange. It's what he did for a living. "First, as you mentioned, fucking gross. Second, I have other interests right now."

The bartender smiled at the first reason, then nodded at the second. "Mm-hmm. And what kind of interests?" She leaned onto the bar. "Nothing illegal, I hope? You totally look like a cop, so I know you're not."

Brunelle chuckled. "Yes, something illegal. And no, I'm not a cop." He savored the dramatic pause. "I'm a prosecutor."

Bartender stood up. "A prosecutor?"

"Homicide prosecutor," Brunelle added.

Bartender crossed her arms. "Homicide? Like murder? Sorry, mister, no murders here lately."

Brunelle took a sip of his beer. "I know. The murder was in Madison Park."

Bartender laughed. "Not too many people from Madison Park come here."

"No, the murder was in Madison Park," Brunelle explained. "But the murderer came here."

The bartender shifted her weight. She had abandoned her statuesque pose, but still cut an attractive figure behind the bar. Brunelle admired the long black hair flowing behind her shoulders as she processed the information she was getting from him.

"Lot a people come here," she said finally. "What's your name, prosecutor man?'

"Dave Brunelle. What was yours again?"

She ignored his question. "Well, Mr. Brunelle, like I said. Lots of people come here. So I'm sure I can't help you."

"Arpad Karpati." Brunelle figured if this guy was as much of a psychopath as he seemed, he would have made an impression on her, and everybody else.

The barmaid didn't respond immediately, but Brunelle examined her body language. She crossed her arms again and shifted all her weight onto her back leg. She dropped her chin just a bit. "Don't know him."

She was lying. That was obvious. The question Brunelle need to figure out was why. The two most likely candidates were protecting him and afraid of him. Preserving the sanctity of bartender-barfly confidentiality was a close third. What's said in Darkness stays in Darkness. He'd start with that one.

"I suppose you two were friends, so I won't ask you to tell me anything he said. I just wanted to see what this place looked like."

"We weren't friends," the bartender was too quick to respond.

That didn't actually eliminate the third option. In fact it kind of strengthened it. It weakened the first one, though. She probably wasn't trying to protect him. But she might still be afraid of him, and she might still want Darkness to stay the kind of place people can come to without worrying that the hot bartender is going to tell everything to the cops. Or worse, the prosecutor.

Time to explore those options, with a single statement. Not even a question.

"He's in jail and he can't bail out."

The barmaid didn't say anything at first. She pursed her lips and stared down her small nose at Brunelle.

"You gonna get him?" she asked finally.

Brunelle shrugged. "Depends. He lawyered up, so I have to prove it through other witnesses. That's why I'm here."

One of her eyebrows rose. "You want me to be a witness against a murderer you're not sure you can convict?"

Brunelle smiled. Actually, he wanted her to direct him to other witnesses. But she'd just given away that she had information. Why else would she think she might be a witness?

"You say that like it's a bad thing," he joked.

"Sounds pretty bad to me. I'm not a snitch."

"Bad for business, huh?"

"Bad for my fucking health," she shot back. "Fuck business. I don't want to get killed."

And Brunelle had his answer.

Now he could give the appropriate assurances. No use insisting the business would be okay if what she was really worried about was a bullet in her skull.

"He's charged with aggravated murder in the first degree." Brunelle knew it sounded impressive, but it was the translation into normal-speak that mattered. "It's a death penalty case. The only way he gets out again is on a bodyboard."

"Unless he gets acquitted," Bartender countered.

Brunelle grimaced. That was the rub. "Exactly. So I need to make sure that doesn't happen. That's why I'm here."

The brunette looked down at him, her eyes narrowed, but the indecision was still discernible in them.

"Help me make sure he doesn't get out again," Brunelle implored. "Help me hold him accountable."

The bartender stared at Brunelle for what seemed the longest time. Then she smiled and leaned down on the bar opposite him. Brunelle managed not to look directly at her breasts hanging above the bar top, but only because he was so completely distracted by her running her fingers through the hair above his ear.

"Sorry, Mr. Prosecutor," she breathed. Sweet beer breath, so close he could practically taste her tongue. "I'm no snitch. And I'm not stupid either."

Brunelle's heart dropped as she pulled away, and not just because she had rebuffed his best attempt. "Oh well," he managed to shrug. "I expected as much."

He pulled his wallet from his pocket and extracted some bills. "Thanks anyway." He set the money under the beer. "And for the record, I never thought you were stupid."

He stood up and turned toward the door.

"Hey, Mr. Prosecutor?"

Brunelle turned around.

"Faust," she said.

Brunelle cocked his head. "Pardon?"

"Faust," she repeated. "My name is Faust."

Brunelle smiled. "Of course it is."

"You smell like beer." Kat wrinkled her nose at Brunelle as he stepped into the high school lobby. "You need a drink to sit through Swan Lake?"

"Probably," laughed Brunelle. "But no, I just had to stop by a bar to talk to a woman about a case."

Kat raised an eyebrow. "A bar? A woman? I don't need to hear about that," she laughed. "But don't try to tell me it was about a case."

Brunelle shook his head. "No, really. The Montgomery murder. Our murderer hung out at the bar. Just seeing if he said anything to anybody."

"Ahh," Kat replied. "And you had to drink a beer to ask that question?"

"I bought a beer," Brunelle defended, "because I wanted to talk to the bartender."

"The cute woman?"

"Right," Brunelle answered. Then he realized, "I never said she was cute."

Kat smiled. "You just did."

She looped her arm through his. "Come on, lover boy, the overture is about to start."

Glad for the change in subject, Brunelle accepted her arm. "Well, let's go then. I don't want to miss any dancing."

Kat stopped short, pulling Brunelle to a stop as well. "You don't know anything about ballet, do you?"

Brunelle grinned. "Nope. But I'm here anyway."

Kat smiled. "Oh, good answer, Mr. Brunelle."

She kissed him on the cheek, then handed their tickets to the usher and they went inside to find their seats.

***

"Four acts?" Brunelle ran his hands through his hair three hours later as they waited for Kat's daughter to come out from backstage. "I thought you were only allowed to have two acts."

Kat laughed. "Allowed? Oh, Mr. Brunelle, you are a prosecutor."

Brunelle grinned. "It might not have been so bad if I'd had any idea what was going on. Aren't there supposed to be supertitles or something?"

"That's opera, culture boy," Kat shook her head. "In ballet, the dancing tells the story."

"Well, I think I need a translator," Brunelle joked.

"Allow me!" It was Lizzy, running up on tip toe, stage make-up still on and hair still pulled back into a lacquered bun. "I totally know the whole story."

Brunelle looked to Kat.

"Whatta ya say, David?" she asked. "Want to hear the story of Swan Lake?"