Stephen Penner - Presumption of Innocence

"What can I get you, sir?" At least he was polite.

"A beer," Brunelle replied, then clarified. "Whatever's on tap, I don't care."

Fauxhawk nodded and was back in a moment with the beer.

"Is, um, Faust working tonight?" Brunelle tried to sound casual. He was pretty sure he'd failed.

Fauxhawk looked at him for a moment, then winced. "Dude, really? You could be her dad."

Brunelle offered a pained nod. "Yeah, that's what I hear. Just wondering. Was hoping to finish a conversation we had last week."

The bartender took a moment to size up Brunelle. "You a cop?"

Brunelle laughed a little. "No." He decided not to elaborate. "Don't worry about it. It's nothing important."

He took a drink of his beer and thought about calling Kat again. Maybe she'd been in autopsies all day.

"Dude?" Brunelle looked up at Fauxhawk. "She'll be in at eight."

Brunelle smiled. "Thanks."

And he knew how he'd be spending his evening.

***

By the time eight o'clock rolled around, Brunelle was sure of two things. First, he'd had too much to drink. Second, he shouldn't have had Lizzy be a C.I. after all.

But when Faust strutted in the front door, he forgot both of those things.

She was even more attractive than he'd remembered. He knew it was the beers, but he pretty much didn't care. She was hot. The End. And he was only old enough to be her big brother, not her father.

But that was kinda gross too, so he shook his head and waited for her to step behind the bar.

"Evening, miss," he said when she got close. He thought it sounded classy. He hoped it did anyway.

A smile curved across her lips, which only reminded Brunelle of the rest of her ample curves. She put one hand on her hip, and raked the other through her thick black hair. "Well, hello, Mr. Prosecutor."

Brunelle smiled. He wasn't drunk. Just feeling good. Still he needed to watch himself.

"Come back to interrogate me some more?" Faust asked with a defiant eyebrow.

Brunelle shook his head. "No, I just needed a beer. Tough day at the office."

Faust frowned. "Same case?"

"Yeah," Brunelle nodded and took a sip from whatever number beer he was on. "But no worries. It'll work out."

Faust nodded too, but a far more thoughtful one than Brunelle could muster. "Okay, Mr. Prosecutor. If you say so." She thought for a few more seconds. "You gonna be here for a while still?"

Brunelle looked up. He had been thinking about leaving. "Sure. Why?"

That full-lipped smile returned. "I get off at two."

***

Two o'clock in the morning was an ungodly hour anytime. But on a Tuesday night-or Wednesday morning-it was even worse. Brunelle killed the six hours until Faust got off work by drinking too much and eating too little. He was drunk, and it kind of pissed him off. He didn't like getting drunk. He wasn't in control when he got drunk.

"Still here?" Faust purred as she stepped up to his table, her purse over her shoulder, ready to leave. "Good. Wanna walk a girl home?"

Brunelle pushed himself to his feet. "I assure you, madam, I am in no condition to walk."

Faust laughed. "We'll see what you're too drunk to do. C'mon, old man."

Brunelle considered making the old 'I resemble that remark joke' but stopped himself. Maybe he wasn't too drunk after all.

***

Faust only lived a few blocks from Darkness in a small set of apartments over some independent clothes boutiques. It looked nice enough from the outside. Brunelle was dying to know what it looked like from the inside.

As if reading his thoughts, Faust stopped on the steps to the lobby, keys in hand. "You're not coming up, lover boy," she said. "That's not why I asked you to walk me home."

Brunelle tried to hide his disappointment. "I figured as much," he lied. "So why did you ask? Just wanted to see if I'd say yes?"

Faust shook her head. That smile she usually kept tucked away in the corners of her mouth was nowhere to be seen. "I wanted to tell you something, but I couldn't tell you in the bar."

Brunelle smiled. At least the night wouldn't be a total loss.

"Hey!" a man yelled at them before Brunelle could ask Faust what she had to say. "Why you talking to her?"

"Oh shit," Faust said, scrambling to put her keys in the door. "You better get out of here."

Brunelle's head was still a bit fuzzy, but he could tell Faust was right. And if he hadn't been sure, the two other guys who stepped out of the shadows as Faust disappeared inside her apartment building made it crystal clear.

"You're in the wrong place at the wrong time, suit," one of them said.

"And with the wrong girl," the original one added.

Brunelle grimaced. He knew he was about to get his ass beat.

"Oh my God!" Yamata stopped short in Brunelle's office doorway. "What the hell happened to you?"

Brunelle tried to smile, but his black eye, swollen cheek, and split lip made the expression rather painful. "I fell," he joked.

"Yeah, and he'll never do it again," Yamata understood the reference to recanting victims. She came in and sat down. "Seriously, though, what happened?"

Brunelle ran a hand through his hair. "Okay, it's kind of a long story, but basically I got jumped by a bunch of guys last night who took offense to my suit."

Yamata nodded, smoothing out the fabric of her own expensive garments. "I don't like your suits either," she deadpanned. "But I wouldn't kick your ass over it."

When Brunelle just stared at her through puffy eyes, she raised her fists into some martial arts pose he didn't recognize. "I could, but I wouldn't."

"I'm sure," grumbled Brunelle. "But anyway, that's the short version."

"What's the long version?"

"I was in the wrong neighborhood at two in the morning with the wrong girl. Some gang took offense to an old man in a suit being there. They roughed me up and told me not to come back."

Yamata considered the information. "Wrong girl, huh?"

Brunelle shut his eyes with a wince. "That's what you focus on?"

Yamata laughed. "That's the most interesting part. Did you call the police?"

Brunelle shook his head. "No," he laughed. "It was humiliating enough. I don't need Larry Chen coming out to laugh at me."

Yamata frowned. "First, they wouldn't send a detective for a simple assault. And second, he wouldn't have laughed at you."

"You just did," Brunelle pointed out.

Yamata smiled. "Okay, yeah, he would have laughed at you."

Just then, Brunelle's secretary walked in with some papers. "These were just delivered to the front desk. They're on the Karpati case."

Brunelle started to read the pleadings as Yamata picked up his phone and dialed. He was curious what she was doing, but was more concerned about the motion Welles had filed.

Or motion s .

'Motion to Dismiss for Governmental Misconduct; Motion to Dismiss Aggravating Factors; Motion to Disclose Identity of Confidential Informant; Motion for Release on Bail.'

The attached briefing was an inch thick. Brunelle wouldn't have been looking forward to reading it even if it hadn't been a diatribe on his own unethical misconduct, which he was sure it was.

The sound of Yamata hanging up his phone shook him from the pages.

"I called Chen," she explained. "You better talk to him."

"Vampires?" Brunelle couldn't believe what Chen had just said. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Well, they're not real vampires," Chen defended. He offered Yamata a 'how dumb can you be?' glance. "They just claim to be."

Brunelle pushed back in his chair. "I get that, Larry. Thanks. But how is it, given our upside-down, vampire wanna-be murder, that you haven't mentioned this particular street gang before? What do they call themselves again?"