Nothing makes me sleepier than a cup of warm coffee.

You'd think it's be the other way around. I mean, coffee has that caffeine stuff in it right? Isn't that supposed to make you NOT sleepy?

I don't mind though. I despise the idea of being dependant on brown, bitter tasting liquid to fuel your jets every single morning. If I ever have coffee, it will be at night, the coffee will be white-brown and buzzing with sugar, and maybe if I'm lucky, some sweet orange-flavor in it. But that's if I'm lucky, meaning, if I have the money to afford it.

My name is Gordon Truth. I'm an honest guy. Get it?

Actually, I am a defense attorney, a new one, a very new one. I haven't been to any courts or had any clients or any paychecks, hence the whole 'lucky to have money' thing. I'm six feet tall, I weigh about 150, and I have long black hair. Long as in shoulder-length, I'm no girl. I have a bumpy nose that imitates Owen Wilson and infuriatingly bushy eyebrows. They're infuriating because I can wax or shave them, and they're still bushy. Those two knuckleheads beget insults from enemies and jokes from friends. But despite that, people tell me I'm a handsome guy. I don't believe it really, but my sub-conscious thinks that every girl that glances my way falls deeply in love with my rugged good looks. My sub-conscious has gotten me into a lot of trouble; nothing serious mind you, but more of an awkward-breakup sort of trouble.

I have glasses. I don't wear them. I can see fine without them. Don't talk to me about them or I'll get depressed.

More on my eyes, they're deep. Yep, you can trip and fall right into them, or so I'm told. Girls say that my eyes are the main selling point. They must be for them to ignore my eyebrows. I got the brown color from my mother and the vision from my dad. Thanks dad. My dad's also bald. I'm not. Thank you God.

When I'm not working, which is all the time, I wear a solid color T-shirt and jeans. I'll never wear shorts, and don't ask why. Sweat pants make me sweat, so I only wear them when my two good jeans are in the wash. When I am working, laugh with me for a second, I wear a deep dark brown suit that matches my eyes and a plain red tie. That suit is now gathering dust at the back of my closet.

I like the way my hair has split-ends. I think it adds to my charm. I also like to welcome my bangs into my face. Even in court, I'll keep the same hairstyle.

Today is a Saturday, and I'm at my office with my feet up on the desk. Well, it's not so much my office as it is my partner's office. Right now, he's working for a client in Wisconsin, and he left me behind at the office to fill in for him. His name is Benjamin Bell, and he's a cool guy. He's only two years older than me, which would make him 26, and he's already a successful lawyer. I don't know how we became partners, since I'm a newbie and he's a veteran. But Benjamin's a trusting person, so we share the Truth & Bell law offices. Catchy huh?

But nobody knows the 'Truth' part of Truth & Bell. They only know the Bell part, since he's always being hired. Part of our agreement is that we are paid for what we do individually. It's a partnership, but he's the entrepreneur. So he's bathing in money every night and I'm bathing in… well, water. It's not like he wouldn't give me money if I asked for it, but I don't want to be a burden to the guy. He's done a lot for me, but that's another story for another time.

Distressed, I put down the phone. Another person asking, "Is this Bell?" After they say that, I usually say "No." and hang up. It's not like I can't defend anyone. I'm just so nervous, and I'd like to be accompanied with someone I can trust for my first case, preferably Benjamin Bell.

Bell is shorter than I am and a little heavier. He had close-cropped blonde hair and a winning smile. But he has such a presence in court, almost as if he runs the show and not the judge. When pressured, he stops smiling and starts acting. He's never left a case without a 'Not Guilty' verdict. Feeling a little jealous, I shouted 'Objection!' to the office. My voice was shaky, so I guess I'll need to work on it.

Why did I become a defense attorney? Well, long story. Really long story, in fact, and I'd rather not talk about it. Or think about it as the case may be.

The sleek, black phone shook suddenly as another caller attempted to reach me. I swept the phone off the desk, a little annoyed, and held it up to my ear.

"Hello," I said simply in a bored, dull tone.

"Is this Gordon Truth?"

I opened my mouth, ready to say 'No, Bell's not here,' when I realized who the guy on the other line was talking about. Who would be asking for a low-quality attorney no-one even knew about?

"Who is this?" I raised an eyebrow. "And I'm sorry, but Bell's not here."

"Who?" said the caller. "I don't know who you're talking about. I've been trying to reach you for a while now-"

This was starting to get very odd. I was clenching the phone a little harder than usual. "Please, who is this?"

"Gordon, it's Mike, Mike Angelo."

I almost dropped the phone, and here I was getting spooked by the guy who used to be my best friend. "Mike! How are you? We haven't called in ages! You almost scared me there for a second!"

"Well if that didn't scare you this will. You know Ken Cline?"

"You mean that pretty-boy in high school?"

"Yeah, him. He's got into a bit of trouble."

I raised my eyelids. "Really, what kind of trouble?

"Legal trouble Gordon."

Suddenly I began to sweat again, now I knew why this old friend suddenly called me out of the blue.

"Is that why your-?"

"Yes it is."

My hands became clammy. No, I couldn't defend him. Why me? There were plenty of much better attorneys out there.

"But aren't you in law?" I asked, suddenly remembering an important detail. "You're a-"

"Prosecutor," he finished the statement. "Not a lawyer. I can't defend him, I want to, but I can't."

"Then why me?" I was beginning to get angry. "I'm no good as a lawyer; I haven't even defended anyone yet!"

There was a pause on the other line. "You seriously underestimate yourself Gordon. You of all people should remember what you did 10 years ago."

I suddenly had the unpleasant feeling that a large animal had bitten off the back of my head. "Please Mike, please don't bring that up." My last statement left an awkward feeling lingering between the telephone wires. We were both silent for a long moment.

"Gordon, you're the only one who can defend Ken. Nobody but you and me would believe that he's innocent. No attorney would take this case because it looks like an automatic loss. Those lawyers don't want a big case like this against their record."

I went red in the face, so what was my record? Tossed salad?

"Gordon, please. My voice might not communicate it well, but I'm begging you. Help a friend out, you're the only man who can do it. Defend Ken Cline."

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

It was lucky the trial was taking place only a few miles from where I lived, since I wouldn't have been able to afford a plane ticket. Two people I used to know, did they really live this close? I wasn't able to meet up with Mike, but I found the detention cell for Ken and walked in. An officer quietly walked a man to the chair on the other side, the man looked up at me, and I saw the same face I had know since years and years ago.

"Ken? Is that you?"

He also looked surprised to see me. "Gordon Tooth?"

I sat down; my eyes wide open in anticipation. "You look exactly the same since I last saw you! And it's 'Truth' by the way."

"That you underneath all that?" he pointed at my hair and smiled. "You still like keeping your hair long do you?"

"You're one to talk," I said, laughing. "You have the same long black hair, and it's still all in your face."

"You used to have bigger split ends."

"You used to talk with a lisp."

For a few minutes or so, our conversation carried on like this. After we were finished happily reminiscing, we came to a strong silence.

"Funny we would finally meet like this," I said, frowning.

"Yeah," Ken shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Right…"

"There's something I want to know."

"What?" He suddenly looked depressed for the first time.

"Did you do it?"

I had yet to figure out what exactly 'it' was. But I decided that I should see whether Kevin would answer me honestly.

Ken sighed and looked at his shoes. "No."

"It took you a while to answer me."

He didn't answer to this, but said something unexpected. "I should be a witness to this crime."

"What?" I leaned back. "What do you mean?"

"I saw who really shot him. I should have been a witness, not a suspect."

I shuddered a little. "Well, who really… uh, shot… him?"

"I couldn't see them clearly, but it was a group of people. They were all on motorbikes…"

"Please tell me what you witnessed, everything."

He sighed deeply, and then began his story in a monotone voice. "It was very dark out, a few days ago. I was walking my dog Toucan around the block. Then I heard motorcycle engines and someone running really close by. As I rounded the corner, I saw a man in a flood of headlights. He was stepping back and saying things like 'Please don't hurt me' and stuff. The biker in the front, he looked like the leader of the gang, said 'You owe me money'. Then he said "Scotty! Throw me my gun!" Then he shot the guy in the face."

I began to sweat again. Why didn't Mike mention this was a murder trial?

"Well, what happened then?"

"The head guy saw me and looked scared for a minute, and then he threw his gun at me."

"He what?"

"Yeah, I thought it was weird too. But he threw the gun at me and said 'Catch!'."

"And then what?"

"I caught it."

"So, does that mean…"

"My fingerprints are on it? Yeah. And the guy was wearing gloves, so he didn't leave anything."

I ran my fingers through my hair. This was just fantastic.

"So is that all you saw?"

"Yeah, and Toucan ran away."

"What?"

"My dog. The gunshot must of scared him so he took off, yanked the leash right out of my hand too."

"Gee, well…"

"So you'll defend me?"

I glanced at him. His eyes were open wide, and he was leaning forward in his chair. Did I really have a choice? Well, yeah, I did. But what would I do with myself if this innocent (well, I believed he was innocent) man was jailed because I was too scared to defend him. 'But, he could end up in prison even if I do defend him.' said a nasty voice inside my head.

That was true; I was just a novice after all. But there was that slim chance that I could win this thing, even if it was a murder trial.

"Of course." I smiled at Ken. "I'll see you at the trial tomorrow."

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

That night I received the evidence list. I felt rather panicky that I only had a manner of hours to prepare my defense. The list wasn't very elaborate, but it was incriminating. As I feared, the murder weapon was listed with Kevin's fingerprints on it. There was also a red dog leach with fingerprints on it. The handle had Kevin's prints, while the other side had the prints of a witness on them. I wanted to see this witness, but he was already in isolation, ready to speak for tomorrow's trial. The prosecution usually adds evidence to the Court Record during court proceedings, so maybe these two clues I have won't be completely worthless for my case. This case was riding on a precipice, I had no real strategy, and my evidence was, ironically, incriminating of only one person, who happened to be my client.

The sound of the phone ringing broke the dark silence over the office. I lifted my head from the desk I had just dozed off on. I picked up the phone and reluctantly straightened up in my chair.

"What?"

"This the defense attorney of a Ken Cline?"

"Yeah,"

"I'm the detective of this case."

"Okay."

"We've found new evidence."

"Okay."

"I've already alerted the defendant and prosecution."

"Okay."

"Sir, are you alright?"

"Okay."

There was a pause, the voice on the other line sighed. "Sir, we need your cooperation. Please listen, this evidence is very important. We suspect that the murderer attempted to hide it. It was found in a dumpster close to the scene of the crime. We don't know anything important about this evidence yet, but the fact that whoever committed this crime tried to conceal it brings about suspicion."

"How do you know it's connected to the crime?"

"There's blood on it,"

"There's blood on a lot of things."

"This has the blood of the victim."

I reached for my mug of coffee, but decided against it, this discussion was getting somewhere. "Fine, it's connected then. What is it?"

"A torn leather glove,"

"Whose?"

"Most likely the victim's,"

"Most likely?"

We were talking very fast. I was beginning to wake up. This glove could be the key to the entire case. But the whiny-voiced detective was starting to grate on my nerves.

"The only thing we could find was the blood. There was no other material in the glove, no dead skin cells even. So we just assume that the victim bought it, but never got around to using it."

"Can I see it?"

"Not today. The prosecution will present it in court tomorrow, you will be able to view it as much as you like then."

"Oh, by the way, who is the prosecutor?"

"Just some guy."

"Name?"

"I forgot."

I groaned. "Is that all?"

"Yep."

"Fine, goodbye." 'Click'

I hung up the phone and returned to the desk. Hopefully the glove would come up in court tomorrow with some more details. I put my head back on the desk, but I was now too excited to sleep. I poured myself some coffee, French Vanilla, and sat back down. God help me tomorrow, and God help Ken Cline as he sits there in the defendant's chair when his verdict is reached.

I had a fuzzy dream that night. I remember Ken, who was being dragged off by two large skeletons with long, black cloaks with hoods. Then he changed into Mike, whose face was blurry, but I could feel that he was frowning and shaking his head in shame. He disappeared, and then someone else I knew began walking toward me. I saw his pre-maturely grey hair, his cold ice-blue eyes, and his devilish smile that made you think of a hyena. His hands were closing in on my neck; he was saying something.

"I'm coming for you."

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

"Gordon, wake up."

"No."

"You're going to be late for your trial."

"Huh?"

I rubbed my face with my knuckles and sat up. Benjamin Bell was sitting across from me, with his light-grey jacket slung over his shoulder. He smiled and handed me some coffee.

"I can't drink that."

"Oh yeah, I forgot about you and coffee."

He grabbed the mug and placed it on a table near the window. He then took a long sip from his own and sat back down.

"I thought you were in Wisconsin." I raised a hand and rested my chin on it.

"I was."

"Trial was over that quickly?"

"Yep, guess what the verdict was."

"Not Guilty?"

He sent me a large smile. "You bet your ass."

"Congrats, what time is it?"

"8:14"

"I have to get going then."

I stood and went to the closet in the back of the office. I pulled out my perfect brown suit, a little dusty, but no wrinkles. Benjamin watched me from his seat, finishing off his coffee.

"So you're defending Ken Cline?"

I scooped my car keys off the table. "Yeah, you know him?"

"We've met."

"I'm pretty nervous."

"That's normal."

"This is my first case."

"And you're going to do great."

I smiled. "Thanks Ben."

"No Prob." He stood up and put on his jacket. "Let's go."

"You're coming?"

"You can have an assistant."

"What?"

"I'll help you in court. We'll be the unstoppable defenders." He smiled and tapped my shoulder.

"You mean you're the unstoppable defender." I mumbled.

He frowned. "Gordon, do you know why I let you become my partner?"

"Actually, that question has been keeping me up at night."

He laughed at my little joke. "It's because you're a good attorney."

"How do you know?"

"You've done some astounding things."

I knew what he was talking about, case NL-307. 10 years ago. I looked away. "We need to go if we want to keep Ken out of the slammer. Let's move."

Benjamin slapped my shoulder, "Good man. Taking charge, you're shaping up good, Truth." I managed a weak smile in return and shook his hand.

"Unstoppable Defenders of Justice?"

"Totally."

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

"I'm not going out there." I said.

"You have too." Benjamin said.

"No."

"What about Ken?"

"Ken can burn in hell!"

He shook his head at me. "You know you don't mean that."

Benjamin was right; of course I didn't mean that. What didn't help was that the client I had just said could burn in hell was standing over me holding my body up from the floor. He dropped me, and my head hit the tiled floor with a 'clunk'.

"Oops, sorry. My arms must of gone slack." He smiled, "C'mon, get up. The Gordon Truth I knew in school was never concerned about nerves, and he definitely didn't faint right before a trial started."

I stood up and rubbed my head. "That wasn't a real trial."

"It was damn close."

I checked my watch, 9:57, just three minutes from Hell.