Disclaimer: I don't own them. I just play with them.
Author's Notes: Written as a challenge of sorts over on LJ.
Murphy's Law was a bitch.
Of that Michael Cutter was certain, as he sat behind his desk, typing away on the laptop. He was beginning to detest the machine in front of him. The Internet and databases were failing him, and his patience was beginning to wear.
His baseball bat caught his eye, and Mike wondered if he could get away with smashing the computer into tiny pieces. It wouldn't help him with his case, but it would make him feel better. The damage would be completely justified from his standpoint.
Sighing, Mike figured that it wasn't worth it, and went back to perusing the case database on the screen. He scrolled down, trying to find what he was looking for. The precedent they needed was on the tip of his tongue. Unfortunately, his memory had decided to fail him today.
Truth be told, everything had failed him today. Edward Murphy had selected Michael Cutter to screw around with, and everything that could have gone wrong had gone wrong.
It had all started this morning, he thought, moving on to the next page in the WestLaw database.
Coming out of the dream world, Mike had woken up to a banging noise; the noise had turned out to be his neighbor pounding away at his apartment's door. He'd unceremoniously rolled out of bed, reaching over to turn on the light at the same time.
His first clue that something was wrong was the fact that the light hadn't turned on at all. Mike had half stumbled to the bedroom door, only to discover that the light switch wasn't obeying his command either.
That had thrown his dead-light-bulb theory out the window.
His brain hadn't had time to concentrate on coming up with another reason as a fresh round of knocking had come again. Growling, Mike had swung open the door to discover his neighbor from across the hall that he rarely ever saw.
The neighbor, who he thought might have been a teacher of some sort, had informed him that a transformer from down the street had blown, explaining the lack of electricity.
A power outage hadn't seemed all that bad. Until Mike had discovered the time and that because of said transformer explosion, his alarm hadn't gone off.
But even then he'd been okay. His body was programmed to wake up no later than thirty after six, even on those rare days that he had off.
No, Mike had dressed, rustled up all the papers from their current case that he had strewn about the night before, and left; he'd hailed a taxi and soon learned that he should have taken the subway instead.
About half a mile away from the office, Mike and his taxi driver had found themselves at a dead stand still with about every other person hell bent on making it into the Foley Square area.
After waiting for about ten minutes and growing increasingly irate, Mike had left, thinking he would simply walk the rest of the way. From where he was, it wasn't that far of a distance.
However, Murphy had swooped in again, not content with leaving him be after the harrying morning.
First, he'd discovered that in his haste to exit, he'd left behind his briefcase. Lucky for Mike, the taxi hadn't moved.
Then it had started to rain. And not like the rain where it started to drizzle and then gradually progressed. No, the skies over New York City had decided to open up with a terrific boom of thunder, mocking those pedestrians that had so foolishly decided to walk today.
Soaked and fully convinced that karma had it out for him, Mike had tried to slink into his office undetected, not wanting anyone to see him disheveled.
Too bad every one of the attorneys in the office had needed to tell him something.
Mike huffed and very forcefully clicked on the mouse, bringing up the next page. Okay, so he was sort of complaining. It's not like he had been hurt or anything like that. There were certainly people who probably had had a worse morning than his.
He could have dealt with it and just gotten over it, if only it hadn't had gotten worse.
News from the twenty seventh had confirmed his belief that their case was going no where at the moment; Green and Lupo had found nothing with their search warrant. McCoy had rounded in on him, inquiring what he and Connie had. Apparently, "nothing" had been the wrong answer.
A call from the could-be-teacher-neighbor had revealed that the power still wasn't on and that it probably wouldn't be on until some time tomorrow.
Another call had come from his bank. The cheerful woman had told Mike that someone had emptied out his bank account, but not to worry, they were already on top of it, and all of his balance would be reinstated.
At that point, the news that he was, at that moment, broke, hadn't even fazed him.
And the one time that Mike might have found something to turn around his terrible day, had proven to not be so. Venturing outside of the building for lunch had only led to bodily injury; wet from the rain, the stone steps had been his downfall.
But the real killer had come about two hours ago, around six o'clock.
Deciding that he would find something for their case, Karma/Fate/Murphy's Law be damned, Mike had turned to his trusty BlackBerry. The PDA had never failed him.
Until now.
About five hundred cases into WestLaw, the thing had died. Just like that. Shut off, the screen turning black.
No amount of pleading, coaxing, demanding, or ordering had revived Mike's essential electronic device. He'd finally thrown the thing across the room, damning it from his chair.
The sequence of events, starting from when he woken up to his BlackBerry up and dying on him, all led to where he was now: sitting behind his desk, aggravated, annoyed, and completely at his wits end.
Mike's eyes flitted over the screen, hunting for the key word that would jog his memory. He froze, finally finding it. His finger clicked on the link…
And nothing happened.
The page detailing the precedent didn't load.
Mike clicked again. Again, nothing happened.
'Oh Hell no…No…Shit.', he thought.
The laptop had frozen.
Locked up.
Failed him just like his BlackBerry.
Swearing loudly, Mike rapidly began pressing any button he could.
A quiet cough interrupted his tirade and he paused in his key banging actions, looking up to see the person standing in his office doorway.
Connie quirked an eyebrow and Mike could tell she was struggling not to laugh. "A problem with the computer, Mike?"
Slightly embarrassed, he sheepishly answered. "It froze."
The ADA nodded in amusement, coming forward to lay a file down in front of him. "Green and Lupo finally found us something. Figured you'd want to take a look."
Wary, because up until now everything had gone wrong, Mike reached out and pulled the folder closer to him. He flipped open the cover and started perusing the contents.
Smiling, Connie left, pausing at his door to say, "Oh. Go easy on the computer. I don't think Jack will buy your excuse of 'justifiable electronic homicide'."
Mike grinned, head still bent down over the file.
Perhaps things were going to be better now. From first glance, the two detectives had finally found something they could use for their homicide.
No longer annoyed, Mike was finally feeling pretty good, sure that he had finally beaten his seemingly never ending bad luck.
But then the stilled computer screen caught his attention again and a scowl came back over his face. He still needed to find that previous ruling to use in tomorrow's motion hearing.
And being that both the BlackBerry and the computer had died, this now meant that he would have to go and look it up old school style: the endless volumes lining his bookshelves that he tried to avoid in favor of the internet.
Groaning at the time it would take to hunt through the thick tomes, Mike stood.
He pulled the first book down, flipping through the white pages, and wondered if that bottle of wine from the Carlin/Vance case was still around.
Alcohol would certainly make his horrible, no good, terrible, very bad day better.
Or make it a somewhat distant memory.
By now, either way worked for Mike.
The End.