(FOREWORD: I am neither an attorney nor a student at any American law school. However, I am undergoing the course of studies for a law-related degree. It is that way that I have learnt what little I know of the vast legal world. Upon said (minute) knowledge, and some legal thrillers (either books, TV series, and movies), I have created this fiction.)

Chapter I: THE ARRAIGNMENT

The City of New York. The city Frank Sinatra immortalized in his song, and the same place where the bulk of the American stock trading takes place. It is also a dangerous place. Thieves, robbers, rapists and murderers. If caught, all these are sent to court. Like Darren Jones, who held a smirk in his face as the Honorable Judge, a plump African-American in his late thirties and a dark scowl named Eugene Young, took his place.

A brainless bailiff uttered the name of the accused as everybody sat down, save the mentioned person, who remained up. The Judge skimmed through a paper that was surely Jones' file. "You are charged with murder. How do you plea?"

Murder. Yes. Jones had murdered a man. He had used a sharp sword to behead another man. That was the short version, of course. The longer version would have to include the fact that Darren Jones was immortal. He would live forever until someone took his head, and then something known as the Quickening would take place. Secret fights where one dies and loses his head would have to be revealed. He was not 30 as his documents claimed, but better than seven hundred. He was not American, but German. The sword was a scimitar older than he truly was. He was not even named Darren Jones. But they had the upper hand in the matter, so why bothering?

"I don't have an attorney." He said with a calm, soft voice.

"Can you afford one?" the Judge asked levelly. Jones shook his head. "Then let's find you one." He addressed the crowd witnessing the arraignment. "Is there any public defender here?"

The room was plunged into silence by those words. Jones smirked as he glanced backwards. He knew that no attorney would be stupid enough to get involved in a murder case in which the defendant was as guilty as hell. Eventually, he would be allowed to defend himself and he would manipulate the truth without worrying about stupid mortal lawyers. His eyes posed on the Judge and remained there coldly examining him. They only twitched slightly when he saw the justice motion at somebody in the crowd. He turned, wondering who was the courageous, albeit stupid, mind that would try to get him out of prison...

-----

Standing up from the seat nearest to the door, Stephanie Lancroix put down her skirt. She held her briefcase as her tiny figure moved sultrily through the aisle towards the judge. She wore a beige suit over a barely buttoned white shirt that allowed a good shot of her rounded yet small breasts. Her tight beige skirt highlighted her firm rear, which she bounced rhythmically as she paced. She caught a glimpse of some heads turning to stare at her. She smiled at that and her teeth were the whitest anyone would have ever seen framed by a shiny curly light brown hair and an unblemished pale skin. She liked the attention over her body. It gave her more control over the others than she should have.

"You are...?" The Judge asked curtly.

"Stephanie Lancroix, your Honor. From Hunt, Laver & Johnson." She said as she let out a flashing smile.

"This man cannot afford your fees, counsel." The Judge scowled at her for a second. She was ready for that reply.

"I work in the pro bono division. And given there is no one else willing to defend Mr. Jones, I would like to do it."

The Judge stared at the file again, evidently thinking about it. Stephanie clenched her free hand. She wanted this opportunity. She had graduated only six months ago and her mother had got her a position in Chet Johnson's law firm. The big shots had yielded finally to her continuous pleas to be sent to court to fetch a case. A big one in her first day would look good.

"All right, Ms. Lancroix, you'll be entered as his counsel of record. Plea?"

"Not guilty. I'd like to request he be released on bail." She spat up almost instantly.

"Request denied. Would you like to talk to him?"

"Right away." She said firmly.

"Mr. Zib, arrange that." The Judge told the big bailiff in custody of Jones. "Good luck, Ms. Lancroix. Next!"

Stephanie smiled and turned to see the face of her client. Jones was staring at her with indifference. She contained her surprise. Men usually regarded her with interest in her physical attributes, or at least kindly, given her beauty. His client was a queer fish she would have to work on.

-----

Stephanie closed the door and took a look around. It was a small room, in the center of which there was a table and a chair on each side of it affixed to the floor. Darren Jones, cuffed to one of the chairs, was sitting, glowering at her. Only then she had a chance to scrutinize him. Jones was a medium-height man, not well-built but not skinny either. He had short black hair and brown eyes. His nose was bigger than the average, and in his mouth she could see a tiny smirk on one of the sides. She grinned at this, wondering if he had eyed her up and down when she closed the door. She sat down in front of him and took out a legal pad. She leant closer to the table to write, allowing her breasts to be more available to his eyes.

"You always play with men like this?" he suddenly asked. She looked up startled.

"Pardon, sir. What do you...?"

"You behave like a cheap whore, luring men's attention with tight clothes and showing your stuff... how old are you?"

"Twenty-five," she stammered.

"Oh." He smirked mockingly. "I wonder how many... oral assignments you had to do to graduate so quickly."

Stephanie's face reddened. She felt insulted. Her parents had paid her entire university tuition in Stanford. She had studied thoroughly for every exam and had graduated first in her class. Never had she done what he was suggesting yet she admittedly had used revealing clothes for those exams with male teachers and complicated issues. The teacher would have his eyes gladdened and be nicer with the final grade.

"You're attacking me. I'm trying to help you." She mumbled as she stood up to show who wore the trousers there.

"You can't help yourself." He grinned with an expression of irony. "I see it now. You're a repressed girl who spent her life studying and now show off your body to gain control... when you're dying for a man to touch you."

She froze at his words. She moved her mouth to speak but no words came out. For the first time since she could remember, she closed her shirt. A shiver ran through her back. She felt naked. She opened the door and walked out, passing by the bailiff without saying anything.

She left the courthouse and hurried into her shiny Toyota van. Her hands trembled as she tried to put the key in the ignition. Within seconds of looking at her, the man had learnt her secret: she had refused all the guys that had tried to date her and to that day, she remained vestal. Halfway through law school, she had adopted the facade of the steamy chick, made up by looking up to her mother, to avoid being picked on. Somewhere since then, she had lost herself into her character. She cursed before fitting the key. She stepped too heavily on the accelerator and nearly crashed a car parked nearby. Slowly, she made her way back to the firm.

-----

"You did what?!"

Stephanie was sitting in the office of Roger Laver, the most senior lawyer inside the firm and the only partner available. Her legs trembled and her eyes were moist. Laver was fluttering and fidgeting around her. She had just been lectured very loudly. He had even yelled and spoken profanities against the judge for allowing her to represent Jones.

"I thought... I..."

"You thought what?! You're new into this, remember? Greenhorn, newbie, rookie, how do you want me to put it?" he grunted. "Not only it is unfair that you take advantage of the want of attorneys to represent him, it is also a lack of respect to your client! You were told to go for small cases!"

She could not hold anymore and gave way to many teardrops. This calmed down Laver a bit. He sat on his desk in front of her and regarded her with his blue eyes behind thick glasses. He smoothed his white curly hair before leaning closer to comfort her.

"I'm sorry..." she sobbed.

"Done is done." He said as kindly as possible. "Now you're his counsel. Withdrawing now would make us look bad so you'll have to be there. But..."

"But what?" she asked, still shedding.

"We will have to get help. Very good help." He let her go and went to his big chair where he plopped. "Go do your job, dear. I have work to do."

[AUTHOR'S NOTE: Eugene Young was the character played by Steve Harris in "The Practice.