From 4/2014

Fulbright usually tried to avoid walking through this part of town, not because he felt guilty about his part in it, but because it made him uneasy seeing people, some of whom he'd helped capture, displayed in the booths like dolls. But sometimes his conscience got the better of him and he felt compelled to walk around and search for signs of abuse to report, hoping he was wrong with each filing.

It was one such patrol that had brought Simon Blackquill into his life.

Blackquill had stood in a booth so grimy it was almost like a veil had been placed between them. Chains clung to every key point of his body. His feet were shackled to the floor and his hands were chained together. Yet another chain dangled from the iron collar around his neck. Leather pants met tight black boots above the knee. His torso was only clad with a sleeveless long coat, leaving his muscles clear, even through the plexiglass. His mouth was muzzled and his long dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail. But the most striking thing about him was his eyes, harsh and cold, almost steely, daring anyone to try to touch him, even with all the restraints.

What Fulbright noticed about him first, however, were the scars at the man's wrists and neck and the deep dark circles under his eyes, practically screaming his pain to the world.

Fulbright must have been staring for longer than he'd realized because the clerk approached him.

"Yeah, he's quite a sight," the clerk commented. "The Twisted Samurai, they call him. Shame he's going to be put down before too long."

"What?" Fulbright asked, barely managing to tear his eyes from the booth.

"We can't sell him," the clerk explained. "Even restrained like this he's still managed to chase off everyone interested in him." He sighed. "Even muzzled he's a master of psychology, managed to convince every buyer to just walk away."

"So you're just going to kill him?" Fulbright examined the prisoner again. The man was definitely younger than him, even with the aging effect of his eyes.

The clerk shrugged. "It's not like he doesn't deserve it. Guy's a murderer, stabbed his own mentor with a katana right in front of her kid. Blood everywhere. You'd expect a prosecutor to at least be better at cleaning up."

Fulbright made a non-committal noise as he reexamined the man in the booth. "How much?" he asked, turning his head back towards the clerk.

"To have him?" was the startled response.

"To keep him," he replied firmly. His face betrayed nothing, his eyes hidden behind glinting glasses.

They negotiated a price, a bargain deal, and Fulbright handed the cash over and received a remote that could send an electric shock through the prisoner's shackles in exchange. As the clerk went to unlock the booth, he hesitated.

"Sir, are you sure about this? He is a very dangerous man."

"I can handle danger," Fulbright answered coolly.

"Very well," the clerk replied, hand shaking as he opened the door and handed over the chain attached to the collar.

The shackles on the prisoner's feet popped open and he stepped out of the booth, a fearsome sight as he glowered at everyone around him.

Fulbright yanked the chain, pulling the prisoner's head towards him. "We'll talk after we're out of here," he murmured just loud enough for Blackquill to hear him.

They walked briskly, but the moment they were out of the prison district Blackquill refused to move. Fulbright sighed and shook his head.

"Look, I didn't buy you for sex," he explained. "I just couldn't leave you there."

Blackquill continued his stony glare.

"Can we talk about this more in private?" Fulbright's eyes darted around nervously. His reputation was spotless, and while it wasn't illegal or even frowned upon to own a sex slave it wasn't exactly something he wanted to be public knowledge.

A glint of possibly amusement flashed across the prisoner's face and he allowed Fulbright to lead him to his apartment.

Once inside Fulbright led the other man to the couch and removed the muzzle. Blackquill ignored his new freedom to speak and instead closely watched the other man expertly remove the cuffs from his wrist and collar from his throat.

"I wouldn't have done that if I were you," he commented dryly when Fulbright finally moved back from him. "I'm a very dangerous criminal after all. I could cut you down right now without a second thought."

"But you won't," Fulbright replied a grin somehow spreading across his face.

"And why not?" Blackquill challenged, standing to his full height and attempting to tower over the man who was only slightly shorter than he was. "I am Prosecutor Simon Blackquill, the Twisted Samurai. I killed my mentor in cold blood while her daughter was in that very room. Why wouldn't I kill you?"

"Because you aren't guilty," Fulbright answered confidently. Blackquill found himself sinking back to the couch in shock.

"How?" he muttered. "How can you say that?" His head falling forward to mask his face.

"Detective's intuition I guess. Oh, I'm Detective Bobby Fulbright," he introduced, holding out his gloved hand, which Simon refused to take.

After a long silence Fulbright announced that he would prepare dinner and his guest was to wait in that room. After a while the detective returned carrying two bowls of soup.

"We could appeal your sentence," Fulbright offered quietly, breaking the silence between them.

Blackquill shook his head. "If I didn't kill Metis the only other suspect was her eleven year old daughter. Therefore I am the culprit."

That sentence hung between them for the remainder of the meal.

"I'm afraid I only have the one bed, so you'll have to sleep on the couch," Fulbright announced as he rose and gathered the dishes. "You're welcome to use the shower if you want, and tomorrow we can buy you some new clothes." He shrugged sheepishly. "I'll see if I have anything that might fit in the meantime. But if there's anything you need, don't hesitate to ask," Fulbright finished with a grin.

There was silence as Blackquill slowly raised his eyes to look at the detective. "I should call my sister tomorrow. She'll want to know where I am." He smirked. "And I'm sure she'll be delighted to meet you," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Blackquill's tone appeared to go right over Fulbright's head because the detective simply chirped "Great!" as a response before puttering off.

Blackquill sighed and allowed himself to sink into the couch. It was more comfortable than anything he'd slept on for the previous seven years. After what felt like only a few moments, Fulbright was back with a pillow, blanket, and a stack of clothes, which he cheerfully handed to his guest.

It was only when he was sure that the detective was gone and wouldn't be able to hear him that Blackquill allowed himself to murmur "Thank you, Bobby," as a small smile crept across his face.