"I want a lawyer. Get me a lawyer!" bellowed the guy holding a gun to my head. I had just been an unlucky passerby while I was depositing a check at the bank across the street from the courthouse when he grabbed me. I didn't even know what he was yelling about, money or something, but everyone else had since ducked and covered. I'd been in this predicament for a little while before the police showed up and started making the guy nervous.
Wrong place, wrong time, I kept thinking, just unlucky. I wasn't all that afraid, like it wasn't really happening. This sort of thing doesn't happen to people I know, therefore it wasn't really happening.
Someone had apparently run across the street to find a lawyer of some sort from the district courthouse, because a handsome middle-aged man in a sharp-looking suit showed up wearing a bulletproof vest. The confident manner in which he moved instantly drew my attention. He was tall and thin, with light brown hair and cunning grey eyes. "I'm Executive Assistant District Attorney Michael Cutter," he coolly introduced himself as two cops took up a position behind us. "Look, whatever it is you're trying to accomplish here, it's not going to work out. At this point, you haven't hurt anyone; all we've got is attempted armed robbery. If you let the girl go now, I can offer you a deal of 3 to 5. If I were you, I'd take it. I very much doubt a jury would be so kind once they got wind of this," he motioned to me, wrists and ankles tied with my own shoelaces. He paused a moment before adding with widened, threatening eyes, "and it's my job to make sure they know." This whole time, he was so calm and methodical and in charge of everything going on I'd almost forgotten the Beretta at my right temple. The guy behind me apparently pondered his situation a moment, and then decided his last act of defiance was to shove me at the attractive lawyer who'd just saved my life before tossing away the gun. But since my hands and feet were tied, I kind of just toppled ungracefully towards him. Luckily, he caught me before I fell over completely, then adeptly swept me up into his arms. It was at that very moment he had me. My heart began to race faster than it ever did when I had a gun in my face. I draped my arms around his neck. While I watched the two policemen cuff the guy and read him his rights, Michael Cutter carried me outside into the line of police cars and flashing lights. Cops and paramedics rushed around as other hostages from inside were brought out. Carefully, Cutter set me back down upon the pavement once he'd found a quieter spot a bit past all the chaos. I had neglected to remove my hands from behind his head before he put me down, leaving me standing with him before me, looking down into my eyes.
"Thank you," I managed to say, "for saving me." He was a good five or six inches taller than I was, making it difficult for me to remove my hands while still tied. Noticing my small dilemma, he ducked his head down so I could free myself.
"You're welcome. Any time," he said with a reserved smile. "What's your name?"
"Jillian. But you can call me Jill."
"Well, I guess we'd better find something to cut those laces with, Jill."
"Oh! Um, I've got a knife in this pocket here," I said, pointing at the right side of my pants. He delicately reached in and took it out, flipping it open.
"Wow," he said in muted amusement at my knife. People had always done that. I never really understood why, but I'd always figured it was because it was a decent sized knife, and people weren't used to seeing seemingly helpless young women with something like that.
"Heh. Never know when you might need it," I replied with a shrug, offering up my hands.
"Why were you the only one he bothered to tie up?" he wondered as he began to cut my bonds.
"Oh, I don't know. I think I was struggling too much." He grinned in amusement. At that point, an EMT finally found us. While trying to give me a blanket, he started asking me questions, to which I continually responded with, "I'm fine, really." My attention was elsewhere. Cutter removed the bullet-proof vest he'd been wearing and set it aside. Turning away like he was going to just leave, I pushed past the paramedic to reach him. "Michael, wait!" He turned back around, waiting to hear me out. "Um, if you're not too busy, would you maybe let me buy you dinner sometime? So I could thank you a little more properly?" I stumbled over the words. I was never very good at that sort of thing. But much to my relief, a smirk crossed his face as I finished.
"Sure. And it's Mike," he said agreeably. I grinned foolishly, obviously excited he'd said yes. He pulled out his Blackberry and asked for my number. "I'll call you later," he said after entering it into his phone. I nodded happily as he smiled and turned to leave, and the paramedic went back to asking questions.
"Seriously, I'm fine. In fact, I couldn't be better." Not so unlucky now, I thought, grinning.
I loved watching Mike work. I went to every court session I could just to see his cross-examinations. He never ceased to amaze me with his cleverness and unconventional tactics. Being a mere art teacher myself made it all the more foreign to me, and all the more intriguing. Oftentimes after I was done work for the day I would head over to the courthouse and watch him or offer another angle on a current case. He had been working on this one particular case involving two murders, which he and the rest of his team believed to be orchestrated by a lawyer called Martin Winston in a Pan World class action suit. Mike hadn't really been doing all that well up until the end where he snagged him on a technicality, proving that Winston had lied on the stand knowing it would lead to the execution of an innocent man who stood between him and his paycheck. Murder by perjury.
I was waiting outside a hearing room on a bench. Mike and A.D.A. Connie Rubirosa, his colleague, along with Detectives Lupo and Bernard, were inside lobbying to have Winston removed from the Pan World case. I could only hear bits and pieces, but I assumed they'd succeeded when I heard who I believed was Winston yelling, "Shame on all of you!" Shortly after, Cyrus Lupo and Kevin Bernard emerged from the room, followed immediately by Winston, who dejectedly leaned by the side of the door and hung his head.
In the months since I'd met Mike, I'd gotten to know the two detectives he worked most closely with. He'd never really seemed to be on perfect terms with either of them, but particularly Cyrus Lupo, who was then a first-year law student. I never understood why the two of them had always butted heads. I'd always thought Cyrus was a really nice guy and the two of us got along pretty well. He was even taller than Mike, but had a much stockier build with a voice to match and curly dark brown hair. He had told me about a quarrel he'd had with Mike the other day where he'd blamed Lupo's testimony for losing the case. I had apologized, explaining that Mike had been under a lot of stress with this case and I was sure he didn't really mean the things he said.
When I saw Lupo and Bernard exit the hearing room, I stood up and they came over to me. "How'd it go?" I asked them.
"Pretty well, actually," Bernard said.
"Winston took it pretty hard, though," Cyrus added softly, so he couldn't hear him from across the hallway.
"Nice." Cutter finally left the courtroom just then. "Oh, there's Mike. I'll see you guys later."
"See ya," Lupo said. Winston had stepped towards Michael and begun talking to him as I approached.
"Are you happy now that I won't get my money?" Winston asked belligerently.
"Don't worry, I'll send you a hundred dollars on your birthday that you can use in the prison canteen," Mike replied, obviously pleased with his retort as he tried to hide a smirk. He put his arm around my back and we both walked away. "One second," he said as we passed the men's room. I went to lean against the wall as he pushed open the door. When I turned, Winston trailed Mike into the bathroom. The way he looked really unnerved me for that brief moment I caught his eye. I listened carefully at the door.
"Pan World was my whole life," he grumbled argumentatively. Worried, I cracked the door open, enough to see Mike standing at the urinal and Winston with his back to the door.
Cutter dismissively replied, "We'll talk outside." Winston quickly reached in his jacket for something.
"Talk to this," he said, pulling out a gun. My heart skipped a beat and I felt a rush of adrenaline start to surge through my veins. Mike saw the gun and reeled back, a look of horror crossing his face. At once, I shoved open the door and leapt at Winston, not really planning my attack, just doing whatever I could to make him not pull the trigger. He apparently heard me coming, because he managed to smack me across the cheekbone with the butt of his gun, leaving a pretty good cut. I could already feel the blood beginning to slowly trickle down, tickling the tiny hairs on my face. He yanked me up violently off the floor, where I'd ended up after utterly failing my initial assault. Winston now had a hold of me, pointing the gun at my head, a position I was not entirely new to.
"Don't hurt her," Mike pleaded gently, "She's got nothing to do with this."
"Somehow I knew I'd end up seeing your little girlfriend here," came his reply. "Now she'll get a front row seat to watching you die." He turned the gun back to Mike. Feeling an overwhelming sense of protection towards Mike, I dropped to the floor. Quickly, while Winston was still off-balance, I extended my right leg and whipped around, knocking his feet right out from under him. He flipped backwards, nearly cracking his head on the tile floor, just as Lupo and Bernard shoved open the door, guns drawn, evidently having noticed all manner of people heading into the men's bathroom.
"Drop the gun!" Lupo instructed sternly. Winston complied, and Bernard bent over to cuff him as Lupo kicked the weapon away. I looked at Mike, who breathed a sigh of relief - and then zipped up his pants. Cyrus then ushered the two of us out of the bathroom. As Cutter stepped past him, he paused a moment to thank him.
Out in the hallway again, I latched myself onto Mike. I'd almost lost him. He hugged me back intensely, then seemed to remember the blow to the face I'd taken. "Are you all right?" he asked, visibly concerned as he took my chin in his hand and tenderly turned my head so he could survey the damage.
"I'm fine. Are you okay?"
"Yeah. Thanks in no small part to you." He smiled, and then leaned down to kiss me.
Hours later, we sat on a couch in Mike's boss's office, District Attorney Jack McCoy. He'd poured us each a drink before sitting down in a nearby chair. Mike had often talked about these after-hours chats with his superior, but this was the first time I'd gotten to witness one. I'd met Jack many times before, and he'd seemed to take a shining to me. He was a nice older guy, and I could tell that Mike looked up to him, always looking for his approval.
"So the men's room, huh?" McCoy chuckled. Mike nodded. "That would've made for some pretty ignoble crime scene photos. Another reason to be grateful for Lupo and Bernard." He picked up his glass. "Here's to earnest civil servants."
"And kick-ass girlfriends," Mike added with a smirk.