Note : Looks like this chapter is going to be a bit longer. Bear with me, yes?

Note 2 : I spell some words according to the British spelling because I'm Malaysian, and the syllabus here is British. And yes, I refuse to spellcheck these because they're not wrong. Different is not wrong.


Lesson 3 : Disappearing Act

Miles Edgeworth was not pleased. This was evident from the way he was gloomily staring out of his window, stirring a cup of quickly cooling tea, and the way he was not responding to present stimuli, even one as loud as Detective Gumshoe.

"Um, sir?" came Gumshoe's hesitant address.

No answer. Edgeworth was like that when he was angry, thought Gumshoe. All he did was stare at the window with that grimace-slash-sulk and ignore you until he's ready to re-enter civilization.

Gumshoe took a moment to zoom out a little on civilization too, taking in how fast Mr. Edgeworth had managed to get his old apartment back within weeks of returning to Los Angeles - He had touched down barely a few minutes before he secured the apartment from his landlord and got all his belongings from Germany moved into the quaint penthouse situated in one of the more fashionable blocks of Los Angeles. Certainly, it was a bit dusty – apparently the person who rented it wasn't quite as much a hypochondriac as Mr. Edgeworth, but all his books were still neatly arranged on the huge mahogany shelves, and the burgundy draperies were still there.

Obviously, Mr. Edgeworth still had a lot of influence in this country, whether or not his person was still here.

"Um, sir?" he tried again. Never let it be said that he never tried, because not trying, as detective Gumshoe have come to realized, seem more hazardous to his salary than trying and not succeeding.

"Mr. Edgeworth? " Maybe he should knock on the desk to get his attention? But ooh, he didn't want to know what would happen to his salary if he got caught damaging Edgeworth's desk. The last time he scratched the desk, he couldn't even afford ramen. Maybe he could gently, gently, gently, prod his shoulder?

He reached out a tentative hand to call Edgeworth.

Edgeworth swiveled around to face him. "What? What is it that you wan--. Oh, it's you. Gumshoe." He sighed a little, as if burdened with a lot of things all of a sudden. "Have you gotten me the report I wanted?"

"Yes sir! I got the address right here, as well as everything she's done for the pass two week!" Gumshoe raised his hand in a salute. Edgeworth sipped his tea daintily and raised an eyebrow.

"You sound like a stalker Gumshoe, but do proceed."

"Well, as far as I can see, she seems to be doing okay. She goes to school everyday and goes home with Godot. Then after that they order take-out or go to the grocer's opposite for lunch and then return home for a short while. At around 8 at night, Trucy will head to the Wonder Bar to perform her magic tricks while Godot got himself a job at the bar as a bartender."

"Nothing seems to be wrong sir, and she looks very cheerful to me. There hasn't been any reports of breakdown or any such things at school, and all her teachers said that she seems well, a little misbehaved, but perfectly normal for her."

"I see. Has there been any report of her having said anything in relation to her father?"

"Well I asked the lady-boss of the bar see, but she wouldn't tell me."

"And did you attempt to save your salary by coaxing her into it?" Edgeworth asked with a hint of warning in his voice. Gumshoe gulped.

"Um, see-- she said she didn't trust me s-so I got Maggey to ask her and it worked 'cuz she told her that Trucy said her daddy is on vacation in Europe but that's all because she said Trucy didn't say anything else other than that Godot is going to be her temporary guardian."

That didn't tell him much. Edgeworth scowled at his tea.

"Do you want me to ask her again, sir?"

"It's alright. If that is what Trucy told her, then she will have nothing more to add to it. No, I suggest we go right at the source." Edgeworth sipped his tea and resumed staring at the window and the gray skies outside.

"That's right sir! We'll go right at the sauce! Only..." He scratched his head. "What kind of sauce is it?"

Edgeworth sighed, and Gumshoe had a sudden, startling vision of instant ramen dancing a twiggly sort of dance away from him.


Edgeworth pulled up his red sports car next to the bar and with a smooth move, depositing the car into a parking slot backwards without a single glance.

He got out of his old car (his new, shiny blue one being in Germany, and him quite reluctant to ship his car all the way here when this might all be just a hocus-pocus trip.) and resisted the urge to sight at how...Not nice the place looked. He couldn't think of a more appropriate word. The place itself wasn't really that bad, at least it was clean, and it wasn't particularly seedy or dirty, or even the kind gangs curl up in. It was just that it was so....Rowdy. People weren't very quiet in there, if all the shouting his ears were picking up were any indication.

Still, duty calls. He can't have Phoenix wandering around doing god knows what with god knows who at god knows where, he felt a sort of...responsibility for him, considering that the reason the man became a lawyer in the first place was to meet him again.

So onwards men! For love!

He sighed.

The first thing that blasted at him was the sheer VOLUME of the crowd in the Wonder Bar. Whether they were jubilant or outraged, Miles couldn't tell because all the voices were shouting at the top of their lungs and no word of human language seem to register on Miles' brain, and Miles had a lot of languages registered in his brain indeed. What he did know though was that they were cheering for something, and they weren't shy in making whatever they were feeling known – There were tables being pounded left right and center, and that, mixed with the sheer ferocity of the sound, rendered the place so noisy it was almost quiet.

He walk to the slightly more vacated bar and took a seat. There was no point in trying to fight the crowd to get to Trucy, who was in here...Somewhere. He might as well waited until her show was over. In the mean time, he would have a drink – assuming there was anything in this pub worth drinking – and watched the show.

"Something to wet your throat and get that voice ready to cheer, amigo?"

The sight shocked Miles. Godot – or Diego Armando, as it was revealed – was behind the bar, wiping the glasses with a ketchup-covered rag. He didn't look very different from the last time Miles happened to meet him, which was during that case with Wright's ex-demon-- Uh, girlfriend. The only thing missing was that suit of his, replaced by the standard waiter's outfit – white shirts and black vests. Even the mask was still hanging off his face, which he found a tad creepy, because the place was dark and it radiated a dark, ominous sort of light.

"Diego Armando, I believe we were never formally introduced. Miles Edgeworth." He stuck out a hand to shake. Normally, he wouldn't be quite so social, but you never know, he may be able to worm something out of him yet.

"Life's too short to remember names, yeah? All you have to is remember the sea of masses out there, and you know that not one of them have a name remembered, and you know how pointless it is to give names." Armando returned to wiping the glass with the filthy rag. "So, make it simple, Beigey, what do you want for a drink?"

How about um, Please-remember-my-name-correctly?

"A martini." He stared at the cup Godot was holding, wondering how much ketchup had he managed to wipe onto the glass, his face scrunched up in disgust. Well, at the very least he wouldn't have to pay extra to have it taste like a Bloody Mary too. Another sigh.

He rubbed his temple. At the rate he was going, it wouldn't be long before he experience middle age. Damn that man! Why did he have to go and pull something like this and have him all huffed up and worried? When he find out what he's up to, he was going to give him a piece of his mind. At present however, he was a little too worried about whether or not a depressed, suicidal Phoenix was wandering around Europe, hopping trains like a hobo to be appropriately angered...

Wild cheers erupted from the crowd, startling him out of his reverie. Turning around, he saw the cause of the cheering – A young girl, around eight or nine years of age dressed in a cape was bowing on-stage, twirling a cane around like a professional magician.

"Thank you! Thank you everyone, for coming to my performance tonight! I'm so grateful! Really! Oh, I could cry tears of happiness!" She mocked sobbed, and pulled out a huge red handkerchief dyed with patterns of diamonds and sneezed into it-- And would you look at that! Colourful yellow birds of some species Miles couldn't identify burst out from under the cloth, sending the crowd into a frenzy. Even Miles couldn't help smiling at the gusto with which the young Wright was rapidly making things disappear with her cane.

At least it won't be boring waiting for the show to be over, he thought. He should have guessed though, that someone Phoenix Wright adopted couldn't be that different from him – She had the kind of cheer in her that made it hard for you to resist her charm, even when you know what she was doing was an illusion – just like father.

He stirred the martini, the ketchup stains forgotten.


When Trucy pulled a disappearing act to mark that the show was over, Miles didn't know if the crowds were happy or distraught. He observed the crowd filing out of the bar with the proprietress shooing them out with their long faces and mutters that the show was too short. Distraught, he decided, as the door slammed shut behind them with a sort of air of finality, and he was too – A little sad that such a cheerful performance had come to an end. Trucy Wright was definitely a born-performer, he decided.

He wasted no time making a hurried getaway to the performer's little room backstage, not wanting to be shooed out by the clucking woman. The room was a little one, hidden beside the storeroom with a bland sort of interior – Gray furniture, gray cushions – that sort of thing. Yet he could see that Trucy had obviously made her mark on the place, it was filled to the brim with colouful flowers and stuffed rabbits and magic hats. These were strewn all over the place – On the make up table there were five dolls itself – on the floor, on the coffee table, and even on the piano there. It was impressive. Mess was obviously her middle name too.

"Trucy Wright?" He called out at the small figure packing up her things into a violin case.

"Oh!" She gasped, knocking over a doll. "Sorry, but I don't do autographs anymore since that time with the whole brawl thing. I'm afraid I can't give you want even if you beg." She bobbed her head with an apologetic smile.

Brawl? What kind of fandom is this girl nurturing?

"Actually--"

"Oh! I know! You're not here to apply to be my apprentice are you? Because I'm not allowed to have any until I'm 21."

"No, that's not why I --"

" But you can have a signed rabbit! I'll even throw in a miniature of at a discounted price of 25 $ for you because you're such a faithful fan!"

"Will you please listen to me!?" He bellowed. Apparently, the things she inherited didn't just end at the performer's talent, she inherited that flighty, nonsensical, babbling way of Wright's too.

"I'm not here as a fan of yours. I'm here to ask you some questions." She looked at him with a frown now, her shoulders squared - automatically going on the defensive at the mention of "questions"

"Questions about what? I told you I can't tell you any of my trade secrets."

"Not about that, about your father." Miles grated out.

"Huh." She mumbled.

There was a long silence in which she seems unsure whether or not to continue the conversation when the proprietress poked her head in. "Did something happen? I heard shouting." She narrowed her eyes at Edgeworth. "You're not giving the young lady any trouble are you?"

Miles opened his mouth to retort, but Trucy beat him to it. "It's okay, Mrs. Orange. He's just a friend of daddy's, I'll be fine." She gestured at the woman to close the door when she leaved.

"So, what do you want to know about daddy?" She asked, all business now.

"I want to know what he's doing in Germany."

"Is that where he is? I don't know anything about that." She cocked her head to one side and looked at him.

"He is. He's gone to a village in Germany, with money he's not suppose to have. And I want to know what he's doing there." He swallowed as a lump rise in his throat at the notion at what kind of trouble a depressed Phoenix could get into. When he looked back at her, she was looking at him oddly.

"Why? I'm not saying I know anything, but if I did, why should I tell you? And why would you care about daddy?"

How to answer that? He let out a short bark of bitter laughter inside. Well isn't that a question that begs to be answered? Why did he care what Wright did after the whole disbarment incident? He was no longer an attorney, and as far as that goes in Miles Edgeworth's book, it meant that he was worse than dead to him – He was useless. Still, he couldn't shake that nagging feeling of worry every time the thought of Phoenix, lost without a goal to head towards after the badge he was so proud of (He never really understood why he kept flashing it to everyone he met.) got taken away from him. He thought for a long while.

"Because...I...Owe him a favour from a long time ago. You could say he saved my life. And he's a friend of mine, sort of, and I'm worried for him."

She gave him that odd look again, the one that seemed as if it pierced right into his soul.

"Okay, you don't seem to be lying, I'll tell you what he's doing there."

Wooooosh. The air seemed to be knocked out of him. He was suddenly nervous at the prospect of KNOWING, because it meant that if it was something unsatisfactory, he would have to do something about it. Have to meet Phoenix. Have to face him knowing that he wasn't there to give him support when he was facing his trial and he knew that Phoenix would see that as a betrayal.

Armando poked his head into the room. "You ready to go, kitten?"

"Just a moment, uncle Diego." She nodded at him, and he left. Then she looked at Miles and pulled out a card with Shelly deKiller's signature shell on it and his insides turned cold. Then she brought it out of the bad lighting, and he saw that it was a blue shell, and his heart skipped ten beats.