On weekdays, Don Thousand Bariano spent most of his waking hours in his study, only coming out for meals, his after-dinner walk, and the occasional field trip. It was a rare personality quirk that those who knew him enjoyed poking fun at... though they did so only because he allowed them to, of course. Frankly, it amused him to be compared to a hermit, or an old-world Sicilian vampire sipping blood out of his wine glass.

But the real reason behind this particular behavior was, in fact, very commonplace. Being in his study all day ensured that his family members would be able to reach him if something came up. Unfortunately, this came with one major drawback - that his family members would be able to bother him at any time of day. Most people were too afraid of him for this to be a problem... but then again, Vector had never fallen into the category 'most people.' The young man had nearly kicked his door down and stormed into his study, perhaps not unintentionally whirling past a stack of papers, the top few sheets flying into the air and gradually settling to the ground. Don Thousand sighed, gently massaging his temples with his fingers. "What is it this time?"

Vector slumped into the chair opposite his desk, crossed one leg over the other, and leaned back. "Antares Kreiger was here last week, right?"

Don Thousand turned back to his papers. He knew what this was about. "Indeed he was."

"You don't say?" He could hear the frustration underlying Vector's casual tone. "Well, I heard that you gave him a hit order on some singer."

Don Thousand chose not to reply.

Vector's face twisted into a humorless grin. "Funny, because I thought I was your hitman." He leaned forward in his chair, looking the slightest bit unhinged. "I've bumped off how many Astralas for you, and this is the thanks I get? My jobs go to the butt monkey?!"

Don Thousand gave him a bored glance. "Don't be ridiculous. There is no hit."

Vector's face scrunched up the way it did when he was confused, which wasn't often. "...Mind runnin' that by me again?"

Don Thousand sighed, putting down his pen and turning to face Vector. "Do you take me for a fool? I know Kreiger won't actually carry it out. His loyalty to the family is strained, at best... the fact that he seems to be in love with that girl only helps matters." He allowed himself a subdued smile. "In fact, this situation is even better than I'd hoped."

Vector scowled. "You know, sometimes I think you just like to sit there and rattle off doublespeak 'cause it makes the rest of us look like saps."

Don Thousand chuckled. "That certainly is an amusing side effect." He leaned back in his chair. "But like I said, there is no hit. That singer is no threat to me, and her testimony against Girag is shaky. Dumon will tear her apart under cross-examination... if the case even proceeds that far. I have my fingers in a lot of pies, including the judiciary. Besides, if all else fails, I have ways of making sure the jury is favorable to us. If Girag manages to land himself in prison despite all that, well, I'd say that's his own problem."

Vector frowned. "Yeah, exactly. So why'd you tell Kreiger to take out the chick?"

"Think." Don Thousand liked to encourage his adopted sons to unravel his decision-making process on their own; Vector had been showing considerable promise lately. "What makes Antares Kreiger different from all of the other men who owe me favors?"

Vector thought for a moment or two. Then his eyes lit up, and he snickered. "Guy's a cop. And now you've got somethin' on him." He paused, looking thoughtful. "But you don't need another foothold in the station, since..." Realization dawned on him, and a malicious smirk spread across his face. "If he tells anyone about the hit, they'll know he's connected to you. And even if he keeps quiet, the rumors I heard will keep spreading, and then the flat-foots are bound to hear 'em."

Don Thousand smiled. He claimed that he thought of all his children equally, but such moments had led him to realize that Vector was his favorite; he reminded him of himself at that age. Granted, he was a bit unpredictable, but with some polishing, he would make a shrewd mafioso. "And...?"

Vector grinned. "And it'll look like he's working for you. He's a decoy mole. If anything happens at the station, he'll be left with the bag."

Don Thousand settled back in his chair with a satisfied 'hm.' "That fool is bound to open his big mouth sooner or later. And since he's so infatuated with Miss Aster, he might even tell her about the 'hit' and inadvertently discourage her from testifying." He chuckled. "Of course, it would be a bit of a bother if he actually did carry it out, but there's not much risk of that happening."

Vector laughed. "I sure am lucky I'm a made man; the lifespans of your associates get shorter every week."

Don Thousand shrugged. "I simply use every tool at my disposal." He smiled darkly. "That's why I've lived so long."

Vector smirked, rising from his chair. "Well, thanks for the chat, but I'd better go." He turned and headed for the door without waiting for a response. "Let me know how this newest pet project works out for you."

Don Thousand watched him go, idly rolling his fountain pen between his fingers. He planned on leaving within a few minutes, as well; court would convene for Girag's trial at noon, and he wanted to be in attendance.

Dumon had told him once that trials tended to go better for him that way.


Antares swung open the door to Scarlett's and stepped inside, reflexively scanning the joint before heading towards the back. In the low light, he could just barely make out Epsilon's lithe frame leaning against a table in the corner, and his chest tightened as he thought about what he'd come here to say. Everything he believed in was screaming that this was wrong, that he was playing into Don Thousand's hands. But the thought of Epsilon dying filled him with such a sick, wrenching terror that he just didn't care. He'd never been a by-the-book cop; his only regret was that the others would probably be real disappointed in him if they found out.

Just as he'd been disappointed in his own father. But he understood now that sometimes a man has to sink down into the muck to protect the people that he loves. He didn't mind getting a little dirty, for her sake.

Epsilon noticed his approach and placed her hands on her hips, giving him a mildly contemptuous look. "Let me guess... ya volunteered to escort me to the courthouse."

Antares took a deep breath. "No, I..." He couldn't look her in the eye. "I don't think you should testify."

Epsilon's features, cast in shadow, seemed to freeze somewhere between shock and confusion. "What, does that high-hat lawyer not want me anymore?"

"No, that's not it. Francis still wants you in court, but..." Antares looked into her eyes, and felt his resolve strengthen. He had to keep those eyes open, no matter what. "I think you should back out," he repeated, a little more firmly this time. "The Barianos are after you. The Don's issued a hit. If you don't testify, they'll leave you alone."

Epsilon scoffed, but she was obviously shaken. Her face was pale. "Thanks for the concern, but I promised I'd testify, and I ain't gonna go back on my promise-"

Antares wasn't quite sure what had possessed him to grab her by the shoulders, but all of a sudden, there he was, mere inches from her face, her smooth skin beneath his fingers. "Please don't do this!" he pleaded, urgency in his voice. "The police can't protect you anymore. For Lyra, it's different; she only has to worry about Girag. But the Don can get to whoever he wants, whenever he wants. The mob runs this whole dirty town, and I just couldn't live with myself if you got hurt!" He pulled back, self-consciously hiding his hands behind his back. "I'm sorry, I just... I..."

Epsilon was clearly afraid; who wouldn't be? As a musician, a part of a murky deviant subculture that flowed into and mingled with the currents of the underworld, she knew better than most how much danger she was in. It was impossible to pretend to dismiss it. Still, she tried. "I ain't afraid of the Don," she muttered, her fingers shaking. "But... I have a feeling you're not gonna let me go to the courthouse, anyway."

It was true. He probably wouldn't.

Epsilon took a shaky breath, then reached out and grasped his hands. Her grip was tight. "Have lunch with me," she murmured.

Antares could only nod. He would keep her safe, no matter what.


Sirius anxiously paced the hallway outside Courtroom 3A of the Heartland City Courthouse, checking the clock above the door every few minutes. This trial would decide the fate of Girag, and thus his own success or failure. If, by the end of the day, the foreman announced a guilty verdict, they would have put away a major player in the Bariano family, and Lyra would be safe. The alternative, however... He stopped, trying to shake the thought out of his head. ADA Francis had finished coaching him for his testimony about an hour ago, and already he was struggling with keeping his cool.

He spotted a flash of orange among the people that crowded the hallway, and he scowled, taking a few steps forward to meet Ray in front of the courtroom door. "Where were you?! The trial's about to start!"

Ray panted, extremely out of breath and sweating a little. "I know! I'm sorry... the gall-darn trolley... broke down..."

His 'court suit' was rumpled and a little dusty, and yet Sirius found himself wondering if that were true. He tried to dismiss the thought, but a little voice at the back of his mind kept whispering, did the trolley really break down? Can I really believe that? He frowned. "Hey, about that evidence that went missing-"

"..Huh? You say something?" Ray took on a somewhat concerned look. "Is everything alright?" He grinned. "Got the pre-trial jitters?" He clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry, you and I have stared down tougher mugs than old Dumon Milquetoast. In fact, between you and me, I'd take a cross-examination from that mob mouthpiece over one of Francis' nagging rants any day."

Sirius couldn't help but smile at that, though his thoughts were a jumble. "He is pretty fond of nagging you."

Why had Ray dodged that question so quickly?

As they entered the courtroom, they were immediately accosted by the ADA himself, looking even stuffier than usual in a dark blue suit that was crisp enough to give papercuts. "Where have you two been?!" he whined, then caught a glimpse of Ray's appearance and winced. "Was it too much to ask for you to look presentable?!" he muttered, brushing off the front of Ray's jacket with his palms.

Ray gave Sirius a look reminiscent of the kind Guardian had given him that time he'd taken her to a pet grooming service, and he had to stifle a laugh.

Francis finished his adjustments and pushed Ray towards the gallery. "Now go take a seat, both of you, and remember what we talked about during our coaching sessions!" He looked very stressed, and the little voice at the back of Sirius' mind whispered that something was wrong. "In the end, everything needs to go perfectly!"

As the ADA scurried away to his table, Sirius sat down next to Ray on the gallery bench, a questioning look on his face. "What's his problem?"

"I think I know," Ray whispered seriously. "Look." He pointed towards the front row of the gallery, behind the defense table where Girag and Dumon were already seated, conferring with each other in low tones.

Sirius followed his gaze, and found himself staring at the back of a head of long blonde hair, tied back. He squinted. "Who is that?"

"Not so loud, you dummy!" Ray hissed, deliberately averting his gaze. "That's Don Thousand."

Sirius stole a second furtive glance at the blonde head, only to jump when the man turned around and looked right at him. Everything about his appearance was dark, and the tiny, knowing smile on his lips was absolutely unnerving. Sirius did his best to arrange his features into a defiant scowl, but somehow he didn't think he succeeded. The Don's face seemed to crease, as if in some deep, secret amusement, and he slowly turned back around to talk to a shorter man with curly brown hair that covered his right eye and obscured his face from view. Sirius continued to watch him, a horrible sinking feeling slowly settling into the pit of his stomach.

The bailiff stood at the front of the courtroom and cleared his throat. "All rise, for the Honorable Judge Heartland," he called out, and everyone in the courtroom shuffled to their feet as the judge swept into the room and seated himself at the bench. "You may be seated," he purred, flipping casually through a stack of files. He had a slick, theatrical manner, and Sirius instantly judged him to be utterly repulsive. "Let's see... The People of the State of Massachusetts versus Girag Bariano. Defendant is charged with six counts of aggravated assault and battery, two counts of racketeering, and four counts of trafficking of illegal alcohol. Defense has pleaded not guilty to all counts of the indictment." He put the papers down and straightened with a smile. "Well, this ought to be interesting! Mr. Francis, we'll start with you."

The ADA gave his opening statement; he spoke often of the welfare of the public and the safety of the children, outlined his case, and started entirely too many of his sentences with "in the end." Still, it was a good speech; Sirius spotted a few jurors nodding at points.

Dumon's statement came next, and Sirius could barely sit still through it. The defense attorney, with his cool, collected manner, systematically discredited everything the prosecutor had taken such pains to lay out. He instructed the jury not to believe a word of it, that his client was just as innocent as any of them, and that the evidence, or rather, the lack of evidence, would prove his point. He was a far better speaker than Caswell; he moved about the courtroom with a comfortable air, unbothered, somehow managing to seem inherently trustworthy. Sirius knew it had to be an act, but as Dumon talked, his manner inspired in him something akin to familiarity. He scowled, resolved to drive the feeling entirely from his mind by the time he took the stand.

After opening statements, it was time for Caswell to present their case. Thankfully, he was much better at dealing with witnesses than he was at speaking. He called six witnesses in rapid succession; four were police officers, one was a grocery store owner, and the last was Ray. Unfortunately, the first five had little to offer - the witnesses could only say that they'd thought they'd seen Girag at the scenes of the various crimes of which he'd been accused, but they couldn't provide a concrete identification. The fact always came up that they'd seen his bright green hat, and Dumon always objected, saying that the hat was no longer in evidence and thus could not be used as proof. During such exchanges, Sirius found himself casting furtive glances at Ray; his partner seemed to be much calmer than he was, taking in the trial with a neutral, occasionally even bored expression. When it came time for Ray to testify, he explained how they'd built their case, without going into much detail about what had happened at the lounge. Dumon's cross-examination, as it had with the other witnesses, focused on the relative lack of concrete evidence the department had against his client, something that Ray was forced to acknowledge.

After he stepped down, Caswell turned to the judge. "The State calls Detective Sirius Stone to the stand."

Heartland nodded. "Very well, go ahead."

Sirius stood up from his seat on the gallery bench, smoothing the front of his suit jacket. Ray gave him a discreet thumbs-up as he walked out onto the floor of the courtroom and made his way up to the witness stand, on the right side of the room between the judge and the jury. Once he reached the stand, the bailiff approached and stood in front of him. "Raise your right hand," he instructed blandly, sounding extraordinarily bored with this particular phase of his job.

Sirius did as he was told, and the bailiff coughed. "Do you hereby swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"

Sirius nodded. "I do."

The bailiff's somewhat tired gaze rested on him for a few more seconds before he turned to the stenographer sitting at the foot of the bench. "Let the record reflect that the witness has been sworn in," he muttered, then shuffled to the corner of the room on the other side of the judge.

Caswell stood behind the prosecutor's table, his files spread before him like a battle plan. "Witness, please state your name, age, and occupation for the court."

Sirius glanced briefly towards the defense table; Dumon was watching him like a hawk. "My name is Sirius Stone, I'm twenty-six years of age, and I'm a detective with the Heartland City Police Department."

Caswell tilted his head slightly towards the jury, and Sirius winced; he'd accidentally addressed his answer to Dumon instead of the jurors. The ADA seemed peeved. "Could you briefly describe your education and employment background?"

"I graduated in 1920 from Boston University with a Bachelor's of Science in Criminal Justice," Sirius replied, this time trying to make eye contact with the jury. "I became an HCPD officer that fall, and I was promoted to detective in '22."

Caswell picked up one of the papers off of his desk. "Were you involved in any way in the case against the defendant?"

"Yes. My partner, Detective Shadows, and I built the case against him, and I was the one who arrested him."

"Could you please describe the events that led to your arrest of the defendant?"

Sirius nodded. "We'd been gathering evidence against him for a long time, and I felt sure that we had a solid case, so a warrant was issued for his arrest. On May 13th, we received a tip from Scarlett Starling that the defendant was inside her lounge, so Detective Shadows and I drove to the establishment, and I apprehended the defendant inside. At the time, he was threatening to start a violent altercation with a fellow detective."

"Could you describe that moment in more detail?"

"Yes. I entered the lounge, and immediately saw the defendant standing over Detective Regelus Menestrello, who was up against the wall. I informed him that I was a police officer and drew my weapon, then I subdued and handcuffed him."

Caswell smiled, looking satisfied. "Thank you, Detective." He turned briefly to Dumon. "Your witness."

Dumon nodded, stepping around the defense table and onto the courtroom floor. "Detective Stone, you have only been a member of the police force for four years, correct?"

Sirius frowned. "That's right, but my record is flawless and-"

"But you're far younger than most detectives, aren't you?" Dumon cut him off, insistent but infuriatingly sympathetic.

Sirius' frown deepened. "In other departments, maybe, but the HCPD's mob squad is generally fairly young."

Dumon nodded, pacing slowly. "Now, Detective, you stated that when you arrested Mr. Bariano, he was about to start a violent altercation with another detective, correct?"

"That's right."

Dumon stopped in his tracks, his grey eyes boring into Sirius' own. "Hm. Was he really?"

Caswell rose from his seat. "Objection! The witness has already stated that he was. The question is superfluous."

Judge Heartland seemed amused. "I'm going to have to sustain that one."

"I'll rephrase." Dumon's eyes never left Sirius' for a second. "You saw my client as soon as you entered the lounge, correct?"

Sirius scowled. What was he playing at..? "Yes."

"And you saw him, quote, 'standing over' Detective Menestrello, did you not?" Dumon continued, slowly drawing closer to the stand.

"Yes."

Dumon came to a stop a mere foot or so from the witness stand. "Did you see him attack Detective Menestrello?"

Sirius' eyes narrowed. "...No."

Dumon's grey eyes flashed, and he looked deadly serious. "Did you see him raise a hand to strike Detective Menestrello?"

"No."

Dumon was building up momentum, and his questions were now rapid-fire. "Did you hear him threaten Detective Menestrello?"

"No."

"Did you see him touch Detective Menestrello?"

"No…!"

"Did you see him attempt to harm the detective in any way?"

Sirius ground his teeth. "No, I did not."

Dumon's voice had gained considerable volume during the course of the exchange; he was almost shouting now. "You didn't see any of those things?"

Sirius growled. "No, I didn't!" He was starting to lose his cool.

Dumon had to know. He pounced. "But you drew your gun, didn't you? You drew your weapon on a man who, as far as you knew in that moment, hadn't done anything, isn't that correct?"

"He was going to hurt Regelus!" Sirius snapped, fists clenched.

"But you didn't know that, did you?" Dumon countered, gesturing with his hands. "You assumed that!"

"Objection!" Caswell rose from his seat. "Argumentative!"

The judge frowned slightly. "Sustained."

"I didn't assume anything," Sirius growled, trying to rein himself back in. "I used my experience as a police officer to assess the situation and respond accordingly."

Dumon tilted his head. "Your short four years' worth of experience, you mean?"

Sirius didn't answer. He couldn't. He'd been struck dumb, overcome by an intense, burning frustration.

Judge Heartland leaned towards him slightly. "Answer the question."

Sirius took a deep breath, then slowly let it out. "...Yes."

Dumon looked him straight in the eye. "Detective Stone," he began, voice low but firm. "In your inexperience and excitement, you threatened a man with a loaded weapon and tackled him to the ground, based on the simple fact that he was standing. Isn't that right?"

Sirius' jaw moved up and down, trying to form words to defend himself. It took too long for them to come. "He was a dangerous criminal, I had to-"

"That will be all, thank you," Dumon said curtly, returning to his position behind the defense table. "The defense is finished with this witness."

Sirius' mouth hung open slightly. His fists quivered with rage.

Caswell's co-counsel whispered something into his ear, and suddenly the ADA turned pale, flipping through his papers. At the defense bench, Girag sat with his hands folded on the table, leering up at Sirius. His expression was smug.

Caswell jumped to his feet. "Sidebar, Your Honor!"

The judge nodded, and the two attorneys crossed the courtroom floor to stand before the bench. From where he sat, Sirius could just barely make out their conversation.

"Your Honor, I'd like to request a recess," Caswell hissed, obviously shaken. "Our final witness has just declined to testify. I need some time to sort things out."

Judge Heartland raised an eyebrow. "This witness wouldn't happen to be your star witness, now would he?"

"...In the end, her testimony would have been extremely important to our case," Caswell answered begrudgingly.

Dumon was as impassive as always. "I fail to see the reason for a recess. What would the prosecution hope to accomplish during that time? Surely it would be impossible to find another witness to call."

The judge thought about it for a moment. "Hm, I'm forced to agree with the defense. Sorry, but the trial will continue."

The two attorneys gradually made their way back to their respective tables, Caswell looking downcast. Sirius' chest tightened. It couldn't be ending like this… they hadn't been able to prove a thing! His eyes briefly met Girag's, and the capo returned his glance with a malicious smirk, showing his teeth.

Judge Heartland turned to the prosecutor's table. "Does the State wish to call any more witnesses?"

Caswell hung his head. "No, Your Honor. The prosecution… rests."

"Very well." The judge turned to the defense table, a lightly amused expression on his face. "The ball's in your court now, counsellor."

Dumon stood, the smallest of smiles on his face. "Yes, Your Honor."


Three hours into the trial, the jury had left the courtroom to deliberate. They returned less than half an hour later.

The bailiff stood before the bench. "Will the defendant please rise?"

Girag pushed back his chair and stood, closely followed by Dumon, who idly adjusted his tie.

Ray's fingers twitched, and he bit his lip. Caswell gathered all of his papers together and tucked them into his file, a despondent look on his face. Sirius sat in the gallery, resting his clenched fists on his thighs, trying to keep from shaking.

Judge Heartland turned to the jury. "Mr. Foreman, has the jury reached a verdict?"

The foreman stood. "We have, Your Honor."

The courtroom was completely silent. A quiet smile slowly spread across Don Thousand's face.

The foreman cleared his throat. "On the first count of the indictment, aggravated assault and battery, we the jury find the defendant not guilty."

Sirius' shoulders tensed. This couldn't be happening.

"On the second count of the indictment, aggravated assault and battery, we the jury find the defendant not guilty. On the third count of the indictment, aggravated assault and battery, we the jury find the defendant not guilty. On the fourth…"

This couldn't happen. It couldn't.

"...On the eighth count of the indictment, racketeering, we the jury find the defendant not guilty. On the ninth count of the indictment, trafficking of illegal alcohol, we the jury find the defendant not guilty."

He refused to accept this! Had all his hard work been for nothing?

Was there really no way for him to protect Lyra?

"On the tenth count of the indictment, trafficking of illegal alcohol, we the jury find the defendant…"

How could this happen?

"...not guilty."

The judge banged his gavel. "Congratulations, Mr. Bariano, you're free to go. This court is adjourned."

As the other spectators in the gallery slowly filed out of the room, Sirius sat still, as though in shock. Don Thousand passed by him as he exited the courtroom, this time not even bothering to spare him a glance. Sirius couldn't react; he was frozen in a state of crushing disbelief.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and he numbly turned his head to face Ray. His partner gave him a sympathetic look. "Hey… it'll be fine. Girag's got no reason to go after Lyra now, if that's any consolation." The corners of his mouth twitched upwards in something resembling a sad smile. "It's not like we didn't try. Don't worry; we'll get him next time."

Sirius simply stared. He couldn't respond.


Two days after the trial, Sirius arrived at the station and went straight into the Chief's office. He was torn and confused, and he couldn't work like this anymore. He needed to investigate the mole with clarity of mind and sharp reasoning that would stand up in court. He knew that he'd failed, and he resolved to do everything in his power to ensure that he wouldn't fail again. He was a wolf tracking the scent of his prey; he would eliminate all distractions that might steer him from his course.

Captain Leonis glanced up at him from behind his desk, curiosity in his expression. "What is it?"

"Chief," Sirius began, clenching his fist. This was what he needed to do. "I'd like you to assign me a new partner."


Author's Note: Ha ha ha, I got really carried away with that courtroom scene... I even wrote out the whole direct and cross examinations... I am so sorry. I'm just a nerd with experience in mock trial, and I haven't fake-lawyered in a while, so I couldn't resist.

And now this chapter is twice as long as all the other ones. Oops.

I'd like to state again that I don't know how trials in the 20s differed from modern trials, but other than that I tried to make everything as realistic as I could.

Today's obscure slang / legal terms:

Milquetoast - a timid person

Objection, argumentative - the examining lawyer must phrase everything he says to the witness as a question, otherwise it's considered arguing rather than questioning. Dumon skirts this rule by ending accusatory statements with 'isn't that right?' or somesuch.

Sustained - the judge sides with the objector, and the examining attorney must retract or rephrase the question.

Sidebar - either attorney can request a sidebar to briefly confer with the judge.

Yeah... that's about it. Fun fact, I was originally gonna make the bailiff one of the canon side characters, but I actually think I like him better this way. And now he's like this fic's version of The Rower (from LK's Naruto Abridged). XD

Abyssinia!