Hey, it's a new chapter! Dana meets Scales for the first time, and become a little suspicious of Samuels.
Un-beta'ed, so quibbles away.
- o – o -
Chapter Eight: They're Coming To Take Me Away
When she'd gotten the assignment to become Scales' public defender, she'd thought nothing could top it. After all, it wasn't every day that one got chosen to defend the local psychopath. It was odd, though. Really odd… Scales had been in Palm City for so long that he was practically a living legend; no matter how many crimes they'd tried to pin on him over the years, the PCPD had never managed to make anything stick. ARK had, however, and the smuggler was on trial for murder.
Somehow, though, the Cape had managed to top that. She sighed and stretched on the couch, waiting for the vigilante to reply. Jack had gone home an hour ago, citing work in the morning as an excuse. He'd only left after helping Dana extract a promise from the vigilante to produce Vince, if the man was alive and well. (For some reason, the Cape had gone remarkably pale after making the promise. Dana wondered what he knew that no one else did.)
She sighed as he failed to respond to his question. The man looked half-dead and tired, sitting there in the arm chair. If not for the cup of coffee he'd had while staring awkwardly at her and Jack, Dana was fairly sure he'd be deep asleep by now. It looked like the last few days had been just as hard on him as they had been on her.
"I'll…"
Dana looked up as the Cape broke into her thoughts. "You'll what?" she asked, stifling a yawn. It was almost midnight, and she had to meet with her new client in the morning at eight. Too damn early for meetings, she added with a mental grumble.
"I'll bring your husband home, Mrs. Faraday," the vigilante finally rasped. He stood up, looking as though he wanted to say something else. He sighed, a light smile on his face. "You look like you could sleep for a week."
The public defender shrugged. "Probably," she agreed. "Good night, Cape," she tossed over her shoulder on her way to her bedroom. As she was pulling on her nightgown, she heard the window rattle close. The Cape, despite the fact that he had a lot to answer for, had at least made a promise.
And if he didn't follow through, she'd beat him with her coffeepot.
- o – o -
Meeting at eight in the morning should have been against the law, Dana thought with a glower as she showed her public defender's ID and driver's license to the guard stationed at the first checkpoint on the causeway to Owl Island Penitentiary. The guard waved her through to the causeway without so much as a word. If Dana had been going anywhere else, she'd have been clutching her cup of coffee in one hand, both for the smell of fresh coffee and for the warmth. Considering how many checkpoints there were on the causeway, she couldn't see any point in rolling her window up. The cup of coffee stayed in the cup holder.
Thirty minutes later—twenty minutes behind schedule—Dana was in the visitor's area of the prison, drinking her coffee and going over case notes. One of the guards had kindly turned the heat up for her with a knowing smile, before going to fetch her new client.
Dana eyed the cooling cup of coffee on the other side of the table. She might not like her new client, or even want to defend him, but there was no call for impoliteness. (Hell, it was just a cup of coffee, not an offer to break Scales out of prison. She ruthlessly trampled the mental voice that sounded rather like the Cape before it could start complaining.)
Her client was escorted into the room five minutes later. The guards on either side of him were, somehow, even larger than he was. Still, the smuggler cut an imposing figure in the ill-fitting orange jumpsuit. The guards attached his manacles to the ring on the table before retreating to the other side of the room. Dana noted with a tinge of unease that both of them were toting stun batons and tranq rifles.
Oh goody, Dana thought with a mental grimace. She got to defend the one criminal in Palm City who had to be sedated regularly. Just perfect…
"Well fuck me," Scales said suddenly, breaking the silence. Dana looked up, startled. The reprimand died on her lips; she wasn't at the kitchen table with her son. She was at Owl Island, sitting across from a grown man who'd killed people with his bare hands. He had every right to a foul mouth… "Mrs. Faraday. I dinnit t'ink t'ey could find a person—much less a lawyer—wot would 'ate me more'n Fleming does." There was a glint of dark humor in his eyes that was worrisome.
"I lost the coin toss," she replied dryly, drawing a chuckle from the smuggler. "I brought you coffee," she added, pointing at the cup in front of him.
Scales raised an eyebrow and lifted his hands up two inches. Dana flushed in embarrassment. Point duly noted.
"T'ank y' kindly anyhow," Scales replied. The cup of coffee remained untouched as Dana opened the manila file in front of her as she tried to gather her thoughts. "A coin toss?" Scales asked suddenly, breaking in on Dana's thoughts. "I really ain't popular, am I?" He sighed, a self-deprecating grin on his face. "Jesus wept. I'da found a way t' ge' me ol' barrister if I knew tha' much."
"That's nice," Dana replied absently, not really paying attention. He wasn't popular because he sent so much extra paperwork a day to their office in the form of his employees. How was it that the average longshoreman got arrested so often…? "Mr. Raoul—"
"Dominic, please."
Dana glowered at her client, before continuing. "Mr. Raoul, you were arrested a month ago by ARK troops, after shooting Marty Voyt. Is that correct?"
"T'ey ain' go' any proof," Raoul muttered sullenly, leaning back in his chair. "F'r all t'ose cozzers know, I picked the gun up an' were tryin' t' find out who'd shot what." Dana blinked in confusion as she tried to puzzle through the accent. Maybe she should have brought a translator instead of coffee…
"So…you're saying that no one actually saw you shoot Voyt?" Dana clarified. Well, the Cape had, but he wasn't admissible as a witness. She sighed when Raoul nodded. If not for the fact that witnesses giving testimony needed to admit their real name for the record, she'd have had a solid case to… No, she still had enough to cast reasonable doubt at least. She wasn't allowed to let personal feelings interfere in cases, no matter how much she loathed her client…
"Nope. Bleedin' bastards dinnit e'en gi' me a bloody call afore interrogating me."
That was the first ray of hope Dana could see in this case. Arguing a mistrial was going to be so much easier than trying to muddle through a murder trial. Dana's train of thought ground to a halt as her client's restlessness registered. The finger-tapping against the table that was almost nonstop was getting on her nerves as well.
"Would you please stop doing that?" she asked after a few seconds. Raoul gave her a sheepish look and laced his fingers together around the chain holding his shackles together.
"Nervous 'abit love," he said with another easy smile. "My apologies."
This case was going to drive her insane…hopefully before her client did.
- o – o -
Three hours later, Dana was on her way back to the parking lot, having scheduled another appointment on her way out. Scales' guards had relented enough, halfway through the interview, to unchain one of his hands so he could drink the stone-cold coffee. After the interview was finished and every detail gone over with a fine-toothed comb, Scales gave her one look.
He implored her to bring tea next time. Dana had no idea how to respond to that, and decided he wasn't joking. Why was it that her life was so complicated? As she'd left, she'd have sworn her client had traded a few good-natured jabs with one of the guards. It made no sense, but then again, nothing in her life really did.
Some days, Dana swore she was living in a sitcom or a comic book. Given the number of coincidences in her life, and the odd occurrences (a superhero? Really?), it wasn't an impossibility. Just improbable.
Dana pulled out of the prison parking lot and onto the causeway, grateful that the warden had called ahead so she could get out with a minimum of hassle. She checked her watch and muttered another curse under her breath. If she hurried—and avoided the ARK patrol cars—she'd be able to get to Samuels' office before Trip's session was over.
It took her another forty-five minutes and a few close calls, but Dana was able to make it with five minutes to spare. Doctor Samuels kept offices at his home (a suggestion that Dana and Samuels had agreed was not for patients under the age of eighteen), at ARK Tower (vetoed by Samuels, as he only treated members of ARK Corporation there), and his secondary office next to Palm City's main park. The third office was actually rather nice, and it had a large bay window that let in a lot of light.
The secretary in the outer office smiled as Dana walked by, politely informing her that Trip was almost done with his session. The public defender thanked her and walked into the waiting room, choosing a comfortable seat by the massive window.
Dana froze at a small noise, before brushing it off as her imagination. There was probably another office above this one. Just her imagination. She put it out of her mind and waited patiently for the door to Doctor Samuels' office to open.
Five minutes later, right on time—as usual—Trip came out of the inner office. He was smiling, which was either a good sign or a very bad one.
"Hi mom!" Trip said, looking cheerful for the first time in over two weeks. He hugged her and went to collect his backpack from the closet at the other end of the room. Samuels came out of the room after him, polishing his glasses on his handkerchief.
"Doctor Samuels," Dana said pleasantly. "Good afternoon." The doctor smiled back, shaking her hand.
"Mrs. Faraday; it's always wonderful to see you." Samuels gestured to the coffeepot on the sideboard. "Would you like some coffee?" he offered. "I assume you've had a day that's almost as long as mine was?"
Dana grinned as he poured two cups of coffee. It had become something of a ritual between them to have coffee while Samuels discussed particulars of the day's session with her. The coffee was actually pretty good, especially for a doctor's office. (Although given that he was Peter Fleming's personal physician and psychiatrist, it wasn't too surprising. He could afford it.)
"Well," Samuels said, once they were in their respective chairs, "Vincent is progressing well. Or as well as a child in his situation could be expected to," he amended, before taking a sip of his coffee. He'd refused to use her son's nickname from the first session, claiming that he wasn't a relative, and therefore, it wasn't appropriate. At least he was professional…
"The medication is working," Dana replied. "His nightmares have gotten… Well, a little better. He's not waking up so much anymore either." Neither am I, she added quietly. "And he's getting along with Sawyer. They've decided that legal terms are no longer allowed in Scrabble." Jack had lost that argument because Sawyer was larger than Jack and Trip was incredibly good at using puppy-dog eyes on his mother.
"That's always good to hear," Samuels replied. He started when his phone rang. "Pardon me," the doctor said politely. "I have to take this." Samuels stood up and walked a short ways away. Whatever was on his phone hadn't taken much of his time, as he was back within a few minutes.
"My apologies, Mrs. Faraday," Samuels said, polite as ever. "A patient I'm treating at home was experiencing…difficulties." The way he'd said the last word sent a shiver down Dana's spine, and not in a good way. "He's rather out of sorts at the moment, I'm afraid." Samuels sighed, an odd look in his eyes. "It's not exactly professional of me, but I wish that all of my patients were as easy to treat as your son."
"Even Fleming?" Dana asked, a slight smirk on her face. There was still something odd about this conversation that wasn't sitting well with her.
"Occasionally, yes," Samuels replied. "Now, thank you for your time, Mrs. Faraday." He stood up and escorted the two Faradays to the building's front door. "Enjoy the rest of your day."
As Dana and Trip left, the public defender looked back over her shoulder. Something about Samuels was just giving her the creeps.
Whatever. It was probably just left over nerves from work…
- o – o -
So, what did you think? Good? Bad? Think Dana should be a little more paranoid? Drop a line and let me know!