Chapter 24

That Burger Joint

Miles sat still on the bench in the cell where the guard had left him after the trial. It was the second day and the judge still hadn't declared a verdict. He felt sick and tired. The rollercoaster testimony Larry had given and Phoenix's tenuous conjectures didn't help.

Miles stared at his own trembling hands for a moment before clenching them into steadier fists. His wretched deliberation was interrupted by the guard's return. Miles' glare must've been particularly harsh because the guard grunted rudely at him and gestured at him to stand and approach the barred wall of the cell so the cuffs could be placed on his wrists. Miles' closed his eyes as the guard clicked them tight—perhaps more tightly than normal.

"Is it a visitor?" Miles asked.

The guard grunted affirmatively and opened the cell to remove his charge. Miles let himself be led toward the visitor's room—it was probably Phoenix Wright again. But Miles couldn't help harboring a cringing hope that it might be someone else—Maddy or Mister Von Karma. He glared at the figure in the plexi-glass as soon as he entered the cell.

"You look grim as always," Phoenix said—again with sympathy filling his dark eyes and softening the set of his brow. Miles didn't need this right now. He turned his head and made derisive noise.

Maya suddenly bounded up to the window and pushed Phoenix to the side—excitement brightening her young face. She hesitated when she met his glare.

"Um…" she began, "Mister Edgeworth? I heard the story about the class trial…"

Miles raised an eyebrow—this was unexpected. No he expected premature gloating and maybe a bit of boasting, but this?

"Class trial? What do you mean?"

"You… don't remember?

"No, I don't."

Maya looked crestfallen, "Your lunch money was stolen, wasn't it? In the fourth grade…?"

"Lunch money…?" Miles said not following her prompt; he glanced at Phoenix who had an open hopeful look on his face. Then he remembered, "Oh…"

Maya lit up again.

"Oh, right. Yes, I seem to remember something like that," Miles said.

Maya bumped Phoenix in the arm, "Nick," she said in what could only be described as a stage whisper, "I think you're the only one that really remembers."

Phoenix's gaze grew distant and he looked away for a moment, "Well, it probably only really mattered to me anyway."

Miles frowned at him, did he really think that? Well, it was all trivial nonsense now, anyway. Ancient history.

"Mister Edgeworth," Maya said still hopeful and enthusiastic, "didn't you know?"

Miles looked at her and then Phoenix. What was the point of this visit?

"That trial was the reason Nick became a defense attorney!"

Miles frowned and turned to the wall. The hour was late for this sort of thing—tomorrow the judge would rule on the case—and that would be the end of it. There was no time for this kind of sentiment.

"Ridiculous," Miles said and glared at his boyhood friend. Phoenix seemed to be forcing his own stony glare—but there was real hurt in those dark eyes.

"That said…" Miles continued coolly, "It does sound like the kind of thing you'd do."

Phoenix crossed his arms and seemed to steady in his resolve. You can't save me Wright. This isn't a simple case of good and bad. Miles smirked.

"You haven't changed a bit, have you, Wright? So…" Miles glanced at the ceiling for a moment, "Simple."

Phoenix's brow furrowed, he was angry… Perhaps? Anger… Miles could deal with that at least.

"To a fault, even," Miles continued and raised an eyebrow.

"Well, maybe yeah, but…" Phoenix said—defensive? Or was it his bullish way of stumbling into the right direction. Phoenix was staring at the floor, arms still crossed. His voice was low and grave, but somehow—fragile. Miles put his head back slightly, maybe now Phoenix Wright would get the idea, and stop trying to be his friend.

"I think you changed too much, Edgeworth."

Miles didn't want to deal with her after the trial. He was still reeling himself. He didn't even look at her as they got in the car. But he could hear her stifled sobbing and a muffled sniffle once in a while on the ride back to the flat. Her tears were like arrows—it was always like that—Miles didn't like it when she cried.

Wellington navigated the big black car onto the freeway and Miles turned his glare at Franziska.

"That won't change anything," he said coldly. He wasn't sure why the sentence handed down made him angry, but it did, and she was the only one around to receive his anger.

"He was my father, Miles Edgeworth," Franziska said, "I have the right."

Miles glared out the window at the cars racing by and the sparkle of some mineral in the pale strip of road. She did have the right to mourn her father. It would be weeks, maybe even months before the sentence was carried out, but Manfred Von Karma was as good as dead.

So why did he feel so angry about it?

"I don't blame you Miles," Franziska said, "But I'm going to be upset."

Miles looked at her and she ran a hand over a tear-streaked cheek; he frowned.

"He hated crime," she said, "He did everything he could to be perfect in every way. To put those imperfect criminals away. He wanted to make the world a more perfect place—you saw that, didn't you?"

Miles didn't want to talk about it. Anything he wanted to say—anything he could say would only upset her more. He didn't want to start another argument.

He could feel Franziska's stare on him—sidelong and probably disappointed at his reticence—but Miles didn't have the emotional strength to comfort her and maintain his own composure. He was flying out tonight—he didn't need anyone else to see him lose composure.

She didn't speak again until the car slowed and Wellington got onto the ramp. By then she'd manage to reign herself in and she stared out of the window as coldly as he was, those Von Karma eyes icy and determined. Finally she poked him in the arm.

"Little brother," she said, "How long will you be gone?"

"Just two nights," Miles said, "We'll have to drive back if we manage to make the arrest."

"I don't know why you have to go. You're not a policeman."

"It's my case, I have to file the Indictment and the request for Extradition at the court there. We don't have much time—the police in Nevada, can't hold him very much longer."

"Why can't I stay with my friends?"

"Is that what this is about?"

She didn't answer and Miles rounded on her with one of his stone cold glares. She pushed in closer to the car door and glared back. After a while Miles looked away, he didn't have much patience right now.

"Will you bring me a present from Las Vegas?" Franziska said.

Miles smirked and turned back to the window, "We'll see."

Wellington offered to join him in the stairwell but Miles declined and waited until the elevator swallowed Franziska and his butler. He started up the stairs slowly, his mind was heavy and the gravity of the trial and the sentence seemed a physical weight on his being. It was enough to find each step—one two one two—three to cross the landing. The sound of his own shoes echoed somberly around him.

Miles nearly tripped on the top step of the fifth floor landing and he paused. Miles sat on the top step and hugged himself against the sudden wave of emotion. This was stupid. He should be happy about the outcome.

He sat there for several minutes—glad that no one else really used the stairs above the third floor. He crossed his arms over his knees and buried his head in them. He felt foolish. Foolish and relieved. His phone buzzed in his pocket and Miles chose to let it ring.

It kept ringing. There was a pause and a tone telling him the call went to voicemail. After a few seconds it started buzzing again. On the third or fourth ring he answered the phone and put it to his head, not bothering to check the caller id.

"What do you want!" he shouted into the phone.

"Um… Edgeworth it's me," Phoenix Wright said, "It's an emergency."

"So why are you calling me? You know about 9-1-1, I'm sure?"

"Not that kind of emergency—"

"Then you can hardly call it an emergency!"

"Um…," Phoenix sounded uncertain suddenly, "Hey Edgeworth? What's up? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine!" Miles said.

"You sound stuffy—are you—?"

"I'm fine—you know I have allergies—you and Larry used to make fun—"

"Dude, it's January, what could you possibly allergic to?"

"Dust," Miles wiped his face, embarrassed at being caught—thankful that Phoenix couldn't see him, "What the hell do you want, Wright?"

"Wow, you're in a bad mood…" Phoenix said, "You said I could call you if something happened with… You know that…"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Miles said pinching the bridge of his nose; his head was starting to hurt.

"Edgeworth really!? How could you forget?"

"Just speak plain, Wright," Miles said forcefully, "Or I'll just hang up."

"Well," Phoenix was hesitant, "The—um, the Phoenix Wright School of Defense."

Miles had to wrack his brain for a moment, "What happened?"

"I told you I was going to meet the boss—"

"Did you?"

"Um, that's what I wanted to call you about…"

"Who was—"

"It was you," Phoenix said and Miles immediately felt a rise in his ire, "At least I thought—"

"I've been in court since nine this morning—I just got home. I told you—"

"Well, how do I know you didn't just tell me that so I wouldn't sus—"

"You're being stupid, Wright. Call me back when you've rediscovered reason."

"Wait!" Phoenix said; Miles already had his thumb hovering above the 'end call' button.

"What?" He said.

"It's late," Phoenix said, "But do you want to meet me for lunch?"

"Why?"

"I don't feel comfortable talking about this on the phone."

Miles hesitated, forehead resting in the palm of his other hand. He didn't have a lot of time—but it was a late flight. This might be an interesting distraction.

"Edgeworth?" Phoenix sounded a little desperate on the phone.

"Fine, what time is it now?"

"Just after three…"

"Where?"

"Um… I don't know—How about That Burger Joint?"

"What burger joint?"

"No, that's the name of the place, 'That Burger Joint', it's around the corner from the district courthouse—Maya—"

"Fine, I'll meet you in front of the courthouse around four…"

"I guess it's not really lunch anymore…"

"What difference does it make?"

"It doesn't. I'll see you at four then," Phoenix said.

"Fine."

Miles hung up the phone and sighed then he stood and jogged up the stairs to his floor. Franziska was standing in the corridor when he exited the stairwell.

"What happened?" She seemed anxious and her voice quavered a bit.

"What do you mean?"

"It took you almost half-an-hour to get up the stairs," Franziska crossed her arms and made an impatient face at him.

"I got a phone call half-way up," Miles said.

"Who was it?"

"Nobody," Miles said curtly as he led her into the flat, "Are you packed?"

"Are we leaving already?"

"I have to take care of something at the courthouse—I'm going directly to the Airport afterward."

"Miles!" Franziska said, "Why—"

"Franziska," Miles paused and turned to look at her. He cupped her face in his palm, "Just do as you're told. We'll take some personal time when I get back from Nevada."

"You make stupid promises—just like he did!"

Miles was shocked and she turned and stormed off before he could comment on her outburst—well—all this could wait until he got back.

Wellington had made all the arrangements for him—and Miles was relieved to find his packing mostly complete. He added a few more items to the well-worn leather carry on and then dressed down from his morning at court. Miles shouldered the bag and went back out toward the main room. Franziska was still in the guestroom—no doubt over-packing for her two-night stay.

Miles picked up the receiver on the house phone and dialed a number on the old-fashioned rotary phone.

"This is Edgeworth," he said when the line picked up, "Hello."

"How did it go?"

"Fine," Miles said, "We're still meeting at the airport at eight?"

"Yes, did something come up?"

"No, nothing at all," Miles tucked the receiver under his chin and picked up the memo pad and pen, "Would it be a problem if I brought Franziska by early?"

"Not at all. We could get to know each other."

"I have to meet someone, here in a bit," Miles said checking his watch, "I was going to drop by on the way. Will that be a problem?"

"No, I'm a little surprised, but she can come now."

"Thanks, Chief," Miles said and he jotted down the address she passed over the phone.

Miles hung up and went to collect Franziska.

"My name is Edgeworth," Miles said offering a hand to the surprisingly young District Chief Prosecutor, "Miles, if you'd rather…"

"Pleasure to meet you Mister Edgeworth," she was curt and the strength of her handshake seemed forced. She motioned for him to sit down.

"I remember you from the Darke trial," she said.

Miles frowned, "I see."

Lana Skye had just come over from a similar position in the police department, so she had very little experience as a prosecutor when she found herself in charge of the district's prosecutors.

"You're a remarkable young man, Edgeworth," she said and Miles raised an eyebrow; she was only a few years older than he was.

"Detective Gant and I were both very pleased with your handling of the Darke case in court," she continued. Miles was certainly put off by her stony façade; she didn't seem the type. Miles only nodded.

"Are you shy, then? I never would've thought—" she started.

"Ah—no, Chief," Miles said, "I just…" he just had nothing to add, "I was just doing my job, Chief."

She smiled at him, but the stony set of her eyes never softened, "Let's hope you keep doing your job, then."

Miles leaned back in his chair. There was more than one senior prosecutor upset at her appointment. Standing out among them was Mister Von Karma himself. Von Karma liked to refer to her as the 'imbed', a plant from the police department coordinated by the new police Chief Damon Gant in order to gain a foothold in the DA office. Miles didn't care about things like that—but then, he was just starting out.

"The main reason I called you in here," she said, "was to get to know you."

Miles only stared grimly at her, his eyes narrowed slightly.

"I want to get to know all of the prosecutors in this district—I'm new to this office—and I imagine there are already a lot of rumors about me and my appointment."

Miles crossed his arms; "I never placed much stock in rumors, Chief."

"How long have you been with this district, Edgeworth?"

Miles was startled at the question, "Long enough, I should think."

"Ah…" Chief said, "In your opinion, are things running as they should be?"

"I don't have an opinion or comment in that regard. If you have a question about that perhaps you should ask the High Prosecutor—Manfred Von Karma. I'm only here to do my job."

"You're too young to be so serious…" she said almost inaudibly.

"I'm sorry, Chief?" Miles said.

"Nothing," she said, "Mister Von Karma refuses to interview with me."

Miles smirked, "I imagine you've usurped his authority—sorry, that was out of line, Chief. Mister Von Karma is quite possibly the best prosecutor in the world, right now. He's a god among prosecutors. If there's anything you'd want to learn, he's the one you need to talk to."

"Yeah, but—"

"Don't worry, Chief," Miles said, "I'm quite sure he'll warm up to you."

"Do you feel like there's rivalry or mistrust between our departments?"

"I don't feel comfortable offering my opinion on the matter," Miles said, "However, thanks to Mister Von Karma's influence in this district—I think there's a certain level of understanding. After all, we are both working to put away criminals."

"I feel like you trust us," Chief Skye said, "I think that trust was certainly tested in the Darke Trial, but you did your job and got the conviction in the end."

Miles looked at her, confused. Her icy gaze seemed to melt suddenly and she leaned forward to peer into his face.

"Oh," she said, "You have pretty eyes, Edgeworth."

Miles leaned back and blinked at her, "Huh?"

"Your eyes, are they hazel or green?"

Miles frowned, "My eyes are gray—it's merely a trick of the light. I, um, if we're finished here, Chief, I still have work to do."

"Right," she said going cold again, "Do you think you could talk to Von Karma for me? You're close to him aren't you?"

Miles frowned. He was not any closer to Von Karma than any other prosecutor. At least that's how it seemed to stand lately.

"I'll see if I can help, Chief," Miles said finally.

"Thank you Edgeworth," Chief Skye said, "You are dismissed. Have a good day."

Miles glared at Phoenix from across the table and busied his hands with tearing the cheap paper napkins from the napkin dispenser into strips. Phoenix was slouched in his seat and frowning.

"I could've sworn it was you…" he said again.

Miles made an impatient noise and pulled another napkin out of the dispenser.

"You were with me all night last night going through the testimony from the Hammond trial… Why would anyone go so far to flesh out a ruse?"

"I don't know," Phoenix said, "Someone like you thinks of everything, right? How do I know it wasn't part of your ruse?"

"I'm sure the trial this morning will be in the paper tomorrow," Miles swallowed, "Von Karma was a pretty well-known prosecutor."

"He had on a pink suit like yours—"

"It's not pink!"

"Whatever—and his hair was exactly like yours. The only difference were his glasses—"

"Glasses?"

"Yeah, and he had on a false nose and moustache—like Groucho Marx…" Phoenix grinned sheepishly at him, "I wondered why you'd pick such a flimsy disguise."

"Groucho Marx?"

Phoenix shrugged, "He had a cravat too, and a scar on his belly, right under his belly button."

"You saw him shirtless?"

"Um… It wasn't like that—he was trying to slam a chair on me. When he lifted it over his head his shirt came un-tucked and I saw that scar."

Miles stared at Phoenix silently for a moment. What? Was he going to elaborate?

"It wasn't me," Miles said finally.

"Well, then you have a doppelganger."

"I'm an only child," Miles said, "I'm sure I don't have any evil twins running around."

"How can we be sure this twin is the evil one?"

"I'm leaving," Miles said and he started to slide out of the booth, "I can't believe you would waste my time with this—but then maybe I'm the idiot for not believing that."

"Hey," Phoenix grabbed Miles' sleeve, "Just sit back down. I'm just telling you what I saw. Just prove that it wasn't you and I'll believe you."

"Are you serious?" Miles said, "How am I supposed to do that?"

Phoenix had a cheap pair of joke glasses complete with nose and mustache in front of him on the table; he pushed them toward Miles, "Put these on."

"I will not!" Miles said, "So stop asking!"

"You're being awfully suspicious," Phoenix said.

"Anyone can put on clothes like mine, Wright. I'm not exactly an unknown in this town," Miles crossed his arms, "I don't have a scar on my belly, either."

"So show me," Phoenix said.

"No! What's wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with you? I thought you were my friend, and then I find that you're using my name to influence all the defense attorneys in the greater—"

"Why would I do that?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out!" Phoenix stared at him; he had a kicked puppy look on his face. Miles frowned at him.

"I have bigger issues to contend with… I promise you, I'm not running some underground defense lawyer society—I simply don't have time for such frivolity."

"Then show me the scar."

"I don't have a scar."

"Prove it!"

"Why!?"

"I have to know for sure…" Phoenix said, "There's been way too much weird crap going on lately… I don't even know who to trust anymore—you're my friend. I thought you were… But after this morning—"

"Damn you, Wright," Miles said. But he stood and pulled up the layers of his clothing to show Phoenix his belly button. Phoenix looked surprised, but he leaned forward to examine Miles' belly. Miles covered himself up suddenly and sat down, he was sure his ears were red—they pricked with heat.

"Satisfied?" Miles said and took another napkin from the dispenser for good measure.

Phoenix was looking at him with what could only be described as awe—Miles felt his face heat up too.

"Whoa…" Phoenix said, "Okay, it wasn't you. Hey, do you work out? You're pretty fit."

"Don't mock me," Miles said tearing another strip from the napkin.

"I wasn't—anyway," Phoenix said, "I just wanted to make sure."

"I don't know why you'd think I'd lie about something trivial like that."

"You really ought to get more sun," Phoenix said.

"It's January," Miles pointed out.

"Anyway," Phoenix said, "This other guy had a lot more belly."

"He was fat?"

"No—well," Phoenix said, "I mean he looked exactly like you—but he had kind of a beer belly…"

"You think I look fat?"

"No," Phoenix said, "In fact you are like… The opposite of fat... Well, I mean, it was an easy mistake."

"Do you think maybe you're confusing me with Marvin Grossberg?"

"Um," Phoenix paused thoughtfully, "Well, it was kind of dark… And Edgeworth, you do look huge in the courtroom."

"Sure, whatever," Miles said and he put his head down in his hands, "You think Mister Grossberg is running this—"

"He wouldn't," Phoenix said, "He was Mia's mentor. Plus I never heard that old familiar clearing of the throat. And the hair, it doesn't explain the hair."

"You need to do more research, Wright…" Miles said glaring at him, "Do you even have a name?"

"Um…"

"Not even an alias?"

"His alias was 'Miles Edgeworth'," Phoenix said, "You should come with me next time—"

"You realize I am a busy person, don't you? I work for the city, I don't have the option to be idle on a whim."

"I'm not being idle," Phoenix said defensively.

Miles glared at him for several moments, "Yes you are."

Phoenix looked away from him and stared down at the menu neglected on the table, "I'm hungry—aren't you hungry? We should order."

Miles made a face at him, "I don't want anything."

"Come on, it's on me…"

"BLT," Miles said, "They don't make anything like that—"

"I got it," Phoenix said and he gave Miles a cocky, crooked smile before waving over the waitress.

"What's your favorite flavor of ice cream?"

"I don't want ice cream," Miles grimaced at Phoenix.

"I think you need some ice cream," Phoenix said.

"Wright," Miles said, "I'm flying to Las Vegas tonight—"

"Vegas? What are you going to—"

"It's not what you think—we're trying to extradite a suspect—I can't talk about this with you… Well, I'll be gone tonight and tomorrow night too. I don't expect to get back in town before the 20th…"

"Okay," Phoenix said, "But what does this have to do with milkshakes? I think we should get milkshakes."

"Stop interrupting me with—"

"I'm wasting away while we sit here," Phoenix said.

Miles leaned forward and grabbed his tie, "If you want my help, listen and stop being silly. Contact this person. Try to meet with him on the 19th—tomorrow at sometime. I'll be out of town. See if you can get any more information out of him."

"Fine," Phoenix dropped back into his seat when Miles let him go and made a show of fixing his tie, "You don't have to be a jerk."

"Sometimes, Wright," Miles said, "You leave me no choice."

"Hey there, Nick," they both startled when the waitress arrived, "Where's that little darling, Maya?"

"Oh, um," Phoenix said, "She's back in her home village—she's training."

"Training?" the waitress said. She filled out the yellow waitress smock in a way that made Miles wonder if Phoenix was really interested in the food at the place. She smiled at Miles and he almost blushed—almost.

"Maya's training to be a full-on spirit medium," Phoenix said.

"Oh, yeah," she said and she shook her head so that the copper ringlets held out of the way with too many barrettes caught the light, "I think she talked about that last time. If you hear from her tell her I said 'Hi'."

"Sure thing," Phoenix said.

"So who's your friend, Nick?"

"Oh," Phoenix said as if he'd only just noticed Miles sitting there, "That's just Edgeworth… Miles Edgeworth… Edgeworth, this is January."

Miles nodded in greeting but said nothing. He didn't come out to meet waitresses in kitschy restaurants.

"Ooh…" January said, "The strong, silent type…"

"Eh," Phoenix said, "He's in a bad mood."

"I'm sorry to hear that Mister Edgeworth," she said not a little suggestively. Miles gave her a sidelong glance and made a derisive noise.

"So, Nick," January said, "The usual?"

"Yeah, and a strawberry milkshake," Phoenix said.

"And Mister Edgeworth?"

"BLT," Miles said.

"What's that?" January said.

"Double bacon cheeseburger on toast. Hold the cheese and the burgers," Phoenix said. January grinned, Miles looked confused.

"What lame kind of sandwich," January said as she jotted it down on her note pad, "Anything else?"

"He wants a milkshake too," Phoenix said.

"No I don't," Miles said.

"Aww, Mister Edgeworth," January said shifting her stance and putting a hand on a jaunty hip, "We have the best milkshakes in town!"

"I'm sure every place that makes a milkshake says the same thing," Miles muttered.

"Hey, Edgeworth," Phoenix said, "When was the last time you had a milkshake?"

Miles glared at him, "Before my father died."

Phoenix raised an eyebrow, "No wonder you hate life…"

"I don't hate—"

"Will a milkshake bring back painful memories?" January cooed at him and Miles clenched his jaw so hard it hurt.

"No! I just don't eat milkshakes!" Miles said—exasperated now, "Why can't you people—"

"Edgeworth," Phoenix said throwing his head back and shooting a pompous smirk at him, "You don't eat milkshakes—you drink them."

"Fine!" Miles said, "I want a milkshake."

"What kind?" January said.

Miles glared at her and then Phoenix. He just wanted to eat something and they were dragging this out over milkshakes. Miles crossed his arms.

"Give me a white one."

"Do you mean Vanilla? Or banana? We also make cookies'n'cream," January said.

Miles rubbed his face wearily, "Surprise me."

January winked at him, "Okay," as she turned to put in their order she paused and leaned in slightly toward him, "Later, if you stick around, I can show you another kind of milkshake."

She giggled and walked away swinging her hips as if she was on the catwalk and not a cheesy burger joint. Miles looked up at Phoenix bewildered. Phoenix was glaring at him slack jawed and brows furrowed.

"If there are other milkshakes," Miles said, "Why would she—"

"What the hell, man?"

"What?"

"I've been coming here for eight months—eight months of feeding Maya over-priced burgers, just so I could… And she's fawning over you in forty-five minutes."

Miles blushed, "Is 'milkshake' an innuendo?"

"What do you think?"

Miles turned to look in the direction January had gone, "She's not bad looking…"

"I hate you," Phoenix said shaking his head.

A/N: Thanks for Reading! PW:AA is copyright by CAPCOM. The dialogue from the first flashback is from the game.

A little Phoenix to brighten your day—the last couple chapters were very angsty…

UPDATED 8JUL2015 – Minor edits and fixes. I think there was some confusion about Phoenix mixing Edgeworth up with Grossberg. One might get the idea that I was saying Edgeworth is fat. It was supposed to be a joke that Phoenix could mix up the two of them when they were so different. Either way, it isn't Grossberg and I took that crap out...