Chapter Text
In the organized chaos of the Wright Anything Agency, Apollo’s fingers were cramping. He had suspected that the Misham trial would elevate him in some professional sense, and give his career a well-needed boost. Thankfully it had. But what he hadn't considered was the tedium that came with all the new clientele that he now had to deal with: with each person came paperwork, follow-up meetings, scheduling… until the once-gleaming and resplendent career of Defense Attorney, Harbinger of Justice, relegated itself at times to a headache-inducing desk job.
Well, not every day could be a hair-raising investigation or trial. Today was Tuesday, and he was replying to emails. Apollo hammered at the keys like they were stubborn whack a moles, the strands of hair on his crown falling over his forehead. Be careful what you wish for, he guessed.
This client said they sent the paycheck by mail… two weeks ago. Jeez. Apollo rubbed his bracelet. He was so used to relying on his skill of perception with any interlocutor; even the most minor tic could tell him exactly what their true intentions are. If only he could use it on an email to tell when someone’s full of it. Well, If he couldn’t catch this client in their lie, he had no choice but to write an eggshell-treading follow up email… his least favorite. As an all or nothing sort, he didn’t take to the more wheedling tone of a businessman. He pressed his index finger to his forehead in thought.
Then, a knock came to the door.
A client? Apollo would be happy to accept any other responsibility than this. Plus— and he would never admit it to anyone— when he was alone in the office, he sometimes liked to pretend it was his. To be past the daze of ritual hazing that seemed to come as a package deal in one’s first few years as a defense attorney. So he took a special delight in opening the door to the waiting room.
Except it wasn’t a client at all.
Or a delivery… hell, even a lost person looking for the adjacent office would’ve been better.
“Herr Forehead,” Prosecutor Gavin chimed, leaning his shoulder against the door frame. His easy posture, with his thumbs through his belt loops, implied he simply belonged there. As if he'd dropped by the agency a dozen times. "It's good to see you."
Man, how tantalizing it would be to simply close the door in the smiling rock star's face.
Apollo resisted the impulse. He looked past Gavin's shoulder into the hallway. “As much as I'd like to help with… whatever, I'm kind of in the middle of something now."
"Oh? And after all the times I helped you?” He shifted his weight from the doorframe and welcomed himself into the central room of the agency. As he passed, Apollo noticed he was wearing a guitar case on his back. Those blue eyes roved over the office, taking in every eccentricity piled against the walls. He began to absently toy with one of Trucy’s props— a rose that turns from black to red. “Don’t think I forgot when you eavesdropped in my office. At least when I drop by, I make appearances.” With that, he flicked the rose from red to black.
“That—!” Apollo drew himself up defensively. “That was… for a very good reason.” Apollo needed to get to the bottom of that Tobaye case, after all.
“Naturally. But unlike yourself, I'm here without the intent of spying.” Satisfied, he set the red rose back onto the accent table, his interest drifting to Wright's ridiculously small piano. “Where’s Herr Wright and the Fraulein?" Apollo crossed his arms as Gavin touched the piano keys. He played a little jingle on it effortlessly, then looked at Apollo with a smile and eyes searching for approval.
“They’re not here. And I’m still working,” Apollo said.
Gavin played a dithering theme of some sort that didn't seem to settle on a single tune. "Ah, I see. Well, I do have a bit of business to cover with Wright.”
Apollo pattered away at a keyboard of his own, except it was the dithering rhythm of email-writing. “If you have anything with him, that's between the two of you."
“Oh? But that’s not the person in question. I’m talking about the little one, the Fraulein.” He abandoned the pitiful instrument he'd been toying with and walked over to Apollo's desk. As he went, he took off the guitar bag— gig bag?— that had been slung over his shoulder.
Apollo wondered with a split-second horror if he was going to open it and start playing the damn thing. Instead, he set the bag down by the leg of Apollo's desk.
“What have you got to do with Trucy?”
“Not so much me as this.” He gestured with the heel of his boot to the bag. “Miss Wright would like to practice a new magic trick using a guitar. As her father is more of a pianist by trade and lacks other instruments, I offered to supply her one.”
“That’s…” Apollo frowned, his hands hovering over the keys. “Weird. What’s she going to do with a guitar?”
He shrugged. “Who’s to say? This is one of many, so if it doesn’t come back in one piece, I won’t be crestfallen.” Standing by the opposite side of the desk, he gave Apollo’s laptop fleeting glances. “Besides, I would say I certainly owe more than a guitar to Herr Wright." His voice, which had such an easy cadence up to that point, was suddenly a little rushed.
Apollo wondered at that. It was interesting, to think the prosecutor felt he needed to still make amends for things that had happened seven years in the past… and a bit amusing, that he might think Mr. Wright still held some sort of grudge against him.
Maybe he did. The man played with his cards close to his chest.
It was becoming clear to Apollo, the reason why Gavin was lingering. He'd been a little egotistical thinking the rock star stuck around merely to pester him. This wasn't about Apollo at all. Without being able to hand the guitar directly to Trucy or Mr. Wright, he felt the deed wasn't done. He was unsatisfied. Still looking for ways to pay back a debt.
“You know, if you're in the spirit of helping the agency," Apollo said, "you could do something for me. If it means you’ll be useful.”
His eyes brightened, and Apollo knew he'd been right. Yes, he did want to prove himself. “When have I ever not been useful?” He said, shuffling over to Apollo’s right-hand side. Apollo turned the laptop slightly in Gavin’s direction.
Gavin leaned all the way down to read the email, eye level with Apollo as he sat at his desk. A streak of his blonde hair touched Apollo’s cheek.
“Um?” Apollo said. Wow, he was close.
Gavin’s eyes roved over the email. “Ach… sorry. I’m supposed to wear glasses for this sort of thing.”
Apollo would turn to look at Gavin, if it didn’t mean he’s bump his nose against his jaw. Dumbfounded, he asked if he really needed reading glasses.
“Ja. It’s genetic, I think."
A jarring silence. Genetic.
Yes, it would make sense for Gavin to be farsighted. That thought brought to mind the hazy image of a silhouette with his arms crossed, bearing a striking resemblance to the prosecutor by his side. A cold smile and eyes that lurked half-visible behind the glint of his glasses.
An icy feeling washed over Apollo. Neither he nor prosecutor Gavin had talked much about him since the State v. Misham trial, even though it had concluded some weeks ago. He had, of course, checked in on the prosecutor after its conclusion. Gavin played his well-versed role of the unflappable rock star just fine. It would have likely fooled anyone who didn't have the same skill of perception as Apollo did; professional PR training truly prepared people to face anything, he supposed.
Afterwards, Gavin had never brought up the subject himself, and Apollo didn't want to press on it and risk tactlessness.
Thankfully, Gavin was so absorbed in the email that any musings on the Coolest Defense of the West seemed moot. “Ah, so you have a client who is a little tightfisted— or just flighty. It happens.” He shrugged. “There is an easy way to approach this. Would you like me to draft something for you?” His lithe fingers were at the ready as he spoke, hovering over the keys.
“Sure. Just don’t… give it more flair than it needs.”
That made Gavin laugh— a small chuckle that Apollo himself would likely not hear in normal circumstances. But with his face right next to his as he typed smoothly on the keyboard between them… it had an immediacy that set Apollo off. And as Gavin worked, he could hear the low hum of his throat as he practiced a dubious melody, the same aimless one he had been playing with on the piano. Just the silence of the empty office and his voice.
Apollo suddenly cleared his throat, pushed back from his chair, and got up. “I need to check the mail,” he said, as if declaring a statement for the courtroom. In a few quick strides, he was out of door.
He did need to get the mail. Maybe. Did he already do that? Why was that so hard to remember right now? He pinched the bridge of his nose as he was walking down the stairs. He had been working too long, and his brain was fried— that had to be it.
Not only that, but the thought of his old mentor threw him off, too. He wondered on the way down if it really would be for the better to discuss Kristoph with the man typing at his office desk. It irked him somewhat to imagine that the figure behind bars still held any sway over him and the conversations he'd have or not have. Yet he was undeniably the bespectacled elephant in the room. Maybe if Apollo got that subject out of the way, he'd be a bit more clear-headed. He stopped at the entryway to the office complex.
There really was mail. Good— so he wouldn’t go upstairs empty-handed. It was a small package. He grabbed it and made his way back up, practicing how he would maybe bridge the subject on his mind. Hey, Gavin. How has the last month been with, uh, your brother in jail for multiple homicide charges? Given him a visit lately?
Okay, he wouldn't be so dumb as to say that. He would find the right words, even if they felt difficult to say. There was no other way around it. He would bring up this topic, have a good, productive conversation with his coworker, and have it all squared away. Then they can say it's water under the bridge and everything will be fine. And then the jittery feelings will be gone.
When Apollo opened the door to the Wright Anything Agency with his free hand, Gavin looked up at him from the desk. The laptop sat closed in front of him. “It’s all set,” he said, his eyes glittering with a small triumph. They wandered to the package in Apollo's hand. “Ah? Who’s it from?”
Apollo was at a loss. Not only did he not expect the conversation to immediately turn to the package, but he realized he hadn’t even checked the postal information at all. He turned the box over in his hand and examined it himself.
“It’s… from Lamiroir," he read aloud.
Huh.
Gavin rose from the desk and circled over to Apollo, who was standing by the couch and the coffee table. They both eyed the package quizzically, as if it had all the enigmatic suspense of a magic 8-ball freshly rolled.
“Lamiroir, you say?” Gavin stole a glance at the Borginian postal stamp with his hands in his pockets. His voice was low with a touch of respect for the name, maybe even a little bit of awe. It was interesting to think that even someone with an ego like his could admire someone so thoroughly, Apollo thought. “She has kept in touch sometimes— but she has never sent anything.”
“Yeah. She sends us stuff a lot. But then again, we did defend her coworker from a murder charge…”
Gavin smiled. “That does have merit, yes.”
Apollo inspected the bottom of the box, then the sides. “But I don’t get it. It’s not a holiday, or anyone’s birthday, or anything. Why’d she send something now?”
The prosecutor leaned over to inspect the package. A beat passed. Then tauntingly he said, “Perhaps you’d get a better idea if we spied the contents, Herr Forehead.”
“We?” Apollo held the package close to his chest. “Hey, hands off. This is mine. Like, legally.” He pointed to the recipient address on the package.
Gavin held his hands up, his rings flashing. “I won’t touch it! I just want to see it, that’s all. Isn’t it a little mystery, now?”
Apollo grumbled and sat on the couch. He placed the package on the coffee table and began to unpack it. The contents inside seemed small, and it was covered in a light, airy, blue tissue paper. He handled what was wrapped inside gingerly— it seemed fragile. As he worked, Gavin took a seat at the couch’s opposite end, one ankle balanced casually over his knee. Watching with all the sly nosiness of a cat.
“You know, if we had a guitarist’s fingers, this would be over much more swiftly."
“Shut it. I’m trying not to break anything.”
Apollo unraveled a final piece of tissue paper to reveal something hollow in the middle. Under the fluorescent lights of the office, it gleamed a mute brass color.
“This is—" Apollo says, stunned.
“What?”
“— a bracelet,” Apollo finished. He held it out of the tissue wrapper for Gavin to see.
“One just like yours,” Gavin said, brightening. He was right— it was exactly the same material, same size, same design. Everything. They both contemplated the portents of it.
“Why would Lamiroir give this to me?” Apollo mused, turning the bracelet around in the light.
Gavin ran a hand through his hair in thought. “Perhaps these kinds of bracelets are only made in Borginia?” He reasoned aloud. “If not, it’s a thoughtful gift nonetheless. She must have seen you wear that bracelet before.”
“Yeah, but. Isn’t she… blind?”
“Ach! You’re right!” Gavin snapped his fingers. “Well, scheiße. Hm. Blind or no, she could have heard you wore a bracelet of that design. Perhaps Herr Wright had mentioned it to her. Chalk it up to yet another one of her mysteries…that lady is enigmatic; I’ll give her that.” He leaned back on the couch and smiled in some distant admiration.
"Yeah…" Apollo was lost in thought. He watched his warped reflection move in the glassy metal.
Gavin sat up a bit on the couch, cocking his head. “Honestly, you’re looking at this as though it were the world’s eighth wonder. Is there a hidden message in it?"
Oh. That’s right. Apollo had never shared with Gavin anything about the bracelet: the ability that he had, and how it was tied directly to it, and who it was from. He had never even considered sharing that information before. It was not exactly advantageous for a prosecutor to know what your hidden technique is, after all. Maybe Trucy and Phoenix had been rubbing off on him, but he liked to have an ace up his sleeve, a trick to make him feel he had the upper hand.
But was an upper hand necessary? Sure, against most prosecutors. But Gavin had at least proven in the past year that he was no prosecutor of the common rate. His goal was not to trounce Apollo in court, but to work with him to find the truth. Even if he was singularly annoying, he had never prioritized his own reputation or aims at a guilty verdict over the objective facts presented. Apollo bit his lip.
“So. Um. You have probably noticed that I wear this bracelet… often.” Apollo waved his left hand.
“Sure. I can appreciate jewelry, even if it’s not my personal taste.” Gavin smiled, closing his eyes. “I’m more given to silver than bronze.”
“I-it’s not a fashion statement!” Apollo blurted out. “It’s… hold on, I’m trying to put this in a way that sounds normal.” He pressed his finger into his forehead to think. “It’s a… special bracelet. It helps me find the truth.”
Gavin looked at him with a smile that tilted somewhat downwards. Confused support. “Ah. Like a… good luck charm?”
“It’s more than that. It has the ability to detect when people are lying.”
Gavin’s reserved, confused smile suddenly bloomed forth into an open grin. He lightly pushed Apollo on the shoulder. “Forehead, I never thought the day would come when you would be teasing me. But you had really gotten me wrapped up in it for a second.”
“It’s true!” Apollo shot up on the couch, his shoulders pointed. “I mean, only when it is like, a lie that directly contradicts what someone believes. But when that happens, it tightens around my wrist, and I can tell." His face reddened as Gavin continued to chuckle in disbelief. "Come on. Don’t tell me throughout all the trials with me that— have you noticed that I can spot people’s nervous tics?”
Gavin answered despite his mirth. “Yes, you’ve always been gifted in that aspect.”
Apollo hardly had the time to gloat over the compliment. “Okay, well, I can do that on my own, but what tips me off that there’s something to look for in the first place… it’s the bracelet. When people lie to me, it tightens.”
Gavin sobered up a little. “That is… a bit beyond the veil of belief, don’t you think?”
“It’s not as supernatural as it sounds. And did you forget that Mr. Wright’s old assistant was a spirit medium?”
“Well," Gavin shrugged, "I would not have believed that myself had her appearance not so clearly changed to mirror the spirits channeled. I guess to see is to believe. That’s how it was with the Fraulein’s magic panties, as well. How she pulled a bowling ball out of it that night at the Wonder Bar…” he put his thumb and forefinger on his chin and smiled, eyes closed. “From one performer to another, she is truly talented.”
“Can we not talk about the magic panties?!”
Gavin’s eyes opened. They roved from the unwrapped bracelet on the coffee table and the one on Apollo’s wrist. “So what you’re saying is– and this is assuming that everything you’ve said up to this point wasn’t a fantasy or blow you’d taken to your formidable forehead– that this second bracelet we have in front of us could possess the exact same power as the one on your wrist.”
“I mean, maybe.”
Gavin suddenly sat up, taken by an idea. “Well, we have to try it to find out!”
“What?” Apollo was already dreading whatever he had to say.
“Use that brain of yours, Forehead. If this is another one of your special bracelets, then we should test out its capabilities to catch someone in a lie. It’ll be easy.” He got up on his two feet and stood in front of the coffee table, as if preparing to play a game of charades. He rocked back and forth, the chain by his belt jangling lightly. “I’ll say something, and you have to tell me whether that’s the truth or a lie. Wearing this new bracelet, of course.”
Apollo wanted to object. This was the exact kind of ridiculous antic that Gavin would dream of pulling on him. If he'd had a normal non-celebrity teenage life, Apollo thought, Gavin definitely would've been the type to make people play truth or dare, spin the bottle, you name it. But whatever Apollo's personal reservations were, the reasoning did make sense. Catching someone in a lie would be pretty definitive proof of the bracelet’s legitimacy.
He sighed. “Fine, if it means getting to the bottom of it. Just don’t say anything ridiculous.”
“I never waste my breath,” Gavin said. “A singer has to make sure not to strain his voice, ja?”
“Uh-huh. Just tell me a lie and let’s get this over with.”
“Ah-ah," Gavin chimed. "That’s no fun. You’ll have to tell what’s a truth, and what’s a lie.”
“Fine. Shoot.”
The prosecutor took a smooth bow, with his hair sweeping down past his shoulders. “My name is Klavier Gavin,” he said, outstretching a hand.
Apollo snorted. “Truth,” he said.
“Are you sure?" Gavin looked up from his bow and winked at him. "It could be a stage name.”
Apollo looked at him with a flat affect. “You’d pick something more over the top than Klavier Gavin.”
He shrugged. “It was worth a try. Okay… now this one.” He cleared his throat, and a smile played on his lips. “I came to the office to drop off the guitar.”
Apollo was about to object that this, also, was too obvious a truth, but his mouth suddenly felt dry. This— was the bracelet reacting to this? It was hard to tell. It was faint, but there did seem to be a… gentle tug there? What could that even mean? It was pretty clear that Gavin did have an arrangement set up with Trucy, and the proof of concept was still laying against the desk, zipped in its case.
“Well, Herr Forehead?” Gavin said. “Truth? Or lie?”
“Um,” Apollo said. He didn’t want to outright say it was a lie. What if he was wrong? Then he would look ridiculous, and Gavin would rightfully suspect that Apollo had indeed taken a blow to the forehead and had delusions of grandeur about being a supernatural sleuth. And even if he was right, and it was a lie, then Apollo couldn’t back up that claim with what the truth actually was. Last but not least, he couldn’t see any nervous tics. Damn Gavin for always having his hands in his pockets. “I-it doesn’t have a really big reaction to little white lies.”
“Oh?” Gavin said, rocking on his heels. He looked at Apollo over the coffee table. “It doesn’t catch white lies? So it needs to be something a bit more concrete, hm?” His tone had all the lightness an adult’s had when addressing the imaginary friends of a child.
“It’s not an excuse!” Apollo said. “Look, just try something less wish-washy, okay?”
Gavin blew a strand of hair from his eyes. He adjusted his stance slightly. “Fine, then. We can do one last one. Ready?”
“Ready.”
Gavin smiled, with a look of amusement in his eyes— and something else Apollo couldn’t name. Some sort of trickiness latent there. He leaned down so that he could reach Apollo at eye level. It seemed to have a deliberateness that allowed Apollo a chance to lean away or to scoot to the side. Apollo thought that he was, at the very least, going to murmur something about the rock star having no need to be so damn theatrical, but something halted him immediately, and his chords of steel had all the structural integrity of the noodles from Eldoon’s.
Gavin’s lips were now next to Apollo’s right ear. “If this one doesn’t work,” he said, “then I really don’t know what to do.”
Apollo flinched. There it was again– the closeness of his voice, like when he had been helping him write the email. Had Gavin noticed this got under Apollo’s skin, and was doing it again just to get a reaction? “Herr Justice, did you possibly already know…” he murmured, letting the beginning of the question linger. The ceiling fan above them hummed in the quiet. The muted sound of a car rumbled out on the street below. “That the earth revolves around the moon?” He then drew back, an expectant look on his face. “There. Tighten?”
Apollo jumped. “That’s not—! You don’t get how any of this works!”
Gavin’s eyes flashed, but without any of the impish satisfaction he typically had following a jest. “What do you mean? You asked for a concrete lie, right?” He genuinely seemed taken aback that he hadn’t delivered the desired result, his smile faltering. Apollo sighed. He really was such a people pleaser.
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “It can’t be a white lie, but it also can’t just be a blatant lie, either. The bracelet responds to nervous tics. So it’ll only detect lies people are at least a little unwilling to share.”
Gavin seems struck by the thought. “You’re joking! So I have to tell you something I don’t want you to know?” He crossed his arms, flipping his hair as he turned his face to the side. “I may be a performer, but I can’t fake something like that.”
“Come on, it doesn’t have to be anything big. Just like, an embarrassing childhood memory. Or some stupid mistake you made sometime at work.”
“No,” Gavin said, decisively. “You have— no business knowing that.” All photogenic smiles vanished.
Ah, there was the diva in him coming out to play. This was the first time Apollo had seen Gavin this finicky in a little bit– but it didn’t surprise him. The rock star did get touchy on the points of his own perfection; he loathed to accept things that weren’t up to his standard. He remembered how he'd acted the night of LeTouse's murder, when his perfect concert plans were thwarted. He would get worked up over the minute parts of a musical performance others would gloss over— and now, to admit something like that which happened on his own accord? Apollo thought also of the figure that had influenced them both, but Gavin more definitively so, since he was his brother. The figure that had been telling Gavin for years– decades?— that anything less than utter perfection is a shame and an embarrassment.
Might as well squeeze water from a rock. Apollo knew that.
But that didn’t stop him from being a little pissed off. “Whose idea was this, again? I thought that you really wanted to know if this thing worked or not.” He pointed to the bracelet on his wrist.
“Hah!” Gavin laughed, but his eyes hardly moved. “And I imagine you would be forthcoming with anything, right? It’s not so easy.”
“What? Are you afraid my opinion of you will plummet or something?”
“No,” Gavin said quickly, adjusting his watch. “Your opinion is just one of many.”
There.
Apollo sat stock still for a moment, checking to see if what he felt was really true. It was. He smiled.
“Gavin,” he said, “You’re lying.”
“I’m not! It’s the truth!” he said, exasperated. Most of his ears were covered by his blonde hair, but Apollo could swear the tips of them were tinged pink. His smile widened.
“When you said my opinion was ‘one of many’, the bracelet tightened. Care to explain that?” He demonstrated to Gavin that the bracelet was, indeed, flush against his wrist like a second skin. The prosecutor clearly noticed the difference, with his eyes widening for a split second with the definitive evidence.
Gavin huffed. “Okay, Forehead. That statement… is not exactly true.” He composed himself somewhat, drawing his suit jacket in with both hands and sighing. “After all, you’ve helped me and I’ve helped you. It’s natural that your opinion… holds weight.”
Apollo smirked. So the issue at hand was not that Klavier Gavin was unwilling to appear imperfect in front of just any audience. He was unwilling to appear imperfect to him. For a split second, that made Apollo feel a touch flattered. But he couldn’t help being a bit tongue-in-cheek, with such a victory perfectly snatched. “If my opinion matters at all," he let fly, "then maybe you shouldn’t pester me during my work hours.”
Gavin's eyes opened, and he seemed to realize they were back to snarking one another. “Hm?" he said, his face suddenly relaxing. "But you enjoy our tête-à-têtes.” Already, he seemed to be regaining some of his confidence. A sweeping self-assurance like his could only be knocked down a peg for so long. “You see, Herr Forehead, the difference between you and me is that I don’t need a bracelet to tell what people are thinking. You like to be meddled with. It’s natural.” His eyes flickered to the coffee table, a minute glance, but one that Apollo had caught nonetheless. That's where Apollo’s original bracelet was. It had been left there, unworn, in preparation for the experiment. The prosecutor's eyes flitted back to Apollo with amusement. “I see in you’re ready to hurl an objection. What would happen if I put one of those bracelets on, I wonder? Would you object so readily?” Without looking away, he reached for the coffee table.
Apollo’s hand swiped the original bracelet with unprecedented speed, and an apprehensiveness reserved only for those closing their laptop in the wake of nosy onlookers. “You are impossible,” he scolded. “There’s no way I’d let you wear one of these anyway. I’d sooner throw them out the window.”
This seemed to be the exact reaction the prosecutor was after. “Ah, so you do worry what I’d find out.” he shrugged with a smile, falling backwards into the couch. “I guess it’s not so easy after all? To admit things you’d rather keep unsaid?” He crossed his arms behind his neck and closed his eyes. "Defenestration is so much easier than explanation, hm?"
Apollo’s face turned red. In all likelihood, the bracelet wouldn’t work for Klavier Gavin. He’d let a few people try it out– Wright, Clay, even that strange psychic niece of Wright's who visits now and then. Only Trucy was able to get a reaction from it, and Trucy was not an ordinary person in any sense. But if one person could do it, that did leave the possibility… and he was not going to risk that. Gavin already took way too much amusement from getting a rise out of him. That was an infuriating fact to consider, especially as the prosecutor spread out languidly on the couch beside him, satisfied with his own logic and unbothered by his buttoned shirt riding up just slightly above his hips—
Just then, footsteps could be heard bounding up the stairs. Apollo was glad to have a reasonable excuse to slip from this conversation entirely.
He didn’t even come close to the door when it flew open in a flurry of blue cape. She never could help but enter through doors as if making an appearance for her next show.
“Trucy?” Apollo said. “I thought you wouldn’t be back until 4?”
“I ran!” she replied in a half laugh, half gasp, and from the way her knees buckled out in front of her, she must have been telling the truth. She had a glow on her face from exertion and excitement. “Daddy sent me. You’ve got a new case!”
Apollo sighed with gratitude. Finally. To be on a fresh case. This was what thrilled him— to assess the facts, strategize for the courtroom, and vindicate the name of a wrongly convicted innocent. This is why he was in this agency. Not to patter away at his desk over follow-up emails.
“Well?” he asked, eyes glittering.
“It’s— uh…” Trucy’s voice dropped off. Apollo initially thought that she seemed winded. But he followed her eyes and found the real reason she couldn’t get the sentence out: she had just noticed Gavin sitting on the couch.
“Hi, Fraulein,” he said, waving a hand.
Trucy instinctively waved back at her favorite visitor, but she quickly tempered herself and gave Apollo a look. “Hey. Have you already been discussing this?” she pointed to Gavin. “With the prosecution? Daddy wouldn't approve of that, you know."
Apollo’s head whipped around. “Gavin’s the prosecutor for the case?”
“Oh!” Gavin’s eyes lit up. “Then you must be referring to the murder of Mr. Fells, then?” He checked his phone, which possibly held more information on the case. Either that or he was very blasé about texting mid-conversation. “From the way you ran in here, Fraulein, I expected a more tantalizing pull for the defense. But that case is pretty open and shut. And that’s the opinion of someone who’s already been to the crime scene.” He shut his phone and glanced at Apollo. “Of course, I have no objections to an easy win in court. The question is how much Herr Forehead here will drag out the inevitable.”
That confidence of Gavin’s hit Apollo’s nerves. First he had embarrassed him with this second bracelet business, and now he was goading him on the likelihood of his failure. This guy knew exactly how to get him to double down. Apollo didn’t care that it was likely what his rival wanted: by the end of the week, he would wipe that smirk off the rock star’s face.
Trucy’s spirits didn’t seem at all dampened by Gavin’s appraisal of the case. “Maybe you didn’t sense any loose ends, but Polly and I have sort of a sixth sense.”
“Both of which only work on people with a pulse, ja?” Gavin shrugged. “I don’t think you can use them on poor Mr. Fells. In any case, I wish you both the best of luck. It’s not exactly as good as hard evidence, but it’s something.” He lurched up from the couch with his hands in his pockets.
“Gee, thanks,” Apollo said. “Now if you’ll excuse us, the defense has to think of a strategy.”
“Ah, but of course." Gavin turned at his heel by the door. "I can text you the address of the crime scene if you like. Oh, Fraulein Wright— your prop has been delivered." He gestured to the guitar leaning against Apollo's desk. "Should anything happen to it, we can call it a sacrifice for the arts."
"Yay!" Trucy seemed to immediately shed any reservations about the prosecution and bounced happily to retrieve her newest prop. "Now I just need some firecrackers. Daddy said you'd be fine getting some for me, Polly."
Apollo sighed. Yes, another very business-related expense expunged from his paycheck. Hooray.
Gavin leaned in the doorway. "Well, Fraulein. Forehead. See you in court Thursday.”
Apollo jumped in surprise. “T-the trial is in two days?” he shot Trucy a glare.
“A case out of thin air!” Trucy said, with a flourish. Always the theatrical one.
Gavin backed out of the doorframe with a curt bow, leaving Apollo with a much more chaotic day than when he'd arrived. I should've expected as much, Apollo thought. In all the cases he'd ever handled, there was nothing simple when Klavier Gavin was involved.
He looked once again at the second bracelet in his hand. That was a mystery that would just have to wait for another day. The pressing question was how to prove his new client not guilty and rub it in prosecutor Gavin's face. And with two days before the trial, there was no time to lose.