Thursday, 9 pm, Backlund.
Under the cover of the darkness, a black-haired figure walked through the streets, his footsteps echoed against the cobbled sidewalks.
He wore a deep brown fedora, the light of the lamp created small highlights across its brim. He also wore a white shirt paired with a black vest and a double breasted frock-coat.
After travelling for a few minutes, the man stopped near Backlund Bridge, following that. He quickly made his way to a bar at the corner — Bravehearts Bar, the lights read out.
As the man opened the door, a small chime rang out, drawing the attention of everyone in the bar.
The interior of the bar was thick with the smell of cheap tobacco and stale beer. To the right, a couple of men dressed roughly were leaning over a long, worn billiards table.
But the central focus of the room was a large, round wooden table near the back.
Four burly men were gathered there, seated opposite to them was an old man with a big nose. He had a huge, twisted scar running from the corner of his right eye to the side of his mouth and talked calmly despite being surrounded by gruff hooligans.
Their conversation was a low, urgent murmur that ceased instantly when the chime rang. The table was less a place for drinks and more a makeshift armory; resting atop its surface were several opened wooden crates filled with different armaments.
The black-haired figure closed the door behind him. His eyes, sharp and quick, swept the room.
As the bar's collective gaze fixed on the newcomer, the silence grew heavy. Then, as if following an invisible cue, the four men around the crates of weapons reacted — immediately drawing revolvers from their holster.
The old man merely twisted his head to the side, seeing the intruder, his eyes sparkled with recognition.
"Put down your guns." The man curtly commanded.
The four men shared a look before ultimately giving in and holstering their guns.
The man soon turned towards the intruder and smiled amusingly, "Casper!" He said aloud. "I haven't seen you in a while….. and as you see," he said slowly, extending his hands, "you caught me at a really bad time."
…
Kaspar looked at his old friend for a while before sighing, "You know a license like that is hard to fake."
Casper nodded. "Mhmm, but it's necessary."
Kaspar turned his head, "Ah, I don't know why I do such things for you," he paused, then continued, "but tell, why do you want to become a lawyer?"
Casper stayed silent, considering his words. After a moment of hesitation he answered, "It's important. Just do me a favour alright. For old times sake."
Kaspar offered up a smile. "Fine. Fine. No need to guilt me."
"Thank you, Kaspar. Now, if you don't mind me asking, how much is it going to be?"
Kaspar thought for a moment before offering up a figure, "Normally this kind of job is 50 pounds, but since you're my friend. I'll go for 30 pounds."
Isn't this just daylight robbery? Why doesn't he just ask for my kidney at this point, Casper thought bitterly and meekly nodded.
"Can I pay it back in installments?" He asked carefully to which Kasper nodded.
"You're still broke huh?" He said with a laugh causing Casper's cheeks to puff up.
"Bastard," he muttered under his breath and made his way to the door.
Then, suddenly. He turned back, "I'll see you later, Kaspar."
…
As the morning sun rose over Backlund, the streets had already come to life. In a building at the far side of Backlund, a serious conversation was being held.
In a small secluded room, two men sat opposite to each other.
The first — a policeman wearing a black and white checkered uniform with a peak cap spoke first. "Bank robbery, aggravated assault, extortion, racketeering, two counts of murder. We have you dead to rights, Cole. Even a lawyer sent from Heaven won't save you, and that's if you can afford one."
The policeman said with a grin.
Cole, on the other hand, seemed to have no fear at the piling counts. He instead smiled. "Sadly, while those bastards did betray me. I ain't gonna sell them out to the pigs. It's a code."
The policeman scoffed, "Loyalty among thieves? How laughable. Maybe that's the reason you're sitting in this cell while your partners are off coasting somewhere."
Cole didn't fall for the provocation and kept smiling.
"I guess I don't need to worry about your sentence. Your defender is a greenhorn, have fun with that."
With one last provocation, the policeman left.
Cole's face instantly fell as the man left, "Damn bastards," he muttered under his breath.
After a while, a black haired man entered the room. He wore a black blazer with a white shirt and a blue tie, and a fedora on his head.
Without any introduction, he sat across from him and opened his briefcase. "I've reviewed your case, and although it's a tough one. I think we have a great chance to win. I think a temporary insanity argument could work.
"But that would only work for the bank robbery charge. For the others, I might be able to argue it down for a fine, probation and some jail time."
Cole glanced at him. "You've been talking a lot but you still haven't introduced yourself."
The man stopped digging through his briefcase and raised his head, "Oh my mistake," he said before taking off his fedora and pressing it to his chest, "My name's Casper." He declared with a bow.
___
A/N - Sorry for disappearing, was traveling.