Thin rivulets of steam and water wicked the remaining film of Irish Springs away from Clayton’s skin, sending the suds to the tile floor, where they pooled for a moment before gravity got the better and sucked them down toward the drain. Rows of neatly-tightened muscle rippled for a moment as he relaxed under the stream, trying to master himself.

An instant later, the seeming-calm detective punched the wall, a straight-armed blow, legs spread to distribute the back-force of the blow down into the ground. It stung like a bitch, but as for the wall, the tile he hit had cracked, and the water actually stopped flowing, no doubt flooding the cavity around the piping as the ancient copper cracked.

“Dammit!”

His chest heaved, for a moment, as his fist became an open palm, and he leaned against the wall, head spinning. He was, clearly, in a miserable mood. All thanks to him.

Interrogation Two: Michael James Scumworthy

It was to be the last task of the evening for the detective, and the last smoke of the pack was slowly burning away to nothing in his hands, doing little on its own except to annoy Michael. A waste, really; he wasn’t really feeling the boost from it this time, and the grapefruit flavour screwed with the taste of his coffee. Even if it was the cheap, baseline fare.

Michael sighed, tilting his head, “So, are we going to do this, or are you just here to keep me from sleeping?”
“Quiet.” Clayton rolled his eyes, “We’re waiting for your lawyer.”
“Why would I call a lawyer?” a smirk, “I’m the Lord High Prosecutor, Niles. The best lawyer in the country.”
“You’re going to defend yourself? Against Archie Sax?”
Another smirk, “Archie Sax looks like a kid playing Phoenix Wright compared to me. My defense will not be difficult.”
“You think you’re going to need one?”

That wiped the smirk off of the lawyer’s face quickly enough. Niles Clayton had a knack for making people incriminate themselves; it was often useful, but in Michael’s opinion, it only added to his own workload. Still, he supposed it did ultimately help in the perpetual battle against crime, but at the same time, Michael was a cynic; he knew that crime would never be eliminated, and even if it were to, he and many many other lawyers would be destitute. Even he, a government-sponsored prosecutor, was paid solely on a case by case basis.

“Of course not. That said, knowing your reputation for misidentifying suspects, it never hurts to be prepared.”
“Are you saying I’m not cut out for my position?”
“I’m saying that I’m willing to challenge under Justice by Blades.”
“Challenge Denied. Justice By Blades cannot be evoked against members of the Executive Council.”
Michael only smirked, “So you’ve been brushing up on law. Fair enough, and about time too.”
“To hear you tell it, you’d think I wasn’t qualified for this job.”
“Well, it comes as no surprise to hear you say it.” Mike flexed slightly, trying to gain a reprieve from the tightness of his handcuffs, “And my own opinion on the matter is no doubt well-known and often lamented police lore.”
Clayton stood up to pace, smiling slightly at Mike in the mirror that covered one wall, “You’re just pissed off because I made it to the council a decade younger than you.”
“I notice you didn’t tell me I was wrong.”

The smile vanished, and Niles felt one of the hands he was rubbing together involuntarily form a fist, cupped in the other, “Don’t use your court tricks on me, lawyer. They won’t get you far here. No judge to impress.”
“Very well. Are we done here?”
“Not in the slightest. Who is your supplier?”
“I have many suppliers. Coffee isn’t just grown in one part of the world.”
“I’m not talking about your damn soy mocha latte or esspresso or whatever fucking chick drink of the week it is for you this month!” Clayton shouted, slamming a hand into the folding card-table with enough force to bend the aluminum top slightly, “Who gave you the yggdrasil?!”
“It’s not mine!” Mike shouted back, his face a snear.
Clayton replied in a mocking tone, “I was just holding it for a friend, I swear! Grow up, Michael. Even kids don’t use that excuse anymore. Where did it come from?”
“I don’t know! Maybe it was planted!”
“Your trunk was locked! You drive a 2009 Lexus LX 570 Electric! The car with the RFID-secured locks! It’s not like someone could have picked the damn thing!” Clayton scowled back, “You’d think a lawyer would come up with a believable lie!”
“Maybe you’re not thinking far enough outside the box, Lord Clayton.”

Clayton growled, turning around to face the door, “Guard!”
The door was opened in a hurry, “Sir!”
“Take Mister Scumworthy to the Duel Room! Have him outfitted as he sees fit and contact the duty arbiter.” As Mike passed by, escorted, he was fixed with a glare from those icy blue eyes, “You just got your challenge, cocksucker.”

The role of dueling was a complex part of Zaxtonian Law, a subject so nuanced and unique that a special class of police officer existed in Zaxton just to cover it. They were, in fact, part judge, part lawyer, part patrol officer, and part referee; to the Zaxton National Police Force what the elite Justice Guard was to the ZSDF. The Arbiter Class.

Clayton nodded to the arbiter this evening; they wore masks and went only by the title arbiter when on duty; it was supposed to be impossible to know specifically which arbiter was working which shift where unless you were part of the department; even Clayton himself wasn’t entirely sure who he was dealing with. Mike was already standing in the arena, arms folded across his chest. Niles was a little surprised; he knew Mike was no slouch, but he wasn’t expecting the lawyer to be put together nearly as well as he seemed to be now, in street clothes.

The detective handed over his gun to the arbiter. One of the primary rules of duelling in all levels of the term; no firearms. Following that, he lifted his coat to the side,  to show Mike the longsword he was carrying. As challenger, Mike could set the level of armament Clayton was allowed to pack, as long as he himself didn’t exceed his own limits.

“Lose it.”

Clayton simply removed the belt, kicking the weapon toward the arbiter.

“This arena will now see the duel of Lord High Prosecutor Michael Scumworthy against Lord High Sheriff Niles Clayton, in accordance with the rule of Justice by Blades. No armament has been permitted. Fighting will be continuous until surrender or technical knockout. Magic has not been allowed for this duel. A victory by Clayton means that Scumworthy will remain in detention and appear before a court of law for the crime of possession. A victory by Scumworthy means a full pardon. The terms of this duel have been spoken.”

The arbiter lifted his right, gloved hand out to his side, “Do you accept these terms, Lord High Sheriff, in full understanding of the laws surrounding them?”
“Yes, Master Arbiter.” Clayton slid one foot slightly backward, lowering his weight, and brought up his hands before him. A classic Silat posture; his martial art of choice. It set him somewhat apart from the standard police, who tended to use the ZSDF’s hybrid CQC (close quarters combat) methods.
The left hand went up, mirroring the right, “Do you accept these terms, Lord High Prosecutor, in full understanding the laws surrounding them?”
“Yes, Master Arbiter.” Mike, conversely, went up somewhat on his toes, keeping his feet moving, fists in front. Classic boxer all the way. If Clayton remembered correctly, it was his other hobby besides the drums.
“Very well. Begin!”

The arbiter let his hands fall back to his sides. In the same moment, Mike very quickly closed the distance to Clayton, who rose one hand to block, or rather deflect with a sweep a left hook, before delivering a powerful blow to the other’s chest. He was a bit high, and rather than the intended effect of collapsing the lawyer’s diaphragm and providing a quick victory, it just pushed him back a little on the crash mats, and pissed him off. He came forward again in a flurry of punches, forcing Niles to use all his energy and speed just to fend them off while he backed slowly away. There was a brief gap as Mike pulled his left back for a mighty hook, and Clayton struck, hopping slightly up and forward, delivering the full weight of his body into Michael’s stomach with his knee. The other staggered back, even as Clayton landed and span around into a high kick, aiming for the neck or jaw. The spin was a mistake.

Mike caught the ankle, using the detective’s own momentum to slam him into the ground, before pinning the man under him. with one arm, he put pressure on the man’s neck, while the other applied a bit of pain to the south. Really, it was only a matter of time before Clayton blacked out from lack of air, and the Arbiter damn well knew it. In a heartbeat, he was between the pair, having literally hoisted Michael up off the other, delivering him to his own sound contact with the mount. Without so much of a thread of his pristine black-and-gold uniform falling out of place. Arbiters got their job for a reason; they were some of the most powerful duelists alive.

“Enough. By my power as Arbiter, I end this duel. The winner by technical knock out is Lord High Prosecutor Michael Scumworthy. As such, he will be sent home with the full pardon of the College of Judges.”

Niles could see only red. It wasn’t bad enough his system prevented him from searching the way he wanted. Now he couldn’t even question who he wanted.

An hour later, as the shower coughed and sputtered its’ dying breaths, he’d stare at the backs of bleeding knuckles and privately wonder if this case was worth his sanity.