Brass Ring Interlude 3: One Less Orphan

The 25th Annual Overton Orphans Ball had been going well. The LED thermometer tracking donations was almost full. The dance floor was full and the champagne flowed enough to maintain a healthy buzz. Of course there was enough wheeling and dealing for those who continued to work even when they should be playing.

Off in a darkened corner, trillionaire playboy Richard Albrecht was busy courting several women. “Ladies, there is more than enough for all of you.” He smiled as they cooed. He scanned the room, looking for the exits. “So, who among you will be lucky enough to leave with me tonight?” They sat back and breathed in, their bodies showing their prominent parts in the best possible light. He gulped, pulled his collar, and smiled like a schoolboy.

**Unauthorized guest at the entrance. Floor agents, please respond.** The guard near the door grabbed the mic on his shoulder. “Understood. On my way.” The guard disappeared.

Richard smiled. “Excuse me, ladies. I need to visit the Big Boys' Room.” He almost chuckled as he heard the groans of displeasure behind him as he stood up. “I'll be right back.” He almost ran to the front entrance.

Two men and a woman approached him, phone in hand. He saw the business plans loaded and ready to be launched at him, but he evaded all three. In moments, he had arrived at the front entrance. He slowed as he noticed the guards wearing goggles, a pistol, and two knock-out grenades. One of the guards froze when he looked straight at Richard. That's unusual. He froze as well; he knew he was in a trap but he needed to see it sprung. There are only six of them, after all.

The guard pulled his weapon. “Subject detected.” The other guards pulled their weapons as they turned. They soon had him in their sights. The first one aimed his pistol. “Richard Albrecht, follow us. Please.”

This was different. He put his hands up. “Sure.”

The guard led him into an empty room and gestured for him to enter. He entered the room; there was nothing but a chair and table in the room. He heard a click behind him and turned just in time to see a knock-out grenade tossed at him. The door to the room was slammed shut. He reached for his belt. Bloody hell, my utility belt is at home. The room began to spin, but he fought against the wave of unconsciousness engulfing him. He soon fell to the floor.

* * * * *

He would wake hours later in an interrogation room, woken by the ticking of the clock. He couldn't move his hands or feet; he was manacled to the table. A thin man with a bad tie entered the room with a manila folder and a small cardboard box. “Good morning, Mr. Albrecht. Your lawyer is on the way.” The man sat down on the other side of the table. “I am Detective Harold Benz and I will be handling your interrogation.” He put the folder and the box down in front of him.

He glared at the detective. “You know I'm not telling you anything, right?”

Detective Benz adjusted his glasses. “Oh, I would assume nothing else.” He leaned back. “However, you know I am empowered to give you a plea deal.”

Richard smiled at him. “Why would I do that? I have done nothing legally wrong.”

Detective Benz returned the smile. “Your victims would say otherwise, and have already begun to plan their legal strategy.” He sat up. “You're making legal history as the first person to have to deal with a class action civil suit to pay for all of the misery, pain, and broken bones you've inflected on the criminal underworld.”

Richard lost his smile. “What?”

Detective Benz leaned back. “That's not my concern. Mine is that it's illegal for someone to dress up like every fight is Halloween and fight crime.”

Richard grew red. “I had immunity to do so as a member of CAPES. All of my activities were sanctioned.”

Detective Benz rolled his eyes and sighed. “You should have looked at your contract a little harder, Umbral Defender.” He looked straight at the man in front of him. Only cases specifically sanctioned by CAPES carry immunity with them, and that means filling out the proper paperwork.” He smiled. “You didn't fill out the paperwork.”

Richard closed his eyes, bent his head, and swore under his breath. He lifted his head. “So what does that mean?”

Detective Benz sighed. “It means a lot of paperwork if we don't reach a plea deal.” He pushed the folder over to Richard. “You can look over the paperwork, but you are getting some special treatment. It's going to take weeks to compile the charges and we have a team compiling the records; our best option is for you to sign a plea deal and just accept your punishment.”

Richard leaned back. “Otherwise?”

Detective Benz leaned forward. “The DA is offering you fifty years in minimum security prison and a Fledermaus activity suppressor implant. You will be in the general population; there's no helping that, so it's going to be a rough first couple of years.” He relaxed a little. “The option is a court case that could last years, and it's not likely you'll get bail, so that's time in the county lock-up.” He leaned closer. “It's not that we don't trust you, it's just the sheer number of crimes.” He leaned back. “But you can discuss that with your lawyer.”

He collapsed into the chair, the air escaping from his lungs as he did so. Fifty years among those he had put in prison...life with an implant meant a paralyzing shock of electricity when his pulse hit a certain level, making exercise difficult. His head popped up. “Why isn't the DA here to present the paperwork?”

Detective Benz smiled. “He's sort of scared of you.” He adjusted his glasses. “To tell you the truth, we all are. I just got the short straw.”

He looked at the paper. Fifty years is a long time, and the implant could make life...difficult. He sighed. I could flee, I could hide where no one could find me, but then I couldn't help; the second I revealed myself I would be hunted all over. This way, at least, I know where the attacks are coming from. “I'll wait until the lawyer shows up, but realistically this is my only real option.”

Detective Benz sighed and then smiled. “Glad to hear that. We were sort of expecting things to go much worse.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” He looked at the clock, wondering what was taking his lawyer so long. I hope the next fight is easier.

[The last chapter is here.]