Remy’d always told himself that he’d never be a killer but for the right reason, a man could lose himself. A trail of bodies haunted his steps and he could see their faces when he slept. Claire’s kind eyes and easy smile. Franklin’s wrinkled cheeks and booze-reddened nose. Stefanie’s shock as he pulled the trigger. Remy would do it again in a heartbeat.

Three months ago, Remy had met with a nervous and breathtakingly beautiful school teacher to find her husband. Two weeks ago, he’d killed that women in the middle of her apartment. She’d used him, but she’d deserved a better ending than that. At the end of the day, everyone deserved a better ending than that. He couldn’t even think about Franklin. He didn’t regret his actions, only that he had to choose in the first place.

What a fucking waste of life. Stefanie’s, Claire’s, Franklin’s, his own assuming he’d ever get out. What about the thugs on the Beltrider? Cost of doing business?

That didn’t even count what their friends or family must think. Or the poor girl with Claire that night. Bianca? Was that her name? Her name didn’t matter. She was still alive. If you were alive, you would be fine. Josie was still alive. That was all that mattered.

New Madison’s jails were pretty swanky as fair as jails went. He’d spent time in more than a few but this was the first time he knew he wasn’t getting out. He twirled a half-smoked cigarette in his hand and tried to roll over again. Sleep came hard for a man with a guilty conscience on a steel slab. You never really got used to it, he knew, you could only hope to tolerate it. Remy hoped he’d start tolerating it better than he was so far.

Kathy Jones, the first attorney he kept on retainer, had decided that this wouldn’t be worth risking her streak of successful cases and refunded him the deposit. He couldn’t really blame her. She mostly eye-rolled past his petty crimes and was paid well for facilitating his more lucrative ones but a few counts of murder, terrorism, and a dozen unregistered Vascs wasn’t really petty or lucrative. He would’ve passed on the case too.

Tyreese was still around to talk about his shitty home life and getting off on charging far too much for a loose cigarette. Though he did agree to leave a message for Josie, so Remy couldn’t be too mad. Honest-to-God, after the third day alone in a cell, he could’ve had a good conversation with a charismatic rat. Tyreese was close enough.

His thoughts always turned to Josie. He was lucky that she was already home when Tyreese went to deliver the message. Tyreese brought back a short note and Remy would’ve paid any price for that.

”Remy, you are beyond words. I will see you again. Love, Josie.”

It’d been a long time since he’d heard that word and knew it meant something. Probably since Josie had said it during their last go-around. He’d told other women that, and had heard it in return. Then two months later, he’d find himself in the arms of another and life went on. This one felt different. After a few minutes remembering how she looked that night beneath the Freeworker, all dolled up with a dress he’d have to peel from her body, sleep found him at last.

***

“Hey, Remy, you got a visitor.” Tyreese smacked the barrier to his cell with his baton and he shook awake, nearly falling from his bed.

“Huh?” He hadn’t received a single visitor since arriving. Kathy Jones sent him a letter declining representation and Tyreese said Judge banned all other visitation.

“Says she’s your attorney. I wouldn’t argue if I were you. I’d say you could use the help.”

Remy stretched and took a leak in his steel bucket of a toilet. About time she showed up. At least Kathy’d had the decency to say something right away. What was his other one waiting for? An invitation?

Tyreese deactivated the cell barrier and placed a pair of shackles on his wrists. They were just walking down the hall but the only time Tyreese was a stickler for the rules was when someone above his rank could see it. Remy followed him into the sterile white room and sat down across from his attorney. Tyreese clicked shut the door behind them.

“Didn’t think you’d come by. Can’t say I’m not grateful though.”

Eleanor Brinson could’ve been a model but she’d chosen to study law. He knew that because she told that to everyone within a minute or two of meeting them. Easy on the eyes or not, she was a damn good lawyer. Shoulder length blond-in-a-box hair and a shirt a half-size too small helped others underestimate her. Usually, right before she buried them in court, or, in at least one instance, the ground.

Or so he’d heard, at least. Only lawyers themselves actually went into the court. Josie’d set him up with her after their last job out east. What a fantastic woman.

“I was otherwise engaged. I’m here now though and charge by the hour. You want to get started or pay me to banter?” Eleanor had a tablet in front of her and passed one over to Remy.

“Sure. I assume you know what’s going on?” He swiped open the tablet and his court documents popped up. He whistled. “I guess so.”

“You guess right.” Three months ago, he’d have been wondering what she was wearing underneath the blazer. Now, he only noticed the absence of the thought. Like missing the hum of a fan or sirens in the street when you’re trying to get to sleep in a jail cell. Well, at least he noticed the absence before thinking about it a little bit. A man could look.

“I’ll be blunt. I think you have an argument but it’s a longshot.” She flicked through her tablet and settled on a series of camera stills. His own tablet changed to the same series. Remy was fortunate to not have eaten his breakfast or he could’ve lost it.

He saw himself, standing with a gun toward Stefanie. In the next slide, she tossed the Pheromone toward his feet. Over the next few, she came closer and closer and then she was on the floor. Remy pushed the tablet away.

“I know what I did. What does this prove other than I did it?”

Eleanor rolled her eyes. “Look at the Vasc. Pheromones, Generation Three or later, looks like. That’s a X-rated Vasc from those particular generations. Practically mind control in the right hands. I think there’s a pretty good self-defense argument or maybe even insanity.”

Huh, he’d never thought about it like that. He really didn’t like to think about what things he did on his own volition and what was Stefanie’s idea. 50/50? At best? Franklin wouldn’t be included under that defense though. Eleanor read his mind.

“Mr. Mendez is a different case. There’s some Revolutionary-era laws still active that might help. Josephine O’Malley is your significant other, yes?”

He nodded and couldn’t help but smile. It was nice to hear it out loud.

“Well, remember to tell that to the camera. There’s some stuff in there about coerced violence and given her medical records and the records the man known as “the Inspector” gave you, I think that case can be dismissed too. Also helps that Mendez is a war criminal according to the Europeans. Federation might not see it that way, of course, but it helps the story some.”

Remy frowned. He could really have a charge of blowing up an elderly man thrown out simply because someone he cared about was threatened, and the elderly man had done some shady shit once? That’s why you hired representation, he supposed.

“I’ll just pay the fine for the Vascs then, I suppose?”

“With what you’re paying me, I don’t think that’ll be a concern for you, will it?”

“No, I suppose not.” It was just money, they could earn it again elsewhere. Importantly, beggars didn’t have the luxury to set the terms so it was going to be fine whether he liked it or not.

She flipped her tablet around and set it up on the table with the back facing him.

“I’m going to ask a few questions, and you tell me what happened. Don’t lie, the scanners can tell. Tell me the whole story.”

“Well, the first thing I remember is sitting in a coffee shop on the Plaza and a wave of cinnamon crashes over me…”