A/N: Hey everyone! AJ here.This is eerily similar to another short story of mine called "Blind", and there's a reason for that: this was a companion story that I wrote for a magazine that I'm contributing to. It has the same basic plot as "Blind", but this follows the point of view of Wolfe's clients, Sara and Lexi. If you've already read "Blind" there isn't much more to the story, but I thought you might like to see another side of the same story. This is, btdubs, read as "Nurture over Nature". Anyways, if you do read it I hope you'll enjoy it, and please leave me some feedback!

-X-

            The lights were dim within the fancy Las Islas restaurant, the premier restaurant of Rizal Grove. Rizal Grove was a residential suburb of Rizal City, a city in the Philippines. Constructed to give a Parisian feel, it contained elegant silk drapes, polished floors, and stylish tables with oaken chairs, crystal chandeliers, and a ten-piece band playing smooth jazz.

            Though the architecture screamed elite, the customers of the restaurant were a motley assortment: one table was filled with jocks coming off of a successful basketball game; another held a group of old ladies in their best Sunday clothes; and yet another featured two young women, dressed casually, but nicely. One of the women had midnight black hair, which fell down one side of her body like a flowing river that reflected the shine of the dimmed lights. The other had short, brown hair that was as wavy as her partner’s was straight. They were both beautiful- not excessively so, but with little makeup their natural beauty shone through and set them slightly apart from most their age.

            The two women were enjoying themselves immensely, as anyone in the restaurant could tell. They sat across from each other, and observers could see that a laugh or smile would escape both of their faces every few seconds. Whether it was a joke or a funny face one of them made, there seemed to be nothing that could ruin their moods that evening. They proceeded through their dinner sharing a plate of spaghetti and feeding each other spoonfuls of ice cream during desert. Though they may have drawn a few glances here and there, they were determined to let nothing ruin their date. It wasn’t often they were open in anonymity, and in anonymity lay the opportunity for boldness- boldness that was otherwise hidden in the closet.

            After the food had been taken away, and as they waited for the bill to be handed to them, they stared into each other’s eyes. On their faces were looks of pure affection, on their mouths blissful smiles. For a time it seemed as though neither one of them could speak, merely content to stare at the vision of their girlfriend. However, the woman with the midnight black hair broke the silence between them as she said, with a hint of nervousness, “Sara?”

            “Yeah Lexi?” the brown haired girl responded. All eyes seemed to be trained on the two of them- though in truth it was the opposite- and all breaths seemed to be held as everyone, especially Sara, awaited what Alexandra would say next.

            Alexandra seemed to struggle with her words. She ran them over her head, one phrase after another, trying to find the right fit. “You see… It’s… um… You know…”

            Chuckling nervously, Sara said, “Um, Lexi? Just spit it out.”

            She struggled for a moment more, but after taking a deep breath, a steely conviction arrested her gut. With firm determination chanting her on, she gave a warm smile and whispered, in a voice only lovers could hear, “I love you.”

            Sara was slightly shocked at the three words Alexandra had just uttered. However, pure joy swelled within her as, with a smile as warm, she whispered in a voice only lovers could hear, “I love you too.”

            The two gazed at each other, oblivious to the world outside of their enchanted bubble, until the bubble itself popped with the arrival of their bill. They quickly paid their bill, gave a generous tip, and promptly left the table. No sooner had they done so when the chandelier above them came crashing to the ground, startling all within the restaurant. While the restaurant personnel tried to figure out what was going on, the patrons of Las Islas stared at the wreckage of the chandelier, its crystals having spilled and flown everywhere. None were more disturbed than the couple, who thanked God and their lucky stars that they had narrowly avoided the chandelier.

            After leaving the restaurant, they began to make their way towards one of their homes. However, as they passed down a particular side alley, voices unattached to human bodies screeched from all around them: “FREAKS!” Unsettled, Alexandra and Sara clung to each other for support, and ran through the suddenly long alley, trying to break free from the darkness and the voices. When at last they had emerged onto the street, hands gripping each other tightly as their hearts raced like cheetahs, they looked behind them and saw absolutely no one in the alley. Frightened, they continued on their way, wary of any demons hiding in the dark.

-X-

            The following day, Alexandra and Sara sat on a wooden bench, tense as their eyes darted this way and that. They were still rattled from the events of the night before, and though they wanted to see, embrace, and simply be with their beloved, they were also afraid that the voices would return- or worse, that they would attack.

            As they furtively held hands and looked for any signs of trouble, they saw a young man from their past. He had semi-spiky jet-black hair, and as he approached, he raised a hand in greeting and addressed them genially, saying, “Lexi! Sara! Long time no see!”

            “John, is that really you?” Alexandra asked, taking in Wolfe’s appearance. Dressed in a simple white t-shirt, black jacket, and dark navy jeans, it made the fashionista within her vomit.

            “Jeez, how long has it been?” Sara added, shocked by the change she saw in him.

            “A couple of years,” Wolfe answered. “Not since summer after 8th grade, anyway.”

            “Yeah, you’re right. Time’s treated you well,” Sara said. She meant her compliment as well, as she compared the boy she was once a classmate of with the man who stood in front of her. Forgiving the acne that marked his face, he had on a different aura than what they had previously seen- one that was more mature and hardened. In fact, his body told three different ages: in his eyes were a five year old’s who couldn’t stop smiling; in his face was a seventeen year old who was ready to see the world; and in his body and composure was a mature detective, calm and intellectual while hiding a secret fury, a hidden animal. Yes, this wasn’t “Little Johnny” of Rizal Elementary School- this was the teenager known as “Wolfe”, the detective prodigy of Rizal Academy, and by extension, of Rizal City. Though just a teenager, this was the detective who was beginning to make a name for himself, stopping the elusive thief known as “Shadow” and solving the puzzling Kamatayan Mystery.

            “Sara’s got a point, John,” Alexandra remarked. “The ladies must be fawning over you at Rizal Academy.”

            “It’s not like that all,” Wolfe answered. “I’m not actually all that popular when it comes to that kind of attention. Besides, there’s…” Switching the subject, he said, “And what about you two? Time’s been kind to you both as well.”

            “Yeah, I guess it has been,” Alexandra sighed.

            Sara was about to add on a comment when Wolfe, suddenly serious, bluntly interjected, “Something’s bothering you two, right?”

            The comment caught both girls off guard. “What do you mean?” asked Alexandra.

            “Simply what I said,” Wolfe responded. “Tense shoulders; darting eyes; heels dug into the ground, prepared for a strong takeoff. All that on a calm and soothing day? Nah, something’s bothering you both. Don’t lie- I’ll be able to tell on your faces. What’s bugging both of you?”

            Sara and Alexandra exchanged glances, trying to decide whether to bother their friend with their predicament- and what exactly to tell him, should they do so. Though they were hesitant, knowing his reputation and, more importantly, his personality, they decided to trust in him to help them. They quickly informed him of the events of the previous night, and gave him the name of a mutual cover ex-boyfriend- someone they decided over the phone was a likely culprit behind those events.

            Alexandra and Sara had been dating for a long time- throughout most of their high school lives, in fact. However, in order to protect the truth about their sexualities and their relationship, they had to resort to maintaining “cover boyfriends”. Though they felt no love for those young men- and, indeed, they broke up amicably with them when they felt the men were beginning to feel serious- there was none that truly bothered them. None, except José Enriquez, a polarizing Filipino whom, aside from “dating” both Alexandra and Sara, came the closest to discovering the truth when he decided to barge in on them one night during a sleepover at Alexandra’s home. They had been affectionate with each other, cuddling and kissing each other, and in retrospect, Alexandra feared that they had been a bit too careless and José had seen something. Thus, being the one José was dating at the time, she broke up with him, and now she and Sara believed that, angry at having been used, he was out for revenge.

            Though they didn’t convey the reason for their suspicion to their friend, they did give him a description of their suspect. He accepted the case, assured them that he would immediately begin his investigation, and bade them farewell as he walked away.

            “Do you think we should’ve told him what was really up, Sara?” Alexandra asked once Wolfe was gone.

            “He’s a detective, Lexi,” Sara replied. “He’ll get to the bottom of this anyway, whether we told him the whole truth or not.”

            “I guess you’re right.” Alexandra gave her girlfriend a quick peck to the cheek, and the two began walking away as well, hand in hand and smiling in relief at finally having an ally.

-X-

            “Where’s John?” Sara asked, holding Alexandra’s hand and gripping it tightly from fear. Only one night removed from when they first felt unsafe, they had returned to the alley where the voices first besieged them.

            “I don’t know, Sara,” Alexandra replied. Fear was creeping up on her as well- though why, she did not know. “But he hasn’t let anyone down before, right? Let’s just trust that-”

            Suddenly, a loud barrage of voices assaulted them from both sides. “Freaks! Homos!” the chorus yelled. The girls were frightened, and their first instinct was to run; however, when Wolfe had texted them earlier to return to the alley, he had also instructed them not to move until he told them to run. They didn’t know why, but they trusted their friend enough to follow his instructions. The chorus kept their assault, though as intimidated as the girls were, they nevertheless stood their ground. After a few minutes more the assault ceased, and the girls breathed a sigh of relief. That is, until they saw a man with a hood and trench coat approach from the direction of the restaurant.

            Though he was an intimidating presence himself, the attention of the girls was drawn to what he held in his hand: a steel baseball bat, no doubt brought as a weapon. He advanced on them, and their courage began to fail them. They were preparing themselves to run when Wolfe himself appeared at the mouth of the alley, speaking out from behind the man and stopping his advance. The man tried to shoo Wolfe away, but Wolfe stood his ground and, infuriated, the man started swinging the bat at him. Alexandra and Sara watched on in fear as their friend engaged the man in combat. They gasped when the man hit Wolfe’s shin with the bat, and gasped again when finally Wolfe was victorious.

            Wolfe limped over to Alexandra and Sara, who were still clutching each other, part in fear and part in awe at the fight that had just concluded. “Well! That was an interesting case! Th-”

            “Why are you defending those freaks?” the man asked. Moving himself in position so that he could look Wolfe squarely in the eye, he asked again, while trembling with rage, “Why did you help them? What they are… it’s wrong. It’s not natural. It’s not right! They’re homos! Freaks!”

            Wolfe returned the man’s gaze. “Freaks? All I see are two people in love. There’s nothing weird or freaky about that. Justice is blind: cold, hard, and unbiased. They did nothing wrong. You, on the other hand, almost killed them once already. Now get out of here before I report you to the police.”

            Turning to his friends, Wolfe said, “Walk with me so that I can wrap this case up.” The three of them left the alley as the man remained to ponder Wolfe’s words.

            As they walked away from the alley, Wolfe told them of his investigation and relayed the information he knew about the culprit and his circumstances- of how, as a child, the culprit was taught to hate homosexuals. When he had concluded, he said that he would be taking his leave- he still had a report to file to the police about the case; more importantly, he had a very important date in a few minutes’ time.

            Before he could leave, however, Sara said, “Wait, one more thing.” She had been curious as to how Wolfe had defended who they truly were, especially when neither she nor Alexandra ever told him the truth of their sexuality and their relationship. “You don’t seem shocked at all that-”

            “That you and Lexi are lesbians, and that you’re in love with each other?” Wolfe commented. “No, I’m not.”

            “Does it just not bother you, or have you known for some time now?” Alexandra asked.

            “Both, though particularly I’ve known for some time now. Honestly, I was wondering if it was ever gonna happen.”

            “Wait, what do you mean by that?” Sara questioned.

            “Well, I could see it as early as 8th grade,” Wolfe explained. “Then there were the few subsequent times during the summer after that year when we hung out. There was when I spotted you two at Rizal Grove Park, and finally when I reviewed the security tapes at Las Islas. The looks you two gave each other? Those are looks of pure love.”

            “How do you know that?” Alexandra followed up.

            “Because I love someone. An amazing woman. With all my heart and soul. And that’s how I know.” Wolfe walked away from them, raising a hand in farewell.

            Crickets sung in the evening air as Alexandra and Sara continued to walk. They looked up at the starry night sky and pondered everything that Wolfe had related to them.

            Alexandra was the first to break the silence of their thoughts. “I feel kind of bad for him now, despite everything.”

            “Yeah,” Sara agreed. “Knowing how he was brought up… he didn’t naturally hate- he was taught to hate. And look at what happened to him because of it.”

            “Do you think there’s hope for him?”

            “I don’t know. Maybe he’ll change. Maybe he won’t. That’s up to him, I guess.”

            They were silent once more. Though the silence grew, they didn’t mind it- they needed the silence to think. After a while, they set their thoughts aside and finally breathed a sigh of relief for the conclusion of the case. For the moment, they felt safe; however, as long as they had to hide who they truly were, they knew they would have to stay on alert. But for the moment, it didn’t matter. For the moment, they were safe. And in that moment, they were happy.

2: Jesu

A/N: Hey everyone. I would like to leave a little disclaimer for this story: in writing this piece, I mean not to disparage Christians, Christianity, or any religion, really. What I would like to address, however, is the hypocrisy and zealotry that can be present in religion, such as I specify here with Christianity. I’m not attacking religion- I’m attacking those factors that pervert it.

-X-

            Long ago, in the annals of history, Spanish explorers “discovered” the Philippines- which had, of course, already been discovered and settled by other foreigners closer to the archipelago years earlier. These Spaniards conquered the islands and brought “culture” and converted the native populace to their own religion: Christianity.

            Filipinos are a devout and loyal people. Once converted, they stuck to their religion and held true to it. Mostly unwavering in their faith, they did everything in their power to be good Christians and earn the promise of eternal salvation in the loving arms of God in Heaven.

            Though the majority of the Philippines’ third and southernmost main island, Mindanao, is mostly Islamic, the rest of the Philippines is devoutly Christian. As such, it would not be surprising to any to find that Rizal City, of the nation’s first and northernmost main island, Luzon, was a very Christian city indeed. Praises and salutations to God permeated the streets, from road signs to messages at the end of television dramas broadcasting the words “To God be the Glory!” They held mass at the various different churches and cathedrals at multiple times throughout the day, and prayer was incorporated at the beginning of breakfast, before the work/school day, before lunch, after lunch, at the end of the work/school day, before dinner, after dinner, and before bed. People prayed for everything, from the important to the mundane. They also wore crosses, hung crucifixes in their homes, regularly prayed the rosary, and you’d be hard pressed to find a household with neither a painting of the Last Supper nor at least one Bible. Rizal City was very Christian indeed.

            Within Rizal City was an organization- or rather, it was a brotherhood. It was founded by Emilio Arturo, a junior at Aguinaldo High, and the star of its basketball team. The other members of the brotherhood included Pedro Rodriguez, head of Aguinaldo High’s debate team; Mike Pablo, leader of their math team; and Selena Magreyes, captain of the cheerleading squad, amongst others. They united under common values, and though they weren’t technically an official organization, they were unofficially recognized as a major voice in the community.

            Once a week this brotherhood would gather at someone’s house. They would talk, laugh, and have fun. They would exchange news, stories, and gossip. And one day, they heard an interesting tidbit of news: a new neighbor was going to move into the residential district, Rizal Grove.

            At once the brotherhood was excited, and decided to welcome the new neighbor. On the day of their arrival, they dressed in their best casual Sunday clothes and proceeded to the new arrival’s household. Emilio knocked on the door- he wondered what the person would look like?- and in a few moments the door was opened by a single man. He greeted the brotherhood warmly and let them in. They talked for an hour, and then the brotherhood left with fake smiles on their faces. From the newcomer’s house they returned to Emilio’s home to discuss certain matters. Something had to be done about… him.

-X-

            A week later, someone rang the doorbell of 221 Xavier Street. John “Wolfe” San Miguel opened the door to find a man standing there. “Can I help you?” Wolfe asked with curiosity.

            “Yes, I heard from some people that a detective lives here?” the man began. “Could you please tell him that I need some help?”

            “Actually sir, that detective would be me,” Wolfe responded. “My name is John San Miguel, but professionally I’m called ‘Wolfe.’”

            The man looked taken aback. “You? You’re the detective that everyone’s talking about?”

            “Well, it would be either myself or my father, but he’s an inspector for the RCPD, so I doubt he’s whom the neighbors are referring to,” Wolfe pondered.

            “But you’re just a teenager! You can’t possibly be-”

            Wolfe let out a sigh and then quickly interjected, “Despite the fact that you are a Filipino, you are not native at all. In fact, I’d say you moved here recently from Chicago in the United States. You’re a single parent with a fussy cat whose scratched you recently, though that’s nothing alarming as the cat has scratched you multiple times in the past. Your lawn has also been freshly watered, which to me is a waste as it will probably rain within the next day or so. Am I wrong?”

            Flabbergasted, the man stood back in stunned silence. Who was this young man?

            “How did you do that? How did you know all that?” the man demanded.

            “Simple. You have the appearance of a Filipino, but your skin is too light to be native to this country. That, in addition to the fact that you have a Chicago accent, leads me to believe that you’ve moved here from there. You’re not wearing a wedding ring nor do you have a ring tan on your hand, but you do have a few barely noticeable but still perceptible stains on your clothes from a baby’s spit. Jutting out of the right sleeve of your shirt is a fresh cat scratch, but jutting out of the left sleeve of your shirt, as well as the collar around your neck, are two older cat scratches. Finally, though the weather is overcast, there has been no rainfall in recent days. This is important as your shoes are slightly muddy, which most likely would have come from your own lawn being freshly watered. Am I wrong?”

            The man was dumbfounded, shocked into a stunned silence. He had heard of this young man’s abilities and exploits, but he had written them off. But after that little deduction show… perhaps he would be able to help after all.

            “No, not at all. Not at all!” the man responded. “That was amazing!”

            “That was nothing,” Wolfe responded with modesty in his voice. “Anyway, can I help you with anything?”

            “Yes please. My name is Derek Del Rios, and I would like you to help me put a stop to something.”

            Wolfe ushered the man into his living room. It was a common and comfortable living space: on one wall was a TV, while opposite that was a couch flanked by armchairs. Photographs in picture frames adorned the walls, and there was a coffee table in front of the couch. While the client took to the couch, Wolfe sat down on one of the armchairs. “Please, tell me what your case is,” Wolfe said.

            “Last week, I moved here from the United States,” Mr. Del Rios began. “The first few days were fine- the neighbors were all friendly, I was adjusting well to the new atmosphere… but then two days ago I woke up to find my house covered in eggs and toilet paper. And then last night I received a letter.”

            “Did you bring this letter?” Wolfe inquired.

            “Yes, I thought it would help,” Mr. Del Rios replied. He dug out of his pocket a partially folded letter and handed it to Wolfe, who quickly analyzed the letter’s contents, his eyes darting this way and that. “Whomever sent this letter attacked my house yesterday and wants to continue harassing me. I’d like you to find out who is doing this and stop them. I’m a nice person- I haven’t bothered anyone!”

            “I’m sure you haven’t, Mr. Del Rios,” Wolfe responded, his eyes closed. “I know who did this, and I will put a stop to them. Rest assured of that, Mr. Del Rios.”

            Mr. Del Rios thanked Wolfe once more and then left the detective’s residence. Wolfe let out a sigh and then left his house himself. There was a visit he needed to make.

-X-

            There was a knock on the front door of Emilio Arturo’s home. The Aguinaldo High junior opened up the door to find Wolfe standing there with a grave face. “Ah, John San Miguel!” Emilio greeted him. “How are you? To what do I owe the pleasure of-”

            “Drop the act, Emilio,” Wolfe responded. He raised a letter to face level, a letter which bore the message: NONBELIEVER! YOU DON’T BELONG IN A CITY OF GOD LIKE RIZAL CITY! CONVERT OR LEAVE, HEATHEN! “I always knew that your Pure Brotherhood had the zealotry to be ugly, but this…”

            “How… how did you know that came from us?” Emilio asked, his tone now matching Wolfe’s.

            “Simple, but never mind that,” Wolfe replied. “Stop harassing Mr. Del Rios. He’s done nothing wrong to anyone- by his neighbor’s testimonies he’s a good man. Leave him alone, or I will get the police involved.”

            Wolfe began to leave then, when Emilio argued, “He isn’t a Christian! He’s a nonbeliever! He shuns the grace of God, and in Jeremiah-”

            “Oh, shut up, you Scripture-quoting hypocrite!” Wolfe angrily retorted. “You hate him because he’s not Christian? If that’s the case, then you’re not a good Christian. Not in the slightest. You’re so focused on your Old Testament rigidity, you seem to neglect Jesus and the New Testament. Did you ever read that part of the Bible?”

            “I did!” Emilio answered, vainly trying to defend himself. “I’ve read the Bible cover to cover! I’ve memorized all the passages of Scripture! And-”

            “Even the Devil can quote Scripture,” Wolfe coolly responded.

            “-And I’m simply carrying out Jesus’ will,” Emilio finished through gritted teeth.

            Wolfe let out a cynical, hollow laugh. “Have you honestly deluded yourself to believe that this is Jesus’ will? Do you really think that if we asked ‘What Would Jesus Do?’ he would threaten a man simply for not being Christian? Jesus, who spoke for Others? Jesus, who accepted Jews and Gentiles alike? Jesus, who preached compassion and forgiveness?”

            “But Christians are the only good-”

            “When a man lay injured by the roadside, who was it that helped him?” Wolfe interjected. “You wish to stone this man, but if you have no sins, feel free to cast the first stone. Though I think both you and I know you have many, MANY sins.”

            Emilio knew he was beat. Frustrated, he asked, “What are we supposed to do then?”

            Wolfe turned around and answered, “Be an actual Christian.” He walked away then, and hoped to God that Emilio and his brotherhood would turn a new leaf. Unfortunately, as he would later find out in “The Chris Thompson Affair,” this wouldn’t be the case. But without that future knowledge, Wolfe could only hope that the Pure Brotherhood would drop its hypocritical zealotry and maybe, just maybe, actually be something good.

-X-

A/N: Hey everyone (again). I hope that the preceding story was interesting or thought provoking. Once again, I'm not trying to be inflammatory or attack religion. Far from it, actually. I simply wish to foster discussion. If you are to leave me feedback on this story, I ask that you please leave respectful comments. I don't want to start a flame war where one shouldn't start. So please, remember that everyone will have different views, and to respect everyone's views as you want them to respect your own. I'll be back soon (hopefully). Until then, have a wonderful day.

3: Binary Poles

            Holmesville, a city in the Midwestern United States. It’s a city about the size of Chicago, with as many people and neighborhoods. And, just like any other major city, it has its fair share of crime.

            On a breezy fall day, a young man entered the Holmesville District Attorney’s office. He has dark, medium length hair and a sharp pair of glasses, along with a neatly-pressed three-piece suit. In his hand is a briefcase that is currently empty; however, by the end of the day he hoped it wouldn’t be. Fresh out of law school, this young man was a local boy by the name of Miles du Basque.

            Ever since he was a child, Prosecutor Miles knew he wanted to make a difference, and was always an ardent believer of the criminal justice system. To him, it was a glorious institution that meted out fair punishment; it delivered justice for the victims of dastardly criminals-turned-defendants who thought they could get away with their crimes. He studied hard all his life, and eventually he fulfilled his dream. Now, as Holmesville’s shining new knight of the law, he would ensure that fair justice was done.

            As per instructions he had been given earlier that week, Prosecutor Miles stopped by the District Attorney’s office. Knocking on the door, he proceeded inside when a gruff voice told him to come in. Stepping inside, he saw a pristine office brimming with law books, diplomas, certificates, pictures with various VIPs, and other such items. Behind a large oak desk was the District Attorney, and in front of him was an older man with greying hair a worn suit.

            “You must be Mr. Miles du Basque,” the DA began.

            “Yes sir. I’m reporting for duty,” Prosecutor Miles confirmed, serious but cheery.

            “Good. I’m assigning you to two cases that Mr. Gregory Finch,” here the DA gestured to the older man, “will be prosecuting today. Stay quiet and learn from this pro.” Turning then to Mr. Finch, the DA instructed, “Now, listen Greg. I know that this is your last day, so try and teach the new kid as much as you can, alright?” Mr. Finch grunted, and the DA sent the two off to prepare for the two trials.

            As the two walked towards Mr. Finch’s office, the older prosecutor asked Prosecutor Miles, “so kid, tell me something: why’d you want to be a criminal prosecutor?”

            “Simple enough,” the latter responded. “I wanted to make a difference. I wanted to make sure that those who hurt others got the fair justice they deserve.”

            “Ha!” the older lawyer laughed cynically. “Fair, huh? Kid, there’s no such thing as ‘fair justice.’ You either do what you think is fair, or you do what you would call justice. In our system, you don’t get both.”

            “That’s harsh, Mr. Finch,” Prosecutor Miles remarked.

            “That’s the truth, kid,” Mr. Finch retorted. By this time they had reached the office, and entered it to prepare for the trials. While they were inside, Mr. Finch sat down on his desk and began pulling out folders, taking notes on a legal pad and occasionally muttering something to himself. Meanwhile, Prosecutor Miles was directed this way and that by Mr. Finch to look for files, evidence, or whatever else he needed for the trial. Aside from trial strategy they were mostly quiet, though this was mainly because the young man tried to think of a response to the older man’s cynicism.

            When at last Mr. Finch had finished preparing for both trials, he packed up his case files, placed them in his briefcase, and made to leave his office. Before he could, he was stopped by Prosecutor Miles, who asked, “I don’t believe you.”

            “What do you mean?” asked Mr. Finch.

            “I believe in this system. I believe that what we are doing is both fair and just.”

            Mr. Finch chuckled. “You know, you remind me of me when I was starting out. I believed in the system. I was young… and naïve. My first trial was during the War on Drugs. Like you, I was placed under the wing of a pro, and sat in on two trials. Two men were being tried for drug possession: one of them was a black man that we charged with criminal possession of 5 grams of crack cocaine, the other a white man we charged with criminal possession of 5 grams of powder cocaine. Of course, we won both trials. Now, tell me kid: what’s the difference between crack and powder cocaine?”

            “There isn’t much of a difference,” Prosecutor Miles answered. “Maybe some slight variations in the ingredients and how it’s made, but no major differences whatsoever. They’re both essentially the same drug.”

            “Good, you did your homework,” Mr. Finch commented. “When it came time to sentencing, the man charged with 5 grams of crack received a mandatory minimum of 5 years. The other man only got probation and rehab.”

            “Wait, what?” Prosecutor Miles exclaimed. “But how-?”

            “The Anti-Drug Abuse Act of 1986. It mandated a 100:1 ratio of crack to powder cocaine. So, in essence, we weren’t charging the two men equally, even though they had the same amount of what’s essentially the same drug. We charged one man with having 5 grams of crack; we charged the other with having 5 milligrams of crack, or 5 grams of powder. Now, you could say that they received justice that day: they were in criminal possession of illegal substances, and they were arrested and convicted. But tell me kid, was it fair?”

            “No, but-”

            “I went on to prosecute many more cases like those two. I used to object, but pressure from the DA made me go through with it. Even though I said it wasn’t right, or fair, or whatever else, the DA’s office could not be seen as weak on crime, especially not when the DA was up for re-election. Eventually, I stopped objecting altogether.”

            Prosecutor Miles was silent for a few moments, before responding, “But that was the ‘80s. The Fair Sentencing Act of 2010 made things more balanced, and I’m sure that we could only move forward from there! And maybe-”

            “You’ve got optimism, kid,” Mr. Finch interjected. “Keep that. Maybe you will be able to do something about our messed up system. I doubt it- I think I’d have better odds of winning the lottery ten times- but you keep that optimism and you might be able to do something. Now come on: we’ve got a trial to prosecute.”

            Mr. Finch led the way out of his office, Prosecutor Miles right behind him. Soon they arrived outside of the courtroom of their first trial. “You ready, kid?” Mr. Finch asked the younger prosecutor.

            “I guess,” the latter responded. “One question though: what’re the cases?”

            “The DA is charging us with convicting two men of criminal possession of cocaine. One of them had 5 grams of crack, and the other had 5 grams of powder. All the evidence is in, and we’ll have an easy time winning both cases. When it comes time to sentencing, one of them will be charged with possessing 5 grams of powder, and the other will be charged with possessing 140 grams of powder. Guess who’s getting the harsher sentence?”

            “But that’s not fair-” Prosecutor Miles began to object.

            “But that is justice,” Mr. Finch retorted. “Like I said, kid, there’s no such thing as ‘fair justice.’ You either do what’s fair, or you do what’s just. You can’t have them both.”

            Mr. Finch was about to open the doors to the courtroom when Prosecutor Miles said, “I know we’re being ordered by the DA, but can’t we do anything about it? Can’t you? You said you used to be like me. You said you used to believe in the system. Can’t you do anything?”

            Mr. Finch gave a sad smile. “Why do you think I’m retiring?”