boxolawyers | (no subject)

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(no subject)

Who: Edgeworth, Benny "Bugsy" Siegel, Lucky Luciano
What: Not exactly a dinner date...
Where: Random made up restaurant in LA
When: Late evening
Warnings: Self-righteous lawyer who doesn't know when to quit + ~~sexy~~ hot-blooded mafia boys = possible (probable?) violence, strong language

By the time Edgeworth was coming to the end of his dinner, Bel Cibo had mostly emptied. Not that it had been that crowded to begin with; the restaurant was a true hole-in-the-wall, an authentic little family-owned secret far from the trendier, more popular places he usually favored. This was one of the places he went when several long, hard work days (or weeks) in a row drove him away from most human contact and into the warm embrace of his favorite comfort foods and the polite but distant company of an expert waiter.

A bell jingled softly in the quiet restaurant, heralding the arrival of what would probably be some of the last patrons of the evening. Edgeworth sliced off another bite of his veal and took a few moments to savor it before finally glancing at the door. But the mildest of interest turned suddenly to a sharp glare as he saw the men standing in the door, framed by its leaded glass window. He had only met the one in person, but he knew all too well who both men were.

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Blissfully unaware of the turn the pair's conversation had taken, Edgeworth strolled down the dark, nearly empty street at a leisurely pace. The lot where he had parked his Benz was a few blocks away. Already his enthusiasm for sticking it to the (suspected) mafia members was fading, replaced by the soothing prospect of heated seats and the plans he was making for work the next morning. It would be one of his early days; he had fifteen depositions to go over before he would allow himself to even think about breakfast.

It was slow, at first, letting the prosecutor get far enough ahead to allow the two to slip out unnoticed, stopping up the bell before it could alert anyone they'd even left, but soon the two were on the man's tail. Luciano, at least, held back several paces, hoped Benny would notice and take the hint to do that same, but....well, it looked like the kid had some energy to burn. Where was the harm in letting him?

He let Benny take the lead, and rather gladly at that. With the way Edgeworth had spoken to them in the restaurant - and especially to the kid - it only seemed fair for the teen to have the first go.

They could worry about cleaning up the mess later.

Popular opinion among most of his acquaintances notwithstanding, Benny wasn't entirely stupid. Impetuous, impatient, reckless on his better days - but not stupid, and certainly not interested in blowing a chance like this. He kept a fair distance to Edgeworth, taking the sort of brisk, but idle stroll that usually worked well enough to draw attention away from him.

The man was almost at his car when Benny scooped down to pick up a metal pipe from a pile of construction leftovers on the side of the alley. He weighted it in his hand briefly, and then jumped up and picked up his pace.

A few metres from Edgeworth, steps finally close and quick enough to become audible, he tightened his grip and shouted, "Hey, mister?"

And then he only gave the prosecutor a little more than one second to turn around before swinging the pipe at him like a baseball bat.

That second wasn't nearly enough time, not by far. Edgeworth had barely begun to turn around before something slammed into him, catching his arm with a loud crack and sending him sprawling across the asphalt. Any sounds of shock that might have escaped him were stolen along with the air that was ripped from his lungs, leaving him gasping and floundering, struggling to catch his bearings. Before even seeing any faces he knew what was happening, who he had to contend with, and he'd be damned if he'd make it that easy for them.

Unfortunately, the searing pain that shot through his arm as he tried to push himself to his feet wasn't going to make things any easier on him. Just his luck that they would get the one that had already been broken once.

Luciano didn't even give the man time to crawl back to his feet. He was right behind Edgeworth and hauling the man to his feet by the back of his jacket, a hand tangling harshly into his hair while the other grabbed his injured arm, pulled it back and twisted up just short of snapping it at the elbow.

Without a word, Luciano dragged him unceremoniously into the alley way, into the shadows of the surrounding buildings and away from any passing eyes. Half a second later, he slammed Edgeworth - violently - face first against the wall.

"Get his knees!"

He didn't have to ask twice. From the moment of the first attack, from the moment of grabbing the pipe and closing in, even, Benny's blood pulsed violently in his ears, nerves on fire with adrenaline. He couldn't even fight down the grin on his face, eyes wide and shining with excitement.

He followed quickly, throwing a quick glance around to see if they had witnesses. With Edgeworth held in place by Luciano, he could aim the next strike better, and it came, relentless and brutal, right into Edgeworth's knees with all the strength a tough, but skinny 15-year-old could put behind it.

And despite trying half-heartedly to keep it down, he let out a shout of excitement. "Homerun, fucking homerun, Charlie! How big you feeling now, hey?"

The rough treatment served to disorient him further, keeping him off balance. Even in the midst of it some corner of his mind was giving grudging respect to their skill, if nothing else. Obviously the pair, even the boy, knew how to exploit such situations to the fullest.

Something ground against something else in his arm, and it was all Edgeworth could do to choke back the scream that threatened to split his throat. But choke it back he did, with a supreme force of will, until his survival instincts really kicked in to point out to him how pride in this moment was less important than attracting as much attention as possible. He finally began to shout...

...just before Luciano silenced him with a brick wall to the face. White hot pain blossomed through his head. Somewhere a small spike of panic appeared, an inexplicable moment of vanity as he worried over whether his nose was broken, but then the boy helpfully distracted him from that juvenile concern with a fierce blow to the knees that finally drew that full-throated scream out of him. His legs gave way immediately; unless someone caught him he wouldn't be able to stop himself from slumping to the ground before the mobsters.

"Bloodthirsty little bastard," he growled, once he had recovered the minimal breath required for speech. "When you face the judge it won't be for your friends' actions."

And the moment Edgeworth finished talking, an arm wrapped quickly and firmly against his throat. Just enough pressure to issue a warning, to tell the man to keep his voice down or lose it altogether. His choice.

"Not sure you're in a good position to be throwin' around threats, sir." Fortunately ("Un-"?), if Luciano held any good will for the man at all, it was in the fact he didn't let Edgeworth fall. No, he kept the man on his shaky feet and pinned bodily against the wall, the arm around the older man's neck giving just the smallest flex. No noise. No struggling. And as if to emphasize the warning further, the pressure on the arm twisted behind Edgeworth's back increased just slightly more.

"Relax a little." But that smirk leaking into his tone, the cruelty just barely hidden underneath. "We're just gonna talk for a while. Ain't we, kid?"

Benny almost cackled at the sight of Edgeworth struggling against Luciano's grip, even as he regained his balance (the force he had put behind the blow had thrown him off a little). He managed to cut it down to a little giggle instead, and pulled back his arms, both hands grasping the metal pipe, as if about to strike again.

He wanted to shut the man up, teach him a lesson how to talk to Charlie Luciano and Ben Siegel, but the enraged and powerless words elicited a snort from him. Instead of an actual answer, he graced Edgeworth with his best imitation of chicken sounds.

Luciano's words, on the other hand, immediately made the smile drop from his face no more than a few seconds later.

"What d'you mean, just talk?" he complained again, rising from his half-ducked, ready position. "Fuck that, let's whack him. You said it's my call."

Ever the contrarian, Edgeworth responded to Luciano's order to relax by tensing up. Up to that point he had been simply struggling to bring his mind and limbs up to speed with what the pair had been doing to him. This moment of inaction allowed him to regroup, his body instinctively preparing for fight or flight while he focused on his immediate future and how he might make it as painless (relatively speaking) as possible.

Unfortunately the lull had its downside. Without movement he was able to feel every measure of the agony that they had managed to inflict on him in only a matter of seconds. A grunt escaped him as he was pressed hard against the rough wall with his arm twisted painfully behind him and the mobster's arm like steel cord on his windpipe. This position was distracting enough to make anything resembling strategy very difficult to maintain, as was the imminent threat of the pitbull-esque teenager nipping at his proverbial heels.

He wanted to believe Luciano wasn't foolish enough to actually listen to him. Their organization didn't need the kind of attention the murder of a prominent city official would attract. But he would be lying if he said he didn't have his doubts, chiefly about the man's ability to keep the eager upstart under control.

With a level of calm he didn't feel, Edgeworth quipped, "You've found yourself quite a little prodigy, haven't you? So eager to please. Just the kind of valuable tool you people love to take full advantage of." It came out quieter and more...wet than he would have liked, but the tone was certainly in the right place.

"C'mon now, give the kid a little fucking credit," Luciano chastised, his almost conversational tone entirely out of place as his hold around the man's neck tightened like a vice. "He enjoys what he does without any help from the rest've us."

But then the pressure against Edgeworth's throat eased up just as quickly, hand falling back to roughly twist itself into the back of the prosecutor's jacket collar. Still keeping him upright, even as Luciano shifted his position again. Putting himself between Edgeworth and said eager upstart? Maybe. They were already risking some pretty fucking heavy consequences from this assault anyway, and he'd be damned if he was going to let the fun end so soon.

"And I said we ain't whackin' anyone." The reply was firm - harsh, even - but the grin that he sent over his shoulder at the boy was something else entirely. "Not yet. I think this fucker still owes someone a apology. What d'ya think, Benny?"

Even though Edgeworth might not have been able to see it, Benny smiled at him after Luciano's comment, briefly. Did he enjoy what he did? Damn right he did. And he was disappointed enough to have his proposal rejected that he dropped the pipe, letting it clatter against the asphalt.

"Come on, Charlie!" he complained, again. He'd begun pacing around Edgeworth, at a respectful distance due to Luciano's presence and disposition, but still restless, angry, as if he was looking for an opening through which to best reach Edgeworth without interfering with Luciano. It was instinctive, but he was half aware of what he was doing. "We let him go, he's gonna talk. I say whack him now, ain't like they can prove it was us."

The situation seemed to be rapidly deteriorating. He couldn't decide which was worse: the sick rush of fear he felt as Luciano did his best to bruise his delicate throat or what the man was proposing. It was beginning to look like the prosecutor may have to choose between death and dishonor, and for him the choice was not nearly as easy as one might think.

The boy's posturing didn't escape Edgeworth's notice either. He may not have consciously recognized the nature of their dynamic, but some part of his mind was aware of the push of the boy's presence, shifting back and forth like a young, shaggy-maned lion stuck on the wrong side of a fence, staring through at his would-be prey. Instinct told him to exploit that in the hopes that pushing the boy further would draw the more experienced mobster in the other direction, towards protecting them both (and Edgeworth) from the consequences of the boy's actions.

"With the mess you're making I'd be genuinely surprised if they couldn't," he rasped. Even as he said it his mind was working furiously for ways to make dead sure it was the truth, evidence he could collect prematurely just in case worse came to worst.

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