Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Something Like Love ❯ Lawyers are a bitch ( Chapter 1 )

Bulma tied her hair in a topknot before stepping into the shower. She quickly slipped a plastic shower cap around her readily prepared mass of curls. Exposing them now to water would only result in a disaster---she had learned that the hard way years ago. She grabbed a towel off the rack and dropped it in front of the rack. She popped in a CD into the small discplayer and slipped the headphones around her neck to rest on her ears. She slowly crept into the steaming water, easing in up to her neck.
A deep baritone voice, smooth as silk, poured forth from the disc, whisking Bulma quickly into a dream-like state.
'Girl, I can't let you do this.... Let you walk away... Girl, how can I live through... When you're all I wake up for each day...'
"Mom!" There was a sound knock on the door. Bulma, startled, lurched in the tub, splashing some of the soapy water onto the ground. She cursed silently. She had almost dropped the discman into the tub.
"What is it, hun?"
"Can I go play outside with Trevor?"
"Baby, it's late---"
"His sister is out there, puh-wease!" he pleaded through the door. Bulma rolled her eyes. "It's not as if you're wasting away from boredom, babydoll---"
"But---"
"But," she continued strongly, "if his sister is out there, I don't see why not." She heard him skip out of the room and the slam of the front door. Bulma sank deeper into the tub, letting the warm water wash over her soothingly. There was something decidedly calming about just loafing around in water that got her relaxed. Some did yoga; others watched movies; some danced and some read... she took baths. She had never liked them when she was young. She could even remember her mother, the elegant and cultured Blondie Briefs, chasing her about the compound demandind her daughter march herself back in for her bath. Bulma, only a youngeling at the time, would giggle wildly and flee her mother, half-clothed from her mother's attempt to prepare her for the bathing. Now, the bath was the only place Bulma could find solace. She slipped the headphones back over her ears in time to hear the second chorus.
'Baby, you're my soul and my heart's inspiration.... You're all I've got to get me by... You're my soul and my heart's inspiration... Without you baby, what good am I?'
Bulma looked down at her hands that were starting to prune. 'But you didn't need did you, Yamucha....' She stood up abruptly, knocking the discplayer off the side of the tub to clatter on the tile floor of the bathroom. She grabbed the towel and secured it around her body. It seemed she couldn't escape the nightmare of her life in the one place she deemed safe.
She stormed out of the bathroom to the adjoining bedroom. It held two cots, side by side. She growled inwardly. That boy had forgotten to make his bed again! She plopped down on her own cot and with a spare towel, began to ruffle-dry her hair. She had to be at work in two hours and her son needed to be dropped off at the babysitter's on her way to the bus depot.... Shit! She had to hurry up! She reached under the cot to pull out a duffle bag. She perused the contents before selecting a red dress and slipping it on. Her hair was still damp and hung limply around her shoulders. She did her best to fluff it up with her hands. She applied light red lipstick and pulled on her black ankle boots. "Now where is that damn boy," she muttered. As much as she cursed and complained, she really adored her son. He was her entire universe; sun and stars. Oh, how she adored him. He was brilliant like his grandfather; kind like his grandmother; handsome like his--- She pursed her lips. ---mother, she finished decidedly.
Speaking of bastards... she walked over to the boudoir, fingering a small white card. 'Vejita Ouji... He can't know can he? But then, all lawyers are scumbags. I shouldn't be surprised,' she miffed. She pushed the card under a stack of newpapers. 'I probably won't see him again anyway. And thank God for that; that guy was just creepy' she thought as she remembered his piercing coal black eyes; cold like their owner. 'I'd hate to wake up staring into those eyes... creepy is definitely the word.' She grabbed her purse and headed out the door.
"Briefs! You get your butt in here right now!" There was no response. She searched the darkened park that bordered the front side of the apartment complex, worried. It was impossible to see two feet in front of you in that pitch black. The park lights, as ill timed as they were, didn't come on till a half an hour past dusk, when this side of town had already been bathed in darkness. "Stop playing around and COME HERE!" she screeched. She heard shuffled along the long grasses. "Baby?"
She heard a door open in the apartment next to hers open. A teenage girl sauntered out, about fifteen or sixteen, with short auburn hair. She turned to Bulma. "Oh hey, Miss Briefs!" she said cheerily. She popped the top of a can of soda and began to slurp it.
"Oh hello, Sheila," she said before realizing who she was talking to. "Sheila?! I thought you were watching the boys."
"Well I was---" the young girl began, startled, before she was cut off.
"You left them alone?" Bulma pressed her hard gaze onto the girl who shrank down. She then shot off the porch in search of her son in the inky darkness of the park.
"S-s--sorry," Sheila stuttered, shaken.
Bulma raced down to the edge of the park, purse clutched tightly in her hand. "Baby? Sweetie pie, where are you?" She heard rustling in the brushes. "Pumpkin?" A cat yowled and skittered out of the clump of grass, chased by a rather large raccoon who chittered at the mangy feline then returned to its abode in the deep grass. Bulma's heart raced furiously. What if she could not find her son?
"Baby, come on out!" she called. "Stop playing games, young man," she warned, though it was half-hearted. She heard a twig snap to the left of her and she faced that way. "Okay, who ever you are come out with your hands up! I'm warning you! I'm a dangerous woman!"
"I already knew that, Mom," a young boy said impishly, stepping out from behind a tree. Even in the dim light, there was no mistaking it; it was her son. His blue eyes sparkled, s perfect match of his mother's. He walked up to her; slowly deliberating if she was going to punish him or not.
"Young man, you gave me quite a scare!" she chastised.
"Sorry, Mom."
"You should be..." she sighed heavily. "Let's get you over to Mrs. Melbourne's," she said while grabbing one of his hands.
"But I don't wanna go there; she smells funny."
Bulma rolled her eyes. "You really don't have a choice. Plug your nose or get used to it. He made a wrinkly disgusted face.
She looked down distractedly, only to notice he had something in his hand.
"What have you go there, pumpkin?"
"Oh!" he squealed in delight. "I forgot. The man told me to give you this!" he cried, holding up a brown paper bag.
"Now, sweetheart, what have I told you about taking things from strangers."
"But--but---"
"No 'buts', Mister. It's early to bed for you tonight."
"Awww!"
Bulma grinned as he tried to plead with her. She absently opened the bag after noticing a strange odor. She dropped the bag. The next thing she did was scream and faint.

"Miss Breifs? Are you sure that all happened as you described?"
She stared stonily ahead of her. "I have no reason to lie," she replied to the harried-looking officer.
"Of course not, Miss Briefs. I just want to get all the facts."
"You got them. I opened the bag; end of story."
"And you saw in the bag....?"
"You saw it yourself. Don't play stupid!"
"Excuse me, Miss---"
"I've about enough of this! It's late; my son needs rest; I'm going home."
"But---"
"Shove it!" she growled at the young officer who was frantically looking around the room for help.
She pushed her way through the swinging doors. Her son was out in the front hall, swinging his legs to and fro as he was perched on a bench. She quickly grabbed his hand before he could even register her presence.
"We're going home," she said tersely. Her silent fury was evident and the boy willed away any need to question her.

They arrived home a few minutes later. Bulma rechecked and rechecked to make sure all four car doors were locked before being satisfied. She suddenly crouched down and peered long and hard under the car, making sure no one had planted anything there.
"No boogie man there..." she murmured, half hearted believing her assessment. She followed her son up the front of the apartment complex. She nodded to the patrolman parked out there with his motorcycle. He was sipping gingerly at a bitter cup of coffee. She looked unblinking at him and then her eyes turned to the shadowy park, it's inner depths pitch blackness. She had never noticed how menacing it appeared before....
"Hey, Miss Briefs," the officer smiled to her.
She nodded warily. "Can--can I get you some better coffee?" she asked, assuming his was the cheap gas stop watered down kind of coffee.
"That'd be swell!"
"All right then."
She set her keys in the tiny dish on the table just inside the door. Her son skittered in in front of her, racing to his room to play video games. She shrugged off her thin leather jacket, hanging it up in the hall closet when there was a sound knock on the door. Bulma skidded to a halt in front of the door. "H-hello?"
"Open up, it's freezing!" a voice shouted through the wood.
"Who the hell--" She held her eye up to the peep hole, coming up to face with a disgruntled looking man 5'7-ish with spiky black hair, huddled in front of the door. She rolled her eyes and pulled the door open. "What do you want?" With out waiting for an answer, she stuck her head around him, searching out the officer posted at the front of the apartment complex.
"Officer Rourke?"
He grinned back at her. "Hey Miss Briefs!"
Seeming not to notice her agitation she gave him a clue by inclining her head towards the stranger on her doorstep.
"He said you knew him! He gave me his card!" the officer shouted over the green, grinning madly and waving a small square card.
She glared back at him. "Yea and the queer who's stalking me knows me to..." she muttered then turned inside. She was half way down the hall before she turned around. "You coming in? You're letting the warm air out."
He stepped indoors, dusting his feet on the welcome mat then shut the door. "You know why I'm here?"
"That thing that happened---those I don't see why it's any consequence of yours."
He looked irritated at her impudence and forthrightness. He cleared his throat. "That may be so but circumstances allow that--- just what was given to you?"
She sighed and plopped down on a beat up old couch. She motioned him to take the wingback chair. "I suppose you want to hear the all of it? Though I've told the police countless times." She sighed rubbing her temples.
Vejita slid forth his briefcase, unlatching only to take out a legal pad, then locking it back up. "If you please," he muttered, drawing a pen from his jacket pocket.
"I went into the park---"
"For what reason?"
"Am I telling this story or will you not let me?"
"Please continue."
"I went to the park for my son."
"He was there alone?"
She growled. "That's it. You're out, Mister!"
He continued to make notes on his legal pad, not even glancing up at her. She walked to the small kitchenette, intent on making herself a pot of coffee. She found a pack of cigarettes instead. She started one off, waving the smoke away from her face.
"The next door neighbor girl was supposed to be watching him. Anyway, he shows up with this brown bag, like the kind you use to pack lunch, right?"
He grunted his understanding.
"I guess I wasn't really thinking. I just opened it up. And that--that, there was something in there."
"Do you know what it was?"
"They took it away as soon as they got there."
"Miss Briefs, is there anyone you remember being in the park?"
"N-no," she stuttered.
He studied her with scrutinizing eyes.
"You don't believe me? Go out and look! See how difficult it is to see in that fucking park!" she huffed.
"I don't doubt you."
"But you do. You all do," she snapped, waving her cigarette around to emphacize her point.
"I want to help you--"
"I don't doubt it. That's you lawyers, you all want to help. Well fuck you all!" she screamed. She took a few huge puffs on her cigarette, sucking it like it was an inhaler. "If you have nothing more, get out."
Just then a small head popped around the corner. "Is it all okay, mom?" a small boy asked, eyeing the stranger who in turn eyed him back.
"Baby, this is Mr. Ouji, a lawyer."
The small boy wriggled his nose. "Are you going to hurt my mommy?" he asked.
Vejita looked taken back. "Why would I do that?"
"Because all the lawyers are bad. They're going to take her away from me---"
"Hush your mouth," Bulma chastised stepping in front of the boy. "You must excuse him." Her boy with his brilliant blue eyes sidled out from behind her, clutching at her legs. "Mr. Ouji, this is my son, Trunks." She ruffled his lavender hair lightly.
"Hiya!"
"Don't get to attached Mr. Ouji was just---"
"You wanna play Nintendo?" the boy said looking up with excitement.
"I don't think he---"
"I would love to," he smirked. "Lead the way."
Bulma looked at him, exhasperated. "You would not."
"Who are you to tell me what I would and would not like doing?"
"Well---"
"What games do you have?"
"Oh! My grandpa just bought me the coolest..." he voices trailed as walked down the hall, Vejita Ouji in two. Vejita looked back, triumphant.
"I believe you promised that officer outside a cup of coffee...I wouldn't mind one as well."
Bulma grit her teeth. "Of course. Will you be staying?" she snarled.
Trunks' voice piped up from the back room. "Mom, can he stay for the night?"

note: I'm combining this story with 'The Z Files' it will make for a more excellent story as you shall see... i'm not giving anything away. mwahahaha.