InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 9: Subterfuge ❯ Stereotypes ( Chapter 1 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

'Zel Roka—age thirty-two—current occupation: professional musician—hair color: varies—eye color: varies—height: six-feet, six-inches . . .'

Wrinkling her nose as she slipped the paper behind the eight-by-ten glossy print of the man in question, Valerie Denning reached for her iced tea and slowly shook her head as she frowned at the mocking smile.  ‘Gorgeous?  Certainly,’ she allowed with a decisive snort as she took in the carefully contrived mussed tangle of black hair, the vaguely amused glint in his jewel-like eyes.  Even the series of earrings he wore around the outer edge of his ear didn’t detract from the overall effect, and Valerie slowly shook her head.  ‘Aren’t all rock stars drop-dead gorgeous?  The beautiful people?  Pretty boy . . .’

Dropping the photograph onto the table as she sipped the iced tea and flipped through the manila file, Valerie couldn’t stave back the disgusted half-growl as she read the five-plus pages of past incident reports.  ‘How the hell can one man get into this much mischief?’ she wondered as she shook her head slowly, eyes narrowing in shocked incredulity.  ‘Drunk and disorderly, inciting a riot, public intoxication, lewd and lascivious behavior, resisting arrest, indecent exposure, assault and battery, possession of narcotics, possession of illegal substances . . . Can he even dress himself in the morning without getting into some sort of trouble?’

Setting the glass of tea aside as she groped around, stubbornly refusing to look, for the black vinyl folder that the waitress had silently slipped onto the table, Valerie cast a cursory glance at the tab and slipped a twenty dollar bill into the padded folder before standing it up for the waitress to collect.

Not for the first time, Valerie had to ask herself just why she bothered.  Not one of the glamorous people who wandered through the office doors where she had just been made junior partner gave a rat’s ass about what they’d done to begin with, and she’d long ago given up on the idea that even one of them actually possessed a soul.  They didn’t care, one way or another, as long as they got away with whatever it was that they’d allegedly done wrong.  Something about the entertainment business sucked the conscience right out of them.  It seemed to her that she would be better off changing her field of law from her specialty of pandering to the stars in an attempt to keep them out of prison to something far more fulfilling—like swimming in a tank filled with live piranhas.

‘That’s not even half of it this time, and you know it,’ she told herself sternly.  ‘Madison asked you to meet with him, remember?’

She made a face and pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose.  That was true enough.  If it weren’t for Madison Cartham all but begging her to see the man, she wouldn’t have thought twice about taking his case.

‘Ugh, she owes me, and she’d better not think for a second that I’ll forget about it.  She owes me, big . . . huge . . . massive . . .’

“Please, Val?” Madison begged—an odd thing from the Madison that Valerie knew best.

Valerie caught the phone receiver between her shoulder and her ear as she scowled at the packed appointment calendar on her desk.  “I’ve got a full load now, Maddy.  I don’t have time to take on another case, especially one that is a lost cause.”

“I know . . . that’s why he needs your help!  You know I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important.  Come on, Val . . . he’s in way over his head.”

“I’ve already looked into his case,” Valerie remarked a little coldly.  “He was wasted—completely wasted.  The toxicology reports indicated that he had enough alcohol and drugs in his system to kill a horse.”

Madison sighed.  “But the accident wasn’t his fault.  You’ve read the reports, right?  You know it wasn’t his fault.  He never should have gotten arrested, in the first place.”

Valerie wrinkled her nose as she tossed her pen onto her desk and sat back in the thickly cushioned chair.  “Be that as it may, it doesn’t change the fact that if one tests positive for illegal substances, one is automatically held at fault for accidents, and you know it.  He’s damn lucky they let him bail out of jail.”

“Yeah, I know . . . thing is, he’s not a bad guy.  He didn’t seem high.  The police only tested him because of who he is.”

Rubbing her temple furiously, Valerie shook her head, realizing too late that her friend wouldn’t be able to see the gesture.  “That doesn’t matter, either.  He submitted to the test voluntarily.”

“They trapped him.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Well, it should.”

“Doesn’t he already have a lawyer?  He’s a rock star, for God’s sake, and his rap sheet is about a mile long.”

“Yeah, and that’s why he doesn’t have an attorney now.  The last one told him that if he screwed up again, he was on his own.”

“And you want to pawn him off on me?  Thanks, but no thanks.”

“You’re not really going to make me beg, are you?”

“No,” Valerie insisted.

“. . . Please?”

“Madison—”

“Valerie . . .”

“No.”

“So you’ll do it?”

“No.”

“Please? ”

She heaved a heavy sigh, massaging her temple just a little harder as she felt the first waver in her resolve.

Madison must have interpreted it correctly because she giggled.  “Thank you, Val.  I promise I’ll tell him that he’d better be on his best behavior.”

“The only opening I have is tomorrow at one, and if he’s late—”

“He won’t be late.  You’re such a doll.”

“You owe me,” she grumbled.

“Sure, sure . . . Put it on my tab, will you?”

“Oh, I absolutely will,” Valerie promised as she dropped the phone into the cradle.  ‘Zel Roka?  Oh, God . . .’

Then she dropped her face into her hands and slowly shook her head . . .

Muttering a few choice words as one of the papers she’d been looking over slipped off the table onto the floor, Valerie leaned down, stretching out her fingers to reach it.  With a grimace as she struggled to extend her fingers just a little further, she managed to snag the errant paper between her index and middle fingers.  Sitting up again, she checked her watch before glancing around the dimly lit restaurant.

The glint of faux candle light from the table decorations caught her eye, and Valerie frowned, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose.  Veiled in the dusky shadows in a booth toward the back of the dining room, all she could see was the yellowish glow of the electric candles reflecting off the pale hair of the booth’s occupant.  It was clipped short and tidy, and he didn’t seem out of place in the restaurant, yet there was something about him—about his presence—that seemed to fill the spacious room.  He had his face buried behind The Wall Street Journal, but he seemed to sense her perusal. Darkened eyes slowly rising, locking with hers for the briefest of seconds, he nodded curtly, the candle light shining off his wire-rimmed glasses before lifting the paper once more, covering his face more completely as he reached around the paper to retrieve the cream colored, bone china coffee cup.

‘Who . . . is he?’

Rolling her eyes as she jerked back against the thickly cushioned seat, Valerie hurriedly stashed the papers away and stuffed the file into her attaché case.  ‘Who cares?  This is New York City.  You see thousands of strangers every day, and you never stop to ask who they are,’ she reminded herself sternly.

Gathering her things as she tried to brush aside her irritation, Valerie snatched up her things and stalked through the restaurant.   She was being stupid, wasn’t she?  ‘Who is he, indeed . . .? And why does he seem so . . . familiar to me?’

Her stride faltered for a moment, and she nearly turned around as the strangest sense that she was being watched assailed her.  Turning her head just enough to glance back out of the corner of her eye, Valerie scowled as she forced her feet to move on.  The man was still hiding behind that newspaper, but she still couldn’t quite shake the feeling . . .


“Ms. Denning will see you now.”

Evan Roka Zelig—better known as Zel Roka—peeked up from the People magazine he’d been leafing through and casually tossed it aside without taking his eyes off the young receptionist and pasting on a tolerant little grin.  “Thanks, honey.”

Michael Murphy started to rise, too.  Zel waved him away as the receptionist—he’d forgotten her name—blushed and giggled before hurrying off.  “I think I can handle this,” he remarked mildly when Michael opened his mouth to argue.

“Sure, you can, Zel,” he agreed dubiously.

Zel shot him a bored glance as his smile disappeared.  “I can.  Have a little faith, will you?  I’m not an entirely lost cause.”

Michael’s gaze darkened.  “Well—”

“Forget it,” he stated.  “I don’t need you to watch my p’s and q’s.”

Michael didn’t look like he was buying it, but he didn’t gainsay Zel, either, glaring pointedly at the errant rock star before slowly sinking down into the thickly cushioned chair once more.  “Make sure you behave.  She’s your last chance.  No one else wants to touch your case.”

“Right,” Zel remarked tightly before striding toward the nondescript cherry wood door bearing the hopelessly boring plaque: V. Denning, Junior Partner.

He didn’t bother knocking.  The woman glanced up from the file open on her desk and seemed surprised for a moment as she slowly rose to her feet, eyes narrowing as though she recognized him—not his face, but him—though he didn’t really have time to think that over before she opened her mouth to speak.  “Mr. Roka, I presume.”

Zel grinned and shook his head as he flopped into the chair across from her desk.  ‘Oh, well, damn,’ he mused, struggling to hide the incredulity in his expression before she could discern it.  ‘She smells good, don’t she . . .?’ He pasted on a lazy, lopsided grin.  “Mister Roka?” he repeated with a rather self-deprecating laugh.  “Fuck that.  I’m just Zel, thanks.”

She sat slowly, her full lips twisting into what he figured was her version of a business smile.  “Mr. Roka will suffice.”

Zel rolled his eyes and chuckled.  “Whatever.  So you gonna get me out of trouble, baby?”

The smile disappeared as she pressed her lips together in a thin, white line.  “I haven’t decided whether I’ll take your case or not, no,” she replied, adjusting the thick, clunky frame of her oversized glasses as she leafed through the open file on her desk.

“Oh, I get it.”

She blinked, glancing up at him and slowly shook her head.  “Get what?”

“Yeah, this game.  Okay, tell me.  Tickets to a show and backstage passes?”

“What?”

“You want to see me in the recording studio?”

“Excuse me?”

He grinned almost lazily.  “Or you just want a really . . . good . . . fuck.”

She gasped, pale cheeks paling even more seconds before they blossomed in indignant color.  “Wh—?  I-I . . . No!”

Deliberately letting his eyes travel from the top of her light brown hair—the color somehow didn’t suit her—pulled back a little too severely into a tight knot at the nape of her neck, over the deep hazel eyes still burning with absolute outrage, past the high contours of her still ruddy cheeks as he judiciously ignored the drop-mouthed expression on her face, he nodded slowly.  ‘Definitely doable,’ he decided as he scowled slightly at the boxy cut of her entirely too-clinical business suit.  She was hiding her figure on purpose, probably from dogs like him.   Taking a moment to commit her scent to memory, he chuckled.  “Yeah, I could fuck you,” he decided at last, his tone playful despite the light of challenge that had ignited behind his gaze.  “Definitely an eight out of ten on the bone-ometer.  You’d be a nine-and-a-half, easy, if you lost the uniform.”

“I don’t think you’ll—That’s entirely inappropriate!” she spat as she drummed the end of her pen against the open file.  “If that’s how you’re going to be, I suggest you find yourself another attorney because I—”

“Okay, okay . . . No need to sic the bitch on me.”

She drew a few deep breaths, obviously to curb her desire to tell him off, and cleared her throat before speaking again.  “You’ve been charged with something very serious, Mr. Roka.  You realize that, right?”

Zel snorted, propping his feet on the desktop and crossing his ankles.  “Yeah, well, it ain’t like he’s dead or nothing,” he grumbled.

He really hadn’t thought that it would be possible for her to look any more irritated.  He was wrong.  “You don’t really get it, do you, or do you just not care?  Because of your actions, a man is laying in the hospital—a man you put there with your reckless behavior, and that man isn’t going to ever walk again.”

“Tell me something I don’t know, babe.  It ain’t like I meant to do it.  I’m not a bad guy, and anyway, it wasn’t my fault.”

“Not your . . .?  Are you serious?  Wait . . . if you so much as try to say something like the devil made you do it, I swear, I’ll—”

“I was bored,” he cut in.  “I always do stupid shit when I’m bored.  I can’t help it; I swear!”

She sighed and shook her head.  “So you were bored, and because you were bored, you chose to smoke a couple joints and slam your car into Mr. Matthis’ truck, and that makes it not your fault.”

“You savvy pretty well, baby,” he drawled as he slumped a little lower in the comfortably cushioned chair.

“No.”

“Oh, come on!  You can’t really think I’d have done that otherwise.”

“Honestly, Mr. Roka, I can’t say that I think one thing or another.  I don’t actually know you, do I?”

“I’m not that big a dickweed, V.”

“V?”

“That’s what it said on your door.”

She looked completely chagrined.  He nearly laughed.  “Be that as it may—”

“What’s it stand for?”

She didn’t look like she wanted to answer him.  Straightening her back, she stubbornly lifted her chin a notch.  “Valerie.”

He considered that for a moment, nodding vaguely as another lurid grin broke out.  “Valerie?  That’s nice . . . I like ‘V’ better, though.”

“I shudder to ask but . . . why?”

He grinned.  “Valerie’s too nice.  V sounds a lot more . . . sexual.”

Her cheeks reddened a little more, but she didn’t back down.  “It doesn’t to me.”

He shrugged.  “Sure it does.”  Leaning forward, he nabbed the pen out of her hand and grabbed a blank notepad.  She watched as he drew a large ‘V’ and turned it around for her inspection.

“What’s this?”

Chuckling again, he tossed down the pen and sat back, drawing his feet up on the desk once more as he grinned lazily at her.  “It’s you . . . flat on your back with your legs spread for me, and I’ll bet anything that you taste as good as you smell.”

“You’re disgusting,” she gasped, ripping the paper off the tablet and tossing it into the trash can as her cheeks darkened from ruddy to crimson.

“Wanna hear what I’d do to you if you spread your legs for me like that?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“Rather feel it, wouldn’t you, baby?”

“You’re nasty.”

“Damn straight.  I’m about as nasty as they come.  ‘Course, you already knew that, didn’t you?  I’d eat your pussy until you were red and raw and begging for me to fuck the hell out of you.  Tell me something, V . . .?”

She didn’t look like she was going to take the bait.  She also looked mad as hell, and he stifled the desire to laugh outright.  She was spirited, he’d give her that much, and he had a feeling that she just wouldn’t be able to help herself, either.  “What?”

Slowly, deliberately, he leaned forward, his mocking grin quickening her pulse. In the absolute silence, he could hear the blood singing in her veins, and the smile widened.  “Do you swallow?”

“Swallow?” she echoed, shaking her head in confusion.

He chuckled softly—huskily.  “Yeah . . . if I shot my load into that pretty mouth of yours, would you spit it back at me or swallow it?”

Her gasp was all the more startling in the quiet.  He chuckled as her eyes brightened, snapping angrily as her cheeks shot up in violent flames.  “That is none of your business, Mr. Roka,” she bit out.  “Just who do you think you are?”

Relenting with a soft chuckle. Zel slouched back in his chair.  “So you gonna help me, V?”

“I don’t think I should.”

“Why not?”

Her eyes narrowed as she crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him.  “Give me one good reason.”

He chuckled.  “You said you didn’t want to hear it.”

Heaving a sigh and shaking her head, she drummed the end of her ink pen against the desk blotter and narrowed her eyes on him.  “You know, I don’t really care if you rot in prison for the rest of your natural born life.”

“Ouch.”

Her answer was a strategically arched eyebrow.

“Will you come see me in the big house?”

“And why would I?”

“Conjugal visits, of course.”

“Pig.”

“I prefer dog.”

“Definitely a pig.”

“Woof.”

“If you want my help, you have to do exactly what I say.”

“Ah, bondage?  Haven’t tried that, but I think I would with you.”

“Mr. Roka—”

“Zel.”

She ignored his interruption.  “Judge Lister doesn’t like rock stars.  I don’t think he’d have a second thought about locking you up for the maximum sentence allowed by law.”

He grimaced.  “All right, let’s hear your terms.”

Satisfied that he was going to listen to her—at least for the moment—Valerie sighed and pushed her glasses up once more.  “You have a preliminary court date in three weeks, though I’d advise that we have that delayed.  It’d be in your best interests if we allow enough time for the press to find something else to chew on.  That said, until your court appearance and sentencing, should it progress that far, you need to be on your best behavior.”

“I can do that.”

“Can you?”

He nodded.

She rolled her eyes.  “That means that until then, you need to be a model citizen . . . In simplest terms: no parties, no alcohol, no drugs, no women.”

Snorting in disbelief, his eyes widened in surprise as he waved his hands to cut her off.  “Hold on, honey.  The parties and drugs, fine.  The booze and women?  Have a heart, will you?”

“And home by ten every night unless you’ve got prior obligations.”

“Come again?”

“Those are my terms.  If you don’t like them, feel free to find another lawyer.”

Zel heaved a sigh.   “Don’t you think you’re being just a little—”

Those startling hazel eyes narrowed dangerously.  “A little what?”

He grinned.  “Bitchy.”

“No, I really don’t think I am.”

“You can’t really expect me to follow those rules,” he grumbled.

Valerie sat back and shrugged.  “This isn’t a comparatively petty deal like the time you flipped off the police when they tried to give you a speeding ticket.”

“I didn’t do that,” he pointed out.  “I was rubbing my eye.”

She arched an eyebrow and opened the file again.  “Indecent exposure?”

“I had to take a whiz, and there wasn’t a fucking john.”

“Lewd and lascivious?”

He grinned wolfishly.  “She swallowed.”

“Ugh,” Valerie uttered, her expression showing exactly what she thought of his behavior.  “What you did this time was serious.  Driving under the influence of illegal substances isn’t something that you’re just going to get a hand slap for.  You had a ten ounce bag of marijuana in your car with you, and according to the officers on site, you weren’t only stoned, but you were drunk, too.  Are you listening to me now?”

Evan heaved a sigh and nodded once.  “All right; I hear you.  The straight-and-narrow, huh?  Fine, fine . . . Can I think about this?”

“Those are my terms.  Take them or leave them; I really don’t care.”

“Are you going to babysit me, honey?”

“Of course not.”

“But I told you, right?  I get in trouble when I’m bored.”

She looked like she was teetering on the brink of losing what little control she had over her temper.  “Then I suggest you find a hobby.”

Evan stood up and shrugged.  “You just outlawed all my hobbies,” he informed her.

“Then I suggest you find yourself some new ones.”

“Damn, V . . . you’re sexy as hell when you’re mad,” he informed her with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s Ms. Denning, Mr. Roka—not babe or honey or V—Ms. Denning . . . Do we understand each other?”

He chuckled.  “Absolutely, Ms. Denning.”

She didn’t look like she believed him, but she finally nodded as she rose to her feet.  “Good.  You need to make another appointment.  There are a few more things we should discuss before the preliminary hearing—that is, if you want my help, and if you agree to my terms.”


Valerie heaved a sigh of relief as the door closed with a soft click.

She’d figured that Zel Roka was going to be just as bad as the other entertainers she’d represented before.  She had been wrong.  Zel Roka was much, much worse.

Wrinkling her nose in obvious distaste as she frowned at the photographs that were supplied with the file of his various crimes, she couldn’t help the disapproving little growl that escaped her.  He looked dangerous, didn’t he?  Despite the almost boyish charm of his features, the soft angles and hollows, there was a certain air of unpredictability to him.

Valerie snorted.  Then again, maybe it was the multiple piercings . . . Lip, left nostril, both ears—the left one with a series of holes that ran around its perimeter—and right eyebrow made up the metal menagerie, and each of those holes had silver loop earrings of varying sizes hooked through them.  If the piercings weren’t bad enough, he also had a series of tattoos running down the length of both arms, across his chest and abdomen, and, from what she had seen in pictures before, he had even more on his back.  Add the ever-changing hair and eye colors, and, well, it seemed as though the man were trying to be a chameleon.  ‘The classic bad boy,’ she supposed.  Guys like him were nothing but jokes.

A soft knock on the door broke through her otherwise dark assessment.  “Come in,” she called without looking up.

“Ms. Denning?  Do you have a moment?”

Glancing up from the photographs, she nodded as Michael Murphy slipped into the office and closed the door behind him.  Pacing around almost nervously, the slick manager seemed troubled, nervous.  She’d met him briefly a few days ago when he’d made an appointment to ask that she help Zel Roka.  Valerie swept all the papers back into the file and set it aside.  “Yes, but only a minute.  I’m expecting another client, so if you could cut to the chase?”

Mr. Murphy nodded and sat down, drumming his fingertips on the arm of the chair.  “Zel told me that you gave him certain . . . restrictions?”

Valerie rolled her eyes.  “Listen, Mr. Murphy, you asked me to represent him, and I will, but only if he agrees to behave himself.  If you’re here to tell me that I’m overstepping my boundaries, then I’ll have to ask you to find someone else to take his case.”

“No, no . . . not at all.  What you’ve asked of him isn’t really that terrible.  He needs someone to curb him.  He’s not a bad guy, you see . . . When he gets bored, he gets into trouble.”

“So he’s said.  If he can’t control his own impulses, then he’s not going to go far in getting out of this mess.”

Mr. Murphy sighed.  “Look, I’ve been Zel’s manager for years.  He’s a good kid.”

Valerie snorted.  “Hardly a kid.  He’s well over thirty years old—definitely old enough to know better.”

“Sure, sure, even still . . . Maybe if he had someone nice to hang out with—someone with a level head on her shoulders . . .”

Valerie wasn’t sure she liked where this was going.  Slowly shaking her head, she reached for the bottle of water on her desk and downed half of it before speaking again.  “I don’t have time to babysit a rock star, Mr. Murphy.  If you’re so concerned about him, then you do it.”

“Think I haven’t tried?  Zel won’t listen to me on this.  I’m just his manager, after all.”

“And you think he’ll listen to me?”

Mr. Murphy nodded.  “I think he will.”

“I’m just an attorney.  I’m not interested in being his social worker.”

“Better than half of Zel’s problems are caused by his choice of friends.”

“Then tell him that.”

“Just don’t let the act he puts on fool you.  The real deal is nothing like the guy you met today.”

“You’re sure of that?”

Mr. Murphy nodded.  “It’s all a show to him: part of the image, if you will.”

For some reason, she felt as though she were fighting a losing battle, likely since the music manager wasn’t acting like he was really hearing her, at all . . . “Why me?”

“You’ll be his attorney.  Why not you?”

No doubt about it, she really didn’t like the confident tone in Mike Murphy’s voice.  “I don’t have time for this.”

“All I’m asking is that you try.”

“Try to do what?  Show up on his doorstep and offer to hang out?  No thanks.”

Mr. Murphy grinned.  “Well, no, of course not.  I just have a feeling that Zel’ll be by to see you eventually.”

“And why would you think that?”

The grin turned a little mysterious as he stroked his goatee with nimble fingers.  “Call it a hunch.”

Why didn’t she like the sound of that?  Valerie shook her head.  “Guys like him are a dime a dozen.  It’s added stress that I don’t need, Mr. Murphy.”

“Of course you don’t,” he agreed.  “Then again, if you’re going to represent him in this case, don’t you think you’d be better off knowing the real Zel Roka?”

“I don’t have to know or like him to represent him.”

“Maybe you don’t, but you’d feel better if you did.”

Valerie sighed.  “It’s nice that you’re so devoted to your cause, but I’ve got other clients, too.  Am I supposed to just drop everything to . . . what?  Save Zel Roka?  From who?  Himself?”

“Just think it over; that’s all that I ask.”

Valerie didn’t answer as Mr. Murphy stood up and headed for the door.  “Thank you for your time, Ms. Denning.  Have a nice day.”

She watched him go without another word as she tried to make sense of everything he’d said.  “Forget it,” she mumbled as she reached for her next case file.  The greater distance she kept between Zel Roka and herself, the better.  That man was nothing but trouble.