Flashy Jack wasn't just the best defense attorney in the province…He was the best rockattorney ever…
…or at least the only one to call himself that.
Perhaps the question that follows is, what is a rockattorney?
It was best explained as a defense attorney who lent themselves to the rule breaking world of rock n' roll!
There was no other genre filled with troublemaking musicians than rebellious rock n' roll, and it has been that way since its birth in the 1950's
Rockers, and especially caucasian British rockers who grew up during the swinging sixties had a strange affinity for sex, drugs, rock n' roll and… collateral damage. Whether it was driving brand new vehicles into swimming pools or smashing hotel rooms, wherever these men went, collateral damage followed in their wake.
And the natural followup to collateral damage?
Lawsuits. Lots and lots of lawsuits.
And that's where Flashy Jack came in.
It was up to an esteemed rockattorney to convince the good, law abiding people of society that these destructive white men with guitars were no mere ne'er do wells, but rather troubled beautiful artists in desperate need of compassion (and maybe intensive therapy.) They weren't a menace to society, just misunderstood by it.
Rock n roll may eventually die, but the collateral damage it left behind would live forever in lawyering fees.
Flashy Jack stood in front of the defense attorney's bench in the great Hall of Lawington.
The man was fifty, but in great shape. He was slim and toned with spikey, white-blond hair, glinting shades over his eyes, a pinstriped suit and a singular diamond stud earring to complete the ensemble.
Upon seeing who he assumed was the case's prosecutor, he grinned revealing a singular golden tooth in an otherwise perfect grill.
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The woman who approached him had seen better days. Or possibly lifetimes. She was in her late fifties with white-brunette hair tied up in a bun. The fossil had creases as deep as trenches and a slightly lazy left eye.
Still, she carried herself with enough dignity to not be called a bag lady (as was her black business dress. It was clean and refined.)
Flashy Jack chuckled. "Are you my adversary for this case, old bird?"
The woman paused for a second and let out a deep English laugh. "Oh no, dearie. I'm just her nanny!"
Flashy Jack raised an eyebrow. "….You mean to tell me, the prosecutor has a caretaker? What is she, eight?"
The nanny let out a hoot like she was an old female owl. "Eighteen to be exact."
Jack grinned. "More like eighteen going on eight. Look bird, I don't mean to sound cocky. But I have twenty years under my belt. This snot-nosed kid has nothing on me."
The old caretaker winked with her lazy eye. "Oh…that's nice, sweetie. Well, I wish you the best. You certainly are quite sure of yourself."
"Of course I am!" Jack shouted. He was beginning to be annoyed by the elderly nonchalance of this woman. She wasn't phased at all by his flashy credentials.
Whoever this baby prosecutor was, she had no chance of winning. Flashy Jack had been in business longer than she had been alive.
In fact, he should be allowed to win based on his seniority alone.
He was ready to return to his seat and rendezvous with his rockstar client when he heard a precocious and very prissy laugh fill the room. It sounded snobbish and very demeaning.
His golden toothed jaw really hit the floor when he saw exactly who he'd be up against.
A frothy teenage girl bounced into the room wearing the most ridiculous clothes he had ever seen (even compared to the glammiest rock stars of the seventies.) As she pranced down the aisle, Jack really caught wind of his adversary.
Her frilly outfit was bright pink and her bushy blonde hair curled in drill-like patterns, both sporting more bows than a bundle of gifts on Christmas day. Her pale white cheeks were adorned with more blush than a French aristocrat in the eighteenth century. The whole getup seemed more fitting for snooty nobles playing polo on horseback than a casual outfit.
As she approached her nanny, the girl narrowed her eyes at Flashy Jack and jeered at him.
"That's the attorney for this case? Does this dunderhead need me to buy him a sports car for his midlife crisis?"
She put her hand to her mouth, closed her eyes and let out the most obnoxious chortles he had ever heard.
"Ohohohohoho!"
Even if he was sure he'd still win the case, the defense rockattorney was livid. That child thought all twenty years of his career were a joke to be laughed at. Or rather chortled and guffawed at.
He returned to his bench without uttering another word. All he knew is he'd rock her prissy little world with his heavy metal legal arguments!