The Devil and Brian Kinney

A New Client

Setting: Melanie Marcus's law office, some time pre Season Five. In fact, for purposes of this story, feel free to imagine that Season Five was a just bad dream that ended with Justin stepping out of the Loft shower, ala Bobby Ewing in one of the final seasons of the series Dallas. (Now those were writers and producers who really knew how to admit they fucked up! But, I digress. Also, for those of you who know these things, I do not recall if Mel's secretary was ever given a name. When last seen by me, she had a male assistant so I have named him Jerry. If that is not the right name, let us assume she fired the old one and has a new one. But again, I digress).

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The buzzing of the intercom diverted Mel's attention from her opponent's poorly written brief. She found herself making as many grammar corrections as legal notations in the margins out of sheer boredom with the inane arguments presented. What she wouldn't do for something challenging to sink her teeth into. She wondered, not for the first time, shit, not for the hundredth time, if she were burnt out on the law. The thrill was gone after over ten years, that was for certain.

The appalling thought suddenly occurred to her, that maybe the problems with her marriage had nothing to do with Lindsay; maybe she wasn't capable of sustaining an interest in anything for more than a decade?

"What is it?" she growled as the intercom buzzed again.

"A Mr. Kinney is here to see you."

Shit, she was not in the mood for Brian, and whatever grief he felt like flinging her way. She would love to turn him away, use the excuse he needed an appointment. But then, she thought, looking distastefully at the work on her desk, she could expect a better argument out of him than the asshole who wrote the crap in front of her.

"Send him in," Mel replied, then leaned back in her leather chair and waited.

"Hello, Mel, thanks for seeing me without an appointment. I should have called." Brian spoke quietly, no trace of sarcasm in his voice. Mel looked at him suspiciously, searching his face for any indication that he was setting her up. He laughed mirthlessly, reading her thoughts as he always could.

"No, I meant that, thanks. I have a problem, and I need a kick ass lawyer."

"Let the wrong person suck your dick again? Stick another relative's head in the toilet?" Mel figured that just because he was being civil, for once, was no reason for her to be. Plus, he obviously wanted something from her and she was enjoying the feeling of the tables being turned. She always hated being in Brian's debt, figuratively and literally. Thanks to Lindsay's always turning to him, the scales never evened out, no matter what Mel did.

"No."

The handsome, usually confident, man just sat there, hands hanging between his knees, looking rather lost. Despite herself, Melanie felt curious, even slightly worried. Brian never looked lost, unless:

"Shit, Brian, is Justin ok?"

"He's fine, Lindsay is fine, Mikey is fine, this is about me. I, um, I'm not sure how to explain it, other than to say, it isn't like the other times, it isn't a sexual harassment thing, or anything like that." He took a deep breath. "I guess you would call it a contract case."

"A contract case?" Mel relaxed. "Well, I don't usually handle commercial law, you know that, if this is for your company, I could give you some really good names …."

Brian sucked in his lips and looked her directly in the eye; there was something really compelling about Brian Kinney when he looked at you like that, even when you were a hard as nails, lesbian lawyer who thought she had seen it all, even when you were pretty sure you didn't like him, even when you were beginning to think you had lost your enthusiasm for the law, if not for life.

"I don't need a commercial law expert, Melanie Marcus, I need the best fucking trial lawyer in the state, maybe the country, fuck it, maybe on this not so green earth, or Mother Kinney's prayers are finally being answered and yours truly is going to hell a lot sooner than even she dared dreamed possible. Luckily for me, I think you just happen to be her, and not only is this a challenge you would not want to pass up, but it gives you the opportunity to have me just where you always wanted me. I would say by the balls, but given that I only have one left, and by the ball doesn't roll off the tongue quite so easily…." Brian's voice trailed off, but for a try at his old bravado, it wasn't half bad.

"Show me."

"My ball?" The old Kinney smirk peeked through for a minute; and quite frankly, Mel was glad to see it. Brian in "bravado" mode was far preferable to Kinney in "cowed" mode.

"No asshole, the contract." He pushed towards her a piece of parchment, written in calligraphy, no less. Melanie gave mental thanks for her Hebrew lessons; all those afternoons at Hebrew school made reading even the most difficult texts a piece of cake. This particular contract, although in English, was in written in a very old form of it, some of the wording Biblical in style; she scanned it quickly, then buzzed for her secretary. As he came in she snapped brisk orders at him:

"Jerry, make two copies of this, blow one of them up as large as you can. And, Jerry?"

"Yes, Ms. Marcus?"

"This file is extremely confidential, no copies go outside this office, do you understand? Even you are not to read it."

"Yes, Ms. Marcus."

"Won't that guarantee that he makes ten extra copies for water cooler distribution?" Brian asked.

"What would happen if you gave Cynthia that instruction?" Mel answered with a question.

Brian nodded, satisfied.

"Ok, I reviewed it quickly to get the essentials…"

"That quickly?" Brian raised an eyebrow.

"Do not interrupt. As I understand it from what I just read, and by the way, the copies are so I can keep the original clean, give you one back, and have one to mark up with notes, you have roughly 24 hours before the Devil collects your soul, which you bartered away seven years ago, at the age of 27."

"26."

Mel leaned back in her chair and waited, arms crossed over her chest.

"Sorry."

"In consideration for your soul, you received three wishes, one to be granted at that time, two to be granted at a later time. Nice negotiating by the way, did you represent yourself? Most people only get one wish as I understand the standard arrangement with Old Scratch."

"Thanks, I figured he seemed so eager, I may as well get the best deal I could. Plus he couldn't, well, suffice it to say, there were reasons he gave in on that. Never know when you're going to need more wishes, although he did rule out the old 'using the last wish to get my soul back' or 'I want three more wishes' tricks…"

"Yeah, I saw that in paragraph ten, didn't realize you asked for them though, nice try."

"Thanks." There was a certain Kinney style gallows humor to the conversation, but Melanie indulged him in it; she was surprised to realize that she wanted to take the desperate look from Gus's father's face. Oh my God, she realized, this was her son's father, whose life was going to be in her hands. Suddenly, the case took on a whole new meaning.

"Brian, look at me." Hazel eyes met brown ones intently.

"Tell me just once and I will believe you. This is not one of your fucked up jokes, is it?"

His voice was raspy, as though he had smoked a good many cigarettes that day. "This is fucked up, but it is no joke. I sold my soul to the Devil, Mel. I never thought it would matter, but now…." There was a wealth of meaning in what he left unsaid. They both knew all that had changed in the past several years since he had entered into this deal with the devil.

"I need you to help me. Please."

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