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Phoenix Wright was broadly aware that most lawyers would have had someone to check the mail for them, or at least someone to go down to the lobby and collect it. But then he had always been the kind of guy to go and do something himself if he possibly could, and he figured a few flights of stairs each day never killed anyone so he didn’t exactly mind.
Maya looked up from her magazine as he came back into the office, “Oh hey, the mail! Are you hoping for a letter?” she took on an impish grin, “Maybe a letter from Santa Quinta Women’s Prison, D-Wing general population?”
“I- it’s not like that!” Even to his own ear, the denial was impossible to believe. He was fooling nobody, and they both knew it.
Her grin only grew wider as she asked, “Oh yeah? Then how do I hear enough about poor sweet sister Iris that I know what cell block she’s in?”
“I dunno”, he replied with a flat stare, “maybe the two of you are swapping real estate tips.” He hadn’t wanted to be the first one to crack wise about Maya’s stints behind bars, but once she’d opened the door by joking about it over a junk food dinner one evening, they’d both made their share of quips about it. He figured if she had to have a way of coping with the experience, at least it was a healthy one.
She scoffed and waved a hand in the air derisively, “Pfft, you think they drive me all the way out to Santa Quinta for pre-trial detention? I wish, I hear the food there’s way better than the garbage downtown.”
“You hear? From who?”
“Other people in pre-trial detention, mostly”, she replied casually, “You know the recidivism rate here is crazy?”
“Yeah, Iris’ cellmate is on her third offense.” He blanched as he realised what he had just said.
Mercifully, Maya just poked her tongue out smugly and left him to check his mail in peace.