Last Meal
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Tsugumi Ohba, Takeshi Obata, and Viz Media. I don't own them; I'm just examining their possibilities.
Author's Note: Written for the theme "Lind L. Tailor" for DN Contest at LiveJournal and all unknown background on Tailor is all my invention. Contains sexual content and drug use.
Name: Lind L. Tailor
Born: June 27, 1971, Austin, Texas
Enlisted in the United States Navy in 1991, achieving the rank of Lieutenant before taking a position in the Office of Naval Intelligence. Was granted an Honorable Discharge in 1997 and was recruited by the Central Intelligence Agency, where he did highly classified work worldwide with a focus on counter-terrorism and special operations.
Has extensive knowledge and acumen in foreign relations and diplomacy, speaks ten languages, and has been seen with numerous ambassadors and representatives for world leaders.
That was just the basic introduction to the extensive files on Lind L. Tailor that L had collected from his own research as well as hacking into a few government databases for stuff officials and his contacts weren't telling him.
L skimmed over a few of the files, getting a better feel for who he was dealing with.
His actual investigation on Tailor was relatively short and ended as clean as the U.S. Government wanted it.
L personally despised dealing with intergovernmental intrigue unless it had farther reaching effects on any populace other than the usual cloak and dagger, grassy knoll nonsense. He was an investigator, not a babysitter or hall monitor when a prime minister, president, or anything of the like couldn't keep track of their own people.
The whole Lind L. Tailor affair was more like the case L only dealt with if he was being paid at least double his usual commission.
A top-secret training installation in the jungles of Belize was blown up by a local group of guerilla rebels, killing ten U.S. soldiers who had been stationed there. L got a call from the President practically yelling that the only way the rebels could have known its existence was if they were told, leading to the obvious conclusion there was a rat within intelligence ranks and the "greatest detective in the world" had to find the leak.
L took the case with some vocal reluctance; the lives of soldiers had been involved and such a leak might have had farther reaching effects, though his commission would have to be a little more for dealing with government matters. In reality he was up for something a little more different than what he had been dealing with as of late and it indeed turned out to an interesting case only for the personage at the center.
Tailor was ultimately found to be the rat, selling military and diplomatic secrets to the highest bidders; he had been doing it for years though the incident in Belize only made his dealings stick out a little more. Being found was clumsiness on his part that was less the result of stupidity and more the result of an overconfidence that had gone too far.
L's case files on Tailor consisted of at least a thousand pages combined with witness accounts and surveillance footage.
Tailor was a suave, somewhat cocky individual who was more a governmental prince than a governmental representative. He was an insufferable playboy with a taste for designer suits, expensive wine, fine cigars, and a few lines of cocaine on off days.
Women to him were nothing more than sexual toys. Young, attractive men weren't that much higher on the ladder and an affair with the right agent or military officer could give him blackmail material. Do what he wanted or fall into the trap of "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" if one were military or answer to any other security and conduct issue Tailor could drum up for civilians.
A five-month investigation later, the only luxury Tailor was getting was barely clean sheets and an hour out in the yard at the Terre Haute Federal Correctional Complex where he awaited execution on federal charges of treason.
Rooting him out had been a routine job, but Tailor didn't exactly keep his mouth shut all the time. He wasn't stupid, though assumed several of the prostitutes and young military officers he bedded were. The phrase "loose lips sink ships" described Lind L. Tailor's own personal undoing.
The trial more resembled a military proceeding under the grounds of national security, meaning there was no press coverage and no word of Tailor's activities outside. Tailor was completely unknown to the public, which was a good thing for him in the long run…and a good thing for L as he pondered one idea he had related to a new investigation.
His finger slid over the touchpad of his laptop, scrolling down to Tailor's mug shot. He had been arrested in an Armani suit, mid-length hair impeccably coiffed, and wearing an expression of smug defeat.
Tailor fascinated him on some level, mostly because L took immense pleasure in cutting down those in high places. He was an attractive man, though L only made that observation to gauge how others likely reacted to him.
Being attractive was equated with being trustworthy in the minds of many people, especially if the subject was male. In a nice suit with an official designation, Tailor looked like a natural leader who the public would put their trust in…and who Kira would find a threat.
The fact his name had so many L's in it was a further enticement; giving him a little more credence to how he was going to be presented.
He was the perfect candidate for L's next move against Kira. He still needed to address the ICPO and formally tell Japan's National Police Agency that Kira was suspected of being in Japan. No government would outwardly approve of his plans save for the United States.
Tailor was already dead in the minds of the intelligence community and was buried in a solitary cell. He still had a pulse somewhere, but it was only a matter of time before a cocktail of lethal chemicals put an end to that. The idea of the conviction being overturned through appeal was laughable.
Lind L. Tailor was ripe for the picking for whatever purpose L wanted, though L was still working out the details.
He already had approval from the President for Tailor to be released into L's custody and the United States government would turn its head in the opposite direction to whatever Tailor's ultimate fate would be.
L knew what would happen, though going the direct route to get there was a rather blasé proposition.
L had been in a dangerous frame of mind in the past year and the unfolding threat of Kira only coaxed out more of his reckless side. Death was coming on all sides as was L's increasing desire to throw caution to the wind to test how far he was willing to go to solve what would probably be his most monumental case.
The top half of his thumb slid up the top corner of his mouth as he studied Tailor; letting his eyes wander to his broad shoulders and down to his collarbone slightly visible on the top of his tie. His eyes met Tailor's, seeing a look of almost predatory determination. He was genial and suave, but was probably a dangerous animal when put in the right situation.
L smiled, his thumb rising with the corner of his mouth. He was overdue for a little fun.
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The warden only said he was being escorted to another location, which was mildly curious at the least. Then the usual barrage of guards remained at the prison, leaving him in an unmarked van with one guard carrying a low-caliber rifle, one driver, and one man in a cheap suit who had already presented credentials of being FBI.
The shackles were removed after five minutes and he was handed a garment bag containing a nice suit and tie with instructions to put it on and use the plastic hairbrush that was in a cloth bag hanging from the hanger.
No one was giving any details, leading Lind L. Tailor to start making his own conclusions. This wasn't the usual routine for an execution; this was the usual routine for a covert changeover. He had taken part in such prisoner transfers in the past, resulting in everything from the subject being given a new name and a new mission or sold to organ traders.
He mad no assumptions and prepared himself for nothing, only a smirk was on his face when the van stopped less than an hour later and the side door slid open.
The outside of the Canterbury Hotel in nearby Indianapolis was a much more pleasant surprise.
The initial revelation was an hour ago. Tailor was now kicking up his feet in the marble tub of the Presidential Suite, body soaking in a warm mixture of lavender bubbles. The suite was still being closely guarded, was what the FBI liaison told him before leaving him be in the luxury room.
Exploring the full amenities of this place, as well as all the bugs and hidden traps, would have to wait until he had adequately scrubbed off the prison slime and got his mind back to some semblance of peace. Apparently he was a VIP to someone or some agency and his new handlers wanted him to take a load off before being given his new purpose.
Tailor walked out of the tub, drying himself off with an Egyptian cotton towel from a heated bar on the wall and putting on a white bathrobe with the hotel's logo embroidered on the chest. He listened at the door for a moment, satisfied by the lack of mumbling or the quiet screech and tick of electronic equipment.
He slowly turned the handle, looking out the crack and seeing only the antique wood, brass and marble fixtures, and the overall wide expanse of the suite. An ice bucket was now on the table with a bottle of Dom Perignon sticking out from it with a lead crystal glass set next to it. A room service menu caught his eye next though the oak humidor on the other side of the table commanded more of his attention.
Tailor casually walked out the door and into the suite, pulling out the ornate chair and sitting down at the table. The clinking of ice as he removed the bottle played alongside a shuffling of feet across the carpet. He did not look up, only popped the cork with his thumb and carefully poured some of the fine champagne into the flute fully aware his new visitor was a foot away from him.
"Greetings, Mr. Tailor," an even voice said from the side.
Tailor looked up, resisting the urge to do a double-take at the individual beside him. He placed the man in his 20's though his posture and disheveled black hair made him look more like a sullen teenager. He wore a white dress shirt and blue sportcoat that had seen better days and a pair of dress shoes poked out from over-long pantsleeves. He looked like he hadn't slept or eaten in a month, though he maintained a demeanor of calm confidence.
"Greetings," Tailor said with a smile, lifting his flute and sniffing it for any of the tell-take odors of any number of sedatives and poisons. "Am I to assume you are in on whatever little scheme is going on here?"
"That would be a safe assumption," the man said. "In fact both of us are here now regarding a proposition concerning your current and future state of affairs."
"Is that so," Tailor said, taking a cautious sip of his champagne and tasting nothing aside from the sweetness of one piece of freedom he sorely missed. He looked around the room and listened for any opening doors or suspicious sounds from the guards outside.
"There are three guards around this hallway in plainclothes with concealed weapons and all of them know that I am in here talking to you," the man said.
Tailor nodded in approval, at least some of his questions answered.
"And who might you be, sir," he asked.
"You may call me Kittredge, but my name is unimportant," the stranger said. Tailor smirked, figuring as much. "I am here as a representative for an individual who has followed your case closely and has been given approval by your government to put you on a special mission."
"And just who might that be," Tailor said, taking a strong sip and savoring the light bubbles dancing around his tongue.
"Are you familiar with a private agent known by the code name L," Kittredge said.
Tailor's mouth immediately straightened, his expression polite though unamused.
"I've heard that name mentioned once or twice," Tailor said, "mentioned as the investigator who helped put me on death row. If you work for him, you have my sympathies." Tailor's hand casually slid over to the cover of the humidor, which he lifted to reveal a few neatly stacked Cuban cigars. "Mind if I smoke?"
Kittredge waved a hand in dismissal. Tailor reached for a cigar, feeling a familiar plastic vial in the bottom of the humidor he would have to take in account for later. It would appear L was bribing him to cooperate and procuring illicit substances was not outside his moral sphere.
"I am indeed a representative for L and he has asked me to speak with you directly." Kittredge said.
"I thought L spoke to people through a computer sent by an individual in a black trenchcoat," Tailor said, picking up a cigar cutter from the table and clipping the end of the Cubano in his hand.
"The individual you speak of is Watari and Watari's presence here would gain undue attention," Kittredge said, his tone a little more annoyed, "plus he wanted this message delivered a little more personally, though I assure you every word I say comes from L and I am acting on his behalf with his full authority. Just ask Special Agent Panetti, who you met in the van and who is standing outside as we speak."
Tailor nodded, picking up a long match from the table, striking it, and slowly heating up the cut end of the cigar.
"I see it is hardly a secret to you that L played an important part in your arrest and conviction," Kittredge continued, those big eyes accentuated by black circles creeping Tailor out a little, "though he does tend to remember those whose skills have greatly impressed him. When the subject of one of his cases is convicted, he will sometimes find uses for them besides as a drain on tax dollars and test subject for the latest methods of execution. Henceforth why you are here."
A smug smile spread over Tailor's face as he put the cigar in his mouth and took a few luxurious puffs while shaking out the match and putting it in a crystal ashtray. He was apparently valuable to someone, though that was hardly a surprise. He had fully accepted his fate, though a tiny voice in his mind told him death row was only the beginning.
"L has a personal mission for you and has been given authorization by the President for you to be in his custody for the duration of your mission," Kittredge said. "If you refuse, you will be put back where you were and your death warrant will be signed within 21 days. If you cooperate, you will be as good as a free man; you will receive a generous compensation, fine living quarters, and supervised trips to anywhere in the world."
"Just read me the fine print," Tailor said, leaning back in his chair and taking a few more puffs. "What exactly will I be expected to do?"
"There is another security threat greater than you ever were," Kittredge said, "we believe it is a vigilante killer with extensive resources that is likely based in Japan yet has victims worldwide. Are you familiar with the name Kira?"
Tailor thought on it for a second. Being locked away meant being out of the loop, which was probably even more dangerous. He lifted his flute for another sip, making absolutely sure in his mind that Kira was unknown to him.
"Unfortunately I cannot say I am familiar with that name," Tailor said. "I have spent the past five months in solitary confinement and the limited number of channels I do receive gets no news. Are we talking about an individual mailing packages of powdered Ricin or a cell going around strangling people with silk cords?"
"We do not yet know Kira's exact method of killing," Kittredge said. "We only know that at least a hundred people, mostly suspects or convicted criminals, suddenly died from heart attacks. There have been victims worldwide, though most of the deaths seem to be centered in Japan; leading L to the conclusion that Kira is Japanese. That name itself started through widespread messages in Japanese on the internet, possibly a phonetic derivative of 'killer.'"
"Japan is a hotbed for ideological terrorists," Tailor said. "Not as extreme as those found in some parts of the world, though the heavy emphasis on honor in their culture combined with spiritual beliefs about karma and the universe punishing the wicked makes it a potential breeding ground for these types of vigilantes. As for the heart attacks, all it takes is the right poisons combined in the right methods and delivered through a powder, an aerosol, even a syringe to result in sudden, irreversible cardiac arrest with no trace for a toxicology report."
"I am obviously not aware of L's full deductions, but that is essentially what the reasoning is now," Kittredge said. "All of the victims were suspected or convicted criminals whose names and faces were released publicly through the media. It would only take contacting or hacking into the right sources to gain their location."
"So what is my role in all of this," Tailor said, taking a few more puffs.
"L will be speaking to the ICPO, requesting the full cooperation of the NPA. L wants to have more of a presence in this investigation and does not want to work from the shadows given the high amount of media attention this case has received already. He will need an assistant in the investigation who will also act as a spokesperson and on occasion present himself as L in public."
Tailor flicked an ash into the ashtray, smirk now poisonous as he stared daggers into L's proxy.
"In so many words, L needs bait," Tailor said, putting the cigar down and opening the lid of the humidor for something else he hoped was there. "If I represent L publicly, even say that I am L, all the crazy people will descend on me and that's how you hope to catch your vigilante."
"In so many words yes," Kittredge said.
Tailor pulled out the clear plastic vial, seeing a few grams of white powder inside. He gave another look to Kittredge before opening the top and giving a light sniff of the contents. He didn't smell anything funny and he put a small amount on the tip of his pinkie to taste, satisfied with the slight numbness on his tongue and the lack of suspicious flavors.
"So hence all the VIP treatment," Tailor said, shaking the vial. "Make the package a little sweeter, and if I refuse put me out of my misery. I suppose I have no room to negotiate which I personally feel is a little unfair."
"You stopped having a say in your own fate the moment you were arrested," Kittredge said. "Just be thankful you were never released in the media for your own crimes, the American public tends to be rather displeased with those responsible for the deaths of soldiers, especially if those individuals are American."
Tailor poured a little of the white powder on the desk, getting up and taking a hotel business card off the nightstand and sitting down. L's little messenger boy was wearing on him; this little drowned rat was making even more threats in the name of someone who likely didn't exist. Regardless "Kittredge" was the representative for an independent busybody responsible for putting him away; Tailor had more than enough reason to be resentful.
"I have to say I do not appreciate your tone," Tailor said, the edge of the card tapping through the white powder and separating out one thin line. "I am also finding your presence a bit bothersome. If L wanted to speak to me, why did he not send a message himself through the computer?"
"As I said, I am L's representative," Kittredge said. "He would have told you the exact same thing."
Tailor rolled the business card into a tube-shape, putting it to his nose and sniffing up the line. He brushed off his nose with a finger, feeling the drug's pleasant rush with a smile.
He then looked back up at Kittredge. The little bastard was right; there was little he could do in this situation. He was dead man walking already and ripe as a test subject to put in front of a cell of Japanese religious zealots who probably had the means and resources to kill someone with no trace.
That didn't make him like the situation any better; in fact he despised what he was being told. How convenient that L left a little messenger alone with him in a large hotel room.
Tailor wondered what he could do to the proxy that would not gain the attention of the guards outside, or maybe the guards were told to ignore anything happening in the room. It wasn't as if he had any more to lose and only some pride to gain by sending L a message that he was not to be trifled with.
"That's right, L's representative," Tailor said, setting the card on the table. "L sends a shabby-looking kid who talks like an intelligent person but looks like he was just peeled off the sidewalk. Tell me, Kittredge, what drug den did L find you in? Actually I have seen men like you in a certain profession."
Tailor reached up, grabbing one side of Kittredge's leg and caressing upward to his backside. Kitteridge made no moves and his stony expression did not change.
His mouth did curl up in a smirk.
"I am not at liberty to discuss the particulars," Kittredge said.
"I am sure L erased all of those plus any of your arrest records or anything else that would sully your reputation," Tailor said, pulling him forward. This kid did have good muscle tone; maybe he actually looked better naked. "I find it interesting that L's bribe has included all of my favorite things... all of them. Even if one presents himself as a representative."
Kittredge's smile widened. He wasn't protesting the insinuation, neither did he protest being grabbed by the collar and pulled into a rough kiss.
Tailor stood up, grabbing the kid by the shoulders and kissing him with enough force to communicate his exact intentions. Kittredge made no protest; he wasn't getting into the moment but his body arched backward as if inviting anything he had in mind.
Tailor ripped off his sportcoat and undid the buttons on his shirt, his hand running hard against the tone muscles of his chest and abdomen while reaching down further.
"I am going to enjoy myself, then I will decide if I will send you back to L with good or bad news," Tailor whispered in his hear, biting his earlobe.
"Do what you will, yet I will walk out of here," Kittredge said. "The guards have only been instructed to listen for sounds of bodily harm. If anything happens to me they will know and you will be shot on sight."
"As long as I don't put you in the hospital or the morgue, I am free to do whatever," Tailor said, unbuttoning Kittredge's dress pants.
A paper-like object brushed against Tailor's other hand. He looked down over Kittredge's shoulder to see a wrapped condom pressed into his palm.
"That is all I ask," Kittredge said.
Tailor took the package before shoving Kittredge onto the king-sized bed.
"That is reasonable," Tailor said, throwing his robe open. "I don't know where you've been."
He swore Kittredge had a smile on his face as his pants were ripped off.
----------
L's proxy would leave the hotel room close to midnight; clothes wrinkled, hair a bit messier, and the collar of his shirt concealing already-formed bruises on his collarbone.
Tailor still didn't like L's deal, but he took it anyway seeing as how he already had been so generous with his gifts. The next part of the plan included a flight to San Francisco and presenting himself on Japanese television as L. The ruse was Kira would think it was a worldwide broadcast and make its presence known in Japan where it would be pinpointed.
He doubly wasn't the hugest fan of having his real name broadcast, yet Kittredge said while cleaning himself up that such measures were necessary to draw out Kira. This was going to be in Japan where Tailor had only gone for a few minor missions and no one would know who the hell he was.
He would probably end that broadcast a media celebrity with a bit more pull with the Japanese investigators. Maybe he could crawl his way back to the top of the espionage heap, maybe make some deals with the Yakuza or even Chinese dissidents while L thought he was just bait.
Tailor looked out the window; sipping his champagne and watching Kittredge get into a black car. He could go for some Beef Bergin' yon right now, maybe some sake to celebrate his future trip to Japan.
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"Till we meet again, Kira."
L cut off his connection to the broadcast followed by a mass of static. A minute passed and most of the TV stations returned to their regular programming.
He disconnected his computer from the broadcasts, leaving only silence to ponder what he had just seen. Three tones came from his computer with a W flashing across the screen.
"Yes," he said.
"L, we have confirmation that Lind L. Tailor is dead," Watari said.
"And it was obvious he was completely alone on camera, no one entering the frame until after he collapsed," L said. "Watari, I want Tailor's body autopsied and thoroughly examined, tissue samples, toxicology, everything. We need full record of how he died."
"As you wish," Watari said as the screen went blank.
L put his chin in his hands. Kira could indeed kill with just a name and a face; the implications of this were frightening…and exciting. He was indeed facing his biggest case and he would find Kira at all costs.
His fingers were on the keypad, replaying the broadcast of Lind L. Tailor's death he had downloaded as it aired. Tailor had followed the script well; his performance was convincing and his role in this infinitely helpful.
All had gone according to plan; L didn't expect Tailor to survive this and if he did he would be escorted to San Quentin and immediately executed. The President had signed his death warrant and allowed L to use him as an experiment. He did so with reluctance but the results were going to be the same.
L tried not to smile at the moment when Tailor clutched his chest. He had been the victim of a heinous crime, though he couldn't help but think it couldn't have happened to a better person.
Tailor had his uses in the end and L took advantage of all of them, personally and professionally. He was spent and now a lamb to the slaughter like he had done to so many innocents.
An eye for an eye.
L punched a few keys and connected to Watari.
"Watari, get Detective Superintendent Yagami on the line," he said. "We need to start coordinating efforts."