Domino City

12th November 1942

10:16 pm

The alleyway was like a clogged vein in an old, diseased body. The buildings overhead pressed against one another, shutting out the sky. The paving was spattered with a collection of filth, animal, vegetable and mineral. A half-starved and ancient stray dog stared out from a pile of boxes, eyeing the passing figure and weighing up whether it was worth the risk to attack. It settled back into the trash, thinking better of it, letting the stranger pass by.

Dressed in a long, thick coat and a hat to protect against the night air, the figure approached an old steel door set into the side of one unmarked, undecorated building. Taking the hat off, she let her long, full blonde hair cascade down her back, knocking on the door with her free hand. A panel slid aside at eye-height, letting a heavily-pitted face look out at her.

"Help you?" He asked with a voice like bourbon in a wound.

"Looking for the man they call The King," she told him, "Wheeler said I could find him here."

"Wheeler's got a big mouth."

"Some people like that." She said with a wink. The hatch slammed shut and a chain was pulled back, the door slowly swinging inwards, revealing the dimly lit interior.

A thick layer of cigar smoke rolled through the entire building, limiting vision to only the immediate surroundings. Several round tables were set up, some occupied by one or two individuals sitting close together and having secretive discussions, others by whole gangs of men and women in attire that screamed of wealth, taste and an expensive, wasted education. Above the pale grey clouds, on a platform at the rear of the room, a band played. The thuds of the double bass and the ringing of the piano keys sounded familiar, but they belonged to a song that was either too old or too obscure to be recalled clearly.

"I'll take your coat, Miss." Said the doorman, approaching her. Clearly he had been stooping to look out of the hatch earlier; he was seven feet if he was an inch, built like the bastard offspring of a silverback and a prize-fighter. He wore a smile that revealed only a handful of blackened teeth remaining. A predatory smile, the sort of smile she might imagine a shark would have greeted her with. Still, she shed the coat, revealing an expensive black dress with a plunging neckline and an almost dangerous need to cling to her curves. This was the sort of dress that propaganda posters warned about, and she wore it proudly. She handed over the coat and hat, following the doorman's gestures as he explained where 'The King' was seated. She picked her way through the assembled tables, trying in vain to recall the name of the song playing. Finally, in one secluded corner of the building, she found him sitting alone.

His shock of white hair was unruly, falling in a chaotic mess across his features, its paleness a stark contrast with his flesh. He wore a black suit, a silk shirt unbuttoned well past his collarbone, and she could see the glint of gold jewellery beneath the fabric. He was looking up at her as she approached, finger toying with the rim of a half-full wine glass, the corner of his mouth pulled up in the slightest of grins. A vivid scar ran down his right cheek, through his eye, and she wondered for the briefest of moments whether he might be blind on that side.

"My dear," he said in deeply accented English, "I was told I would be meeting a detective tonight. I was not told to expect such a… Vision of loveliness." His eyes wandered down from hers, brow arched as he inspected the dress without shame.

"Valentine. Mai Valentine," she introduced herself, putting out her hand. "You're the man they call The King?"

"I am the man that some people call The King." He said, "And I have a thousand other, more defamatory names too. You however, Miss Valentine, may call me Bakura." He bowed his head slightly, motioning for her to take a seat, which she gladly did. She'd been on her feet since before sundown, and it felt good to finally take a load off. "Can I offer you a drink?" He asked.

"I'm working."

"Aren't we all?" Bakura's smile deepened. "Besides, I only meant an innocent drink." He lifted the wine glass, and Mai realised it contained only water. "I do not touch alcohol, although I am a firm believer in the social power of holding a wine glass."

It was Mai's turn for a raise of the eyebrow. She couldn't get a read on this strange foreigner. Everything he said sounded perfectly rehearsed, and was delivered with the sort of calm and thought that people usually only put into particularly cruel comments. Mostly it was the way he looked at her that made her uneasy. Mai had dealt with more creeps in the past than most people would ever meet in their entire lifetime, some of them criminals, some of them cops, some of them customers. No matter if they were a mobster or a guy wanting proof that his wife was cheating on him – They all looked at her with the same lewd intentions behind their eyes. Not this Bakura character though. Even before when he had openly stared down her body, she felt more that he had been sizing her up. It was far worse than what she was used to. Some horny old man was one thing, but someone that looked at you the way a fox looks at a chicken coop, that was a very different story.

"Were you told why I wanted to speak with you?" She asked him, trying to put the thoughts to the rear of her mind.

"I try not to ask too many questions of my middle men. It taints the surprise somewhat."

"Fair enough. A client of mine has asked me to look into a disappearance."

"I'm afraid I doubt I shall be much help." Bakura said, hands raised. "If your client thinks his wife has disappeared to be with me, you will find I am quite alone in this city tonight."

"The disappearance of an artefact." Mai continued with a frown, "specifically a mummy."

"Then perhaps it is Mr. Karloff you are looking for my dear."

"Every source I have tells me that you are the go-to man when it comes to peculiar thefts. Plus, if I've heard correctly, you're Egyptian. You'd have a better insight than I do into things like mummies."

Bakura rolled his eyes, "just as you are aware of everything pertaining to the practices of your millennia-dead ancestors, yes?"

"You have to at least admit you're the best first person to question in this instance."

"In that case I'm glad you came to me Miss Valentine." Bakura smiled, locking eyes with her for just longer than was comfortable. "I'm a lucky man to share an evening with you. I just hope I can be of some assistance. Although I am still not sure of just how much help I can be."

"Well, given your history and your contacts. I'm sure you could help me put together a list of potential culprits and information carriers." Mai started to lean back in her chair, taking charge was much more her style, and it helped bring back some of the comfort.

"This assumes two things." Bakura said, "One: That I am willing to give up information about my contacts. And Two: That I am not, myself, the culprit."

"Well, to tackle one of those issues, I could always ask if you are the culprit."

"If I were, would I not respond by telling you 'No'?"

"Yes, I suppose you would."

"Then you may ask, for all it's worth."

"Are you the culprit Mr. Bakura?"

"No." He smiled and raised his glass, finishing the water. His eyes gleamed with malicious delight, as if silently daring her to call him out. "As you say, Miss Valentine, I was once an expert in peculiar thefts and, given my nationality, it would make sense to tie a theft from Mr. Mutou's Museum of Natural History to me."

"I don't recall mentioning who my client was."

"True. Though Solomon Mutou does seem the most likely suspect. The Museum of Natural History is the only place that I know has several mummies. Unless there are any private collectors in Domino City that are into that sort of thing. It doesn't speak highly of their interests, if so. In any case, my original point was that it seemed somewhat obvious that information would point to me, and I am not a difficult man to find." Bakura threw his arms open, "if I were the criminal, I would not be so obvious, that much I can assure you. Either that or I would make myself much more difficult to locate, even for someone as delightful as you."

"You're not so familiar with Occam's Razor then, Mr. Bakura?"

"Indeed I am. If only life truly were so simple."

Silence passed between the pair of them. The initial plan had been for Mai to arrive and quickly ascertain just who this 'King of Thieves' had sold the mummy onto. Things now had become complicated. She was in two minds about whether or not Bakura truly had stolen the artefact – Something about this whole situation did seem a little too obvious. It fit together far too neatly. There was the other thought, nagging at the back of her head, a disquieting notion that she tried not to linger on. It was a dead certainty that if he had stolen the mummy, he hadn't sold it on. He would still be in possession of it.

"I think I know exactly who I can ask about this," Bakura finally said. "An expert in the field, much more reliable than myself."

"And who might that be?" Mai leaned in conspiratorially.

"An old friend, Aknamkanon." Bakura said, looking over his shoulders. "I will send out the word for him to meet me at my quarters."

"Why not here?"

"I need a change of scenery, and besides, my apartment is a far nicer place for such a beautiful investigator who's been hard at work." Bakura got to his feet, tucking his chair under the table.

"And what makes you think I'm going to go somewhere alone with a former criminal?"

"Three reasons." Bakura said, heading for the exit, not looking back to check as she followed. "One: You are a private investigator, it is your job to follow leads." He took his coat from the doorman, before taking Mai's and assisting her in putting it back on. "Two: While it is true that I have never seen eye-to-eye with the law, I am now retired. And even so, I was a thief, nothing more dangerous than that." The doorman opened the way to the alley, the two of them stepping out into the night air. Bakura let out a shrill whistle, squinting down the far end of the alleyway at an approaching car. "And number three: You want to know a little bit more about me. I promise you, my apartment is far better suited for that."

The car reached them, stopping behind Bakura. It was an ornate black vehicle, clearly expensive, perhaps the sort of vehicle that had only ever been made in batches of three or four. A chauffeur exited and opened the door to the rear of the car, bowing his head to Bakura and Mai.

"So, what do you say Miss Valentine?"