The next morning, I pick Nami up, like I said I would. Or she said I would. But I'm not one to hold grudges over stupid things like that, and that's why I did it. To save time, too.
She hops out of the apartment building, hand on hip, skirt obscenely short. The age of the miniskirt, providing uncomfortable distractions for men across the nation. Heels griding into the nice clean carpet of my car, she leans back and stretches. "'Morning," she says.
"Good morning," I says right back at her, starting the car with a rumble.
"You gotta get a better car," she says, running a finger across the dashboard. "Or at least dust once in a while." When the car gives a pop louder than a chiropractor's adjustment, she winces and wriggles in her seat. "Definitely a new car," she decides.
"I like this one." And I do. She's faithful. Guys like me don't throw out an old friend just because they're a little...broken 'round the brakes. You get what I'm saying?
"Whatever," she snorts, and then faces the road again. "So, Monkey D. Luffy."
"He seems to be in all of our cases, doesn't he?" And he does. Back when Nami just started being my assistant, a messy murder from years back was brought to life, and Luffy was a suspect in that one too. But in the end, the guy helped us get the real suspect, being Arlong, famous for keeping a tank full-a piranhas and watching 'em rip each other to pieces in the same way a guy will rip a steak apart. Anyways. The murder was brought to light, Arlong was beat up, and Nami started smilin' again. With that vicious smile of hers came a temper that can't be beat, but I like her a helluva lot more smiling than crying, so that's good. Nami worked for Arlong for a while. A call girl, some people say. I don't ask about it, and she don't tell.
And the other case Luffy was involved in, whoo boy. Vivi, daughter of a wealthy businessman with hair bluer than the sea had a run in with government agent Crocodile. And was that a good story. Shit, he's been in a lot of cases, but hey, we gotta check our every suspect.
When we screech to a halt in front of the mansion, the squeal of the car like iron bending (which I've never heard, but people've told me that it screeches with an almight wail), Nami leaps out. "I wonder if he'll invite us for breakfast," she says with a tilt of her head and a tap of her finger.
"Didn't you eat this morning?"
She grins. "I was hoping for a free meal."
That dame won't throw down a cent if she don't think she'll be getting it back. But Luffy, hoo boy. Luffy must be the one guy who won't share with Nami. He likes food more than most guys like cars. He likes food more than Nami likes... well, about the same amount that Nami likes money. When we knock on the door, it's flung open with a crash, and Monkey D. Luffy's inhumanly wide smile beckons us inside.
Now, for those who don't know this guy, lemme explain. Mansion owner, yeah? Richer than a chocolate mousse. But he don't wear no tux, no siree. This guy, he runs about town wearing nothing but a tattered vest and shorts. Yeah, he's got other clothes, but I never see him wearing anything fancy. I figure he has, but only when necessary. He always wears this old straw hat on his head, so he looks more like some farmer from hicktown than a rich kid. I dunno how he got so wealthy. Nobody does. But hey, as long as he's helpin' us, I'm not complaining. Although he does spend his money on some strange things. Like a bronze statue of himself. I may call myself the Great Usopp, but I'm not that vain.
Anyways, so he welcomes us inside smiling. And I says to him, I says to him real slow, "Don't you look a bit too happy for somebody who's a suspect of murder?"
His grin doesn't fade. "Hi Usopp!"
Smart kid. Real smart. And of course, Nami steps in, as charming as always with her womanly guiles and... and such. "Any place we should sit, Luffy? Like the kitchen?"
"Okay!" Exclaims Luffy, looking fairly cheerful as he makes his way to the kitchen. Surely enough, there's a feast big enough for twenty on the table, or a feast big enough for Monkey D. Luffy.
"Ooh," says Nami. "Can I have some?"
"Not the meat."
"Not the meat," Nami agrees, and sits down, taking a bite of toast. I take a pancake. 'Cause hey, even if Nami was the one who wanted it in the first place, a guy's gotta eat, y'know what I mean?
"So, Luffy--" I begin, and stop to chew my mouthful of food and wipe a drip of syrup off my chin. You can't blame me. These are rich pancakes we're talking about her, real rich and thick and fluffy and... all those other good things that pancakes are. "Luffy. What do you know about Brooke's death? I hope you know that you're a prime suspect."
"I know," the kid says, chirpily, and crams about thirty slices of bacon into his mouth. "And Brooke's not dead."
"Yes, Luffy. He is." Shit. This is no time for him to be going through denial.
"No," he says. "He's not."
"Yes. He is."
"No. He's--"
"Stop it, you two," Nami interrupts, daintily patting her mouth with a napkin like she's barely eaten at all. But she ate a ton. I saw her, I see everything. She can cram a lot into that tiny frame of hers. Especially if it's free. "So she's not dead."
"But Nami--!"
"Sh, Boss. I know what I'm doing." She winks an eye at me and leans down, real low, real seductively, and I won't lie, she's a pretty dame all right. "So, Luffy. Brooke's not dead, but hurt. You know how he got hurt?"
"No," Luffy says, shaking his head. Then, he looks at us, all wide eyes, open mouth, more innocent lookin' than a newborn babe. Only problem with that is that I've seen him mad enough to punch a guy's face in so hard that he almost never got back up, and seein' as that asshole's in the clinker now, he never really did get back up. "Do I gotta beat someone up?" He asks.
"Naw, Luffy."
I stand, look at Nami. "We done here?" I ask her.
She frowns, and studies Luffy for a second before nodding. "Yeah. We're done for now. Don't think we won't be back though, Luffy."
"Tell me beforehand," the kid says. "So I can get more food."
Jesus. It's like he doesn't even know about the murder. "Yeah. Okay, Luffy," I tell him, and he hounds us until we're out the door.
"Come again soon, you guys," he says, clutching onto that godawful straw hat with a vehemence lacking in mosta the politicians' speeches.
"Okay," I tell him. "We will."
When I look at Nami as we go out the door, she gives me this look, real meaningful-like, and she nods at me. "We'll be back."
"Yeah? You get a whiff of something?"
"Yeah," she says, swingin' her hips as she sidles back into the car. "S'not money, even if there's a lot of money in that mansion."
"You sure?"
"Yeah," she says, and taps her nose. "My nose for money's never wrong."
"Kinda like my nose for justice," I reply, but she doesn't reply to that, to my dismay. I mean come on, I don't ask for much but a little respect.
"Let's visit the doctor and his assistant next," she says, finally.
I dunno what she's thinkin', but by the look in her eye, she's thinkin' something big is happening.
--
So we drive down to the doctor's home, and the place we stop by in front of is pretty nice. Doctors. Make good money, y'know? Saving lives. Not like us detectives. We don't save lives; we inspect the ones that are already lost. Kind of a grim notion, but hey, lookin' at this house, you can't blame me. If the doctor's paid for saving lives, then I'm pretty much paid for researching dead ones. My shabby little apartment just does not measure up.
Anyways, so Nami sidles outta the car, and by the way she eyes the house, you know she's figuring out how much it costs. Hell, when I first met her, she could guess the price of my car, apartment and job, all in one. When she brags about her nose for money, it's not just bragging, lemme tell you. So we knock at the door, a ratta tat tat, real quick, real polite, expecting the doctor to swing it open. But no, one Nico Robin opens the door.
Wow. In case you don't get it the first time, wow. Now I, the great Usopp, am not one to fall for womanly charms (then why do I have Nami around again?) but this Nico Robin, now she's a looker. Dark dark hair cropped 'round her shoulders and eyes bluer than the mold that's growing on my cheese in the fridge right now. Her nose, almost Egyptian, and nearly as dignified as mine. And then she smiles, real subtle, real guarded-like, and says, "You must be the detective and..." She looks at Nami, and the way she stares, it's like she's readin' you just by the shoelaces you're wearing. Even though I'm not technically wearing shoe laces right now. "...his assistant," she finishes off. She steps back, and beckons us inside. "Please, come in. The doctor is waiting for you."
So we walk in, oohing and ahhhing, and Nami comments on the marble floors and the glass table in the foyer, and I just know that she's gauging how hard it'd be to snatch that jewelery box we can see upstairs on a table. On the couch, massive hands clucthing at... furry knees is the doctor, clearing his throat and muttering to himself in a suspiciously high voice.
But when he speaks, it's clear that it's not so suspicious, but simply his voice. Really. For such a tiny voice to come outta a big guy... it's kinda surprising. Like the great dane named Peanut. Except furrier. So he says, "Welcome, ah, Detective Usopp." He bends his head down and rubs at the back of his neck. "What could I help you, uh... with?" He coughs behind his hand. Definitely suspicious behavior. I look at Nami to see if she's gettin' any of this down, but she's too busy staring at the diamond stubs in the knockout--I mean, Nico Robin's ears.
"Well," I say, looking pointedly at my (blank) notepad and tapping my (devoid of ink) pen on it. "You knew the victim, didn't you?"
He looks around, and furrows his brow. I almost think I have him before he says, "Of course. He was my patient. That's why you're here. Isn't it?"
...Drat. "And... what do you have to say about the condition of his death?" I ask. It's a bluff; we don't have any info on Brooke's death yet, not even an autopsy. Could be illness, could be injury, whatever. Nami, she says that there wasn't even a body, and the police like to hide stuff. Probably right.
"What was the cause of his death?" The doctor asks, innocently enough. Damn, he's good. This is when Nami, the lifesaver she is, speaks, a vicious tilt of her head that suggests mischief.
"Well, did he have any strange illnesses, or anything?"
"That," Robin cuts in, her voice as smooth as the cream I put in my coffee in the morning (three packets, by the way, and two cubes of sugar). "Is confidential. Between doctor and patient, you see." She smiles, places her hand upon the doctor's.
Aha! My eyes light up in wonderment! A secret affair between the doctor and his lovely assistant! "And may I ask why you are here, Miss Nico Robin?" I ask, stroking my chin in a very sophisticated manner. "Isn't only the doctor's presence needed here?" Nami slams her hand against her forehead. Does she know something I don't?
"Well, Detective, we get emergency patients at all hours of the night," she says wanly. "So I take up rooming in the doctor's lovely estate." Then, she leans forward, resting her chin upon her hand. "And the doctor does get awful twitchy during the night sometimes." The doctor goes bright red, and she mutters something about scraping velvet off of antlers.
...I decide I don't really want to know.
"Isn't there anything you can tell us?" I ask, fishing at loose strings now, and appeal to his better nature. "I know you must be a great and honourable doctor, but for the sake of justice..."
"No amount of complimenting will make me happy, you jackass!" The doctor squeals, and Robin laughs aloud, a happy sound that I didn't expect to hear from her solemn eyes. "Well..." He seems to be really deep in thought now. "You know Franky's mob?"
Franky's brotherhood, more like. Brothers and sisters united, and only their illegal activities and love of gunpowder really make 'em a mob. From what I've heard, he's a great guy. A respectable guy. Looks after his own, which is hard in this city, y'know? I have trouble enough looking after Nami. She can take care of herself, mostly, but I like to make sure she's... happy. Safe is one thing, and happy's another.
So Nami nods. "We know them very well," she says, even though I've never really met the guy, but a spark of recognition in the curve of her lip, her expression, tells me that she knows the guy. Well, not surprising; everybody in the city knows Franky. He's like everybody's big brother. If you're on his good side, you're set for life. If you're on his bad side, well, it don't matter no more, 'cause then you'll be dead. So I play along. Nod. Watch Nami work her stuff.
"He has a rivalry with another gang," Robin cuts in. "This rivalry has been going on for some time now, and it has been said that a member of the rival gang has injured a member of Franky's. This, naturally, has caused an uproar and much bloodshed." She says this, all straight faced, no sympathy behind those blue eyes. Brrrrrr. A dame with a heart of steel, I guess. Pretty ones usually have those.
And the doctor continues on. "It's led by a guy named Lucci." He clasps his hands together. "There's been some rumours about them and Brooke... but I don't know how much of it is true." He looks up, all unsure and I look right back at him.
Then, I says to him, real confident, real manly, "I'm not afraid of any gang."
His eyes shine. "That's brave of you."
"Also stupid," Robin says, standing up. "Don't get involved, I say."
"What's the worst that'll happen?" Nami asks.
Then, with a charming smile, "You'll die. Would you care for some coffee, or shall I show you the door?"
"The door's fine," I say, before Nami's gotten any more bright ideas.
"Of course," she says, leading us to the door even before she's heard our answer. "Thank you for coming. You are welcome back in our household any time."
"I--I'll take you up on that offer," I tell her, in the doorway already.
She raises a brow. "Let's hope you will."
And with those ominous words, she shuts the door, leaving us with only a neat driveway and the vague smell of gasoline from the bucket of bolts I call my car. The case gets thicker! But I can take it, I know I can. I am the Great Usopp, after all! Even though I'd rather still keep my head, something in the vehement way that Nami drags me to my steering wheel tells me that that's one precious commodity that will soon be slipping out of my grasp.
