Chapter 7
Armed with a racket, sweatpants and a scowl, L marched to the tennis court determined to give his semi-regular tennis partner a whooping.
"L! Ya ready to lose?" Aizawa shouted from across the court.
L smirked, knowing his opponent's tennis skills were much less impressive than his afro. "Such optimism, Aizawa. I do hope you're ready to buy me a pie for every game you lose today."
A few more insults and empty threats were thrown around before the actual tennis began. L's ruthless ace set the tone for the rest of the match; he played like he was out for blood, if the nearly maimed Aizawa had anything to say about it.
The detective was a homebody, but frustration and boredom didn't become him. Unfortunately, the twin evils were difficult to escape in his dingy office, where he had no crimes to puzzle save for a stolen diary, for crying out loud. A mass murder mystery with a side of peerless criminal genius would've been nice, but those were as elusive as Aizawa's bad hair days.
As he caught the next serve with a fierce backswing, L let his thoughts wander to his firm's latest catch. At least she's agreeable enough, he pondered. Possibly smarter than she lets on, and definitely easy on the eyes. He smiled at the thought of taking her out for a date… and then learning the deep, dark secret of her inheritance.
L and Aizawa were in the middle of a heated rally when the policeman all but dropped his racket and gawked at something behind him. "Aizawa, what—"
"L! That was so cool!" a voice squeaked.
L turned, and there she was, an alluring vision of pink sporty charm flaunting… a pair of fluffy white wings.
Speak of the devil… er, angel?
