Title: The Book of Cat With Moon C7: Hey, Yuu!

Author: JaganshiKenshin

Genre: General, Suspense

Rating: T/PG-13 (for anime-style fight scenes)

Summary: On a dark and lonely street, anything can happen to a man without fighting skills, pursued by an unknown assailant.

Please see Disclaimer in Chapter 1

A/N: Character sketches can be viewed on my LiveJournal page, linked in my profile. Thanks, and please review!

A knife in hand is the great equalizer.

The Book of Cat With Moon (C7: Hey, Yuu!)

by

Kenshin

Someone was following Kaitou Yuu. And this time it was not just his imagination. Footfalls crunched behind him, matching his pace.

The district of storage facilities, red-light concerns and breakthrough businesses known as Myu-Myu was probably not the best place to pick up a stalker. Kaitou wrapped his coat against the night's damp chill and pressed on.

It was later in December, but Kaitou had not been able to discover why Hiei lied about the stranger in the Silver Moon. He was not exactly the type to harangue the Silver Moon staff with, "Do you know this guy?"

And this guy following me---do I know HIM? Kaitou caught a glimpse of his pursuer, half a block behind him. The man was muffled in a long bulky coat, his shoulders hunched.

Stig Stigmarsson? Gloomy Swedish author, arm candy thief. Or---that very stranger from the Silver Moon?

Given this potential threat, Hiei's dissemblance regarding the stranger took on an ominous new tone.

It was late; seemed forever late, seemed Kaitou was always leaving some meeting at some unholy hour. Forever off-balance, forever fighting to retain his former star status, Kaitou grasped at dwindling paychecks the way a starving man grabs food.

And like a starving man, Kaitou was exhausted in mind and body. All senses dulled, like a man sleepwalking.

Mother would have insisted he rest, except that Kaitou had moved out of his parents' apartment. "I get it," Mother had said, winking like a character in a B-grade gangster film. "You'll certainly need your own place now."

Kaitou's beaming father added, "I like her, son."

Her. Miss Michiko. The reason behind Kaitou's move.

And the reason for his peril. Kaitou had a good sense of direction, but with his head in the clouds, he was lost.

Busy Tomo Avenue, where he had not ten minutes ago left a meeting with a potential publisher, was nowhere to be seen. Kaitou desperately sought a train station, a taxi stand. Nothing but brick-fronted buildings hunkered down for the night.

The footsteps came, regular as hammer-blows. Surely a friend would call out? Even a gloomy Swedish arm candy thief?

Kaitou paused; so did the footsteps.

What have I done to Stigmarsson? Or the stranger? What have I done to make them come after me? Fear clawed his gut, but the rush of adrenaline, rather than clearing his head, only further disoriented him, made him feel floaty, unreal.

Dizzy and lightheaded, Kaitou dodged down a street, and ran.

The footsteps followed.

At once Kaitou knew he had made a terrible mistake. The air was stuffy, dank and foul, as though he had entered a sewage pipe. Glass from broken-out windows crunched underfoot. A few streetlamps flickered weakly.

At the far end of the block, headlights flashed past, hopeful beacons of civilization. He pelted for the cross-street.

The buildings crowding to either side seemed closed, to the point of abandonment: windows boarded up, overturned trash cans, loose bricks, cracked pavement. Even in daylight, this would be a bad place.

When being pursued, instinct says to flee. The right thing to do is hold your ground.

Fear had harried Kaitou into changing course in advance of his pursuer, and he realized the man had been goading him, herding him like a sheep, forcing him into the sort of neighborhood where no one would come to his aid.

Though the lighting was dim and the pavement perilous, Kaitou kept running. He risked a glance behind him.

The muffled figure was closer. His long shadow brushed Kaitou like a grasping claw.

Kaitou put on a desperate burst of speed, but he was no athlete. A painful stitch in his side brought him up short, then broken pavement tripped him up; he stumbled, careened off the side of a building, painfully cracked his knee.

The stalker was now only ten feet away and coming on.

Kaitou's injured knee precluded another run. The stranger was five feet away when he stopped, affording Kaitou a good look.

It was neither Stig nor the Silver Moon stranger.

Shorter than Kaitou, broader, in bulky tweed coat and a cap jammed low on his forehead, the stalker seemed to attempt disguise. But his outfit could not conceal everything.

The wide lipless mouth, flat nose, and slanting eyes were complimented by skin with an unpleasant, oily sheen. The lipless mouth opened. A long green tongue emerged.

Not oil. Slime. He was a frog.

Or mostly. The thug looked somewhat, but not quite, human, as if an ill-advised encounter between a substandard princess and a devilish frog had progressed beyond mere friendship.

Kaitou rifled his pockets for the spray bottle of Holy Water: Like mace against demons, Hiei had said.

With this, Kaitou could blast the frog, burning him or otherwise quelling his powers, giving him enough time to escape.

Only one problem. It wasn't there. In the chaos of house-moving, Kaitou had misplaced it.

Frog-face flicked his tongue again, perhaps in search of flies, perhaps hinting that Kaitou was also on the menu.

Across the street, a cat emerged from a trash can, grasping a fish carcass in its jaws. It was not the dandelion cat.

As though the cat was a stage cue, Frog-face beckoned; in his fear and confusion, Kaitou took a step forward. The demon's hand had three fingers and a thumb, like those of a cartoon character, but there was nothing amusing in the way the fingers were tipped with sharp, curved claws.

The alley cat snarled, snapping Kaitou out of his trance. The cat, too, had unwelcome company. Several jaki: pint-sized demons often used by larger ones as messengers or spies. The small human-figured creatures darted at the cat in an attempt to promote themselves to some well-aged sashimi.

The jaki outnumbered the cat. Some jaki possess near-human intelligence, but cats are made of Swiss Army knives.

Kaitou was not. When Frog-face drew his other hand from his pocket, clutching a flattened red cylinder, Kaitou shrank back. Frog-face leered, displaying sharp yellow teeth. With a flick of his wrist, a lethal-looking knife snapped out of the cylinder.

A 'shiv.' Read about it. Works on springs.

Alley cat and jaki froze, as if listening, then fled.

Their movement galvanized Kaitou. He turned clumsily, but his foot slipped on something, and he stumbled, bruised his other knee. Struggled to his feet. Pressed his back against the brick wall, panting. Fear and exhaustion had drained his strength.

"Perfect," said the mugger. His voice had a curiously thin, light timbre, reminding Kaitou of a movie monster seen long ago, whose childish speech belied his killer nature.

But this killer was silent as he made a great frog-leap toward Kaitou, red knife flashing.

0-0-0-0-0

Peace on earth, mercy mild, however the old saw goes.

In a far nicer section of town, Hiroshi Ukyou relaxed in front of the fireplace. Granted, the fire was electric, operated by remote control, but it cast an acceptable glow, and the mantelpiece and surround were fashioned from the same impressive marble of a real fireplace: black with copper veins, imported from Carrera, or Siena, or some such.

A plush armchair cradled him, and a side table held all his needs: a book of Wilde's plays, silver box of cigarettes, cut-crystal decanter with matching tumbler full of amber whiskey.

Hiroshi did not in particular care for whiskey, but it was convenient, he was 21, and had a perfect right to drink. With the Heights all but disbanded and no newspaper to work on, what else was there to do?

Senpai's ventures fail again. "Anyone can sympathize with the sufferings of a friend," he told the table. "It requires a very fine nature to sympathize with a friend's success." Perhaps I'll start my own publishing company.

Another long burning swallow emptied the glass; he studied its gemstone reflections, turning it over in his hand. Beautiful. But far too much trouble to get up and wash.

Sighing, he flung the heavy tumbler at the fireplace. It hit the copper-veined black marble with a satisfying crash.

Unfortunately, shards now littered both fireplace surround and carpet. Botheration. Might cut a foot.

But there was a solution, and he wouldn't even have to leave his chair. Hiroshi Ukyou raised his right forefinger.

At the movement of his finger, as though harking to the will of some unseen Svengali, the glass shards defied gravity. They rose in a group from carpet and marble alike, levitated, hung in the air like ice crystals. Let it snow, let it snow.

An antique brass bucket stood beside the fireplace, where fireplace tools had once been kept. Hiroshi Ukyou waggled his forefinger; the shards hitch-hiked through the air like leisurely crystal moths.

With a downward flick of the finger, he let the pieces fall into the pail, already packed with broken glass, winking with a thousand promises.

The crystal decanter, now also empty of Suntory's finest, proved problematical. Heavy it was, too heavy to smash even against copper-veined black marble. It was heavy to levitate, requiring the use of Hiroshi Ukyou's entire right hand, not merely one finger, and all his concentration.

But levitate it he did, wobbling it toward the brass bucket, biting his lip. It took considerable effort to suspend it a foot above the bucket. He shut his eyes, but Hiroshi was breathing heavily by the time he snapped his left fingers and, with the power of his mind, clove the decanter in two.

0-0-0-0-0

The frog-demon sprang. As in a bad dream, Kaitou was frozen by fear, powerless to move.

The knife never struck. Someone was suddenly there, standing like a shield between Kaitou and killer.

A familiar voice spoke, lazy and heavy and sullen: "Your opponent is me." A blur of movement, and the mugger was on the ground, and Hiei stood over him, his boot on the demon's neck.

"Hiei!" Kaitou sagged in relief. "How did you---?"

In black bomber jacket and black jeans, Hiei spoke not to Kaitou, but the squirming mugger. "Please. I'm begging. Give me a reason to kill you."

Kaitou blinked, pushed his eyeglasses up the bridge of his sweaty nose. His fear-frozen body thawed, returning sense to his sluggish mind. The mugger was now in custody, and no match for the lightning-fast powerhouse. "Hiei?"

"Because I really hate these stupid arrest scenarios," Hiei continued, as though Kaitou hadn't spoken.

"Lemme go, man!" The mugger's strangled yell earned him another dig of the boot. He flailed; the shiv flew from his hands to rest near Hiei's other boot.

"Oh, look, he's got a toy." Taking his boot from the creature's neck, Hiei stepped back. Frog-face rolled, grabbed the shiv, shot to his feet, battle-ready.

Hiei reached out and caught him by the wrist.

"Man, let go my---OW!"

"Have a little consideration for my feelings," said Hiei, as Frog-face struggled to free himself. "Don't you even care about the extra paperwork? The hours I'd spend filling out forms? You'll end up dead sooner or later. Your kind always does."

In reply, Frog-face slashed at Hiei's throat.

Still gripping the frog-demon's wrist, Hiei rather casually twirled him round and rammed him face-first into the brick wall. "Hey, Yuu." Hiei sounded bored. "Mind if I kill him now?"

There was nothing predatory now in the frog-demon's eyes; they rolled with terror. "Hiei," Kaitou began, uneasy.

Hiei shrugged. "If you're squeamish, don't watch."

"You're hurtin' me!" wheezed Frog-face.

"Really?" Hiei gave the pinioned arm a savage twist. Frog-face howled; the shiv fell from his other hand and clattered to the pavement. "Is this better?"

"Hold on a minute..." In spite of what Frog-face had done, Kaitou was taken aback by Hiei's brutality; this was no towering, armor-plated monster. "Look, he's just some street thug. That can't be a terribly happy life---"

"All the more reason to kill him," Hiei replied. "Remember, I got a license to kill."

Frog-face squealed and shut his eyes.

"Ease up on him," Kaitou urged.

"Why? He's third-rate demon scum."

"Even so!" Hiei's actions reminded Kaitou of a cat toying with its prey. "Doesn't he deserve a trial?"

"Sure. I'm judge, jury and executioner all in one. Besides, I want to see what color his blood is."

Kaitou was dumbfounded. "Whatever for?"

"What, you never get curious? Aren't you big on science?"

"This isn't science. It's nothing less than---"

"C'mon, tell me you never dissected a frog in school. Let me cut off a hand. One lousy hand. It'll probably grow back."

"Just run him in, for the love of----"

"Then he'll be out on the street again in no time. Better waste him. Maybe even ash him." With a wicked grin, Hiei summoned a small yellow flame in the palm of his free hand. The fire found its reflection in Frog-face's bulging eyes. "I'm testing a theory."

"Theory?" All I want is for this to end well so I can go home, and Hiei's talking theory?

Hiei sent a spark floating toward Frog-face. "I want to see whether these guys like fire as much as legend claims."

Frog-face rolled his eyes at Kaitou. "Mister, please!"

"That's salamanders, not frogs," Kaitou interjected. "And it's not true!"

Frog-face agreed. "Listen to him, man, please!"

Hiei was relentless. "Same dif, they're both amphibians." The spark fluttered toward the hem of Frog-face's coat.

"Hiei," Kaitou said, "come on, don't do this!"

Hiei's exasperation came through loud and clear. "You won't let me cut him, now I can't ash him?"

Nevertheless the match-head of flame settled on the coat, smoldered orange, conjured the acrid aroma of burning wool.

Frog-face shrieked, "Put it out putitout putitout!"

"Why?" Hiei snorted. "No report, no paperwork." Then, looking around, as if seeing the neighborhood for the first time, he asked Kaitou, "What the hell were you doing here anyway?"

"Long story," Kaitou said.

"I got time."

The damp night and heavy wool coat meant Frog-face might not go up like a bonfire. Still. "Put out that fire first?"

"What, so this bastard can bolt? No way. He wants the fire out, he can drip slime on it himself."

The coat continued to smolder. Kaitou saw that the frog-demon was shaking. "Doesn't even a thug like him deserve mercy?"

"What for?"

"Because the rule of law---oh, skip it." Intending to put out the fire himself, Kaitou reached for the coat.

Hiei flashed him a warning look. "And don't YOU try."

"Dude!" Frog-face protested, "I just wanted his wallet!"

"Sure," replied Hiei. "You say that now."

Kaitou took a deep breath. He was exhausted, and it was difficult to think straight. He had known Hiei five years. They spoke often and at length on diverse subjects. Hiei seemed amiable enough. Kaitou had come to see him as a warrior, not a murderer. Not someone with such callous disregard for life, or such reckless bloodlust.

Perhaps Kaitou's mistake was in thinking Hiei 'tame.' Now he found himself forced into the uncomfortable role of the mugger's advocate. "Let him go," Kaitou said.

"And have him stick someone else?"

"So take his shiv. It's right on the pavement."

"Nag, nag, nag. You sound just like my idiot woman: 'You can't interrogate perps if you kill them first!'

Kaitou studied the terrified mugger, still pinned to the wall, blood decorating his flat nose from where Hiei had forcefully introduced it to the bricks. "She's right."

"Yeah, she's right," Frog-face echoed.

"So why not call the cops?" said Kaitou.

"Cops?" Hiei shook his head. "Imagine their surprise when they get a load of this creep."

"Then you take him in."

"I haven't killed anyone in days. I need the practice."

"I say arrest him," Kaitou repeated.

"I say listen to Four-Eyes!" the mugger squeaked.

"Oh, it's on now." Hiei gave the pinioned arm another jerk; Frog-face yelped in pain. "You can't insult my friend like that and get away with it."

"I d-didn't mean no disrespect!"

"Hiei, please," Kaitou interjected. "Don't go nuts on me. Just call for backup and let them haul him away."

"As soon as I have him in pieces."

Frog-face let out a moan, and not merely because his coat was still on fire.

"Hiei, come on." Kaitou held out his hands. "If you like, I'll make the call."

"Forget it. I'm going to be covered in warts."

"Frogs can't give you warts," said Kaitou automatically. "That's toads, and it's an old wives' tale."

"Tale or no, it's more than this bastard's life is worth. Besides, I've been in a bad mood lately."

Frog-face rolled white-rimmed eyes at Kaitou.

"Come on, Hiei." Kaitou searched for a lever to pry open Hiei's spirit of mercy. What did Hiei value? "Think of all the times I bought lunch."

Hiei brightened. "Hey, I could go for some now."

"It's on me." Kaitou found himself silently pleading with Hiei to relent. "What do you say?"

"I say I've never tried frog sashimi." Hiei looked Frog-face up and down as though deciding which part to sample first.

"Dude," sputtered Frog-face. "No way, please, just---!"

"I don't think you'd care for it," Kaitou said hastily.

"Hey, I'm helping him die with dignity."

Kaitou blinked. Who is this guy anyway? The Hiei of game arcades and bad movie nights---or is that a pose, and this sadist the real thing? Maybe first impressions are true after all. When Hiei slaughtered that beast in the park, I tagged him a killer. "Let Koenma do his job," Kaitou urged.

"The Brat-King's overworked as it is. He'll thank me."

Frog-face squeezed his eyes shut. A fat tear rolled down his slimy cheek. He slumped, appeared to give up, appeared to be awaiting execution. The sight moved Kaitou to further pity.

"Just run him in, okay?" Kaitou asked. "As a favor to me?"

The coat smoldered. Far off, a horn blared.

"Please?" Kaitou repeated.

"Well," Hiei gave a long sigh. "Maybe just this once."

Opening his eyes, Frog-face cast Kaitou a grateful look. "You are a prince among humans."

"Killjoy," muttered Hiei.

0-0-0-0-0

Frog-face was gone. A ferry girl named Ayame, tall and dignified, had come to take him to Koenma for arraignment.

It was, Hiei explained, a Felony One for a demon without a Green Card to wander the human realm. As for attempted mugging, not to mention assault with deadly weapon...

Additional arm-twisting on Hiei's part had loosened Frog-face's tongue. He admitted to a penchant for cutting his victims. This sort of habit was frowned upon by Reikai.

Still shaky, Kaitou was in want of an atmosphere that did not reek of frog and worse, trying to assess whether he'd taken any damage beyond bruised knees. Hiei had called a cab, but none would come to this neighborhood.

Kaitou headed north toward the cross-street. He badly wanted to go home, his real home, not the empty new apartment. But Mother would take one look at him and realize something was wrong. He refused to drag his parents into this mess, refused to endanger them that way.

"Oh, hey, Yuu." Hiei fell into step beside him. "Forgot to mention. You're dead."

"Every cloud has its silver lining."

"You should've cast your Territory."

"We've been through this." Kaitou scraped the sole of his shoe along the pavement in a vain attempt to clean it of whatever foul substance had soiled it in the first place.

"And what the hell did you step in?" Hiei sniffed the air, pulled a face.

"It wasn't roses." The damp night pressed close, reminding Kaitou that he had worked up a sweat and now had a chill. Relief, gratitude, unease, and scorn warred within him. Once again Hiei had gotten between Kaitou and danger. Once again Kaitou had frozen at a critical moment.

Hiei broke in on Kaitou's thoughts, in a distinctly admiring tone. "Well done, though."

"Well done?" Kaitou stopped, puzzled. "I don't follow."

"I let Froggy loose, and my reputation's shot. This way it seems like you talked me into going easy on him."

"Huh?"

"The way you picked up on my cues!" Hiei's eyes glinted with enthusiasm. "I've never seen anyone play Good Cop to my Bad Cop so seamlessly without a single practice run."

Kaitou gaped at Hiei, appalled. There were a thousand things he wanted to blurt at that moment, none of them kind. In the end he rejected them all. "I wasn't playing," he said, then, stalked off toward the main road.

0-0-0-0-0

The Millennium had arrived, and the world was still turning.

A month after his attempted mugging by a frog-demon, Kaitou Yuu had not only a new apartment, but a new paper.

On a bright afternoon in January, he paused in his writing to take a well-deserved break, padded to the kitchen in stocking feet. Though he'd had to jettison the shoes he wore the night of Frog-face's attack, his knees no longer hurt with each step.

The kitchen was separated from the living room by a counter that provided seating for casual diners, the only sort Kaitou could presently accommodate. A bank loan took care of both paper and apartment, but not furnishings.

As for the paper, The Weekly Roundup had been acquired from a former colleague at the Kyodo Daily. It contained more generic material than Kaitou would have seen fit to include: soft news, restaurant reviews, and a Best Bargains section, in addition to his usual analysis of the arts and literature.

For whatever reason, Kaitou's name on the masthead had boosted circulation. Best of all, The Roundup's office was located in the coveted Mango Building on Shoto Street. Another view from on high, another goal achieved.

So why am I not happy?

Kaitou opened a kitchen cabinet, took out a box of teabags, then glanced back at the cavernous living space.

The old red sideboard, green wicker armchair and worn desk from Scene and Sequel seemed at odds with the sparkling chrome-and-glass coffee table and black leather sectional left by the previous tenants. The contrast between old and shabby, new and sleek, spoke of discord, set Kaitou on edge in some subtle way. The place deserved better than this mismatch, and he wanted it to look just right.

A mug received both tap water and the teabag, then went in the microwave. Mother would be horrified at these short-cuts. Perhaps Kaitou was not as self-sufficient as he liked to think.

The living room alone was probably larger than the Kaitou's entire apartment. Down the hall lay bedrooms and baths. Such a space could easily house a married couple, even with a little boy. Even if the boy was not his own.

Sliding glass doors led to a balcony overlooking Youyougi Kouen, ensuring that Kaitou could see the park at night. The view helped relieve his sense of confinement; he had abandoned walking the streets at night.

As the mug revolved in the microwave, his thoughts spun with it, recalling the past few years. Am I in over my head? Too much empty space, too many new responsibilities, too many loose ends? He thought about the monster in the park. The dandelion cat. Frog-Face. Stig Stigmarsson. The Silver Moon stranger. Something's happening here. Some pattern, some menace I can't yet put my finger on.

The microwave dinged, snapping Kaitou out of his uneasy reverie. He brought the steaming mug back to his desk, adjacent to the sliding doors. Though the desk still faced a wall, there was now a vista to compete for his attention.

Leaving the tea to cool, Kaitou went to gaze upon this vista, as if by looking, he might scrape up the courage to ask Miss Michiko the crucial question.

He glanced at the phone in the kitchen. Maybe he should call her. Maybe she would call him. Maybe he would lose himself again in daydreaming, safe in his own home.

Sliding the doors open, Kaitou let a cool breeze caress his face. Clouds laced the powder-blue sky. In acquiring both newspaper and apartment, he had attained many of his goals. The year 2000 might prove a turning point in more ways than one.

And it was good to get a reprieve from Hiei telling him every five minutes how dead he was.

Time is what I need. Time to figure out my next move. Time and solitude.

Kaitou was savoring this solitude when a black missile hurtled through the open doors, almost grazing his shoulder. It landed with a crash that shook the floor.

"KYAAAA!" Kaitou leapt backward, just as his brain resolved the black missile into a heap of rags, then the familiar form of Hiei in his mantle, struggling to rise.

Not again!

Hiei glanced up at Kaitou. "Did I come at a bad time?"

"C-can't you use the door like normal people?" Kaitou's heart had not yet caught up to his brain, was trying to slam its way past his rib cage.

Hiei lurched to his feet, clumsy for once, skin grayish and beaded with sweat. As he worked to toe off his shoes, his sword clattered to the floor.

"You all right?" Concern overrode Kaitou's annoyance. "What happened?"

"Landed funny," Hiei gasped. "Usually...call Kurama but ...."

Hiei's eyes rolled up. He toppled, lay boneless and still on the hardwood floor.

Leaving the fallen demon, Kaitou dashed to the kitchen and grabbed the phone.

(To be continued: What's wrong with Hiei?)

-30-