A CRIMINAL DESIRE

CHAPTER SEVEN

Memory Burns The Heart


Disclaimer: You think I own Gakuen Alice? No? Well, I disclaim all rights to it anyway, cuz I know you all are a bunch of clever little lawyers in suits.

Note: Hello people! Yes, :3 I'm back. Things were hectic and stuff recently. Law school is SO NOT a piece of cake. I still have pending submissions but I threw it all aside, sneaked out at twelve in the night to the internet center and did me some breaking, entering and hacking till I got my stuff back. :D Okay so I'm kidding about the last part. But can you seriously believe they tried to block porno sites and ended up blocking anything with sensitive content. *cough* no offense torrent sites, you just have some weird adverts.

Onto the story!


Tonight the sunset means so much

The one thing that you know you'll never touch

Like the feeling, the real thing

Gotta reach out for the sweet dream

But somehow the darkness wakes me up

Well I've felt this emptiness before

But all the times that I've been broken

I still run right back for more

-Learn My Lesson by Daughtry


With a flutter of her heart, Mikan thought that he really was too good looking. But his attitude was horrible and she preferred sweet cute guys who drove CARS and didn't INSULT girls, and knocked on the door instead of BREAKING AND ENTERING(!).

She brightened. "You wish," she challenged, breaking into a huge laugh and grinning to herself about how she'd show him up.

Natsume took another spoonful of the chocolate Planets and Stars and chewed silently.

"I need to show you something about your father's death."

And just like that, her heart plummeted.


"Now, onto specifics."

They were in the living room and Hyuuga, well, Natsume, though it felt weird to call him that, had taken out this enchanting little notebook which the brooding handsome private investigator used like in all those mystery detective novels. Only, this was a notebook, as in laptop notebook which unsurprisingly looked like a million bucks.

And then he'd started it up, and proceeded to open some kind of timeline thing. She'd noticed it already had scanned newspaper articles regarding her father and those others pasted here and there like little post-its. "I need you to give me a little background about your father."

"How does that help?" she hesitated. She wanted to tell him, really, but it would bring up so many memories- and she didn't think she wanted to go back to that place. What purpose could it possibly serve?

"I need every little detail. No matter how small, it's all important. It could give us the one hint we may need to find your father's killer. Now," he prompted her, eyes dark and oblique, not demanding, but at the same time expectant.

She sat back on the sofa and hugged a cushion to herself. Well, didn't Hyuuga know how to be persuasive. "Well... he was born in a little fishing village off the coast of Fuji. His family were all really poor. Then one day, he decided he wanted to really follow his dreams and paint so he left for Tokyo. But he didn't get where he wanted to, although he did make good money. So he immigrated and settled down here when he was thirty."

She continued pensively. "I was twelve. He had met my mom in Japan.I really don't know much about her. All I know is that her name was Yuka and she died soon after giving birth to me. My dad's the one who brought me up, mother, father and friend." There was a catch in her voice when she continued, bleak heartbreak written across her face.

Natsume watched her silently, occasionally making notes.

"He painted here and there, and we had just enough money to keep the tax collectors away from our door. This might seem like a sob story to you but there was nothing I enjoyed more than my childhood. He taught me all I know of painting. I am what I am because of him. As I grew up, he became better known and gained a good reputation."

She waved a hand around. "That's how he bought this place. He settled most of his money on it after saving up. Then, around two months ago, he did a painting for the Nishidas. They saw some of his work at some big restaurant which had bought one of his pictures and they offered him a lot of money to paint something for them. I don't really know much more. He kept it really hush-hush. And then, the day he died, he called me just five minutes before he... he said that he'd got a call from them and they wanted a second painting and it would turn our boat around. He sounded happy but also a bit weird- strained, I guess. And then next thing I know this officer turns up on my front door saying I need to go identify a body found in Round Park." She smiled bitterly. "He always hated that place."

Natsume slowly put aside the notebook. "You think the Nishidas were involved?"

She made a helpless gesture. "I don't know. I really don't."

His eyes were dark. "That's some big name calling and you know it. If it turns out they were somehow involved, you're in the biggest danger possible."

"Why do you say that?"

He leaned back and crossed his legs. "How much do you know about them?" His face gave away nothing. He idly flicked at a loose thread next to his thigh as he waited for her to reply.

"Next to nothing. I told you." She frowned at him, not knowing where he was going with it.

"Let me fill in the blanks for you then. The Nishidas came over to America ten years ago. Takeshi Nishida had everything. Big money, big contacts. And so, naturally, big power. Something that not many know though, is that nearly all organized crime in Manhattan is run by him. He has businesses on the right side of the law as well to to make him seem respectable, but most of the money he makes comes from shady underworld dealings. You've got to be careful here. He rules this roost. One wrong step and there's nothing that could help you if he decides he wants to get rid of you. It's a very real danger." He had leaned forward as he said this and his face was dark and grim.

Mikan sat there, shaken.

"Then again," he set the notebook back on his lap. "There's no concrete evidence so it might not have been them either. Let's hope so."

"Mmmn," Mikan agreed silently. But that feeling in her gut didn't go away. Something- she was missing something here.

Natsume turned the laptop so she could see. "You see this?" He pressed a few keys and an enlarged view of a blunt nosed bullet came into view. "One of our technicians in the police force gave me these images. This bullet seems normal, to that policeman investigating your dad's case it is, since our tech substitued another bullet. We've been following this case for a while."

"Yes," he said at her questioning, surprised look. "You father's not the only one. You're right. And Imai had her fingers in this pie well before you came along." He pressed a finger to the screen and dragged it along the illuminant surface. The bullet on screen revolved slowly.

"This is a VLD bullet- stands for very low drag. It's used by snipers and long range gunners. You can see the thin groove-lines called riding bands near the bottom, and that hollow part right there. These bullets can be used in most rifles but they were specifically made for a certain type of rifle. The T-324 to be exact. I won't bore you with more details but its bullet heel is specially fitted for one kind of weapon. Wercharof Rifles."

Natsume looked grim as he glanced over at Mikan's paling face.

"And that's the signature of a Russian arms dealer we have dubious information on. He only supplies to the biggest names at the most outrageous prices, but he does give quality products which his ego apparently demands he make a mark on. His name is Nikolai Vasilivich. His container ship, which to all and sundry carries only furniture, and fittings recently docked here. And within the spate of a few weeks, four people including your dad are dead, and all with these same bullets. Someone rich and powerful wanted them out of the way and got it done. The question now is who and why."

"So he was murdered?"

"No doubt about it." Natsume was dead serious. He pulled the thread free and tossed it away. She stared at where it lay, a thin white strand lost in the beige sea of lush carpeting.

"So what do I do now?"

"You? You stay put. Attract as little attention as possible, which shouldn't be too hard." He smirked but quickly grew sober. "You've given us the case and we'll deal with it now. Just expect a large bill to wind up at your doorstep in time." He was trying to relieve the tension, Mikan realized. In his gruff, utterly insensitive crass manner.

She shook her head. "I don't think so."

"What?" His voice had a dangerous inflex. She tried not to look at him. She would back down if she looked up at him now. She would give in.

"I'm not going to sit back and relax while you get to do the heavy work. I want to be a part of this too. I want to do something."

"You can't."

"I can."

"You can't."

"I will."

"Saku-"

"I want to, ok!" She bit her lip and met his annoyed gaze.

"It'll be dangerous." His mouth thinned, brooking no refusal. "No."

"Yes," she said undaunted. "Or I'll cancel and do all the investigative stuff myself."

"You wouldn't." He actually stood up, towering over her, using his height to intimidate her.

"I would." She raised her chin.

"You'd only get yourself killed," he snapped."Don't be stupid, Sakura. Stop acting like an immature little brat and try to understand this- that you'll only be in the way!"

"No I won't!" She'd tried so hard not to but her vision had become blurry. "He was my dad! I want to be the one to get him justice. I don't want to sit around waiting for you to tell me someone's behind bars. I don't want to while away all my time just, just- I... want -hic-" Her face crumpled. Her shoulders shook. Mikan bit her lip as it wobbled. Dammit, she hadn't meant to start the waterworks. Especially not in front of him. But just thinking about her dad made her feel so utterly useless. Maybe if only she'd told him to hurry back that day. Maybe that dinner couldn't wait. That he should take some rest and come home early. Maybe he would have still been alive.

Natsume sighed.

Mikan suddenly found a large red plaid kerchief thrust in her face. "Don't you dare cry, Polka."

She wiped her eyes. "I'm not crying!" She muttered. I was just-" Her eyes teared up again, and she ignored it resolutely, blinking profusely.

She sat there, shoulders shaking, and occasionally drawing in huge gulps of air.

He muttered a few expletives under his breath.

"Fine."

She stopped sniffling at once. "Fine what?"

"Fine, I'll keep you informed. But you listen to whatever I say and do what ever I tell you to. Understand? This isn't some cheesy spy novel. You get shot," his face went hard and bleak, "you die. Understand?"

She nodded hastily, wiping at her face and smiling wanly up at him.

"Good. I need to go. I work for Imai part-time only, so you can't always reach me through her." He smiled wryly. "If you need me, call this number. I'll get back to you as fast as possible." He stood up, reaching a hand out to her.

She took the offered white card. "Where do you work otherwise?" she asked, curiosity getting the better of her."

"Hyuuga Inc. You might know of it."

She blinked dazedly. Know of it? Who didn't know of the company that manufactured some of the most gorgeous and well performing motorbikes ever?

"Job description?"

He smiled slightly. "Adviser to the company head. My uncle, by the way."

He left, leaving her a lot more dazed than ever. And still clutching his handkerchief. She took a cautious sniff, imagining how stalker like it seemed.

Something nice and spicy. Not too ever the top. Understated, elegant. Just like a Riesland painting. She'd always been a sucker for those.

"Aw hell," she muttered, swiping at her eyes. "I hate him. I detest him. His eyebrows are so sexy. Why?" she whined despairingly, burying her nose in red.

But after a while, she did have to relinquish the fabric and move on.

Thankfully, it was Sunday so she had nothing much planned except some lazy sketching and people watching. She also worked part time at a maid cafe. It was a pity that there anything in a skirt above the knees was considered fair game. She sighed. Her shift was from two to six so she had while before she needed to venture out. Maybe she would just sleep some more. A lot more. It sounded so good.

The door bell rang.

She imagined the shrill screeching to be the sound of her dreams dying. At least they rang, instead of breaking in, she thought morosely.

Getting up slowly, she dragged her feet toward the door. "Coming," she called out. A small interval and then one very surprised Mikan was staring at a very impeccably dressed and poker-faced Takeshi Nishida.

"Oh."

He inclined his head. "Good to see you, Miss. Sakura."

She cocked her head. Why was he here? "Please, come in," she said, mentally running through the last images of the house and deciding it didn't look too bad for him to see. She held the door open wide.

He hesitated. "Thank you," he said after a pause. He followed her inside.

Mikan waved him toward the sofa. "Can I get you anything, Mr. Nishida?"

He shook his head. "No thank you. I am pressed for time." He continued standing. "I would like to know your decision."

That was it then. She still had to tell him him whether she would consider being his protegee. Normally she'd kick anyone's ass who dared call her that but this particular ass was clothed in a very fine, very expensive pair of pants which she'd recently heard from Natsume had been bought by blood money. So no was out of the question. Also this would help her get closer to him, his family, and give her excuses to be places where she shouldn't be, like his home, hanging out with his children, meeting his friends. In short, it would help her find out whether he really was her father's killer.

The eyes never lied. His eyes were all wrong. She didn't trust him.

"Alright." Mikan bowed. "I accept."


Three days passed. It was Wednesday.

Natsume still hadn't called.

She was getting sick of waiting.

If he had any leads, he should share them with her. She'd never been a fan of the 'on need to know basis' thing. She wanted to know everything, dammit. Nishida had payed up like he'd promised and she'd been able to buy the supplies she so desperately needed. She was running low on money; a waitressing job and sketches here and there were enough to cover the costs of living o an extent but not put her through college. Now that those worries were dealt with, she had nothing to occupy her mind with except the case, and therefore Natsume and his apparent inability to use a cellphone.

It wasn't as if she wanted to her from him just for the sake of hearing from him.

Please.

She had more dignity that that.

He had insulted her to her face, rifled through her underwear drawers, (she was so sure of that one even if she didn't have any proof), pretty much tried to intimidate her with his piss poor imitation of a serial rapist (hah, she was just pretending to be scared), eaten all her favorite cereal and then broken into her house god knows how, twice!

But he had the most sexy eyebrows.

And cheekbones.

And eyes.

And she was a completely pathetic fool who kept lying to herself.

Yea, not even going there.

Okay, so maybe he looked great. Like yummy great.

His personality not so much. So really, there was no reason why she should want to hear from him. Except to get more news on her father's case. There was no reason why he should call her either. Was there? So she should just-

It was not like he liked her much anyway, outside of that weird name calling business. He probably did it to every girl he met.

There was a pause as her brain conjured up visions of Natsume in a business suit striding into a lobby and calling out to all the women as he passed by, '"Hey there, Lace! Looking good, cotton! Whoa, grannies, don't run like that! And good morning to you too, strawberries!"'

She stifled a giggle.

She had strawberry panties.

Her face turned puce.

"Oh, I like strawberries too."

Purple.

He had gone through her-

Red.

He had seen her-

"WHY THAT ROTTEN SON OF A-"


A/n: Well I'm back and with a vengeance. Hehehe. You will not believe what I have planned for these people. The long time spent a hermit has been fruitful. I am all-omniscient!

Muse: up. Just shut up and let these people review. You're distracting them.

Clarinda: *"cough* so sorry. Please, do continue and review :D

Yours avowedly

Clarinda