Yay another chapter! And this one is only L's POV. Cause I know he's who you really wanna see. lol Anywho, enjoy. Review.
After only a few minutes L was certain that American drivers were crazy. In the span of three miles three drivers had cut them off, another had backed into the one ahead of them and several cars stopped in the middle of an intersection to help someone whose car had died half way across. The detective felt a knot tighten in his gut, something he didn't think even sugar would help alleviate. And the taxi driver was like a doctor Jackal mister Hyde. One minute he was apologizing to L and working to get around the obstacles that slowed the increasing traffic, the next he was shouting obscenities at other drivers and smacking his steering wheel.
Needless to say, L's patience was heartily tested as their vehicle made its way towards the docking area along the river. The signal wasn't coming from a boat or on the dock itself, but from one of the many boat warehouses that took in large freighters for maintenance. With a sideways glace out the window, L motioned for the driver to pull over a block or so away. Passing several tackle shops and the entrance to the boat docks, they pulled up in front of a tavern. After giving the man instructions and money for his time, the detective pulled himself haplessly onto the sidewalk.
Exhaust blew out in a heavy cloud as the taxi pulled away from the curb, making L cough despite his attempts to avoid it. With nary a glance at the tavern, not being one to sway at such vices, L took a breath to steady him self before moving on. The air was not all that different from London's, if a little less briny, he noted silently. Hands quickly delved into his pockets as he began to walk casually down the cracked and uneven walkway towards his target. As he walked down the road, he could see glimpses of the wide river between the buildings. It did not look nearly as impressive as England's harbors, nor did it look as clean. The brown tinge was a reminder to the detective of the natural deterrents of being at the end of a river instead of upstream.
Lifting his shadowed eyes, the detective refocused as he neared the warehouse. At five stories high and covered in weather worn, pealing, once blue now grey paint, the warehouse didn't look like it was safe to enter let alone work in. Windows on the upper levels were shattered at odd intervals and piles of metal or wood gathered along its rusting walls. A misshapen and in some places rusty chain link fence lined its border on the streets side with a white sign on the front so old that the letters of the company that owned it had long since faded off. Two large faded green shutter doors rose ten feet high on the side facing the street.
"Those must be where they bring in the smaller boats for repair," the detective wondered softly as he continued walking passed. At least at one time, he thought. It didn't look like it had been used in years. The warehouse was massive enough to take up most of the block, with only one smaller vacant building finishing off the rest on the corner. It had no sign and all the windows were boarded up. As he neared the corner he saw two large moving vans in front of the vacant building. Keeping his eyes lowered, he feigned disinterest as he passed. Nobody came out of the building or the truck as he rounded the corner. The moving vans looked legitimate, but that didn't mean anything if they were rentals.
Continuing on, he happened to spot a small alley that ran back towards the warehouse. Deciding it would be better to have a closer look without going back along the street, he smoothly turned into the crevice and stopped long enough to get his bearings. His heart pounded in his chest and the detective started to feel the beginnings of an adrenaline rush. This was the most involved he had ever been in a case.
Assessing the feeling, he decided he was unsure whether he liked it or not. It wasn't something he could ignore, but it wasn't something he really needed. What he preferred was a cool head to think clearly. Being on the fly like this didn't sit right. Too many things could go wrong. Too many things needing split moment recalculating. He preferred to strategize and find solid solutions rather than improvise. But someone needed his help and that was what he was doing all this for. If he couldn't do this, then what sort of great detective could he ever hope to become? With a nod to him self, L settled his inner debate, including his heart rate, and pressed on.
Trying his best to not make a sound despite the debris, L walked to the end of the alley only to face the chain link as it continued around the building. Looking both ways, he examined the metal for weaknesses or a hole. No such luck, if you didn't include the fire escape he discovered to get inside once he passed this obstacle. Sticking his thumb in his mouth, the detective puzzled over how to proceed. He couldn't just go back, what if the owners of the trucks caught him snooping back here?
"This is harder than it looks on those cop shows," he murmured as he decidedly grabbed the fence and began hoisting himself up. It wasn't easy, and it took him longer than he thought because his baggy shirt caught on the pointed ends at the top. Mourning the new hole in his shirt, he trotted over to the fire escape and carefully began to climb up. The metal steps creaked and the rusted railing fell off in hefty chunks, but he made it to the second floor door in one piece. However, it appeared to be rusted shut so he pressed on higher. Reaching the third floor door had been more luck than skill. Right after he reached the platform, the flight he had been on collapsed onto the platform below. Eyes wider than usual L turned to the door, his hand that reached for the knob shaking only a little. Surprisingly, it opened without much force allowing the detective to enter quietly.
Once inside the detective stood in silence as his eyes adjusted to the near darkness. The light he could make out was shining from down a narrow hallway in a room to the right. Slowly, he made his way closer. Each step was tentative, sliding between fallen roofing and construction materials. Along one wall was a sheet of plastic that shuttered and ruffled to some ghostly feint wind. Senses straining to hear, or see anything, he felt his heart pounding furiously.
Gently, he peaked around the corner to look into the room beyond. What he thought was a doorway to a room in fact was the entrance to the upper level catwalks. As he inched closer for a better look, L could see the large open space that at one time probably held large ships the length of football fields. Now it lay half collapsed under a sinking roof and filled with scraps of metal and the skeletons of a few smaller water crafts.
But what stood out in all the decay was the light. Surrounded by piles of rubble, an area had been cleared and lit with spotlights from the catwalks about twenty yards out and three stories down from L's location. Their beams of light shone down on chains that lay empty. And a circle of cameras focused towards the light.
"No," he murmured softly. He was too late. The auction was over.
Dun dun dunnn! Sorry, uber cliffhanger. Hate me if you must, but love the story anyway. Cause it loves you too. ^'^