I don't own Magic Kaito, and the inspiration for this fic was sto - I mean ... borrrowed from a comic, the name of which I can't remember.


CostumeSpace

Kaitou Kid was being pursued.

He dodged down the street, between pedestrians and cars, fire hydrants and street signs. Behind him, police whistled madly, Nakamori-keibu howled imprecatorily, and sirens wailed distantly. As for the pedestrians, for the most part they contented themselves with staring suprisedly at the improbable white figure that danced in their midst.

Kaito was in his element. He was also, not unnaturally, full of adrenaline, and was beginning to think that he should do this more often, if only for the fun of leading large numbers of hurly-burly policemen in an undignified game of follow-the-leader. The situation was amusing at the least; and he loved it. He bowed politely as he scampered around bag-laden housewives; he eluded large men who were obviously considering heroics (and the large price on Kid's head); he cartwheeled across cross-walks; he even held a door open for a very slow old lady with a walker and then sped off again when his pursuers had gotten within twenty feet of him.

However, they say that all good things come to an end - and Kaito had a test the next morning, which he needed to be awake to take. Gradually he increased the distance between himself and his pursuers, leading them into a more populated area where he could change clothes and blend in with the crowd.

Five minutes had passed before he was far enough ahead that turning a corner would give him near twenty seconds before the foremost of the police could see him. Another five passed before he found a city block that had a dark, narrow alley near a corner. By then the sirens were getting closer, and he thought he could hear helicopters. It was time to end the pursuit.

Kaitou Kid ducked under a looming construction worker, leapt onto and then down from a bus-stop, and whisked himself around the corner in a burst of pink smoke that distracted the pedestrians on the new street long enough for him to dodge into the alley and begin his transformation from Kaitou Kid, the most wanted thief in Japan, into Kuroba Kaito, perfectly normal, average, definitely-not-a-phantom-thief highschooler. In five seconds the sole inhabitant of the alley was a rather grubby, tousle-headed teenaged boy holding a pile of immaculate white clothing, perched on top of which was his white top hat and a monocle.

Now came the tricky part.

Or rather, the part that bothered Kaito. It wasn't really that hard - as a matter of fact, it required almost no effort at all. That was why it bothered him: it was too easy. But Kaito didn't like losing suits, and leaving a suit behind, however carefully hidden, meant losing it. If it wasn't the police, it was the fans, and he wasn't sure which was worse. He couldn't take them with him because of the chance that the police would barricade the street and search everyone. He had no choice but to use the strange object (or lack of one) which presented itself every time he had something on his hands that he needed to get rid of quickly. Still, though he had never yet lost a suit to the thing (they always appeared in his father's secret room the next morning) he couldn't shake a feeling of doubt. It was such a strange thing to happen - what if this time it didn't?

An eternity that lasted approximately five seconds passed, and then - there!

Level with Kaito's head, and about two feet in front of him, a pinprick of utter blackness appeared in the semi-dark gloom of the alley and began to grow into a perfect circle of nothingness. The alley seemed to grow dimmer and quieter and stiller and colder as the circle expanded until it was nearly three feet across. Then it stopped and hung in the air - no; "hung" is the wrong word; it simply was - or wasn't - depending on how you looked at it.

But Kaito was used to it; he merely gave a sigh of relief and hastily tossed his burden into the void, where it vanished instantly. Whistling cheerfully, hands in pockets, Kaito left the alley. He paused momentarily to listen to the click the circle made as it vanished, and then walked unconcernedly in the direction from which he had come, through a host of milling policemen. Nakamori-keibu had gone from howling to screaming punctuated with gasps for air, and was fairly dancing with rage as he demanded that everyone within six miles be held for questioning.

Kaito grinned. "Good old plotholes," he murmured.

Finis


A/N
: I read a comic once where the characters needed to go somewhere, so they took a plothole. It seemed like a very good idea to me (it took less time, it was funny, and of course they didn't have to buy gas for it) and so I thought that a plothole would also be a good place to store things, as long as you're sure you can get them back, of course.

This story has been sitting in my "On Hold" folder for a long, long time. Since around the time I started the fifth story for Melange, I think. You get it now because the next chapter of The Empty House is going to be very, very late, unless I suddenly start writing more than two paragraphs a day.

Of course, thank-yous and cookies all around for my reviewers.

Ja ne!