°˖ ✧◝(○ ヮ ○)◜✧˖ °

Kaito let the door close behind him with a gentle click as it shut by its own weight. Sliding off his shoes, he glanced at his watch. Forty-one hours and twelve minutes (that was as far as he was willing to count— only Hakuba and the similarly insane counted more than two time measurements) until he was due at the twenty-fifth annual Artisan Jewelry and Gemstone Cutting Competition of Las Vegas. The best and brightest gems and their owners would be there, showing off to the other top one percent of this arrogant capitalist country. While a few of the present parties were honest people just trying to make a living, Kaito knew at least three of the tycoons were more than innocent businessmen.

"I wonder if it's ready," he wondered aloud, walking into his bedroom. He pulled the door shut behind him and locked it. No disturbances allowed, especially from his mother. She would want to help despite her broken limbs and it would jeopardize the entire operation. Kaito loved his mother, he really did. She was just… enthusiastic about helping Kaito. He was only here so she wouldn't be on the streets. He'd avoided her the past two weeks between shows by occupying himself with pre-heist work. Jetlag did wonders for him—he could keep odd hours to avoid her and she didn't have any reason to assume ill intent.

So maybe Kaito could hold a grudge. So maybe he was still annoyed, frustrated (furious) about the whole Corbeau thing. His mom never brought it up, but they were both smart enough to know that more than one line was crossed. It wasn't like she'd ever talk about it, and he wasn't quite ready to let it go. So, while he brought home the bacon for these three weeks, a thick tension hung over their heads like a guillotine.

After the funeral, the both of them put on Poker Faces, facades. She threw hers up like a brick wall and left the country on a never-ending vacation, pausing her new life of glamour and excitement to talk to her son once in a blue moon. He was still eight at the time. Within a month, he lost both of his parents. It was fine, though. 'Kaa-san left me with my best friend Aoko and her really nice dad. She doesn't have a mom, either, but she knows how to act like one. We're sort of a family, so I'm okay. As long as I wear a Poker Face, my new family is all I need.'

Kaito told himself such things for months until the facade became his reality. Eventually, he grew up and grew independent, distancing himself from the Nakamoris. By the time Kaito had grown comfortably into a lack of feelings, Nakamori finally realized that maybe Kaito had needed a therapist. Kaito humored him and went for three weeks before his therapist called Nakamori to say that Kaito was fine, nothing was wrong.

When Kaito overheard, it was a mixture of disappointment and sick satisfaction. Satisfied that his Poker Face could fool trained professionals, disappointed that suddenly no one could help the eight year old that nearly a decade ago just needed a hug or a mom or someone who could love him wholly and get him help, that the boy had grown up repairing himself with duct tape and glue sticks when he needed welding and soldering.

It wasn't like the current Kaito was still broken. No, not at all. He functioned well and Kaito KID provided the outlet he'd needed for years. He was okay now. There was no need for extensive repair on a mildly dysfunctional piece of machinery. But when someone like Corbeau smashed through the makeshift fortifications it took him years to build up, Kaito fell back to that therapist's office four years ago- holding up his Poker Face like a shield with all his might, something deep inside him begging for someone, anyone to see through the act.

(No one ever did. He was too good for his own good.)

From beneath his bed, Kaito pulled out a large duffel bag. Inside it lay his KID suit and glider along with all the bells and whistles nestled within his pockets (a lot of sleeping gas smoke bombs) (and glitter glue bombs) (and hair dye, specially made for these Americans) (ugly pastels, pale and insufferable just like them). This heist would be a simple in-and-out, so he had a few sparklers and party poppers rigged to explode at all the right points during the show. The last piece he needed for his heist would be coming in tonight from Jii (airmail delivered by a friend), so there was little more for him to do than quintuple-check the plans and backup plans and the backup glider and the crowd control and everything else he knew by heart.

Nakamori and that Haku-bastard didn't get the notice, but the police here in Las Vegas did. The LVMPD kept everything under wraps, so Kaito wasn't sure if those in Japan even knew of his upcoming performance. While it was a tragedy that there was little to no chance of his tantei-kun showing up, Kaito knew his life was easier without a specially trained taskforce and a hawk on his heels.

Once again, Kaito admired the picture of tomorrow night's target. If he was humble enough to say so, he had excellent taste in jewelry. A large, expertly cut gem set in a beautifully crafted frame, sitting elegantly on a glittering gold pin. It was a brooch owned by a southern debutante, Isidora Johansson, brought out for the first time in fourteen years. It was the perfect time to capture this priceless rarity: Monarch of Topaz.

Digging around in his bag, Kaito finally pulled what he'd been looking for. White tennis shoes with a dial on the side and a charging port on the sole. According to Jii, these shoes would take his heist to a whole new level. Kaito was sure he'd need it. In a place like Las Vegas, he had to prove that KID was the best magician around. Besides, Americans liked big and flashy.

"This'll be my greatest show yet." He grinned, plugging in his fun shoes. "Wait until tantei-kun hears about it," said Kaito with glee. "He'll have a fit."

( ゜- ゜)ﾉ彡 (つ･･)つ¤=[]::::::

Jii thought he'd set down the glass of ice cold water quietly, but still the young detective jumped at the sound. Heiji looked at the glass, then at Jii. With a yawn like he'd been napping, Heiji asked, "How long have I been at it?"

Jii smiled. "Just under an hour, Hattori-kun. You seemed like you were nearly done."

Heiji wiped the tired tears from his eyes. "I am. I figured out how her demon thing works with the city's map, so all I gotta do is call Oyaji an' get him ta go there. I'm not positive 'bout the location, though, so I'm tryin' ta work out the kinks. Her body count's up ta five, now, ya know." He took a long drink of water. "Thanks for this, Jii-san."

"It's no problem. I'm happy to help, and your presence here makes this place feel a little less lonely during the day."

"I wish it wasn't always for a case, Jii-san, but it's been the only reason I've been comin' here." Heiji looked down at his drink. "Is there any way I can make it up ta ya?"

"You don't owe me anything," Jii promised. If anything, your presence helps keep botchama on his toes.

Glancing down at Heiji, a black speck on his hat caught Jii's eye. "Hattori-kun, there's a fly on your—" He snatched it off Heiji's hat, and in the next second three very interesting things occurred. One: the fly did not move. Two: Jii caught the fly. Three: the fly was not a fly at all. In fact, it was a listening device.

Upon instinct, Jii crushed the bug beneath his fingers. It crackled and the short-circuiting wires burned his fingers. A little hiss of pain, and Heiji looked up. "Jii-san?"

"It was a bug, not a fly." He grimaced, blew on his burning fingertips.

Heiji tilted his head. "But aren't those the same thing?"

"A bug. A listening device. A tap." Heiji's eyes grew wide as Jii elaborated. "Someone was listening to you while you worked."

A few colorful words escaped Heiji's mouth. He whipped out his phone, scooted out from the bench, and grabbed his crutch. "Thanks, Jii-san. I gotta go. Whoever that was mighta figured out where Hayashi is if they're good 'nough ta bug me."

"Good luck, then, Hattori-kun." Jii ran ahead of Heiji and held open the door. "Don't get yourself into too much trouble."

Heiji nodded as he speed-dialed his dad. "Will do. See ya, Jii-san."

"Hattori-kun." Jii put his hand on Heiji's shoulder. Heiji stopped, his phone halfway to his face, and gave Jii a curious look. "If you need anything, just let me know. Anytime you're in trouble, just come in and ask me for a drink."

Heiji blinked. "I'm still underage-"

"I know. But I've heard about what kind of things you high-school detectives get yourselves into. That Kudou-kun has gone missing, and Hakuba-kun gets himself into all sorts of trouble. I know you're no different when it comes to danger." Heiji shrugged in defeat, and Jii gave him a stern look. "While you may have brains, that doesn't mean you're invincible. Rely on an adult now and again."

Heiji fell silent for three beats, not quite meeting Jii's eyes. "I'll try," he conceded quietly. "I'll see ya later, Jii-san."

As quickly as he could, Heiji ran out the door. Pressing call, he held the phone to his ear. It only rang once.

"Where is she?" No exposition, only expectations. Typical of a Superintendent.

Heiji listed off an address. "It's a book storehouse. Your sweep missed it 'cause it's really just a house that the library Hayashi used ta work at uses off the books."

Heizo grunted. "Even with all my resources-" he growled before cutting himself off. "Never mind that. I'll take care of it from here. Ya need ta go home. No more vigilantism. Understand?"

"I hear ya loud an' clear, Oyaji, but she's got eight more targets. It's this girl who went ta the library where—"

"Where Hayashi worked. The girl's parents are targets as well. We know."

"Ya do? Great, can ya—"

"We found the girl's mother around midnight last night. The father was found eight hours later. Thanks to the location of the bodies, we found the girl's body before noon."

Heiji was silent for a moment, a lump forming in his throat. "Have ya found anyone else? Eight outta thirteen should be 'nough ta do it."

"Nothing yet, and we won't find anymore. Hayashi will be captured and her prisoners rescued. We'll find 'em, Heiji."

Taking the gag from her face, Cachaça admired his handiwork. The bruises on his plaything's body were already beginning to form, perfectly sculpted to look like the products of rebellion from the prisoners in the other room. While he so very much wanted to let her bleed out painfully and loudly and so entertainingly, Cachaça knew time was not on his side. So, he had to make do.

Hayashi coughed as she got a full breath of air in her lungs. she couldn't scream, of course. He'd damaged her vocal chords with a swift baseball bat to the throat. He knew he had to wait until that bruise fully formed before he could kill her. Perimortem bruises were always more clearly defined, and that would point to a baseball bat rather than the metal pipe that had one of the prisoner's fingerprints on it.

Hayashi hissed at him, trying to form words. Dropping the gag at his feet, Cachaça picked up the water bottle next to her and opened it. He let her struggle to make a sound, her face twisted in a beautifully hysterical frustration as he dissolved a single pill into the water. Dropping to a crouch, he gazed fondly at her. "Oh, what was that, little bird? Did you say something? No, I guess you didn't." He fiercely grabbed her chin and made her look at him. "Are you really the one who called herself a devil? Honestly, you're nothing."

Hayashi tried to snap at his fingers, but he jerked his hand away and slapped her. "Don't do that," he continued in that sickeningly soft, gentle voice. "This little crow right here might get mad and knock your teeth out. See, I haven't gotten to kill anyone in a long time." Her eyes went wide with fear, and she yanked her head away from his grasp. With an animalistic growl, Cachaça grabbed her head again, his nails digging into her chin. "And you can't imagine what I want to do to you."

Holding the water to her lips, he commanded, "Drink." Hayashi took in a mouthful of water before trying to spit it back in his face. To her dismay, Cachaça was too fast. He clamped a hand over her mouth and shook his head. "Drinking involves swallowing, little bird. Do it."

Tears of frustration pouring down her cheeks, Hayashi swallowed the poisoned water. Cringing at it went down, she coughed and tried to spit it back out. In an instant, Cachaça had the gag on her again. From his boots, he drew out a long knife.

With a little laugh, Cachaça took the woman's hands, tied together with a knot only she could have done, and put them firmly under his own on the knife handle. Hayashi struggled again. "What was that, little bird? They're going to catch me? I think not. I am above leaving evidence. The fibers on any one of my clothes match at least one of your victims' clothing. I learned how to not leave footprints when I was four. And as for my fingerprints?"

Firmly keeping her hands on the knife handle with one of his hands, he held up the other for her to see. "Burned off the fingerpads with acid this morning. What, did you really think I'd come after you unprepared?" He clicked his tongue. "Just for that, I think I'll treat myself to a little more fun." On the last word, he pressed the knife into her chest, pricking the skin beneath her shirt. He cackled, grinning maniacally.

Hayashi's breathing quickened to the point of hyperventilating. She watched in horror as he once again put both hands over her own and centered the knife over her chest. "We're going to play a little game, you and I. That water was infused with an untraceable poison. We're going to see what kills you first.

"Sherry's masterpiece, or me."

Moments later, Cachaça led two people from the building: Kajiwara Maho and Hayashida Akira, Hayashi Chika's high school friends. Soon after college, the two of them fell into an economical pit and had to resort to some.. drastic measures to get by. A man in Black offered them a job doing simple reconnaissance work, and the two, engaged and hoping to marry, had no choice but to accept. While only minor members of the Organization, they were still a problem.

"Who are you? Where are you taking us?" asked Akira, walking just ahead of his fiancée.

"I am Cachaça. I am a high ranking member of our shared employment."

Instantly, Maho assumed the worst. "You're not going to kill us, are you? Like you did to Chika?" she asked, fear plainly evident in her voice. She hid a little more behind Akira.

"It wasn't our fault Hayashi-chan got us. She caught us off-guard. We didn't even know she was out of jail yet," said Akira defensively.

"No, no, you misunderstand me. What happened to Hayashi-san will not happen to you," soothed Cachaça. "It would be a great hindrance to our employers if the police did a background check on you. I'm here to prevent that from happening."

"So you're taking us home?" Akira asked, warily eyeing this man in black.

Cachaça shook his head. "Not quite yet. You need to go somewhere where the police won't be able to find you for a short while. And then I promise you will be taken home. It is imperative that our employers clean up any loose ends. As soon as I can prove that you two are not a liability, you'll be free."

The two behind him relaxed. "Thank you for your help, Cachaça-san," offered Maho. "My apologies for this paranoid hunk." She lovingly nudged Akira.

"No need," Cachaça laughed. He wondered idly which one of them would scream louder as they burned.

To his surprise, it turned out to be Akira. The man had quite the set of vocal chords. Cachaça would've been jealous, but then again, Akira was dead.