Well, hello! I didn't think I'd be back so soon between chapters, but here I am... and, this time, I've brought a guest: jojoDO! Dude's been my biggest cheerleader as of late, and when he came to me with an idea to team up for a Seclusion short, well, I loved the idea so much that we just took it and ran with it. So, make sure you say hello to him and thank him for his service on this!
Onward~!
Mary Ryan was enjoying some downtime, heading to the local Target to pick up some basic essentials: more toothpaste, so she could quit trying to elbow-drop her near empty tube, a jumbo bag of Purina for her dog, Anton, some more of the nice flour tortillas that she liked to put leftover chicken in… and she decided to swing for a gift for Terry. It wasn't much, but he loved Hungry Man frozen dinners. Made him feel "manly", she guessed. So handsome, so simple-minded, he was.
Of course, she would have to call him to figure out the best way to deliver said gift, as the pandemic was still in full swing, and, even though she had seen her bestie in person exactly three times, she was without child. Terry, on the other hand, had Rock, so dropping in on him unexpectedly was a no-go.
But she would deal with all of that later.
Eventually, as Mary continued to shop, curiosity got the better of her, and she decided to go seek out something there was no way they'd have in stock. The increasingly forbidden realm of highly sought-after items: antibacterial wet wipes, disinfectant spray — things of that nature. Simple human commodities that had suddenly been ripped from an easy grasp, and, as a result, were now arguably just as valuable as diamonds.
"Guess it wouldn't hurt," Mary muttered to herself as she rolled her shopping cart over to the aisle (jokingly referred to as "No Man's Land") in pursuit of something as simple as Lysol disinfectant spray. She didn't want anything fancy, like pomegranate-scented crap… just the most basic canister would suit her. She didn't expect to come across anything useful; it was more like one of those playful, harmless curiosities. Something like a scratch-off ticket, or maybe a name entry in a contest. The kind of low-expectation fun that could never really hurt a person…
When she reached the aisle in question, her jaw actually dropped under her mask. Laid out in a shimmering metallic row, rays of light from the ceiling above bouncing off of them...
She could almost hear a choir of angels harmonizing.
"No way…!"
She approached the shelf, thoroughly eyeing the wares. In all its glory, the Target in Southtown had Lysol disinfectant spray. Even crazier was how the shelf didn't seem even halfway cleaned out! Sure, there were some notable gaps, but Mary couldn't even see to the back of the display.
Before testing fate and simply reaching out to grab one, Mary carefully scanned her surroundings: no personnel in sight to scold her. However, there was one obvious moderative structure in place to prevent one asshole from filling two buggies full of the stuff:
ONE PER CUSTOMER
"Figures," Mary chuckled to herself.
It put her in an awkward position though, as she had a dilemma on who to actually get it for. She could please herself, of course… or Terry, especially with him having Rock. She could get it for King, the platonic lady-love of her life, who would assuredly pass it on to her cuntbag aunt and uncle, for Jean's sake.
...So who? Who, who, who?
As Mary stood there, mulling it over, she started to realize the potential delicacy of the situation. It was then that she saw a man casually approach the shelf, take one and —
...Wait. Didn't she see him exit the store as she walked past the registers a few minutes ago?
"That guy was already in the checkout," Mary murmured to herself, distinctly remembering that black-haired gentleman with a beard and a gray t-shirt, with two loaded plastic bags. Only now, he was wearing a red cap, a brown jacket, and had changed his gray shirt to blue. Of course, the average employee at a retail store wasn't sharp or insightful enough to notice those details, but Blue Mary Ryan was a professional. It wouldn't get past her on her worst day.
"Some people…"
Mary rolled her eyes as she insulted him quietly. She chalked it up to one shameless and cheeky individual trying to work the system, took her own Lysol with the intention to continue with her errands.
…But that was when she witnessed a second familiar, which made her get a little suspicious.
"What…?"
This time it was a woman:
Distinct big nose, pale white skin, brown hair, black earrings. She was wearing a black Nirvana shirt and jeans. Mary swore she saw this exact same woman — pale skin and all — walking through the parking lot with a full cart as Mary was coming in. But she had been sporting purple earrings, sunglasses, a white hoodie, and a red tank top instead of the t-shirt she was currently wearing.
Mary officially kicked into Detective Mode: one instance of this happening could be written off, but there was no way two people in the exact same timespan were deciding to be crafty dicks at Target. What were the odds that different strangers had the same idea of coming in, undoubtedly grabbing Lysol, exiting, changing clothes… it was too much to be a coincidence.
The detective had no intention of letting this go. Her curiosity was already well-piqued, her hunger for justice insatiable… and she had literally no plans for the day beyond frumping on the couch and watching reruns of The Office on Netflix.
Thus began what was probably the first ever "Target Stakeout" in Southtown, as Mary Ryan was all-too content to bide her time inside the superstore, watching, waiting, anticipating the arrival of the next person to come and grab a can of the coveted aerosol.
"Bingo."
Mary whispered softly as she saw her next mark approach: a middle-aged looking man, barely any hair on his head, with a thick red beard. White collared shirt with blue stripes. Denim shorts. Sandals.
She casually — but carefully — focused on the individual, as he did as the others had: approached the Lysol, grabbed one to add to his semi-full cart, and proceeded to the checkout.
She whipped out her phone, scrolling to the clock tool: she pressed the "stopwatch" icon.
"And… mark!"
The minutes went by. One… two… three… maybe she had missed him? Maybe he'd already made his first trip? No… because why would he buy more groceries the second time? Unless he was trying to look really believable, by dividing his shopping list...
Finally, Mary stopped pondering to herself and let out a relaxed sigh; she hadn't missed him at all. Five minutes, forty-six seconds it took, before the exact same man came down the aisle again. Middle-aged. Thick red beard. Gray hoodie, with a blue shirt under. Jeans. Sneakers. A hat to cover his mostly-bald head. Sunglasses to hide his eyes.
"Who the hell is he fooling…?"
Mary asked that rhetorical question out loud, as she knew precisely who he was fooling: the poor minimum-wage cashiers working the registers, the bulk of them probably still in high school. But more importantly, this was the third instance of this happening since Mary had been there. A scam was going on… no, maybe even bigger. This was some kind of… Lysol heist?
Mary decided to go for the kill. She made sure she fell in behind the man in the checkout, a daring move to boldly flock to his same register. He probably wasn't aware that she was monitoring him; at worst, he might have spotted her, stopped to ogle her for a moment (he seemed like the type, plus, even with her chin-length hair in a tiny ponytail and her star-covered face mask, she was a sexy bitch), but he was probably just a feeble-minded guy, looking ahead two feet in front of him, seeking personal gratification. There was no way he'd take time out of his day to worry about who might be investigating him. He must have thought nobody cared enough to try and stop him.
Suffice it to say, he underestimated Blue Mary Ryan on a day she was bored and wanted some Lysol.
She followed him out into the parking lot, carrying her own limited supply of groceries in her arms, before veering off to get to her own vehicle. She unlocked her door as quickly as possible and stuffed her things in, making sure she kept the man in her rear-view mirror. She was looking for something — something! A lead, a bread crumb — a sign that this was part of some greater picture than just three assholes coincidentally trying to scam Target. She wanted something big. She wanted some validation for all this potentially wasted time.
...That's when she finally saw something red hot.
The man had pocketed his Lysol can, shut the door to his vehicle, and walked away, looking around carefully.
"Oh no you don't!"
Mary sprang into action. Pursuing fiercely behind him, she trailed just enough that he didn't notice her following him. She stayed glued to him as he rounded a corner behind the store, near what appeared to be the dumpsters, and a wide-open lot where the employees parked their cardboard bales.
Mary's mouth parted when she saw what was going down.
"What the hell…?!"
A dark red pickup truck was parked out back, its motor still running. And in the back… a stack of blue and white metallic cans like nothing Mary could have imagined. They occupied every square inch of the surface — but the height was something Mary couldn't believe: they were stacked all the way up, level with the roof! Only a crudely-placed blanket was draped over, attempting to conceal all of it, but anyone with eyes could make out just how far the cans went. It was like mountains of gold bullion, and in this troubling time… Lysol was worth just that.
Mary's next thought was to deduce who — who — in their deranged mind, possessed the lunacy, the audacity, the shamelessness to pull something as deplorable and unforgivable as —
...Oh.
"Hey, nice job my guy."
His maniacal voice couldn't be mistaken, as he snatched the Lysol can from the man's hand and slipped him some cash.
"Like I promised, double the price you paid for it. And since you got me two, a nice lil' bonus."
"Thanks, man!" The swindler happily expressed as he ran off with a few extra dirty bucks in his pocket.
Mary was officially done. Her eyes grew narrow, her lips drooped… a scowl appeared on her face that could only be described as "stink", as a frustrated exhale spilled out of her nostrils.
No more caution. No more discretion. She stomped up to the man in question: a towering guy, dressed in a working-class black suit, with a light blue undershirt. A black neck tie rested on his chest, and a pair of sunglasses obscured his eyes. The most amusing (in the worst possible way) feature of the man's wardrobe was the black pork pie hat resting on his head. Even with all the extra bits and bobbles, Mary knew who he was… and he knew her as well, as evidenced by the way his face twisted when he saw her.
"Umm.. c-can I help you ma'am?" He tried pathetically to play it off, acting like he didn't know her.
Southtown PD's Mary Ryan ripped off her mask (which she stuffed in her pocket), her freckled face with the inability to give less fucks.
"Put your hands behind your back."
A sheepish grin, followed by some nervous chuckles.
"Ehehehehehe! C-c'mon Blue, why you gotta do me like that? You gonna arrest me?"
"I'm not arresting you," Mary spoke sharply as she snatched the large man's arm, spun him around, and pressed him against his own truck. "I'm detaining you."
With a loud click the handcuffs locked tight on his wrists, and Ryuji Yamazaki was officially at her mercy.
"So," Mary said after a brief pause as her captive turned to face her, "You wanna tell me what all of this is?"
Yamazaki shrugged, already testing her patience with a flashing of his pearly whites.
"What? It's Lysol disinfectant spray, of course. Kills 99.9% of bacteria on surfaces in your home."
"You know that's not what I meant!"
A sharp puff from his nostrils.
"Fine, fine. You wanna hear my big, villainous scheme? Want me to break out in monologue? Fine. I've been driving this truck all over the southern states, paying people to nab me cans of the good stuff. Then I'm taking it across the border... where I'll get muy bueno pesos for my highly-sought inventory. There. Ya squeezed it out of me."
Mary stared up at the man in front of her, brow furrowed, in complete disbelief over what he just told her.
"Un...believable…!"
Yamazaki felt his shoulders start to shrink a little.
"I know, I know... not my finest moment. Look, I'm sorry, Ryan. I'm a degenerate. I love cash. Believe it or not, I take jobs in all countries. Got bank accounts everywhere, too. I'm just tryna keep 'em filled."
"You? A degenerate?" Mary drew back in an exaggerated motion and clutched the star pendant around her neck. "You don't say! You know this is a new low. Right?"
Yamazaki's smile finally faded completely.
"A new low? Oh c'mon! It's not like the people here... need Lysol. I mean, shit. I'm not taking people's money, or food, or denying them medical care. In fact, you know what? It's probably a good thing I'm taking these spoiled, entitled peoples' Lysol away. Maybe they should learn what it's like to live without their precious concessions."
"As if they haven't already?!" Mary exclaimed. "This stuff hasn't been on store shelves since this whole thing began!"
"Well, even better that I take away what little you do get, then. Less temptation, less fighting that way. Blue, I've seen two old ladies in South Carolina beat each other with walking sticks for a roll of fucking Charmin. Americans are assholes! Hell, just look at what I did today: my little 'social experiment' showed more than a few true colors."
Mary frowned because, honestly, Yamazaki was sort of right. In her experience, people — not just Americans — were kind of shitty...
"I mean... I get that," she stated slowly, "but there are plenty of people out there who aren't assholes! Like me! Or Terry, or..."
"Pfff. So?" Yamazaki sneered. "I'm not talking about individual people — I'm talking about a statistic. So, what, you and your people should get Lysol? Thinking of a few and not everybody. Nooooooooooot the thinking of a cop, Blue."
"What would you know about the thinking of a cop?" Mary asked as her eyes narrowed.
Yamazaki let out a cackle, despite the uncomfortable position of his shackled wrists.
"Know thy enemy, Blue. I've been dodgin' cops long enough to know 'em in and out. Even you, beautifully complex as you can be at times, don't surprise me at all other times. Like… now. Hehehehe."
"What the hell does that mean?"
"Means you're just a fascinating little cookie, Blue. Lysol Hero to the masses... avenger who goes beyond the law, and makes bad people pay in blood. Hehe! If everyone was like you, the world would be a much more interesting place. HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
Mary frowned and abruptly fixed her eyes elsewhere. As much as she wanted to offer some kind of rebuttal, there was something in Yamazaki's words that quieted her. After an extended silence, a devious smirk crossed his lips.
"So where do we go from here? Gonna take me in for the Lysol scam of the century? Or maybe you want to just punish me right here? What's it gonna be, Officer Gray?"
"I feel like your use of the word 'gray' is meant to get a rise out of me," Mary said casually, "but you've got another thing coming, Ryuji. I'm not gonna be rattled by the words of someone like you. And especially not while you're wearing that stupid hat!"
Yamazaki pouted upon hearing those last two words.
"Oh, now you've done it. Police brutality!"
"You wish," Mary replied with a roll of her eyes as she reached over, turned Yamazaki around once more and, much to his surprise, inserted her key back into the handcuffs. She removed the steel bonds and placed them in her back pocket.
Meanwhile, Yamazaki opted to resume his position against the truck, gently massaging his wrists as he did so.
"Gee, thanks Blue. Now I can leg it! Gimme a head start?"
Mary let out a disinterested puff.
"You're not going anywhere except the driver's seat of this truck. You're gonna get in, and you're gonna do exactly as I say."
Yamazaki's eyebrows raised.
"Which is?"
Mary pointed outwards, to the distance, to nobody in particular.
"You're gonna drive through the town, and you're gonna give one can of Lysol to every single resident, until this entire truck is empty. I don't care how big of assholes we Americans are. You're a bit of an asshole too, Ryuji… so next time, look in a mirror before you try to pass judgement."
"Well, who the hell is gonna reimburse me for all those people I paid?" Yamazaki whined.
"I suggest you chalk this up as a financial loss and move on — while I'm still in a good mood."
"...This is you in a good mood?"
So Blue Mary's adventure at Target ended in an unexpected manner: with her ultimately doing a good deed for the collective population of the place she called home. In some weird, twisted way, she was happy she stumbled upon Yamazaki doing a dirty job; it ended up paying off… for some people at least. The people she cared about most. Cop or not… everyone had that.
Yamazaki never let up, the entire ride. Mary was honestly shocked; after all this — after what they had gone through together. It felt slightly weird, being on opposite sides... but it served as a healthy reminder of the maniac's unpredictability: he could be a friend to her one minute, a dastard the next.
And, thankfully, he was smart enough not to dare go against her or her loved ones. If that day ever came, he'd have a nasty, fifty-three million volt present waiting for him.
Notes!
* The narration about Mary seeing her bestie "exactly three times" is, of course, referring to King, whom she saw in person in A Subdued Celebration, Karma Police, and Pep Talk.
* Rock Howard is still a child in this timeline. Not sorry.
* Illyverse Southtown is in SoCal (I've gone over this previously), and heavily based off of San Diego, which is only a short drive to the US/Mexican border.
* When Yamazaki mentions Mary going beyond the law, he's referring to the events of Karma Police. Go read it. And say hi to jojo.
* The fifty-three million volt present is, of course, Mary's stun gun (ViperTek VTS-989).
And, with that, I'm out. Hope you've all been enjoying these! Cheers~!