Nabiki - Dark Justice
Chapter III - Complications
Twisting under her sheets, Nabiki slept, her mind awash with images she desperately wished to forget. Her rumpled covers and bedclothes, both soaked in sweat despite autumn's chill that crept in through her open window were signs of the futility of her wish.
Over and over, she heard the muffle 'phut' of the silenced pistol as the back of Toshi's head blew out in a reddish gray mist, and all she could do was crouch there, out of sigh behind that damn dumpster, helpless to stop it. The granite shore of her icy calm was being worn down by waves of guilt, fear and doubt, and soon there would be nothing to protect her from the world around here, soon her soul would be laid bare.
Then the image shifted to the fight itself, the rush of power from the hood, the feeling of flesh and bone giving way beneath her fists and feet, the heady smell of cordite in the air, then the blood... Blood on her hands, on her shoes and spattered on her clothes as well. Here the demons of guilt and self loathing came out to play, telling her how bad of a person she truly was. Nabiki the killer, Nabiki the unfeeling bitch who lied to the cops with a straight face not 2 hours after her friend was shot right in front of her. All of her emotions, all of her demons were seeing to it that she paid for her sins in her own private little hell.
Yet through all of this, there was a point of light, an area of calm and control, Something that offered peace to her troubled soul. All she had to do was claim it, use it, make it her own and all would be well... For a while.
Reaching out, she embraced the light, clinging to it as a drowning man will cling to anything that will keep him afloat.
On the edge of awareness, Nabiki thrust her hand into her pillowcase, closing it instinctively on the scrap of black fabric hidden within. Pulling the hood over her head, she felt its icy calm embrace her, liberating her from her demons for yet another night.
Standing, she slipped out of her bedclothes tossing them aside as she allowd the chiil night air caress her naked flesh. Then, slowly and deliberately, she dressed herself in silk clothing that she had 'borrowed' from Ranma as it allowed her more freedom of movement. Once properly attired, she slipped from her window to the roof and from there off into the night. The hood had a price for the calm it granted her... Now it was time to hunt.
From his room in the attic of the Tendo Dojo, a wrinkled old man paused in his ironing to watch the hooded figure leave, and frowned in confusion. While he could feel the chi of Soun's middle daughter, he could also sense the presence of others around her, chi ghosts of a sort, aiding and bolstering her energies with their own. This bore looking into.
Torn momentarily between his curiosity and the pastel blue panties on his ironing board, he finally decided to keep his priorities straight and do what was important. 'Besides' he thought to himself, 'I can always get Saotome to check it out in the morning.' So, with the incident, if not forgotten than at least files away for later reference, he returned his attention to his beloved beauties. "Ahh... My silky darlings..."
-----------------------------------------------
Hidoshi Takamoro was annoyed. No, he was beyond annoyed... He was Royally Pissed.
"What the hell do you mean, his file is gone!? I was told that it had arrived this goddamn morning! Are you telling me that you managed to lose it in less that four fucking hours!!!"
The object of the angry detectives verbal assault, a rather flustered young file clerk at Tokyo General Hospital, chewed her lip a moment before anwering.
"Errm... Not lost sir, destroyed. I shredded them myself a little over an hour ago."
As nervous as she was, the clerk had to bite back a smirk as the rather rude detectives face proceded to turn a rather fascinating shade of purple, the veins on his forehead bulging in time to the pounding of his heart. For just a moment, it seemed as he were going to scream, instead, when he spoke, it was little more than a strangled gasp.
"You... You shredded them!!? What the fuck for!!!"
Bringing herself fully under control, she schooled her features into an inscrutable mask of perfect calm, striving to keep and even tone of voice as she answered.
"In accordance with instructions I recieved from the Prime Ministers office, all information on the American, Wayne Sidmonson, was destroyed and his body turned over to the American Consulate along with all of his personal effects."
The detectives purple face got just a little darker upon hearing this, and his hands began to shake. Forcibly calming himself, Takamoro seethed at the injustice of it all. Finally, he was able to speak in a reasonably calm voice.
"Did they give you any reason for this?"
With only the barest hint of a smirk, the young lady looked Takamoro in the eye. Pausing a second for effect, she delivered her final verbal bitchslap in a sacharinne laced tone.
"I'm sorry detective, that information is classified."
-----------------------------------------
Later that day, the detective had gone from pissed to furious. Every lead he tried to follow on the gaijin came to a dead end. It was as if the man had never existed at all. Worse than that, his only other subject couldent exist at all.
Aside from bruises that were disproportionatly small for the damage inflicted, his only other lead was a smudged partial print on one of the pistols. While useless for ID it did tell him two things. One, he was dealing with either a girl or a small man with feminine hands.. And two, he was dealing with someone who had the presence of mind to wipe down the pistol before leaving it behind.
According to ballistics, the pistol had accounted for four of the Tong trash in that alley three in the head and one through the heart to be exact. Not to mention on crooked cop, also through the heart. However, it also accounted for eight of the rounds in the late Mr. Sidmonson which left an interesting picture. Either subject 'X' was involved in the shooting of the gaijin, which didnt seem right. Or subject 'X' disarmed a trigger happy tong punk, capped him with is own pistol and _then_ proceeded to open a can of whoopass on the rest of the involved parties... Equally as improbable, and yet...
At least he could be sure that the pistol was not Simonsons. The gaijin's preference seemed to go to larger calibers, as was evidenced by the two .50 Desert Eagles found at the scene. 'Not to mention the rather large holes found in a few of those chink gangsters'
So, in the end, that left him with either a girl or a small framed man who moved like Jet Li, punched like Mike Tyson and Shot like Billy the Kid... Yep... Today was going to suck dog balls.
Tbc
Chapter III - Complications
Twisting under her sheets, Nabiki slept, her mind awash with images she desperately wished to forget. Her rumpled covers and bedclothes, both soaked in sweat despite autumn's chill that crept in through her open window were signs of the futility of her wish.
Over and over, she heard the muffle 'phut' of the silenced pistol as the back of Toshi's head blew out in a reddish gray mist, and all she could do was crouch there, out of sigh behind that damn dumpster, helpless to stop it. The granite shore of her icy calm was being worn down by waves of guilt, fear and doubt, and soon there would be nothing to protect her from the world around here, soon her soul would be laid bare.
Then the image shifted to the fight itself, the rush of power from the hood, the feeling of flesh and bone giving way beneath her fists and feet, the heady smell of cordite in the air, then the blood... Blood on her hands, on her shoes and spattered on her clothes as well. Here the demons of guilt and self loathing came out to play, telling her how bad of a person she truly was. Nabiki the killer, Nabiki the unfeeling bitch who lied to the cops with a straight face not 2 hours after her friend was shot right in front of her. All of her emotions, all of her demons were seeing to it that she paid for her sins in her own private little hell.
Yet through all of this, there was a point of light, an area of calm and control, Something that offered peace to her troubled soul. All she had to do was claim it, use it, make it her own and all would be well... For a while.
Reaching out, she embraced the light, clinging to it as a drowning man will cling to anything that will keep him afloat.
On the edge of awareness, Nabiki thrust her hand into her pillowcase, closing it instinctively on the scrap of black fabric hidden within. Pulling the hood over her head, she felt its icy calm embrace her, liberating her from her demons for yet another night.
Standing, she slipped out of her bedclothes tossing them aside as she allowd the chiil night air caress her naked flesh. Then, slowly and deliberately, she dressed herself in silk clothing that she had 'borrowed' from Ranma as it allowed her more freedom of movement. Once properly attired, she slipped from her window to the roof and from there off into the night. The hood had a price for the calm it granted her... Now it was time to hunt.
From his room in the attic of the Tendo Dojo, a wrinkled old man paused in his ironing to watch the hooded figure leave, and frowned in confusion. While he could feel the chi of Soun's middle daughter, he could also sense the presence of others around her, chi ghosts of a sort, aiding and bolstering her energies with their own. This bore looking into.
Torn momentarily between his curiosity and the pastel blue panties on his ironing board, he finally decided to keep his priorities straight and do what was important. 'Besides' he thought to himself, 'I can always get Saotome to check it out in the morning.' So, with the incident, if not forgotten than at least files away for later reference, he returned his attention to his beloved beauties. "Ahh... My silky darlings..."
-----------------------------------------------
Hidoshi Takamoro was annoyed. No, he was beyond annoyed... He was Royally Pissed.
"What the hell do you mean, his file is gone!? I was told that it had arrived this goddamn morning! Are you telling me that you managed to lose it in less that four fucking hours!!!"
The object of the angry detectives verbal assault, a rather flustered young file clerk at Tokyo General Hospital, chewed her lip a moment before anwering.
"Errm... Not lost sir, destroyed. I shredded them myself a little over an hour ago."
As nervous as she was, the clerk had to bite back a smirk as the rather rude detectives face proceded to turn a rather fascinating shade of purple, the veins on his forehead bulging in time to the pounding of his heart. For just a moment, it seemed as he were going to scream, instead, when he spoke, it was little more than a strangled gasp.
"You... You shredded them!!? What the fuck for!!!"
Bringing herself fully under control, she schooled her features into an inscrutable mask of perfect calm, striving to keep and even tone of voice as she answered.
"In accordance with instructions I recieved from the Prime Ministers office, all information on the American, Wayne Sidmonson, was destroyed and his body turned over to the American Consulate along with all of his personal effects."
The detectives purple face got just a little darker upon hearing this, and his hands began to shake. Forcibly calming himself, Takamoro seethed at the injustice of it all. Finally, he was able to speak in a reasonably calm voice.
"Did they give you any reason for this?"
With only the barest hint of a smirk, the young lady looked Takamoro in the eye. Pausing a second for effect, she delivered her final verbal bitchslap in a sacharinne laced tone.
"I'm sorry detective, that information is classified."
-----------------------------------------
Later that day, the detective had gone from pissed to furious. Every lead he tried to follow on the gaijin came to a dead end. It was as if the man had never existed at all. Worse than that, his only other subject couldent exist at all.
Aside from bruises that were disproportionatly small for the damage inflicted, his only other lead was a smudged partial print on one of the pistols. While useless for ID it did tell him two things. One, he was dealing with either a girl or a small man with feminine hands.. And two, he was dealing with someone who had the presence of mind to wipe down the pistol before leaving it behind.
According to ballistics, the pistol had accounted for four of the Tong trash in that alley three in the head and one through the heart to be exact. Not to mention on crooked cop, also through the heart. However, it also accounted for eight of the rounds in the late Mr. Sidmonson which left an interesting picture. Either subject 'X' was involved in the shooting of the gaijin, which didnt seem right. Or subject 'X' disarmed a trigger happy tong punk, capped him with is own pistol and _then_ proceeded to open a can of whoopass on the rest of the involved parties... Equally as improbable, and yet...
At least he could be sure that the pistol was not Simonsons. The gaijin's preference seemed to go to larger calibers, as was evidenced by the two .50 Desert Eagles found at the scene. 'Not to mention the rather large holes found in a few of those chink gangsters'
So, in the end, that left him with either a girl or a small framed man who moved like Jet Li, punched like Mike Tyson and Shot like Billy the Kid... Yep... Today was going to suck dog balls.
Tbc