Conversations Among Ghosts
By Ysabet
(I am going to SO get flamed for what I've done to Ran and Sato in this… (author falls over in fits of giggles, then barricades self in room with piles of manga) I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm not. So I won't.)
Part 3: Modus Operandi
It was a dark and stormy night.
*Big surprise THERE,* thought Conan, staring at the falling rain; it made halos around the streetlight above the bus-stop, but he didn't exactly feel like appreciating the effect just then. *WHY,* he asked the raindrops rhetorically, *do murders seem to attract bad weather? I'd swear stormclouds follow homicides like starving puppies sometimes.* The boy wiped at a trickle of cold water that was persisting in running down his cheek and dripping off of his chin.
*I mean, let's think about this. Just how many times have I run across a body outside of a house or apartment or whatever that's been in beautiful, sunny surroundings? Very few, that's how many. It's not like it matters to the victim, I guess, but….. It's either dark, raining, snowing, sleeting, foggy or any combination of the above. And when it IS nice out, the body always seems to be indoors, which is Big Time unfair.* He sneezed, sniffling dismally. *God, I'd love a cup of coffee right now.*
Apparently the gods were listening (and possibly in an apologetic mood), as a sudden, utterly wonderful aroma wafted through the sodden air to make the faux gradeschooler blink and look up. The fall of rain was cut off by the introduction of an umbrella overhead, and a warm Styrofoam cup was suddenly thrust into his cold hands. "Here."
The boy sighed, warming his small fingers and breathing in the coffee-scent with appreciation. "Thanks….. you're a mind-reader, you know that?"
Detective Takagi Wataru snorted briefly, pushing back his tangle of rain-damp hair from his eyes; the young officer shook his head. "I've yet to meet a cop or a detective that didn't start looking for something like coffee or tea sooner or later when they were working on a case; figured you wouldn't be an exception." He hesitated then for a second, eyeing his diminutive companion's size. "Ahh-- You know, I sort of forgot for a minute there about you being… small. Should I have tried to get you something else, like—I don't know, milk or something?"
Conan shot him a distinctly dirty look. "Coffee is *fine*," he said firmly, taking a long swallow.
The officer shrugged apologetically and pulled a rather mangled napkin-wrapped packet from one pocket. "Okay… want a donut?" he offered; the boy accepted the unspoken apology along with the slightly squashed pastry gratefully.
"Where'd you get this stuff, anyway?" he asked, munching; powdered sugar decorated his chin.
The detective nodded up at one of the bus-windows. "The dockworkers—one of 'em had a thermos and some cups, and another one said his wife runs a little stand near the station downtown—she gets a lot of cops as customers." He studied his own doughnut, taking another bite. "Western stuff, mostly— thought he looked familiar; I guess I've seen him when I was picking up breakfast once or twice."
Conan took another deep swig of his coffee and sighed as warmth seeped through his small frame. "Cops and donuts; that's a terrible stereotype, you know….."
The detective just shrugged. "Beats going hungry, right? You did say you wanted something to eat a while back."
The two figures stood just outside of the bus-steps, their backs to the vehicle; if either had turned to look over their shoulders, they would have been able to see the corpse of the bus-driver lying on the floor beside his seat. Some kind soul had covered the man's swollen features with a handkerchief, but otherwise he lay as he had fallen, half-blocking the aisle. The passengers of the bus had gradually sort of clumped together, moving from their scattered seats to form a subdued sort of huddle; their murmur of alarmed conversation was just audible over the continual drumbeat of the rain on the metal roof.
Takagi tilted the umbrella he had borrowed so that the rain guttered itself off behind them both; a steady stream splashed onto the already puddled ground. "So….. murder." The words hung in the damp air, heavy as raindrops and quite as cold.
The boy beside him nodded, swallowing the last of his doughnut. "Definitely. That bee's been dead for quite a while—there's no way it stung that man. He looks like he died of anaphylactic shock, but it wasn't from an innocent insect sting."
The young officer considered, rubbing his rather grimy hands against the warmth of his own cup. "Huh; it had to have happened since we boarded—the guy was fine then. Nobody's gotten off, so whoever administered the poison has to still be on the bus. Makes things a *lot* simpler, really….."
Conan shrugged; "Don't count on it. Whoever planned this went to some trouble if they knew about the driver's allergy—planting that bee was pretty smart. If this had been a regular investigation the bee would've been picked up and bagged with a set of tweezers, and by the time it was examined it would've dried out anyway—even the hole could have been passed off as damage by the tweezers." He ran one hand through his soggy hair in frustration, then smiled a little wryly up at the detective. "Y'know, it's interesting—this is the first time I've had the chance to investigate a case and not had to hide what I was doing from you. It's a hell of a lot easier this way….." He chuckled a little wanly, taking another swallow of coffee. "It's nice to be treated like ME instead of some sort of child prodigy for a change."
The officer eyed him. "Yeah, well, it's sort of nice not to be wondering if you're some sort of mutant, too, you know?" Beside him Conan snorted softly, then went back to his thoughts. For a while there was very little sound but the rain coming down.
Takagi glanced sideways and down at his companion's expression; the boy was frowning a bit, eyes intent on something he was seeing inside that analytical brain of his. The young face was almost uncannily calm, eerily focused in concentration—the rain and chill might be making him miserable, but that was secondary to the puzzle that had set his internal gears in motion. The mystery was the important thing at the moment.
That was not a child's face.
It was times like this that Takagi wondered somewhat shamefacedly if his parents might have dropped him on his head as an infant. HOW the hell had he ever mistaken the figure beside him for a real kid? Kids didn't have expressions like that; kids didn't act so casually around a corpse, or slip under your radar and find clues or give hints or nudge you into thinking about details. Kids didn't drink coffee…..
"Takagi-san? Errrr, Takagi-keiji?" The gruff voice behind him made him jump; he swore internally as he sloshed his own cooling coffee down one sleeve as he turned. "Yes?" The young officer tried not to sound too annoyed as he surreptitiously shook liquid from his fingers.
"You got an ambulance coming? And… when can we go? My wife's gonna have fits if I don't get home soon—" The burly dockworker's stubbled face was beginning to crease a little from irritation, but at least he was being polite. A booming rattle of thunder made both men wince; hurriedly the dockworker pulled his head back into the overhang of the bus. He stared at the oddly still little boy beside the detective, his eyebrows lowering. "Hey, kid—why don't you come inside, anyway? You're gonna catch a cold out there….." His words trailed off as the boy turned to look at him, and he frowned even more. "Is that *coffee* you're drinking, kid? Hey, what're you doing, giving a kid coffee?" The man leveled an accusatory glare at Takagi, making him huddle guiltily deeper into his soaked jacket.
Before he could reply a small, slightly sulky voice piped up beside him; he jumped slightly. "It's mostly milk….. and it's hot, too….. My niichan said to drink it so I'd stay warm." From the corner of his eye the detective saw one child-sized hand slide surreptitiously over the top of the cup to hide the dark and distinctly non-milklike contents; Takagi swallowed, trying to force a good poker face to the front. The little-boy voice next to him continued, becoming more cheerful. "Besides, it's good—and ALL the cops down at the Police Station drink it, don't they? Right, niichan?"
Takagi winced again internally, shifting the umbrella a little. "Uhhhh, right. You'll make a good cop someday… otochan." Calling Conan/Kudo his younger brother made him feel distinctly unsettled, but he managed a hopeful smile for the dockworker. "The kid follows me everywhere, you know—? Can't shake him, no matter what I do….."
The man still eyed them both a bit doubtfully, but he nodded and grinned a little back at last. "Yeah, I know what you mean—got a couple of little brothers myself. They always try and imitate their own niichan." He chuckled, backing up the steps. "So, kid: you wanna be a cop someday?"
The boy shrugged, some of the little-boy cuteness fading from his face as if washed away by the rain. "I guess….. Just let me grow up first; then we'll see what I become." He dropped his gaze, staring into his coffee from beneath his bangs and swirling the dregs a little; the no-longer steaming liquid reflected his face in miniature, dark blue eyes mere ovals of black against the pallor of his face.
Takagi forced back a small shiver not born of the damp; the sadness and irony in the words wasn't for everyone to hear or understand, but he was aware of it. *'Just let me grow up first'….. Poor guy.* He hesitated for a moment, then dropped a hand lightly on the boy's shoulder. "Let's go back in, hmm, Conan-kun?"
The slight, childish form was still for a second or two; then it shook itself as if surfacing from something unpleasant and the young face tilted up towards his again, regarding him quietly. "Okay…" He lagged behind just a little, following Takagi back up the stairs; as he hoisted himself up from the asphalt, the detective thought he heard him mutter "… and thanks…" very softly. The officer nodded briefly to himself. *You're welcome, Kudo.*
***********************************************
***crackle-pop!*** ***fzzt!!*** "—vehicles in the vicinity of the Hikaru and Tsubaki intersection, please respond--- All vehicles in the vicinity of the Hikaru and Tsubaki intersection, please respond—" ***fzzt-pop!!***
Detective Sato Miwako sighed and reached for the squadcar's microphone. "Sato here…. I'm pretty close to Hikaru and Tsubaki— Situation, please?" Beside her Mouri Ran frowned, shifting impatiently in her seat and trying for the umpteenth time to tug her skirt a little lower.
The radio sizzled and chattered with static; the bad weather was playing merry hell with communications tonight, apparently.
***zzzzzztzzt!!!*** "Code 813, Takoya's Service Station— a silent alarm signal has been received--" The rest of the sentence sputtered into crackling incoherency. Sato thumped the radio with one knuckle, then grumbled a little and broadcasted her affirmative; she pulled the car over onto the median and turned around, heading back the way they had come.
"Code 813?" inquired Ran as politely as possible; she really wanted to get home before somebody saw her in her current state of dishevelment.
"Burglary call," answered Sato, rubbing tiredly at her eyes. "I really hate to have to drag you along on this, but if I'm the closest officer I have to answer." She shrugged. "It'll probably be nothing… and this should be a one-squadcar stop, so nobody'll see us….."
The detective's daughter grimaced in relief, then yawned a little; what with psycho bombers, flat tires, attempted robberies and impromptu showers of food, this had been the longest day in the world. *Well, at least I don't have to worry about Conan-kun; he's safe with Detective Takagi,* she reminded herself, brushing a damp strand of hair back from her eyes. *He DEFINITELY doesn't need to see me dressed like this— Of course, he's just an innocent little kid; it wouldn't mean anything to him, but he'd be curious and ask embarrassing questions…..*
*Now, if it were Shinichi who was going to see me, on the other hand…..* She blushed a little as her mind veered off on a slightly wicked tangent. *I wonder if Sato-kun feels that way about Takagi seeing her?* She suppressed a smile, glancing sideways at her lingerie-clad companion; it wasn't like Ran was *blind*, after all…..
….. though both Takagi and Sato were, apparently…..
It was a good number of kilometers back to the service station, and Ran must have fallen into a light doze during most of the trip; the next thing she knew was the splash of the squadcar's tires through deep puddles as they pulled into the streetlight-lit parking lot. She yawned again, blinking out at the rain. "Sato-kun? Should I stay here or--?"
The officer shook her head firmly. "Stay in the car. I really don't think this will take very long—enough time has passed since the alarm went off that any self-respecting burglar should practically be in Hokkaido by now." She slid out the door, making a face as her sandals splashed down into a deep, cold puddle; for both of the two young women their shoes were the only remaining traces of their regular wardrobes.
Ran sighed, closing her eyes once more. The rain beat down on the roof of the vehicle, a soothing, steady thrum; it was enough to lull even the most ragged of nerves into quietude….. God, but this had been a horrible day. The whole thing with Conan being stuck in the elevator—she hadn't even known about that until after it was over. And then there was the attempted bombing of her school….. Why, she wondered drowsily, hadn't she known about her possible impending doom until afterwards? No, that was silly; it wasn't like psychotic bombers tended to make appointments with you to blow you to smithereens---
She yawned again; her breathing deepened as she dozed. Outside, the rain continued to fall.
Ran's overtired mind was in the process of setting up a rather disturbing dream in which she was taking calls from Shinichi's enemies at her father's office ("Moshi moshi….. Oh, Mr. Moriya? Of course I remember you, sir, you're that nice architect who tried to blow us up on Shinichi's birthday…. 3 p.m. on Tuesday? Let me check….. No, I'm sorry, you'll have to try to kill Shinichi some other time, he's booked with Hideki the Mad Poisoner of Okinawa then, and I believe the rest of the day is taken as well—we're so busy at this time of year! The holidays, you know….. How about Wednesday morning? Yes, that'll be fine….. We'll be expecting you, see you then. Jaa ne!") when Sato opened the door and slid back inside. "Mmph??" The teenager shook the unpleasant fog of dream-traces from her mind as she hastily sat up. "Is everything alright?"
Sato was frowning, a deeply perplexed expression on her face; absently she fingered her camisole-strap, running one fingernail along the satin. "Not… exactly. No, not *quite* all right….."
The teenager struggled to shake herself awake; no good, she was still so sleepy….. "Uhm, what's wrong?"
Silently the detective displayed a soggy, dripping item—it appeared to be a billfold, much the worse for wear. Flipping it open with a spray of droplets she tilted it so the plasticized driver's license inside caught the dim light: Wataru, Takagi. Ran blinked.
Takagi? Her brain just wasn't *working* yet. "What--?"
Sato stared down at the muddy leather wallet; she folded it closed, then leaned over to carefully place it in the glove compartment, shutting the hatch with a sharp snap! "It was lying on the ground behind the station, right next to the back door….. The door was open—that's what triggered the alarm—but I didn't see any signs of forcible entry." The detective's brows were drawn down in concentration and worry.
Ran was awake now; she turned to stare out at the station as if it could tell her tales. "Did you see—was there anything else??" *Conan? Are you alright? Please be alright!!*
"No….." Sato also stared at the station, a crinkle of worry between her eyes. "Now why would his wallet be lying there?" She started the car, a grim look in her eyes. "The last place we saw Takagi and Conan-kun was at the cemetery—that's right down the road. Why don't we pay a little visit?"
Ten minutes later they had found Takagi's old clunker of a car; the pooling oil that washed the gravel beneath the vehicle glittered blackly in Sato's flashlight beam, telling its own tale. "Well….. I guess that explains why they went to the service station," muttered the officer, glaring irritably at the ground; only the tightening of her fists betrayed the worry accompanying her irritation. Of course, it didn't help matters that both she and Ran had managed to decorate their shoes with black, oily stains; their personal aromas of soy-sauce and kimchee now had a new, automotive note. "They must have hoofed it to the station and found the place closed—"
"--- and then what?" Ran scowled, kicking a clump of mud from one shoe-sole; it landed with a dull splash! in a nearby oily puddle. After a second her eyes widened. "The bus-stop? I remember seeing a bus just ahead of us after we left the restaurant….."
Detective Sato rolled her eyes. "Assuming Takagi-kun had enough sense and change in his pockets to hop a bus, they should be back in town by now. I don't think we need to worry about them too much at this point….."
She turned to stomp back towards the car; an echoing roll of thunder rumbled overhead like God's own bowling alley—the rain was worsening-- and Ran caught a faint mutter from the other woman under the hiss of falling water:
"--- stupid man, if he'd just stay in one place long enough--- I need to *talk* to him, dammit---"
The girl hid a smile, wiping cold droplets from her cheek that her umbrella had not caught. Without another word she followed her companion back to the car.
As they drove away from the cemetery, lightning crackled theatrically overhead; Ran shivered, tugging her short jacket closer around her shoulders (not that it did much good, considering that damp satin is a chilly thing to wear). "So….. now what? Shall we head home?"
Sato shrugged. "Sounds like a good idea to me….." Her tone turned a little irritable as she continued. "Maybe if we're lucky we can catch up with Takagi and Conan-kun….. they're probably down at the station house right now, drinking something nice and hot." She sighed, and the sound had a certain wistfulness to it.
Outside the squadcar the city limits were beginning—a rather unsavory area, full of bars and late-night clubs. Ran had seldom been in this part of the city other than just passing through; she shivered again, glad to be inside and safe. After a moment, a thought made her eye the detective beside her a little speculatively, one eyebrow quirked up. "Are you sure you want Takagi-kun to see you dressed like that? Won't he be shocked?" she teased, allowing her amusement to show in her voice.
Her companion hesitated; a flush stole across her face and her ears grew pink. "He's my partner," she said firmly (if a little hastily); "We've done a lot of undercover work—he's seen me in similar outfits before when we were cleaning up a prostitution ring, only they were more… tacky than this is." The detective's eyes sparkled a little with something other than embarrassment then, and she opened her mouth to continue, turning even pinker. "Truth to tell, Ran-kun….. I've….. well, I've been thinking about— that is….. Takagi-kun, he's, ahhh……" Her blush deepened and she struggled for words.
The teenager's ears all but perked up. "Yes, Sato-kun?" she asked, trying to be casual. *Go for it, Sato-kun! It's about time!* Internally she danced with glee.
"Ummm….. Ran-kun? I know you're a lot younger than I am, but….. from another female perspective… what do you think of Takagi-kun?" The detective's slender fingers tightened on the steering wheel and she stared fixedly at the road before her.
Ran twitched slightly, fighting down the impulse to start applauding enthusiastically; she was beginning to think like Sonoko. "I think he's… well, he's really cute, especially when he blushes—" (she watched Sato blush a little herself) "--and he's smart, and I don't believe he's capable of lying at all, and I think—"
***BLAMMM!!! Flop-flop-flop-flop-flop…..***
"—I think we've just blown a tire. Again….."
With a snarl of frustration and a few choice profanities that would have greatly surprised her partner, Detective Sato Miwako steered the wavering squadcar to the side of the road; water, mud and scraps of paper splashed across the sidewalk as it came to rest in a noisome puddle. She leaned forward as the engine cut off, thumping her forehead on the steering wheel in frustration—somehow it seemed to convey exactly just how she felt, so she did it again a few times and would have continued except for Ran's intervention.
"Wonderful. WONDERFUL. And we've USED the spare; Somebody just shoot me now." Sato groaned and slumped in her seat, rubbing at her forehead. "Did I ever mention that I really hate driving in the rain?"
Mouri Ran gave her a wan smile, tucking away the cursewords into her memory for potential future use; considering how the evening was going, cursing was a definite possibility. "Well, good… since it doesn't look like we're going to be driving anywhere at all after this….."
The officer growled, glaring out through the rain-streaked windows at the unsavory neighborhood around them. Bars, unlit buildings, derelict alleys awash with floating garbage, street debris and worse things….. *What a wonderful place to break down. @#$%@#$&!!!*
Her eyes flickered to her radio and she paused, thinking aloud. "If I call somebody from the station, they'll come out to fix the tire or pick us up….. but they'll also see us… and personally, I'd rather take my chances with the locals. At least they don't know us." She winced, thinking of the gossip that would be floating around work if she was caught in her current outfit (and GOD FORBID that anybody had a camera handy…)
Beside her Ran shuddered. The dark streets were unprepossessing in the extreme, and the rain was still coming down in gusts; all things considered, though….. She pictured her father's face when she arrived home in her new 'wardrobe'; while it was *almost* worth it, just to see the look on his face (she was seventeen, after all, and beginning to get a little tired of being considered his Little Girl), she really didn't like the thought of dealing with the cardiac arrest that would probably follow. Mouri was a real pain when he was sick.
"Well….." she thought hard, biting her lip. "Do you know any place around here that'd be safe for us to wait while we call a taxi? This doesn't exactly look like the best neighborhood in Japan, but-- If we can get a taxi we could go back to your place, and if you don't mind my borrowing your shower and some clothes—"
Sato almost smiled. "Ran-kun, you're a genius. Let's see, safe places, safe places—not too many of those in this neighborhood, not for a pair of women dressed like….. like….."
"Oh. Women. Right!" She suddenly sat up straight, a peculiar look crossing her face.
"We could… I don't know, though, Mouri-san might murder me….. of course, if he never found out about it….." The dim flicker of a sputtering streetlight overhead glittered in her eyes. "Ran-kun?"
*That tone of voice…* "--What?" Ran was beginning to get a little nervous.
"There's *ONE* place around here where we could go that I can absolutely guarantee we won't be, ahhh, molested at…" said Sato slowly. "It's not exactly….. If Mouri-san EVER finds out we went there my life won't be worth a ten-yen piece, I can promise you. But we'll be safe, we could probably get some hot coffee there—AND we can use the phone to get that taxi." She sighed in frustration, rubbing at her eyes. "I can't believe I'm even considering this….."
Ran looked out at the dark, dangerous neighborhood; any port in a storm and all that, though she was beginning to wonder why the idea was making Sato-san sound so tentative. "It sounds good to me. What is it, a café or something? Is it far?"
Sato grabbed up her umbrella, opening the door; there was a disgusting, chilly splash! as she stepped out into the ankle-deep puddle that surrounded the car. "A couple of blocks or so. And no-- not a café. Not exactly….. It's, well, sort of a bar— Takagi and I went there a month or so back to pick up a witness. The Blue Oyster."
Ran's eyes widened. "A… bar?"
Sato avoided her eyes. "A rather specialized type of bar, yes." She paused a second, kicking a scrap of soggy something-better-left-unidentified from her shoe. "And, err, Ran-kun?"
Her companion shivered and did her best to avoid her own half of the puddle with no success; much bigger and it would have qualified as a lake. She muttered one of Sato's cursewords as she sloshed her way towards the haven of the umbrella; it sounded good. Many more evenings like this and she could get *used* to cursing. "Hm? What?"
"If any of the guys inside are wearing anything a bit… unusual… don't say anything about it, okay? Other than 'nice dress,' maybe….."
***********************************************
The rain was coming down in sheets now; Conan looked up at the sky through the bus windows, wondering silently which god he had offended. He had always considered the term "it's pouring outside" to be pure semantics, but it really *did* look as if somebody had just taken a bottomless bucket and just upended it over Tokyo. He could hardly even see the street—
For want of anything better to do, he turned to watch Takagi as he wrote the last of his notes down in his slightly soggy Occurance Book: position of the body, positive indicators of death, names and phone numbers of witnesses, their accounts of what they had seen—all the minutiae of a murder. One of the few benefits of being child-sized all over again was the lack of paperwork one had to fill out; he didn't envy Takagi the pile that would be waiting for him when he got back to the stationhouse.
The detective tucked his pen back into the wire spiral that topped the notebook, glancing up at the last of his witnesses (the girl with the CD player, now badly damaged). She sulked back into her seat, somewhat disgruntled that she wouldn't be allowed to leave. Conan couldn't see why, not unless she was planning to swim for it—at least the inside of the bus was warm and dry.
*Some people are never satisfied. Maybe it's her present company that's making her want to leave, though…* He spared a brief glance for the chilling body on the floor; it lay sprawled in the absolute stillness of the dead, an object, no longer a person—hard to believe that the silent form had been upright and driving a bus less than two hours before. That was death for you.
*Or, of course, maybe she's the murderer. SOMEbody killed that guy--*
He had to remember that; the dead man had once been alive and breathing. It was so easy to forget that little fact once the person was dead—the human mind shied away from thinking of a corpse as a former living thing. It was so much simpler, so much more comforting to think of a victim as "the body".
A grunt and the sproing of cushion-springs beside him announced Takagi's weary drop onto the bus seat. "All finished?" said the boy softly.
The officer grunted in affirmative, running a tired hand through his hair and making it stand even more on end. "Yeah. Not much to go on—nobody on the bus knew the driver well, most of 'em weren't regulars except for the dockworkers, no reported past records or anything like that." His boyish face was beginning to show his fatigue; the bus hadn't been full by any means, but there had been enough passengers to make the last little while a fairly miserable, if routine and boring, time. "I still can't figure out why the hell anybody would try to make the driver's death look like a medical reaction to a beesting—I mean, that's not a normal kind of death; it'd draw attention right away….."
Conan frowned, chewing on his lip; he tugged his glasses off and turned them over in his fingers a time or two absently, closing the frames and allowing the streetlights outside to reflect in smeary orange blazes across each lens. "Maybe… because it would draw attention…" he said slowly; "If the death was obviously attributable to an odd but visible cause, no-one would think to look any further. The only reason I noticed anything odd about that bee was because I touched it and felt how stiff it was—well, that and the weather; if today had been sunny….." He left the sentence unfinished; if the day had been sunny, the chance of a bee flying into the vehicle and stinging the driver would have been considerably greater, and the chances of the murder being thought a simple death by happenstance would have also increased.
His companion nodded gloomily. "Yeah; makes sense." He tilted his head back, shoving his straggling hair away from his forehead with one ink-stained hand. "Okay….. so the murderer has to be one of the people on the bus. " Takagi hesitated, shooting the boy a sideways glance. "Ah—did you notice anything odd about anybody? I know you well enough by now to know you've been thinking about it… and that's even if you were really a little kid. You'd still be thinking about it."
Conan snorted, but the sound held little amusement. "Yeah, well….. There were one or two oddities, actually." He paused, twisting a bit in his seat until he was kneeling on the cushion and able to peer over the back at the rest of the bus's occupants, who were for the most part either sitting silently or deeply involved in worried conversation. Keeping his voice low, the boy continued…
"First off, I wouldn't count too much on the truth of some of what your witnesses said; for instance, the 'no past record' bit….. Did you get a look at all of the dockworker's hands?" Takagi frowned, thinking hard; he shook his head. "The one who passed me this jacket had ballpoint-ink tattoos on the backs—old gang symbols, I think, the kinds you get in prison. From what I understand they used to be seen only in America, but they seem to be making their way over here… He seemed like a pretty nice guy, but—well. And then there's that factory worker, the white-collar type—you know, the nervous one. Didn't you notice? He's hiding something….."
As a matter of fact, Takagi had noticed, and he had a pretty good idea what the man's little secret was. "Yeah, well… the fact that he's wearing a wedding ring *and* smelling of cheap perfume sort of gave him away, especially after he told me where he lives and that he'd been 'visiting friends on his way home from work'. Sounds like he's got a mistress socked away between the factory and the front door somewhere….."
The boy raised one eyebrow. "Yeah, well, the fact that he's got lipstick-stains on the back of one of his hands where he wiped it off was a dead giveaway as well. But—the things that puzzle me the most are the shoes."
*Shoes? Kudo, you notice the weirdest things.* "Whose shoes?"
Conan hesitated, frowning slightly for a moment. "It may be nothing… this stems from something I noticed once when I was waiting in a doctor's office. The old woman, the one that the driver helped up the stairs—her shoes aren't her shoes. That is, they aren't the shoes of someone who uses a walker, anyway." The boy slumped down a little, sitting on his heels and gripping the back of the seat; the frown deepened. "A person who uses something to help them walk tends to slide their feet forward… their weight shifts differently, and the scuff-marks on their shoes are generally on the toes. Also, there's a distinctive scuff-pattern that walkers leave on the outer edge of a shoe from when the rubber stop on the walker's bottom bumps against them….. but these shoes have none of those. In fact," he said, warming to the subject, "they look like shoes worn on perfectly normal feet."
Takagi blinked. "Couldn't they be—I don't know, new shoes? Or maybe someone gave them to the woman?" He involuntarily glanced over one shoulder towards the couple, who were sitting a little ways back with their heads together in conversation. The old woman looked a little pale, as did her companion; the young detective caught an uneasy expression flitting over the man's lined face as his eyes momentarily flashed up and met Takagi's.
*Looks a little worried, doesn't he? Well, cops make a lot of people nervous. Just because somebody looks upset doesn't mean he's a murderer.* Then again… the murderer was somebody on the bus…..
Beside him the small figure shook his head, still deep in thought. "They aren't new; the wear patterns are pretty clear. And there's a mend on the left outer side that's fairly clumsily done, definitely a home-made job—I can't see anybody giving them away with that much damage on them." He shook his head again, then looked up at the older man with those two-knowing eyes. "One more oddity: the walker."
"What about it? And when did you get such a close look at their shoes, anyway?"
The boy looked a little smug. "While you were taking statements I dropped one of these" (he fished out a marble from one pocket, displaying it triumphantly) "so that it rolled down the aisle. I crawled along the floor under the seats to get it back—and I took a look at just about everybody's pants, skirt-hems and shoes."
Takagi eyed him with amusement. "I guess that accounts for the black marks on your pants….." He had noticed the long, dirty scuffs running from knee to ankle on the faux gradeschooler's legs (not to mention the rather filthy palms) with tired resignation—the boy was beginning to look like something somebody had used to scrub toilets with.
Conan shrugged, apparently uncaring. "I'm a kid—we're washable."
*Oh, thanks a lot, Kudo; Ran-kun, basically, is going to KILL me when she sees you. She's a detective's daughter and a karate champ—I'll bet she knows plenty of ways….. Heh… guess I could always blurt out his secret in self-defense—then she'd go after *him* instead….. Idiot; don't even THINK that, Takagi, not even as a joke.*
Unaware of his companion's thoughts, the smaller of the two detectives continued, still kneeling on the seat; he peered down the aisle, cocking his head a little sideways as he watched their fellow passengers. "As for the walker—there's something weird about the marks on the handles. The grips are very worn, they haven't been replaced in quite a while… but the woman isn't grasping them where the marks are. I noticed that when she passed us by, that she was holding it a little awkwardly."
The officer scowled, trying to remember… The driver had stepped out to assist the old woman up and then moved aside to allow her and the old man to pass; she had stopped to rest for a moment against the side of the driver's seat while her companion paid the fare.
There had been something else….. Oh, right; the driver had looked at the pair sort of oddly-- Takagi had thought he seemed almost startled for a second or two. He said as much to the boy, who nodded soberly. "It might not be anything, but….. Let's face it, we're stuck on a bus in limited light in a rainstorm; even small clues are good things right now. The only reason I could see people's shoes and pants-legs at all was because you turned on the main overhead light—"
Takagi scowled to himself, thinking hard; the detective's boyish face was rather grim, and he pulled his notebook back out to read what he had written down earlier. "Family name Yamashii, Ne and Tora. Kind of unusual names-- Ne's the woman, age sixty-eight; her brother, Tora is… huh; same birthdate. We've got a pair of geriatric twins here. She looks older than him, though….."
"She is. They both look older than they are….." The soft, childish voice was oddly distant, and the young officer frowned down at the top of the small head. *Now how the Hell do you know who was born first, Kudo?—or are you just guessing?*
He continued down the page, grimacing at his own hard-to-read scrawl. "Let's see….. they usually get off three stops down the bus-route from here—said they were visiting some friends. Same address, not too bad a district if a little shabby….. the brother's employed at the Beika Institute of Agriculture as a part-time handyman, semi-retired. The sister keeps house for the two of them—has for years, from what she says." Takagi scratched at his head.
"And their other sibling?"
The detective shot him a sideways glance, shaking his head. "They didn't mention having another brother or sister. Why?" In response the boy just grunted. Takagi resisted a sudden irritable urge to shake him by the shoulders, trying to keep in mind that it would be a hell of a lot easier to work together if he didn't maim his co-investigator. *But the little twerp can get so damned close-mouthed sometimes… What's going on inside that altered skull of yours, Conan… Kudo? What have you thought of?*
*What have I missed?*
"Ummm… yo? Detective?" Takagi jumped slightly, then swiveled around in his seat. The worried, somewhat gruff voice belonged to one of the dockworkers (the ones with the tattoos? He tried surreptitiously to get a glimpse of the man's hands) , who was currently sort of gesturing at him with something that looked vaguely like a cellphone, only smaller. "Looks like maybe we can get through now—told my wife what happened, and she's gonna try'n call an ambulance. You wanna try for a squad car—and maybe another bus, so's we can all go home?" The scruffy face looked hopeful.
A burst of relief shot through the young detective; right now the idea of contacting his stationhouse sounded wonderful; he stuffed his notebook back into his pocket. "You managed to get through? I tried the other guy's phone earlier, couldn't do a thing—" Takagi nodded towards the nervous-looking whitecollar worker a little ways down the aisle, who sat staring disconsolately out the window.
The dockworker shrugged; the strong aroma of dead fish floated through the damp air as he scratched at his bristles with the dirty nails of one hand. "Cheap low-budget junk—probably not even web-enabled; he shoulda gone for something with more oomph to it." The man passed over a surprisingly intricate-looking little device, flipping up an antenna and unfolding this and that as he laid it in Takagi's palm. "You press this, pick non-text—unless you wanna surf the Net—and dial in."
click-click... blip-beep-bideep-blip-beepbeep-bi-deep-blip…zhszhszhszhsshssshhh…. "Tokyo Metro— how may I direct your call?"
Takagi sighed happily, a relieved grin spreading across his face. Contact at last; he felt rather like expressing his gratitude, but he suspected that the police dispatcher would be a little taken aback by kissing noises over the line. His voice still squeaked a bit, however, as he put through a call for any available unit in the area---
……"I'm sorry, Detective Takagi, no response—we're having trouble with communications---" *zzhshshz*crackle*zzzzzhzhzh**** "Let me try again---" He could hear the dispatcher's voice fade distantly against the heavy static of the call as she moved away from the receiver.
*Oh please….* The young officer found himself fingering his lucky notebook with his free hand. *Come ON--*
Beside him the little boy continued to stare down the aisle, still kneeling on his seat; behind the smeared glasses dark blue eyes narrowed in concentration. Ignoring the man beside him (who was too deeply involved in clutching the cellphone like a lifeline to pay much attention anyway), he slowly slid down from his place onto the floor and slipped into the aisle. Few of the passengers paid much attention; the elderly couple that had been sitting near them had moved to the back and were attempting to engage the other senior citizens in conversation (without much luck, apparently), the girl with the headphones was scowling and attempting rather glumly to tape her cracked device's case with some band-aids she had produced from somewhere, and the three gaijin teenagers were once more discussing the idea of visiting a shrine. The one with the sketch-pad (who was still busily involved in sketching the crime-scene) seemed a little doubtful, but it looked like she and her friend were finally caving in to their more enthusiastic companion's suggestions.
Moving unobtrusively, Conan stepped carefully around the corpse on the floor. There wasn't too much to be gained from examining the body again—primary rigor mortis looked to have already begun in the facial, neck and upper torso region. *At least establishing time of death won't be a problem with this one,* he thought absently as he slipped past to the area of the driver's seat.
*Now… if the bee didn't sting him, what did? He does show a small laceration and definite capillary flush on his upper back – so SOMETHING was injected. That's why he jumped a bit when he sat down. So…. The next thing is to find the medium used to carry the venom or poison or whatever--* He fished out one of the soggy, much-the-worse-for-wear tissues that he had used earlier to wipe his hands and face; there wasn't much left of them, but they'd work. Gently the boy began to sweep the thin bits of paper across the seat, moving from the top down; just as he reached the seam that ran across the cushion at an adult's shoulder level, he felt it snag. *There.* Conan felt a very Shinichi-ish smirk of triumph cross his face and he instinctively ducked his head; it wouldn't do for anybody to notice. "Takagi? Takagi-keiji?" he called out softly.
Behind him he heard the low-voiced and rather frustrated-sounding phone call come to an end; apparently a squad car would be arriving when one became available. Takagi's irritable grunt was clearly audible as he snapped the cellphone closed, passing it back to its burly owner with a nod of thanks. "What— where are y-- Oh; didn't realize you were up there." There was a shuffle of footsteps as the detective approached, but Conan kept his attention fixed on the tiny, tiny point that he could see projecting from the smallest of slits in the cushion. "What'd you find?"
"Take a look—have you got tweezers on you? It's sharp—"
Silently the young officer pulled out a small wallet from an inner pocket; standard-issue among detectives, it contained such things as plastic evidence bags, labels, rubber gloves, the afore-mentioned tweezers….. He frowned at the cushion as the dim overhead light reflected off of something very, very small….
….. rather like the point of a pin. Or a needle.
It was a bit longer than it looked at first, though still quite small-- perhaps four centimeters; gentle probing with the tweezers pulled it from its hiding place in the cushion and the two investigators stared down at their find. It *was* a needle, a fairly thick one, and examination of the sharp end showed a hollow channel running through it. The majority of the needle was encased in a sort of flat rubber bubble, no larger than a thumbnail; it had been compressed a bit—it sprang back into its normal shape when removed from the cushion. A tiny stain of something dark at the protruding tip (which stuck out barely a centimeter) would undoubtedly prove later to be the bus-driver's blood.
Conan frowned down at the item in Takagi's rubber-gloved palm; it looked familiar, but he couldn't quite place it. "Any clues what this is? I've seen one before somewhere—"
The detective nodded, gently turning the item over with the tweezers; the sharp tip gleamed evilly back at him. "Yeah, I've seen 'em in the Forensics lab. It's a collection lancet—they use them to take small samples, usually of blood or surface fluids." He studied the small thing, then glanced at the careful slit where it had been inserted into the cushion. "I think we've found our murder weapon, don't you? Our 'bee-sting'."
The boy nodded grimly. "Let's see if we can use it to sting the killer as well."
***********************************************
Splash. Sploosh. Splash. Slosh. Two sets of resigned, rain-soggy footsteps made their way through the darkened and debris-littered streets, pausing occasionally in deeper patches of shadow to allow their owners to survey their surroundings and the chances of being mauled, robbed at gunpoint, or assaulted in any number of ways.
So far so good; the only thing that had followed them thus far had been the rain.
"You know, Ran," remarked Sato Miyako as she tugged a strand of soggy hair from her eyes, "it just occurred to me that things really could be worse."
Her companion eyed her with some alarm; considering that they were both currently smelling of multiple foodstuffs and condiments, were soaked to the skin, were on foot in a horrible part of town *and* (last but not least) were currently outfitted like fairly tasteful refugees from a lingerie catalogue, this was saying something. "What?" she asked with a certain trepidation.
"Ah, well… We could still have the Inspector with us."
Ran blanched. They had dropped Inspector Megure off at a relative's house outside town a scant ten minutes before their first flat tire; while she liked and respected the man a great deal, she shuddered to think of his reaction to the food-and-black-silk-intimates fiasco. "I see your point. Ummm… is that the bar?" A flickering neon sign flashed garish colors through the rain a block or so away. Ran squinted towards it; she could her distant music and the faintest sound of voices over the susurrus of the falling rain…..
Sato opened her mouth to answer, but before she could say anything a shape stepped out of the shadows between the lights and the two women; the click of a switchblade and the flash of sharpened steel in the dim glow of the streetlamps made Ran catch her breath and freeze in her tracks. Equally still, Sato stared down their assailant with a stony glare.
The man (fairly young, but with a nasty, scruffy face) grinned back at her, hefting his knife. "Heeeeey, ladies….. what're two sweet things like you doin' out on a night like this?" He smirked, looming over the rather petite young officer as he moved in a little closer. "You lookin' for trade? Tell you what—one'a you can go free, but the other..…" His suggestive leer indicated his plans for the 'other'. "First, though…. Unless you want those pretty faces messed up, let's see some cash. Wallets, now!" He gestured with his knife, eyes narrowing greedily.
Ran's eyes had gone from widened fear to complete outrage; the man thought that *they* were…. were….. *OOOHH!!*
Beside her, Sato gave what could only be considered an evil smile. "So, let me get this straight: you're planning on robbing both of us, then raping one of us, right?" She seemed remarkably composed. The young woman next to her was beginning to make a low growling noise in the back of her throat.
Like the piece of street scum he seemed to be— in fact, like the total IDIOT he obviously was— the mugger-and-would-be-rapist nodded, still grinning.
Sato's smile became poisonously sweet. "You'd like to see my money? Here." She tossed the purse towards the man's hands, purposefully missing just slightly. "Ooops… clumsy me….."
The man shot her a dirty look, then crouched slightly to grab the strap; as he began to rise he snarled out "I was gonna keep the younger piece, but you'll do just as good, Bi—"
He never got the chance to finish his epithet. The rising kick that caught him squarely between his legs while in mid-crouch actually lifted his feet slightly from the ground (Mouri Ran was something of a perfectionist when it came to her karate), lofting him neatly into a splashdown beside the streetlight. With a ruptured squeak like a mouse beneath a steamroller the man fell over sideways into a huddle, his knife skittering in circles across the streaming pavement; Sato stepped smartly up, bringing her heel down on the weapon in a blade-breaking stomp.
Ran watched, breathing hard and rubbing at her foot (it had hurt; sandals are not karate tabis) with one hand as the officer retrieved the second set of handcuffs of the evening from her purse, securing their assailant to the lamp-post. She surveyed the ball of seething misery for a moment, satisfaction glittering in her eyes. "Don't worry, you'll live—with any luck, she only made you infertile and impotent for the rest of your days. I'll be sure to send a squad car in a little while to take care of you. Jaa!"
And with that, Sato linked her arm in Ran's and calmly walked away, tugging the young woman along towards the neon-lit bar down the street. Her face held a bright smile, and her expression was happier than it had been all night.
They walked on.
"Sato-kun? Did you *know* I was going to do that?"
The detective nodded cheerfully. "I heard your breathing change; you went right into karate-mode, and I knew you were more angry than afraid. It was just a matter of opportunity—so I *made* one." She chuckled, tilting her head back and blinking up at the rain. "It's a lovely night really, isn't it?"
Ran's eyes were rather large; however, she considered it for a moment and smiled tentatively back. "Umm, well….." Suddenly she laughed to herself; her step picked up a little. "You know, it really is."
They were within sight of the bar now; Ran's smile widened even further at the thought of warmth and (even better) not-rain for a change. "We're here—it doesn't look *too* bad, Sato-kun; why were you so nervous earlier? I mean, it doesn't—"
-- her eyes lit on the sidewalk sign sitting in front of the door--
"—look like a bad place at all—"
-- which read (in large, cheerful, easy-to-read characters): TUESDAY NIGHT!! CROSSDRESSERS' HAPPY HOUR!! BRING A FRIEND!!
"—for a bar……………… cross… dressers…..??................... oh. OH." Ran halted in her tracks, turning to stare at Sato.
Sato avoided her eyes.
"Sato-kun? This is a, a—gay bar, right? For gay men? I mean, cross-dressing *women* would just look like women in pants… right--? Sato-kun?" Ran's rather cheerful voice had a slightly dazed quality to it.
The young officer sighed, giving in. "That's right. It's a gay bar for gay men, and tonight is—well, you just read the sign." Her face was more than a little red as she finally faced Ran. "Do you see why I'm glad we dropped the Inspector off?"
Ran shuddered. "So….. that's what you meant earlier, about saying 'nice dress'. I thought you were making a joke."
Her companion shook her head emphatically. "Nope, afraid not. When we picked our witness up from here it was a Tuesday too….." She winced at the memory. "Actually the bar owner's not a bad sort if he's in a good mood— a bit overenthusiastic sometimes, but not too bad." Her wince faded a little and she chuckled wanly. "I think he sort of took a liking to Takagi….. you never saw *anybody* blush like that in your life, Ran; I thought he was going to spontaneously combust."
The girl's eyes nearly popped out. "………….."
Sato grinned faintly. "So… let's go inside. Just like we planned, we can get something hot to drink and call a taxi—" She stepped up and pushed the door open, towing her reluctant friend inside.
"—and I can promise you, we don't have to worry about being molested in here."
* * * * *
As it turned out, that wasn't *quite* the case. It took a little while for the bar's beskirted population to realize that a) the nicely-dressed-if-soaked-and-oddly-smelly couple in black weren't male, and b) therefore they were neither interesting nor interested. For the most part, the cliental were congenial; several of them recognized Sato after a wide-eyed perusal or two, and word got around that No One Was To Harrass The Cop On The Barstool Or Her Friend.
All in all, the Blue Oyster seemed to be the *nicest* place they had been in all night. That was peculiar, but they could handle it. Sato sighed, sitting back on her barstool beside a rather hairy individual in a forest green off-the-shoulder number and sipped her coffee gratefully, all the while secretly wishing for something a little stronger. She was off-duty, after all….. but no; she had Ran under her wing, so no alcohol.
Ran, in the meantime, was politely chatting with a collegiate type in a rather chilly-looking halter top and skirt combo while she drank her coffee; Sato caught the occasional word or phrase over the noise of the bar: "…. shorter hemlines….. maybe in plaid? If you….. I don't know, denim or possibly a linen-blend….."
The detective rolled her eyes and took a larger swallow; sometimes Ran seemed to get along a little *too* well with people. *Oh well, at least she's not having fainting fits all over the place. We're warmer, we're drying, and we can call a taxi when that guy over there gets off the pay-phone. Maybe this WAS a good idea after all--*
"SAAAATOOO-SAAAAN!!!!!"
She jolted in her seat, sloshing the dregs of her coffee all over the bar. *Oh no……* Two large, burly arms in heavy silk sleeves were suddenly around her from behind, and she had to firmly suppress her unarmed combat instincts to keep from jabbing for the throat with an elbow. *It's the owner. Be polite, Sato, be polite. Remember, he could toss you both out into the rain…* "Ummmmm--- K-Konban ha, Momo-san…"
The figure behind her gave an expansive, bellowing laugh; alcohol-laden breath gusted all around her. "That's what I *LIKE* about you, Sato-san—you're so POLITE!! Aaaaaand where's that *cute* little partner of yours, hmmmmmm??" Sato found herself being spun around on her barstool in an abrupt about-face.
Momo Joen was large, very large; he had huge hands, a big face, and a booming voice to match. He *also* had a rather big kimono on, complete with obi and under-robes. His black wig was a bit askew and his makeup slightly smeared—but absolutely no-one was going to tell *that* to a 'Geisha' that weighed in at close to two hundred kilos.
"Errrrrrrrrr, he, that is….. he couldn't make it. It's just us, I'm afraid….." Sato coughed slightly as another waft of alcohol-fumes hit her in the face; Momo-san liked to sample his own product, and tended to insist that his friends do so as well.
The man in the geisha costume frowned momentarily. "What's that swill you're drinking, Sato-san? Coffee?? Can't have my favorite cop drinking coffee!! SUKIIII!!" The bartender (one of the few guys in the room not wearing a skirt) raised an inquiring, bushy eyebrow. "A DRINK FOR SATO-SAN AND FOR HER—hey, didn't you bring a friend or something??" Momo blinked, the great white-powdered face looking puzzled.
"Um, yes……. This is-- Ran? Mouri Ran…. This is Momo Joen, the bar's proprietor. Ah, Momo-san, she's a bit underage to be drinking….."
Ran stared up at Momo-san, offering a tentative smile and polite bow; Momo-san beamed down at Ran, offering a made-up face and a huge grin. Chorusing "Looooovely! Simply *lovely*!!", he clapped a motherly and heavily-tattooed hand onto her shoulder, staggering her a bit before turning back to the bartender.
The detective tried one last time. "Momo? Momo-san? The 'underage' thing--?"
Momo-san waved an airy hand towards Sato, dismissing her last comment as inconsequential and utterly de trop; "Nooooonsense, we don't pay much attention to that sort of thing in HERE, you know… SUUUUUKI? TWO DWINKS! I MEAN, DRINKS!!" The alcohol he had consumed earlier was obviously beginning to hit Momo a bit; he was starting to sway just a bit. The effect was, perhaps, just a bit hypnotic…..
"Sato-kun?WhatdoIdo?" Two hopeful, worried eyes were fixed on Sato's own; the policewoman groaned to herself. "Just keep calm, stay nice and polite, and drink whatever he offers you— I know, I know, you're underage and your father will chop my fingers off when he hears about this, but Momo REALLY hates to drink alone, and if you *don't* drink it he'll get mad and then we'll probably leave the building the way the last cop to make Momo-san angry did….." Sato sighed a defeated sigh, resisting the urge to clutch at her hair.
Ran fidgeted slightly, a little pale. "How?"
Sato nodded at a window over by the pool table. "Through there. Well….. actually, since Momo-san likes me, he might open the window first this time, though….."
The teenager blinked. "I see."
Thunk-thunk! Two drinks (dwinks?) were plopped down between the two at the bar, and a heavy, impeccably-manicured hand was suddenly resting on Sato's shoulder. "NOWWW…… a toast to my *FAVORITE* POLICEWOMAN and her CUTE PARTNER! And her FRIEND!" Momo-san's booming voice was even louder than usual, filling the room and nearly cracking the mirror behind the bar.
The drinks were murky and sort of… brown. They held few ice-cubes. Like automatons Sato and Ran picked them dutifully up, clinked them with Momo-san's wineglass (full of something that was almost certainly not wine, considering the hair-shriveling scent) and then drank.
It occurred to Sato mid-swallow that perhaps she should have warned Ran-kun about just how to drink….. The girl was seventeen; doubtless she had had her momentary experiment with a friend or two and of course the occasional glass of wine—but did she know that a regular-sized swallow of one of Momo's 'dwinks' was liable to remove several layers from her internal works? Or that it was possible to take a tiny sip and disguise it as a gulp? Just like she herself was supposed to be doing right now….. Oh dear…..
She placed the glass carefully on the bartop, her eyes watering from the large swallow she had just downed. If the liquid had ever had a taste, it had probably been beaten to death by the alcohol molecules.
The young officer closed her eyes momentarily in dread, then braced herself and turned towards the minor whom had just Broken The Law While In Sato's Keeping. She had taken a minor into a disreputable place and allowed her to be fed alcohol. She was a *disgrace* to her uniform and a horrible officer, and Takagi-kun shouldn't even want to LOOK at her. She was—
"Sato? Sato-kun?" The slightly strangled voice made her open her eyes (she hadn't even realized they were still closed) with an abrupt jerk. *Awwwk??*
Mouri Ran was peering at her worriedly; the girl reached over to place a palm on her forehead. "Are you feeling sick? You look awfully flushed….." The teenager set her glass down with a thwack! on the bar; the melting ice-cubes rattled merrily. Ran was also rather pink; her eyes were a bit glassy and her voice sounded rather raspy, but didn't seem to be breathing flames or falling over dead from alcohol-poisoning or anything like that—
"Ran-kun? You're… alright?" From the corner of her eye Sato could see Momo's pink-and-white face grinning down from above them both. The geisha-crossdresser was giggling like a fool.
Ran made a face, then smoothed it out as she glanced up at their… host. "F-fine. Ummm… thank you for the drink, Momo-san—" she nodded again politely, attempted a smile, then sipped at her drink.
Sato could not believe her eyes. *Ran's…. not falling over? She's not choking to death? She's not throwing up in a corner or foaming at the mouth? WHY isn't she falling over??? I mean, not that I *want* her to, but—but--*
Across the room a sudden crash of glass and an angry snarl announced the possible beginnings of a barfight; Momo-san gave a sigh of annoyance and straightened his obi. "'Scuse me, ladies—gotta go defenestrate somebody. SUKI!! Keep 'em coming!!" The large man waded away through the crowd.
Under the cover of smashing glasses and shouts, Sato leaned towards her companion and whispered "Ran-kun? Are you… REALLY alright? I'm so sorry you had to drink that, but if we want to get out of here in one piece—"
The young woman nodded, grimacing; "I know, I know….. Actually, you don't have to worry. I found out a long time ago that it doesn't really bother me—I mean, it'll make me drunk and all that, and I'm sorry….. but it won't make me sick." At Sato's climbing eyebrows and look of pure astonishment, the detective's daughter laughed a little wryly. "Sato-kun, remember who my father is? We've had a lot of alcohol around my place for years— and it's only natural for kids to want to experiment. Sonoko and I got completely potted when we were nine, and I learned I could drink whisky without coughing and choking and all that; I just can." She absentmindedly took a sip, making a small face against the taste. "I don't *like* it, but I won't throw up."
"Oh." Sato took another swallow from her own glass; somehow it didn't taste quite so bad now. "I'm glad to hear that… Ah, Ran? Could we possibly never, ever mention this little field-trip to your father? If he ever finds out, he'll—"
Her friend nodded with perhaps a little more vehemence than was needed (or perhaps not, all things considered). "—he'll kill you. I know." Taking a final swallow, she placed the now-empty glass back on the bar. The officer frowned, then took another long drink of her own, following suite a moment later.
The whirl of activity on the other side of the room had degenerated by now into a series of screeching and cat-calls, abruptly terminated by the sudden thud! of an unfortunate crossdresser being head-butted. A moment later they heard Momo calmly issuing orders for someone to open the window….. "Sato-kun?" Ran ran her fingernail around the rim of the glass which had materialized by her elbow a moment earlier; "What does 'defenestrate' mean?"
A chorus of "ICHI! …NI! …SAAAAAAN!!!" rang out above the crowd-noise, and raucous cheers accompanied the sight of one of the bar's cliental being thrown out through the now-open window; he presumably landed in the street on his backside, high-heeled pumps in the air, but they couldn't really tell from where they were sitting. "THAT's what it means," said Sato with a nod towards the unfortunate's exit; "It's Momo-san's favorite way of getting rid of… undesirables. He woes them out the thrindow—I mean, he throws them out the window." She took another long drink, then frowned down at her glass; where had that come from?
*Oh well; waste not, want not….. and it doesn't really taste NEARLY as foul as it did a few minutes ago. It's actually kind of nice.* Sato turned a little on her stool, smiling cheerfully at Momo's bewigged head as it bobbed above the crowd at the other side of the room. *What a nice man, even if he IS wearing a dress.*
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
Some undefined time later…..
….. Ran was trying to be helpful. She frowned, pushing a straggle of hair from her eyes. "You mean… you don't want to *TELL* him? Whynot?? 'S not so hard….. I mean, I mean, y'could just sit down somewhere nice and, and talk to him….."
The bearded young man beside her in the black cocktail-dress sighed, staring broodingly into his beer. "I guess I'm just sort of nervous, that's all. I mean— he's awfully nice, and I don't want to ruin our friendship by telling him stuff he won't want to hear….." He drooped, tugging at his nylons. "Damn things—got a run in 'em already. I swear, you go and buy a nice outfit and you can't have it on for fifteen minutes without something going wrong—"
The young woman nodded sympathetically, swaying a little. "Uh huh. Know what you mean. But, but it's sort of like relationships, isn't it? I mean…. Ummmmm……… what was I saying?"
"Relationships? Outfits? Runs in nylons?" Prodded the bearded young man hopefully; Ran nodded again.
"Right! You get to know somebody… and you know them for YEARS and it all goes really, really, really good… but then it's, it's sort of like a *warranty* or something like that kinda runs out, and… and then you either have to go buy a new outfit or you have to fix it. The relationship thing. You know? It all changes….." The young woman frowned down at her drink, swirling the ice-cubes together; they looked interesting, floating in there. "Everything all changes….. and, and if you LET it, it all gets messed up. Like the nylons, you know?"
The bearded young man looked impressed. "Soooooo….. what do y'do, then?"
Ran thumped her drink down onto the bartop, looking determined. "You *talk* to them. You don't—don't just let them walk all over you and not call you or, or come by or—" She stopped then, suddenly switching from 'determined' to 'depressed'. "Because… when they don't come by, you miss them….. and you get sorta, um, scared that you're going to stop thinking about them, or they're going to stop thinking 'bout you….. because time goes by….."
The bearded young man pondered this for a few minutes; he tugged at one drooping shoulder-strap, and then slid from the bar-stool with a forthright expression on his face. "Y'know what? You're *right*. What've I been so scared of? If he's my friend, he'll stay my friend even if we don't-- and if I don't ask him, I'll just go on being miserable. THAT'S what's been making me so goddamned unhappy—I don't know if things'll work out or not. They might, they might not—but if I ask him at least I'll know…. And that can't be any more miserable than *not* knowing."
Ran cheered. "You go, girl! Um, guy. Whatever." She blinked. "You know, I sounded exactly like Sonoko-kun just then….."
The bearded young man gave her an odd look, then nodded determinedly. He peered across the room, and then headed off across the crowded room in a beeline for a rather skinny redhead who was lounging in one corner, watching Momo-san 'escort' another client out the window. The detective's daughter giggled a little as she watched him snag the redhead's arm and tow him towards the door, eyes full of purpose.
Someone cleared their throat next to her. "Ran-kun? Ran-chan?" She turned carefully on her barstool, leaning on the counter so that she wouldn't fall off.
Sato Miwako was more than leaning on the counter; she seemed to be developing a personal friendship with it, gripping the edge tightly in both hands as if it were her best friend. The woman's eyes were glazed, her face seriously flushed, and she seemed to be listing severely to one side. Her black lace-trimmed chemise was slightly askew, and now an additional aroma of fermented spirits seemed to be battling it out with the Hoisin-sauce and kimchee.
Not that Ran could throw stones… "Yes, Sato-kun?" she answered solemnly, wondering why there were momentarily two of her.
"That… that was reallllllly nice, you know….. talking to that guy like that."
Sato-kun was smiling. That was good; Ran liked it when her friends were happy. She liked helping people! Maybe Sato-kun needed help too? "Thanks, Sato-kun….. he just wanted to, um, to talk about his relationship. And his clothes, I guess. His nylons had a run in them, youknow…." She frowned down at the bar-top. Nylons with runs in them….. and relationships. Suddenly she was depressed all over again.
"But, but, BUT Sato-kun, you know what?"
The other woman sagged gently against the bar. "What?"
"……..I, um…… I miss him. I really do, because he hardly *ever* calls me and he hardly *ever* stops by, and I, I, I used to see him ALLTHETIME!!! AndnowIhaven'tseenhiminmonths….." Where had that come from? Ran stared down at her drink suspiciously, feeling the depression deepen.
Sato frowned too. "Who?? THAT guy, the one in the black dress??"
"Huh?-- Oh. No. No………. Shinichi-kun. You know?"
"Oh." The officer leaned forward on her elbows. "I guess I can understand that. I mean, I miss Takagi-kun too and it's only been a few… hours? since I saw him….." She blinked a few times, wondering aloud: "Did I really just say that outside of my head?"
"Uh huh." Ran giggled, leaning over towards her friend until she very nearly fell off the barstool. "So… you really DO like him, hmmmmmmmm??" She poked the other woman in the side with an elbow, catching her balance against the bar at the last second.
Sato turned a little pinker (if that was possible) and mumbled something indistinguishable, taking a long, long drink from her glass. "Mmmmm," she agreed, dropping her gaze to the bar-top; she tapped it with one fingernail, and the tiny click-click was oddly distinct against the chaos of voices, music and the drum of rain overhead.
Her friend grinned triumphantly; then the grin faltered. "So… why don't you, I don't know, *say* something? I mean," and she waved her arms a little wildly, "you two are really, really, really…. Um…… really CUTE together, especially when Takagi-kun starts blushing." Her eyes sparkled, and she looked down at her own drink with a slightly wicked grin. "And he has a nice butt, too."
Sato blinked. "You know, you're right. He does. Does Shinichi-kun?"
"What?"
"Have a nice butt?"
Ran suddenly turned beet-red and began stammering. "Uhhhhhhhh—I—uh, I n-never--- Um, I mean….." Her protests dwindled away, and she seemed to find the contents of her glass terribly enthralling.
Sato waited patiently. "Well? *DOES* he??"
The young woman mumbled something that sounded like an affirmative, her face fiery. A slow grin stole across the officer's face as she pointed a finger at her companion. "Then why are you telling ME to talk to Takagi-kun? I mean, you oughta—ought to—you should practice what you preach, Ran-chan….."
Mouri Ran sighed, sunk in gloom; "If he'd just stay here for more than an hour or a day or, or *whatever*, maybe I would….." Sato snorted in either disbelief or sympathy, taking a long swallow of her drink. It occurred to Ran that her friend seemed to be holding an awfully large glass—in fact, it looked like a beer-mug. She peered into the depths. "What's that?"
The detective looked down at the liquid in front of her; it wasn't brown anymore, it was now a sort of burnt-orange. "Don't know— Momo-san insisted I drink it. It's sort of nice, I think….. Did Momo-san tell you it's his birthday tonight?"
"No!!" Happily Ran raised her own glass over her head, twisting on her barstool. "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MOMO-SAAA-AAAN!!!" she called out, chortling. Cheers rang out here and there across the room, and Momo-san (who had his hands full of a to-be-defenestrated client) dropped what he was doing (thud!) and headed their direction, his face beaming like the flag of Japan.
Sato dropped her face into her hands. "RAAAaaaaaaan……"
Momo-san placed a tattooed, ham-like hand on the two women's shoulders. "HOWya doing? Having fun? See…. Can't have my *favorite cop* have a bad time in MY bar…….." He reached out to grab the drink that mysteriously materialized in front of him (the bartender was good), throwing it back. Then he leaned forward, draping himself across the bar between them and leaning back onto his elbows; empty glasses, swizzle sticks and cherry-stems slid off onto the work-counter on the other side. "You know… You KNOW why you're my fav'rite cop, Sato-san??" At the woman's weary headshake, Momo grinned widely. "'Cause ever since you picked up that witness y'were lookin' for, we don't get harassed. Nobody comes to bust us, or make trouble….. you did that, riiiiiight? You clever woman, you….." One large finger thumped Sato on top of her head; she winced, then grinned a little sheepishly.
"Ahhh, well……. You were really helpful….. and we got our perp, Takagi-kun and me, 'cause you kept our witness from climbing out the rathboom window. Bathroom, I mean." She smiled somewhat timidly at the bedraggled geisha sprawled beside her. "My dad--- he was a cop too, you know--- he always said to, to, um, to do people a good turn if they did you one. So….." Rather red, Sato buried her nose in her glass.
The whap! of Momo-san's hand swatting her on the back nearly made her choke to death, and she spilled half her drink down her shirt as the large man suddenly leaned forward and enveloped her in a rib-breaking hug. "Mhmhsn?? Yr crshng mhhhh—" Sato was suddenly released, wobbling dizzily on her barstool. On the other side of the bar-owner, Ran cheered.
"Y'know WHAT?? *YOU* two need to come with me to get my BIRTHDAY PRESENT!!! In fact….." The kimonoed man held one finger in the air. "In fact—I think you two should have one too. Right. RIGHT!!"
"Huh? Uhhh, Momo-san, what birthday pr-- Awwp!!"
Suddenly both women found themselves being dragged to their feet; they swayed dizzily, clinging to each other. Ran rolled her eyes towards her friend in entreaty, but Sato was in no condition to help. Sputtering, the two women were hauled towards the door to the sound of raucous cheers, cat-calls and shouts of "GET A GOOD ONE, MOMO-SAAAAN!!!"
"Momo? Momo-san? Idon'tthinkthisisagoodidea---"
Drag, drag, drag…… they were outside now…..
"Um, Momo-san? What Sato's trying to say is—Sato? Sato? YOU tell him---"
Drag, drag, drag……. and past the parking lot; they had picked up a few stragglers, all cheering them on…..
"Momo? Please LISTEN, Momo-san, this is really important—Momo? Are you listening? Momo-san??..... you know, all we were going to do was drink some coffee….. and make a phone call…….."
Drag, drag, drag…… half-way down the street now, escorted by a growing number of the bar's cliental. The rain was still coming down heavily, but nobody seemed to mind.
Drag, drag, drag…….. Ran and Sato tried to dig in their heels, but Momo-san only laughed and half-picked them up. They were coming up on a neon-lit storefront now, and both women tried to twist themselves around to read the sign…..
"Oh….. noooooooooooo…….."
PAINTED DRAGON TATTOOS AND PIERCINGS -- OPEN 24 HOURS!! EXOTIC DESIGNS A SPECIALTY!!!
The door closed behind them.
**************************************************************************************************
To be concluded………. (gulp)
Ysabet's Notes: Don't hurt meeeeeeeeeeeee!!! I swear, I was drugged or something! Or maybe it was aliens, or subliminal messages or something in my yogurt….. Errrr…… does anybody out there believe me? Even a LITTLE?? No? Oh. Sigh.
This is the most schizophrenic fic I've ever written, it really is. If I wrote like this *ALL* of the time, I rather suspect I'd need psychiatric care or brain surgery (whichever was cheapest—I'm not exactly independently wealthy, you know). Quite possibly that would be closing the barn door after the horse was loose, but so it goes; oh well.
So—was this one a bit over the top? Poor Conan and Takagi have a serious murder to deal with, while Ran and Sato get to go on a tour of the seamy underbelly of Tokyo's outskirts….. The mugger sort of jumped onto the story of his own accord; I didn't plan him. I did plan the gay bar, though… and the tattoo parlor. Heh; wait'll you see the outcome of THAT little venture….. Momo-san, by the way, is sort of a combination of my friend Thern (who lives in Las Vegas and is AMAZINGLY flamboyant—he doesn't swish, he *sashays*!) and Mama from 3x3 Eyes; just couldn't resist!
Letter-bombs, flames, honest commentary and evil laughter are all welcome; I figure I'm already well on my way to Fanfic Writer's Hell with this one anyway, so I might as well go out with a bang.
But Sato and Takagi are gonna have their moment, you know; that'll make it all worthwhile, I promise. Bwahahahahah!!!!!