.HackRelapse
A .Hack fanfiction by Renfro Calhoun
Disclaimer: Project .Hack and attached concepts/characters do not belong to me.
Notes: Takes place during Outbreak. Parentheses = thoughts, brackets = writing. Sorry 'bout the longer waits for updates; between MMO's online (FFXI - never thought I'd see the day) and offline (Outbreak itself - Quarantine comes out this week, woo-hoo!) my time has been chewed to pieces. Well, that and the start of the school year, but what can you do? :)
As for this segment; again, not sure on BT's real name. And thanks to Stone for pointing out the thing about Bear's kid; my knowledge of such details is highly selective. Nevertheless, it will be corrected shortly.
Chapter 6 - Cop Karma
---------------------
Counting houses, Dean quietly strolled along the sidewalk, tire iron clutched possessively in his hands. From what little he had seen of Ryo's house, he tried valiantly to form a plan of attack, which were all dismissed in time for him to gather first-hand intelligence; approaching the Sakuma residence, he ducked off the sidewalk and crept up through the lawn, eyes on the white van parked before the house.
Though his jacket blended in fairly well with the darkness, he regretted that the same couldn't be said for his khakis, which were quite far from invisible against the grass and greenery of the lawn. A small hill separated Sakuma's place from the house next to it, and Dean crouched down low against it as he spied on the van.
(Hmm... engine's off; doesn't look like anybody's there. Guess they're both inside,) he thought, turning his attention to the house. His thought was partially proven as a man-shaped shadow crossed the window facing the lawn, illuminated from within against the drawn blinds.
Tensing his muscles, Dean rose from his hiding spot and carefully snuck up the lawn, along the side of the house; each footstep was calculated with care, blades of grass offering minimal cries of pain as they were crushed under his shoes. He carefully rounded the house, passing a metal drain pipe which marked the corner, and found himself in the backyard, standing before a large wooden patio.
Spotting no one, he relaxed momentarily, still gripping the iron tight but letting his muscles loosen and his nerves calm; he took a few deep breaths, fighting the rebellious pounding of his nervous heart. (Easy,) he silently told himself. (Easy does it. Let's see what's going on here first.)
Rising up onto the porch, Dean flattened his back against the wall of the house and crept towards the back entrance, a sliding glass door that looked easy to breach, albiet noisily so. Throwing a glance into the kitchen beyond the door, he spotted no one and reached for the handle.
"Hey, Mark! Check this out!"
Silently frantic, Dean ducked back behind cover, moving far enough from the door to remain unseen; he heard footsteps as they descended a flight of stairs, past the darkened kitchen and into what he assumed was a family room. After a lifetime of five seconds, he moved back towards the door, repeating his earlier stolen glimpse of the kitchen and reach for the handle.
Thankfully, Ryo had left the door unlocked. Dean gave the door a mild tug, pushing it open slowly, steadily. He cringed as the door made a slight sucking noise, insulation material dragging against metal, but it appeared to attract no attention. Prying the door open wider, Dean crept inside, careful to keep low. He drew the door as close to shut as possible, keeping it slightly ajar to avoid making any additional noise.
"So? What's the problem?"
The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, an instinctive response to his proximity with the intruder. The voice floated up from a short set of stairs, beyond which lay a well-lit family room. Though Dean could not see either man, a light in the corner cast shadows far enough to achieve similar ends.
A light clicked on in the back of Dean's mind when he realized he could understand their words. "What do you mean, 'What's the problem?' That's the guy who was with him earlier!" exclaimed one of the men in English.
"He must've seen us coming." A sigh. "Wonder why he didn't call the cops," he mused.
"Hell if I know. Did you find the address?"
Dean crept behind a nearby island, staying low to keep out of sight. Gingerly, he pried his shoes off one by one and set them on the floor, performing a minor feat of juggling genius as he cradled the iron and kept it from even touching the ground.
"Got it here," replied one of the men. "Radio it in, I'm going to dig through here a little more."
"All right, but hurry; if Dean got that email then we may have company coming."
(My reputation precedes me,) thought Dean's sarcastic side, a futile attempt to ease the tension. He heard footsteps again as the speaker climbed the stairs, trudging past the island and through the doorway to the front of the house.
Taking the chance of a lifetime, Dean crept from hiding, iron in hand; his shoeless feet made almost no noise, allowing him to move quickly towards the stairs.
"Boss, this is Alpha team, over," came the voice from the front hall.
Tentatively, Dean tiptoed down the first step. Keys clacked merrily from the family room at the bottom, mingling with the burst of unintelligible radio static as whoever the mook was speaking to answered him.
"We have the address of the Kurasawa residence, but Sakuma is a negative. Repeat, Sakuma is a negative. Both of them. Over."
Another step. And another.
"Unknown. Just discovered an email from Sakuma to Stollis. We may have incoming. Tell Bravo team to proceed with extraction ASAP. Over."
(Extraction? What the hell's going on here?) One more... Dean deftly came to a halt on the carpeted floor of the family room, decorated with an eye towards the warm colors of the spectrum. Past a small coffee table, one of the goons sat at Ryo's desk, tapping away at the keyboard and browsing the information on the monitor.
"Off the Meijiro-Dori. 673..."
The voice became muffled as Dean tiptoed into the living room, closer to the seated man. He bore the look of a military covert ops unit, dressed all in black, with a kevlar vest and a pair of thin gloves completing the outfit. A Beretta 9mm pistol lay on the desk next to the keyboard, drawing Dean's eyes to it like a magnet.
"Copy that, boss. Over and out."
The words cut through Dean's stealth act instantly; Dean faltered, nearly losing his balance. (Gotta hurry... god, I hope this works.)
He raised the iron and lurched forward; before the man could turn around, Dean brought the tool down hard on the back of his head. The weapon connected with a loud thump, violently throwing his head forward and onto the desk; he collapsed in the chair, his hands dropping over the armrests, a weak groan escaping from his lips.
Dean blinked, one eyebrow crooked in surprise, the iron still ringing in his hands. (Hmm. That was easy.)
It got harder; footsteps came from beyond the stairs, urging Dean to take more drastic measures. He reached for the man's gun and discarded the iron; checking the safety, he whirled around to face the newcomer, who looked more than a little shocked to see Dean standing over the unconscious body of his partner.
"What the hell... it's you!" he cried. "What are you..."
"Stop!" yelled Dean as the man reached for his pistol, trapped in a side holster. "Don't even think about it! Get your hands up!"
The black-clad man twitched, his eyes narrowed in frustration. "Rrgh," he grunted in defeat, reluctantly raising his hands over his head.
"All right, start talking." Dean hardened his gaze, adjusting his grip on the pistol. "Who sent you here and why?"
"I'm not telling you shit," spat the man.
"Wrong answer." Dean nudged the barrel down and to the left, and pulled the trigger.
A sharp cry of pain pierced his lips as a 9mm bullet blasted through his right leg, forcing him to his knees. Spots of blood splattered over the brown carpeting as he desperately clutched the wound, groaning loudly, his brow furrowed and jaw clenched. He was caught off-guard when Dean marched up and placed the barrel of the gun against the man's forehead, the detective's other hand clenching his neck.
"Listen good, G.I. Joe," hissed Dean, his eyes ablaze. "I am not a patient man. You play it straight with me and I'll let the cops take you away. Otherwise, I still have your friend over there," he glanced over his shoulder, double-checking to ensure that the chairborne goon was still unconscious.
His brown eyes were wide and brimming with tears from the pain; his face had become soaked in sweat. Dean met the man's eyes and spoke slowly, carefully pronouncing every word. "What... are you... doing here?"
He briefly figdeted, shivered before answering. "W-we were sent to find the address of the Kurasawa woman... she wasn't listed. Sakuma knows where she is."
"Why? Who is she?"
"She's..." he broke off, gulping loudly. "She is one of the few that knows the true nature of the incidents in 'The World'. She also knows about the boss's connection to it all."
Dean's intuitive side kicked in. (That's gotta be BT.) "Who's your boss?"
"I... I can't..." he raised a hand weakly to protest. "He'll kill me..."
Dean's anger returned, but only briefly; seeing the look of fear and pain in his eyes, Dean called off his bluff and removed the pistol from the man's head. "Here," he said, taking both of the man's hands and forcing them onto his wounded thigh.
Stunned, he could only watch as Dean molded his hands to the injured flesh, squeezing firmly. "Keep pressure on it," Dean said, his voice unusually calm. "The cops are on the way." At this, Dean reached down and took his pistol from the holster; with both guns, Dean brought himself face-to-face with his adversary. "How many of you guys are after her?"
He looked away, giving a wheezing sigh. "Two more."
"Good. Don't go anywhere."
Dean stood up and jogged towards the stairs; a loud BANG echoed through the house as a door was violently opened. As Dean reached the top of the stairs, Ryo dashed through the front hall into the kitchen to join him.
"Dean," he panted, his shoulders sagging. "Problem..."
Momentarily startled, Dean relaxed his guard as he recognized Ryo. "It's all right man, I got 'em," he said, gesturing to the wounded and unconscious men downstairs.
"No!" Ryo shook his head. "Another problem... your phone." He held his hand up, revealing Dean's cellular phone in its clutches.
Dean squinted at the bright blue LED, puzzled over Ryo's behavior; confusion turned to concern when he saw the words [low battery] on the screen.
"No way," he muttered. "Tell me you..."
A look at Ryo's ragged countenance and worried expression told him all he needed to know. Ryo himself told him the rest. "I couldn't get a signal."
"DAMN IT!" Dean suddenly shouted. "You've got to be shitting me!"
Ryo winced, recoiling slightly; he glanced down into the family room, scratching the back of his head in bemusement. "What's going on??"
"They're after BT," said Dean. "They got her address from your computer."
"No..." Ryo's face fell. "What do we do?"
Dean spun one of the pistols in his hand, offering the butt to Ryo. "Take this, keep an eye on them and call the police," urged Dean. "For real this time. Send 'em to her place, too."
Ryo hesitantly took the weapon with his right hand, experimentally turning it before his eyes in a mixture of curiosity and fear. "What about you?"
Hefting the other pistol, Dean gulped hard. "I'm going after her. Where does she live?"
-
(Piece of crap phones, can't keep a charge worth a damn.)
The road sped by Dean's eyes as he drove down the Meijiro-Dori, streetlights vanishing through the windshield and reappearing in his rearview mirror, casting shadows which played a slow, repetetive waltz against the dashboard. The pistol, saftied and harmless, rattled nervously in his coat pocket, eager and willing to start a dance of its own.
(It's gotta be Seijiro,) he thought. (He's after all of us because we know he made Morganna; but what difference does that make? Why tail us, and why go after them? There's gotta be more to her than what he said... there has to be.)
A left turn brought him to the street Ryo had specified. (What's he trying to hide? And who the hell are these guys? They were speaking in English... were they Cyber Connect, or somebody else?)
As they had less than an hour ago, Dean's idle thoughts drifted away as he came up to the house numbered 673 - BT's address, complete with a white van parked by the curb and the front door wide open. A man in a black getup similar to the Sakuma thugs stood behind the van, slamming the rear door shut and giving it a firm slap with his hand.
Dean's blood ran cold. (Dammit! I'm too late!)
"Let's get going!" shouted the thug to an unseen companion. "Boss said to forget... huh??"
The Civic's headlights gave a golden makeover to the black-clad goon; he shielded his eyes with one hand and squinted. "Who the hell?!"
Dean slammed on the brakes, coming to a harsh, sliding stop. In one fluid motion he had his seatbelt off, the door open, and the Beretta live and in his hand. He stepped out of the car and pointed it square at the man's head. "Police!" he shouted, his old habit dying hard. "Freeze!"
Through the light, Dean saw the man go for his gun. The detective took aim and fired, sending a bullet straight at the man's chest. The report rolled up and down the quiet streets as the 9mm round hit home, slamming hard into the kevlar vest and knocking him backwards. Two more shots followed suit, failing to penetrate the vest but knocking him off his feet and to the ground with a pained cry.
"Jason!" came the shout from his right, preceding more gunshots; Dean instinctively ducked and heard several bullets pelt the hood of his car, some punching through while others glanced off. Through the passenger-side window, Dean spotted the shooter, standing in the doorway of Kurasawa's house, lit up like a jack-o-lantern against the room beyond.
Throwing vehicular insurance to the wind, Dean fired twice through the window, blasting holes in the glass which quickly spiderwebbed outwards. Neither shot hit the man, but they succeeded in forcing him behind cover, allowing Dean to get up and circle around his car. Gun trained on the door, Dean advanced through the lawn.
The mook popped out from hiding again, but Dean was ready; a short burst of three shots put one round through the man's shoulder, drawing blood and sending him careening backwards. He collapsed in the tiled floor beyond, gun slipping from his hands and bouncing once before coming to a loud, rattling halt.
Dean advanced on the man, kicking his gun further out of arm's reach, a stern look on his face. "Surprise, asshole."
He struggled briefly to sit up, but Dean planted a foot on the wounded shoulder, forcing him back onto the tile. "Where is she?" he half-shouted. "Where is Kurasawa?"
"She's..." he stopped, groaning in obvious discomfort. "We were told to bring her in..."
"Where is she?!" growled Dean, tightening his grip on the pistol.
A startled cry drew Dean's attention behind him; he spun around, pointing his pistol towards the doorway and into the shocked face of a slender, long-haired Japanese woman.
She said something in Japanese, her brown eyes wide and accusative, if somewhat frightened. Without understanding entirely, Dean guessed that it had something to do with one stranger who was holding another at gunpoint in someone else's house, which had been broken into.
"Who are you?" he asked, lowering his gun.
Taking some measure of control over the situation, she spoke again in English. "I live here," she replied. "Who are YOU?"
Her first three words had cut through Dean's haze - a mix of adrenaline and testosterone, with a hint of bloodlust - and brought out a part of him that suddenly realized how the scene must have appeared to her.
He stuttered, fidgeted, took his foot off the wounded man and shifted his stance uneasily. "B... but... didn't they... I thought you were..." he muttered, eyes shifting from the woman to the man. "Uh... uhhhh..."
"I was at the store," she explained tersely. "Now for the third time, who are you and what is going on here??"
A rush of color flew to Dean's cheeks. (She wasn't even here... oh, man... oh, this is great. This is just fantastic.) "Uhm, I... I can explain..." he began weakly. "I-I... I'm Dean." After a beat, he added, "the private eye you spoke with?"
Taking a few steps into her home, 'BT' gave the detective an analytical gaze. "You're Stollis?" she asked in disbelief. "How did you find..." she stopped herself. "No, wait, first tell me who these... no, wait. FIRST, tell me what the HELL is going on here!"
"I, uh... these guys were gonna try to kidnap you, I... was trying to stop 'em, and I thought they had..."
Sirens wailed from outside, a chorus of approaching police cars; within seconds, several tires screeched, halting the cars to which they were attached. Footsteps crunched through grass, heralding the arrival of two police officers, guns in hand and pointed at the occupants of the Kurasawa residence.
Dean followed the shouted orders of the police, which he imagined involved the laying down of his pistol and putting his hands on his head. He dropped to his knees as one of the cops approached, the other keeping a close eye on the wounded man next to him. As the officer forced Dean's hands behind his back and produced a set of handcuffs, the detective glanced over his shoulder and offered a wry grin.
"Would it help if I said I can explain?" he said innocently.
- End of Chapter 6
A .Hack fanfiction by Renfro Calhoun
Disclaimer: Project .Hack and attached concepts/characters do not belong to me.
Notes: Takes place during Outbreak. Parentheses = thoughts, brackets = writing. Sorry 'bout the longer waits for updates; between MMO's online (FFXI - never thought I'd see the day) and offline (Outbreak itself - Quarantine comes out this week, woo-hoo!) my time has been chewed to pieces. Well, that and the start of the school year, but what can you do? :)
As for this segment; again, not sure on BT's real name. And thanks to Stone for pointing out the thing about Bear's kid; my knowledge of such details is highly selective. Nevertheless, it will be corrected shortly.
Chapter 6 - Cop Karma
---------------------
Counting houses, Dean quietly strolled along the sidewalk, tire iron clutched possessively in his hands. From what little he had seen of Ryo's house, he tried valiantly to form a plan of attack, which were all dismissed in time for him to gather first-hand intelligence; approaching the Sakuma residence, he ducked off the sidewalk and crept up through the lawn, eyes on the white van parked before the house.
Though his jacket blended in fairly well with the darkness, he regretted that the same couldn't be said for his khakis, which were quite far from invisible against the grass and greenery of the lawn. A small hill separated Sakuma's place from the house next to it, and Dean crouched down low against it as he spied on the van.
(Hmm... engine's off; doesn't look like anybody's there. Guess they're both inside,) he thought, turning his attention to the house. His thought was partially proven as a man-shaped shadow crossed the window facing the lawn, illuminated from within against the drawn blinds.
Tensing his muscles, Dean rose from his hiding spot and carefully snuck up the lawn, along the side of the house; each footstep was calculated with care, blades of grass offering minimal cries of pain as they were crushed under his shoes. He carefully rounded the house, passing a metal drain pipe which marked the corner, and found himself in the backyard, standing before a large wooden patio.
Spotting no one, he relaxed momentarily, still gripping the iron tight but letting his muscles loosen and his nerves calm; he took a few deep breaths, fighting the rebellious pounding of his nervous heart. (Easy,) he silently told himself. (Easy does it. Let's see what's going on here first.)
Rising up onto the porch, Dean flattened his back against the wall of the house and crept towards the back entrance, a sliding glass door that looked easy to breach, albiet noisily so. Throwing a glance into the kitchen beyond the door, he spotted no one and reached for the handle.
"Hey, Mark! Check this out!"
Silently frantic, Dean ducked back behind cover, moving far enough from the door to remain unseen; he heard footsteps as they descended a flight of stairs, past the darkened kitchen and into what he assumed was a family room. After a lifetime of five seconds, he moved back towards the door, repeating his earlier stolen glimpse of the kitchen and reach for the handle.
Thankfully, Ryo had left the door unlocked. Dean gave the door a mild tug, pushing it open slowly, steadily. He cringed as the door made a slight sucking noise, insulation material dragging against metal, but it appeared to attract no attention. Prying the door open wider, Dean crept inside, careful to keep low. He drew the door as close to shut as possible, keeping it slightly ajar to avoid making any additional noise.
"So? What's the problem?"
The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, an instinctive response to his proximity with the intruder. The voice floated up from a short set of stairs, beyond which lay a well-lit family room. Though Dean could not see either man, a light in the corner cast shadows far enough to achieve similar ends.
A light clicked on in the back of Dean's mind when he realized he could understand their words. "What do you mean, 'What's the problem?' That's the guy who was with him earlier!" exclaimed one of the men in English.
"He must've seen us coming." A sigh. "Wonder why he didn't call the cops," he mused.
"Hell if I know. Did you find the address?"
Dean crept behind a nearby island, staying low to keep out of sight. Gingerly, he pried his shoes off one by one and set them on the floor, performing a minor feat of juggling genius as he cradled the iron and kept it from even touching the ground.
"Got it here," replied one of the men. "Radio it in, I'm going to dig through here a little more."
"All right, but hurry; if Dean got that email then we may have company coming."
(My reputation precedes me,) thought Dean's sarcastic side, a futile attempt to ease the tension. He heard footsteps again as the speaker climbed the stairs, trudging past the island and through the doorway to the front of the house.
Taking the chance of a lifetime, Dean crept from hiding, iron in hand; his shoeless feet made almost no noise, allowing him to move quickly towards the stairs.
"Boss, this is Alpha team, over," came the voice from the front hall.
Tentatively, Dean tiptoed down the first step. Keys clacked merrily from the family room at the bottom, mingling with the burst of unintelligible radio static as whoever the mook was speaking to answered him.
"We have the address of the Kurasawa residence, but Sakuma is a negative. Repeat, Sakuma is a negative. Both of them. Over."
Another step. And another.
"Unknown. Just discovered an email from Sakuma to Stollis. We may have incoming. Tell Bravo team to proceed with extraction ASAP. Over."
(Extraction? What the hell's going on here?) One more... Dean deftly came to a halt on the carpeted floor of the family room, decorated with an eye towards the warm colors of the spectrum. Past a small coffee table, one of the goons sat at Ryo's desk, tapping away at the keyboard and browsing the information on the monitor.
"Off the Meijiro-Dori. 673..."
The voice became muffled as Dean tiptoed into the living room, closer to the seated man. He bore the look of a military covert ops unit, dressed all in black, with a kevlar vest and a pair of thin gloves completing the outfit. A Beretta 9mm pistol lay on the desk next to the keyboard, drawing Dean's eyes to it like a magnet.
"Copy that, boss. Over and out."
The words cut through Dean's stealth act instantly; Dean faltered, nearly losing his balance. (Gotta hurry... god, I hope this works.)
He raised the iron and lurched forward; before the man could turn around, Dean brought the tool down hard on the back of his head. The weapon connected with a loud thump, violently throwing his head forward and onto the desk; he collapsed in the chair, his hands dropping over the armrests, a weak groan escaping from his lips.
Dean blinked, one eyebrow crooked in surprise, the iron still ringing in his hands. (Hmm. That was easy.)
It got harder; footsteps came from beyond the stairs, urging Dean to take more drastic measures. He reached for the man's gun and discarded the iron; checking the safety, he whirled around to face the newcomer, who looked more than a little shocked to see Dean standing over the unconscious body of his partner.
"What the hell... it's you!" he cried. "What are you..."
"Stop!" yelled Dean as the man reached for his pistol, trapped in a side holster. "Don't even think about it! Get your hands up!"
The black-clad man twitched, his eyes narrowed in frustration. "Rrgh," he grunted in defeat, reluctantly raising his hands over his head.
"All right, start talking." Dean hardened his gaze, adjusting his grip on the pistol. "Who sent you here and why?"
"I'm not telling you shit," spat the man.
"Wrong answer." Dean nudged the barrel down and to the left, and pulled the trigger.
A sharp cry of pain pierced his lips as a 9mm bullet blasted through his right leg, forcing him to his knees. Spots of blood splattered over the brown carpeting as he desperately clutched the wound, groaning loudly, his brow furrowed and jaw clenched. He was caught off-guard when Dean marched up and placed the barrel of the gun against the man's forehead, the detective's other hand clenching his neck.
"Listen good, G.I. Joe," hissed Dean, his eyes ablaze. "I am not a patient man. You play it straight with me and I'll let the cops take you away. Otherwise, I still have your friend over there," he glanced over his shoulder, double-checking to ensure that the chairborne goon was still unconscious.
His brown eyes were wide and brimming with tears from the pain; his face had become soaked in sweat. Dean met the man's eyes and spoke slowly, carefully pronouncing every word. "What... are you... doing here?"
He briefly figdeted, shivered before answering. "W-we were sent to find the address of the Kurasawa woman... she wasn't listed. Sakuma knows where she is."
"Why? Who is she?"
"She's..." he broke off, gulping loudly. "She is one of the few that knows the true nature of the incidents in 'The World'. She also knows about the boss's connection to it all."
Dean's intuitive side kicked in. (That's gotta be BT.) "Who's your boss?"
"I... I can't..." he raised a hand weakly to protest. "He'll kill me..."
Dean's anger returned, but only briefly; seeing the look of fear and pain in his eyes, Dean called off his bluff and removed the pistol from the man's head. "Here," he said, taking both of the man's hands and forcing them onto his wounded thigh.
Stunned, he could only watch as Dean molded his hands to the injured flesh, squeezing firmly. "Keep pressure on it," Dean said, his voice unusually calm. "The cops are on the way." At this, Dean reached down and took his pistol from the holster; with both guns, Dean brought himself face-to-face with his adversary. "How many of you guys are after her?"
He looked away, giving a wheezing sigh. "Two more."
"Good. Don't go anywhere."
Dean stood up and jogged towards the stairs; a loud BANG echoed through the house as a door was violently opened. As Dean reached the top of the stairs, Ryo dashed through the front hall into the kitchen to join him.
"Dean," he panted, his shoulders sagging. "Problem..."
Momentarily startled, Dean relaxed his guard as he recognized Ryo. "It's all right man, I got 'em," he said, gesturing to the wounded and unconscious men downstairs.
"No!" Ryo shook his head. "Another problem... your phone." He held his hand up, revealing Dean's cellular phone in its clutches.
Dean squinted at the bright blue LED, puzzled over Ryo's behavior; confusion turned to concern when he saw the words [low battery] on the screen.
"No way," he muttered. "Tell me you..."
A look at Ryo's ragged countenance and worried expression told him all he needed to know. Ryo himself told him the rest. "I couldn't get a signal."
"DAMN IT!" Dean suddenly shouted. "You've got to be shitting me!"
Ryo winced, recoiling slightly; he glanced down into the family room, scratching the back of his head in bemusement. "What's going on??"
"They're after BT," said Dean. "They got her address from your computer."
"No..." Ryo's face fell. "What do we do?"
Dean spun one of the pistols in his hand, offering the butt to Ryo. "Take this, keep an eye on them and call the police," urged Dean. "For real this time. Send 'em to her place, too."
Ryo hesitantly took the weapon with his right hand, experimentally turning it before his eyes in a mixture of curiosity and fear. "What about you?"
Hefting the other pistol, Dean gulped hard. "I'm going after her. Where does she live?"
-
(Piece of crap phones, can't keep a charge worth a damn.)
The road sped by Dean's eyes as he drove down the Meijiro-Dori, streetlights vanishing through the windshield and reappearing in his rearview mirror, casting shadows which played a slow, repetetive waltz against the dashboard. The pistol, saftied and harmless, rattled nervously in his coat pocket, eager and willing to start a dance of its own.
(It's gotta be Seijiro,) he thought. (He's after all of us because we know he made Morganna; but what difference does that make? Why tail us, and why go after them? There's gotta be more to her than what he said... there has to be.)
A left turn brought him to the street Ryo had specified. (What's he trying to hide? And who the hell are these guys? They were speaking in English... were they Cyber Connect, or somebody else?)
As they had less than an hour ago, Dean's idle thoughts drifted away as he came up to the house numbered 673 - BT's address, complete with a white van parked by the curb and the front door wide open. A man in a black getup similar to the Sakuma thugs stood behind the van, slamming the rear door shut and giving it a firm slap with his hand.
Dean's blood ran cold. (Dammit! I'm too late!)
"Let's get going!" shouted the thug to an unseen companion. "Boss said to forget... huh??"
The Civic's headlights gave a golden makeover to the black-clad goon; he shielded his eyes with one hand and squinted. "Who the hell?!"
Dean slammed on the brakes, coming to a harsh, sliding stop. In one fluid motion he had his seatbelt off, the door open, and the Beretta live and in his hand. He stepped out of the car and pointed it square at the man's head. "Police!" he shouted, his old habit dying hard. "Freeze!"
Through the light, Dean saw the man go for his gun. The detective took aim and fired, sending a bullet straight at the man's chest. The report rolled up and down the quiet streets as the 9mm round hit home, slamming hard into the kevlar vest and knocking him backwards. Two more shots followed suit, failing to penetrate the vest but knocking him off his feet and to the ground with a pained cry.
"Jason!" came the shout from his right, preceding more gunshots; Dean instinctively ducked and heard several bullets pelt the hood of his car, some punching through while others glanced off. Through the passenger-side window, Dean spotted the shooter, standing in the doorway of Kurasawa's house, lit up like a jack-o-lantern against the room beyond.
Throwing vehicular insurance to the wind, Dean fired twice through the window, blasting holes in the glass which quickly spiderwebbed outwards. Neither shot hit the man, but they succeeded in forcing him behind cover, allowing Dean to get up and circle around his car. Gun trained on the door, Dean advanced through the lawn.
The mook popped out from hiding again, but Dean was ready; a short burst of three shots put one round through the man's shoulder, drawing blood and sending him careening backwards. He collapsed in the tiled floor beyond, gun slipping from his hands and bouncing once before coming to a loud, rattling halt.
Dean advanced on the man, kicking his gun further out of arm's reach, a stern look on his face. "Surprise, asshole."
He struggled briefly to sit up, but Dean planted a foot on the wounded shoulder, forcing him back onto the tile. "Where is she?" he half-shouted. "Where is Kurasawa?"
"She's..." he stopped, groaning in obvious discomfort. "We were told to bring her in..."
"Where is she?!" growled Dean, tightening his grip on the pistol.
A startled cry drew Dean's attention behind him; he spun around, pointing his pistol towards the doorway and into the shocked face of a slender, long-haired Japanese woman.
She said something in Japanese, her brown eyes wide and accusative, if somewhat frightened. Without understanding entirely, Dean guessed that it had something to do with one stranger who was holding another at gunpoint in someone else's house, which had been broken into.
"Who are you?" he asked, lowering his gun.
Taking some measure of control over the situation, she spoke again in English. "I live here," she replied. "Who are YOU?"
Her first three words had cut through Dean's haze - a mix of adrenaline and testosterone, with a hint of bloodlust - and brought out a part of him that suddenly realized how the scene must have appeared to her.
He stuttered, fidgeted, took his foot off the wounded man and shifted his stance uneasily. "B... but... didn't they... I thought you were..." he muttered, eyes shifting from the woman to the man. "Uh... uhhhh..."
"I was at the store," she explained tersely. "Now for the third time, who are you and what is going on here??"
A rush of color flew to Dean's cheeks. (She wasn't even here... oh, man... oh, this is great. This is just fantastic.) "Uhm, I... I can explain..." he began weakly. "I-I... I'm Dean." After a beat, he added, "the private eye you spoke with?"
Taking a few steps into her home, 'BT' gave the detective an analytical gaze. "You're Stollis?" she asked in disbelief. "How did you find..." she stopped herself. "No, wait, first tell me who these... no, wait. FIRST, tell me what the HELL is going on here!"
"I, uh... these guys were gonna try to kidnap you, I... was trying to stop 'em, and I thought they had..."
Sirens wailed from outside, a chorus of approaching police cars; within seconds, several tires screeched, halting the cars to which they were attached. Footsteps crunched through grass, heralding the arrival of two police officers, guns in hand and pointed at the occupants of the Kurasawa residence.
Dean followed the shouted orders of the police, which he imagined involved the laying down of his pistol and putting his hands on his head. He dropped to his knees as one of the cops approached, the other keeping a close eye on the wounded man next to him. As the officer forced Dean's hands behind his back and produced a set of handcuffs, the detective glanced over his shoulder and offered a wry grin.
"Would it help if I said I can explain?" he said innocently.
- End of Chapter 6