Chapter 2 - Taking Flight
The time that I had before I'd left Japan passed like a blur, as I found out just how much you have to do when you're a responsible sort of person when you're leaving the country for an indefinite period. Forwarding mail, writing a will, stopping utilities. Ok, well I didn't have to write a will but I had some savings, so I figured I should. I left 'em to my mom, with instructions to never let my dad get his hands on any of it, and to Akane if they thought it would be better.
As for the flight itself, well let's just say that I had no idea how much I hated flying until I'd made my way from Japan to France. Ok, I'd flown before, but never the droning marathon that I'd suffered through. I suppose there weren't many police departments in the world who'd have the cash to fly me direct in business or first class, but it woulda been real nice. Bouncing around the globe like a ping pong ball in coach gives a vast appreciation for the comforts money can buy. I found myself thinking a few times that maybe, just maybe, Nabiki had the right idea all along. Too much noise, not enough food, bratty kids, and bad movies all conspired to make the experience somewhat worse than swimming to China. At least I got exercise then.
But now I was standing here in Charles De Gaulle airport outside Paris, waiting to be met by someone. Apparently my partner and translator spoke English as well as French, so I'd just have to make do with that. They didn't have anyone on staff who was fluent in Japanese, and bringing in an outside translator on a case as dangerous as this one was pretty much out of the question. My English wasn't that great, but I figured it would be enough to let me communicate. Hopefully they'd let me do my own thing most of the time anyway.
Soon, this French pretty boy police officer found me, and I met my new partner. His name was Francois Chapelle, which of course I couldn't say without mangling totally, so I just ended up having to call him Frank instead. That I could almost deal with, even if he was insisting on first names, which threw me a bit at first. He was wearing a spotless tailored suit, sunglasses, pointed shoes, an earring, and an attitude. He was even wearing a mauve shirt. Mauve. I felt like a dirty little thug standing next to him. But in the end it was ok, because I could tell that he was a martial artist, and a pretty good one, so I could communicate with him on that level. I was used to pretty boy martial artists like Tarou anyway, so it wasn't a big deal. At least he wasn't calling me femboy, or something like that. He was a few inches taller than me, but that was hardly a shock. I'd ended up at about 5'8 or 5'9, so there were a lot of guys here taller than me.
We headed out and picked up a car, and started in towards the city. He said he'd show me my apartment so I could drop my stuff off, and then we could head down to the station, if I was alright. I was so jet lagged that my body had no idea what time it was supposed to be, so I figured that I'd just go ahead and work a normal day. Thumb my nose at the jet lag.
"So, Ranma, what sort of martial arts have you trained in?" he asked me as we twisted through the city streets.
"My own family's style. Bits and pieces of lots of things. What do you do?" I asked, knowing very well that he was a martial artist.
"Ah, well I've spent time mostly with Savante, but I have studied some other styles as well. But Savante is my specialty," he said, not bluffing or boasting, so I figured he was pretty good. I thought maybe I recognised him from some magazine or something, so I figured he'd competed internationally at the very least.
That was something I'd never done, since I hadn't specialised in any style other than my own enough to fight based on competition rules. The only other option were those ugly underground full contact fight-for-cash affairs, and while Pops pushed me to make some more money to support him that way, it just didn't feel right to me.
"If there is someplace for us to practice, I would be honoured to spend some time sparring with you, if that would be possible," I said. I figured it couldn't hurt, and it might be fun.
"Certainly, the central Paris station that we'll be working from through the duration of our stay has a gym, and I would enjoy the chance to be your sparring partner while you are here."
I see the smirk he shoots me, and I know suddenly that someone has told him about some hotshot Japanese kung fu cop guy who's coming over to stick his nose in their problems and make life difficult. For the moment, I mentally file him in the 'smiles at male type but really wants to beat the crap out of me and flirts outrageously with female type despite strong physical discouragement' camp of acquaintances. We'll see though.
Before I could get into brooding about anything though, the radio in the car came alive with chatter and I can see from Francois' alert look that something has just happened. Even if you can't understand the language, police bands probably sound the same no matter where you go in the world.
"Ranma, it seems we might have some new evidence," he said after a while of listening, and replying. "Some sewer engineers in the twentieth district have found some bodies, about ten it seems, in their section of the tunnels. Looked like gunshot wounds. Do you feel able to go right there?"
"Sure, certainly," I say. You'd have thought that the French hadn't heard of me yet, but I hadn't even been here half a day and my partner's first plan for the remainder of the day was already going out the window.
"I wasn't sure if I was feeling up to shaking hands with the whole office anyhow," I told him.
"Good, I will proceed there now."
As we drove with the lights going, Francois gave a running commentary on the streets we were using, where they led, and what a pain it was to drive in Paris during rush hour. He'd never been to Tokyo, so I didn't say anything to contradict him.
Soon we arrived on the scene. A bunch of emergency response vehicles were crowded around one of the manhole covers in the middle of a busy street. Ambulances and police cars, cops directing traffic, detectives, you name it. Francois gets out, runs over to a group of other officers, and gets involved in a lengthy discussion with them, with plenty of gestures and so on.
There's a voice in the back of my mind telling me that I should be trying to follow what's going on, but I really can't be bothered at the moment. I lean back against the car and tilt my head back onto the roof. I just relax and drown in the wash of noise that surrounds me. I'm still not sure what's going on, or why I'm here in Paris.
As the days passed before I left, I'd found myself wondering more and more what the heck was going on. Why had someone asked for me? I mean, it wasn't like I was really that famous. Why had the brass on my end sent me over? It just didn't add up. I was used to weird coincidence ruling my life, but it just didn't feel like coincidence to me. But what was I supposed to do about it? I wasn't in good with anyone in any sort of position high up in the police in Tokyo, so there was no way I was gonna find out what their take was. I didn't know anyone at all in Paris, and I wasn't sure what asking around would do for me. I let out a deep sigh, and figured I'd just go with it for now. After all, if someone was planning something, then I figured that the chaos that surrounded me would mess with their plans as well.
Francois came back over, and herded me over towards the sewer.
"I just had to clear you to be on the crime scene with the ranking officer here. Be very careful, the forensic people haven't had a chance to take more than a few photos, but I thought you'd want to see the scene first hand."
We climbed down into the sewer. Partway down, the smell rising out of the refuse channel hit me like a fist. Summer heat and sewers don't mix in a real pleasant way. We reached the bottom, and I looked over at Francois, who was walking briskly down the tunnel towards the lights that were about one hundred metres off. He wasn't clasping an effeminate silk handkerchief to his nose or anything as he went, and my respect for him went up a bit. Those pointy shoes hadn't seemed to hurt his climbing either. Francois walked up to one of the forensics guys standing just outside the lit area.
"Alain, what do we have here?" he asked.
"Ten unidentified corpses, with a possibility of one or two washed away with the flow in the system, we have some people looking for them now. All of them were probably armed, and we've found a few of their guns, mostly 9mm's and a couple .45's. Death is from what look like pistol wounds, probably 9 mm rounds, and almost all the shots are shots to the head or heart. Now, from what we can see so far,"
But Francois had put an hand on his arm and silenced him. He could obviously sense the same thing that I could. Something was wrong.
"Back, everybody back! Get out, get out!" Francois shouted, and pulled Alain down to the ground.
The thunder of automatic fire from down the sewer tunnel boomed around us. Sparks flew from the forensic office lights as they were shredded by bullets, leaving us in darkness lit only by the stroboscopic muzzle flashes from their weapons.
"Shit," I cursed, swearing in Japanese as I made a leap over to the other side of the tunnel where there was another walkway. It took only seconds for the bullets to start striking sparks off the stonework around me, telling me that whoever had the guns, also had some sort of night vision gear. Otherwise, they wouldn't be able to see me quite as easily as they'd just done.
Alain was off on the other side, screaming like a little girl while Francois tried to herd him down along the tunnel towards the exit. A scream from further down the tunnel suggested that someone had been hit.
A short pause in the fire, and then they opened up again, shooting diagonally across the tunnel from both sides, spraying ricochets off both sides of the sewer. Angry red sparks glinted in the air as bullets whistled and screamed all around. It was all I could do not to just drop into the Umisenken and vanish totally. Instead I threw a blinding white ki charge off down the tunnel, bouncing along the floor of the sewer like some sort of flare. My eyes were shut when I threw it, so I was ok as I turned around and started to sprint for the exit. The four guys coming up the tunnel in standard two by two cover formation weren't so lucky though. Sure, I figured their night vision stuff had filters so they weren't blinded by the sudden light, but at the same time they still weren't going to be seeing too well with all of us on the other side of the light.
I grabbed the guy who was lying on the floor with a stomach shot on my way out, and got him out as well as me. Everyone had their weapons out, eyes wild, searching the buildings around us for any sign of danger. I got the guy with me to an ambulance, and crouched behind one of the cars. I had no idea it was this bad when they sent me here.
"Watch for snipers!" one guy screamed from behind another car. Pedestrians scattered off the street in a rush, catching the panicked feeling of the officers, and reacting the only way they could.
Then, there was silence. Sudden peace. Then, after thirty seconds, a dull thump and shocking white light from the open sewer, like lightening, but lasting for seconds. Some sort of thermite charge, my brain told me, but I wasn't really listening. I had no idea it was this bad here in Paris. The police weren't in control down in the sewers, and it didn't look like they were in control up here in the streets either. So who was it that was at the top of the food chain here?
Elsewhere in the city, two young women eating croissants in a café sneezed simultaneously.
Chapter 2 Author's Notes
The second attack Ranma experiences down in the sewers is a group of people trying to cover their tracks and destroy the evidence the first group of people left. Sometimes, 'cleaners' are depicted as using acid to clean up bodies, but that seemed a bit impractical here, so a large, timed thermite charge was used to dispose of things. This was just one more workable solution that suggested itself to me... who knows, it might not be practical either! Strangely, I'm not actually an expert in the disposal of large numbers of inconvenient corpses.
The time that I had before I'd left Japan passed like a blur, as I found out just how much you have to do when you're a responsible sort of person when you're leaving the country for an indefinite period. Forwarding mail, writing a will, stopping utilities. Ok, well I didn't have to write a will but I had some savings, so I figured I should. I left 'em to my mom, with instructions to never let my dad get his hands on any of it, and to Akane if they thought it would be better.
As for the flight itself, well let's just say that I had no idea how much I hated flying until I'd made my way from Japan to France. Ok, I'd flown before, but never the droning marathon that I'd suffered through. I suppose there weren't many police departments in the world who'd have the cash to fly me direct in business or first class, but it woulda been real nice. Bouncing around the globe like a ping pong ball in coach gives a vast appreciation for the comforts money can buy. I found myself thinking a few times that maybe, just maybe, Nabiki had the right idea all along. Too much noise, not enough food, bratty kids, and bad movies all conspired to make the experience somewhat worse than swimming to China. At least I got exercise then.
But now I was standing here in Charles De Gaulle airport outside Paris, waiting to be met by someone. Apparently my partner and translator spoke English as well as French, so I'd just have to make do with that. They didn't have anyone on staff who was fluent in Japanese, and bringing in an outside translator on a case as dangerous as this one was pretty much out of the question. My English wasn't that great, but I figured it would be enough to let me communicate. Hopefully they'd let me do my own thing most of the time anyway.
Soon, this French pretty boy police officer found me, and I met my new partner. His name was Francois Chapelle, which of course I couldn't say without mangling totally, so I just ended up having to call him Frank instead. That I could almost deal with, even if he was insisting on first names, which threw me a bit at first. He was wearing a spotless tailored suit, sunglasses, pointed shoes, an earring, and an attitude. He was even wearing a mauve shirt. Mauve. I felt like a dirty little thug standing next to him. But in the end it was ok, because I could tell that he was a martial artist, and a pretty good one, so I could communicate with him on that level. I was used to pretty boy martial artists like Tarou anyway, so it wasn't a big deal. At least he wasn't calling me femboy, or something like that. He was a few inches taller than me, but that was hardly a shock. I'd ended up at about 5'8 or 5'9, so there were a lot of guys here taller than me.
We headed out and picked up a car, and started in towards the city. He said he'd show me my apartment so I could drop my stuff off, and then we could head down to the station, if I was alright. I was so jet lagged that my body had no idea what time it was supposed to be, so I figured that I'd just go ahead and work a normal day. Thumb my nose at the jet lag.
"So, Ranma, what sort of martial arts have you trained in?" he asked me as we twisted through the city streets.
"My own family's style. Bits and pieces of lots of things. What do you do?" I asked, knowing very well that he was a martial artist.
"Ah, well I've spent time mostly with Savante, but I have studied some other styles as well. But Savante is my specialty," he said, not bluffing or boasting, so I figured he was pretty good. I thought maybe I recognised him from some magazine or something, so I figured he'd competed internationally at the very least.
That was something I'd never done, since I hadn't specialised in any style other than my own enough to fight based on competition rules. The only other option were those ugly underground full contact fight-for-cash affairs, and while Pops pushed me to make some more money to support him that way, it just didn't feel right to me.
"If there is someplace for us to practice, I would be honoured to spend some time sparring with you, if that would be possible," I said. I figured it couldn't hurt, and it might be fun.
"Certainly, the central Paris station that we'll be working from through the duration of our stay has a gym, and I would enjoy the chance to be your sparring partner while you are here."
I see the smirk he shoots me, and I know suddenly that someone has told him about some hotshot Japanese kung fu cop guy who's coming over to stick his nose in their problems and make life difficult. For the moment, I mentally file him in the 'smiles at male type but really wants to beat the crap out of me and flirts outrageously with female type despite strong physical discouragement' camp of acquaintances. We'll see though.
Before I could get into brooding about anything though, the radio in the car came alive with chatter and I can see from Francois' alert look that something has just happened. Even if you can't understand the language, police bands probably sound the same no matter where you go in the world.
"Ranma, it seems we might have some new evidence," he said after a while of listening, and replying. "Some sewer engineers in the twentieth district have found some bodies, about ten it seems, in their section of the tunnels. Looked like gunshot wounds. Do you feel able to go right there?"
"Sure, certainly," I say. You'd have thought that the French hadn't heard of me yet, but I hadn't even been here half a day and my partner's first plan for the remainder of the day was already going out the window.
"I wasn't sure if I was feeling up to shaking hands with the whole office anyhow," I told him.
"Good, I will proceed there now."
As we drove with the lights going, Francois gave a running commentary on the streets we were using, where they led, and what a pain it was to drive in Paris during rush hour. He'd never been to Tokyo, so I didn't say anything to contradict him.
Soon we arrived on the scene. A bunch of emergency response vehicles were crowded around one of the manhole covers in the middle of a busy street. Ambulances and police cars, cops directing traffic, detectives, you name it. Francois gets out, runs over to a group of other officers, and gets involved in a lengthy discussion with them, with plenty of gestures and so on.
There's a voice in the back of my mind telling me that I should be trying to follow what's going on, but I really can't be bothered at the moment. I lean back against the car and tilt my head back onto the roof. I just relax and drown in the wash of noise that surrounds me. I'm still not sure what's going on, or why I'm here in Paris.
As the days passed before I left, I'd found myself wondering more and more what the heck was going on. Why had someone asked for me? I mean, it wasn't like I was really that famous. Why had the brass on my end sent me over? It just didn't add up. I was used to weird coincidence ruling my life, but it just didn't feel like coincidence to me. But what was I supposed to do about it? I wasn't in good with anyone in any sort of position high up in the police in Tokyo, so there was no way I was gonna find out what their take was. I didn't know anyone at all in Paris, and I wasn't sure what asking around would do for me. I let out a deep sigh, and figured I'd just go with it for now. After all, if someone was planning something, then I figured that the chaos that surrounded me would mess with their plans as well.
Francois came back over, and herded me over towards the sewer.
"I just had to clear you to be on the crime scene with the ranking officer here. Be very careful, the forensic people haven't had a chance to take more than a few photos, but I thought you'd want to see the scene first hand."
We climbed down into the sewer. Partway down, the smell rising out of the refuse channel hit me like a fist. Summer heat and sewers don't mix in a real pleasant way. We reached the bottom, and I looked over at Francois, who was walking briskly down the tunnel towards the lights that were about one hundred metres off. He wasn't clasping an effeminate silk handkerchief to his nose or anything as he went, and my respect for him went up a bit. Those pointy shoes hadn't seemed to hurt his climbing either. Francois walked up to one of the forensics guys standing just outside the lit area.
"Alain, what do we have here?" he asked.
"Ten unidentified corpses, with a possibility of one or two washed away with the flow in the system, we have some people looking for them now. All of them were probably armed, and we've found a few of their guns, mostly 9mm's and a couple .45's. Death is from what look like pistol wounds, probably 9 mm rounds, and almost all the shots are shots to the head or heart. Now, from what we can see so far,"
But Francois had put an hand on his arm and silenced him. He could obviously sense the same thing that I could. Something was wrong.
"Back, everybody back! Get out, get out!" Francois shouted, and pulled Alain down to the ground.
The thunder of automatic fire from down the sewer tunnel boomed around us. Sparks flew from the forensic office lights as they were shredded by bullets, leaving us in darkness lit only by the stroboscopic muzzle flashes from their weapons.
"Shit," I cursed, swearing in Japanese as I made a leap over to the other side of the tunnel where there was another walkway. It took only seconds for the bullets to start striking sparks off the stonework around me, telling me that whoever had the guns, also had some sort of night vision gear. Otherwise, they wouldn't be able to see me quite as easily as they'd just done.
Alain was off on the other side, screaming like a little girl while Francois tried to herd him down along the tunnel towards the exit. A scream from further down the tunnel suggested that someone had been hit.
A short pause in the fire, and then they opened up again, shooting diagonally across the tunnel from both sides, spraying ricochets off both sides of the sewer. Angry red sparks glinted in the air as bullets whistled and screamed all around. It was all I could do not to just drop into the Umisenken and vanish totally. Instead I threw a blinding white ki charge off down the tunnel, bouncing along the floor of the sewer like some sort of flare. My eyes were shut when I threw it, so I was ok as I turned around and started to sprint for the exit. The four guys coming up the tunnel in standard two by two cover formation weren't so lucky though. Sure, I figured their night vision stuff had filters so they weren't blinded by the sudden light, but at the same time they still weren't going to be seeing too well with all of us on the other side of the light.
I grabbed the guy who was lying on the floor with a stomach shot on my way out, and got him out as well as me. Everyone had their weapons out, eyes wild, searching the buildings around us for any sign of danger. I got the guy with me to an ambulance, and crouched behind one of the cars. I had no idea it was this bad when they sent me here.
"Watch for snipers!" one guy screamed from behind another car. Pedestrians scattered off the street in a rush, catching the panicked feeling of the officers, and reacting the only way they could.
Then, there was silence. Sudden peace. Then, after thirty seconds, a dull thump and shocking white light from the open sewer, like lightening, but lasting for seconds. Some sort of thermite charge, my brain told me, but I wasn't really listening. I had no idea it was this bad here in Paris. The police weren't in control down in the sewers, and it didn't look like they were in control up here in the streets either. So who was it that was at the top of the food chain here?
Elsewhere in the city, two young women eating croissants in a café sneezed simultaneously.
Chapter 2 Author's Notes
The second attack Ranma experiences down in the sewers is a group of people trying to cover their tracks and destroy the evidence the first group of people left. Sometimes, 'cleaners' are depicted as using acid to clean up bodies, but that seemed a bit impractical here, so a large, timed thermite charge was used to dispose of things. This was just one more workable solution that suggested itself to me... who knows, it might not be practical either! Strangely, I'm not actually an expert in the disposal of large numbers of inconvenient corpses.