Chapter 6 – Inspector

16 Years Ago

A man was talking over the bus station loudspeaker, but Jigen couldn't understand a word. For starters, he didn't speak a lick of Japanese, and the pounding in his head was making that point all to clear. In his hand, he was pretty sure, was a bus ticket that would take him to Osaka from the Tokyo International Airport. It really could say
anything; he just had to trust the man behind the counter.

This was possibly the dumbest thing he had ever done. The only thing good about this place was that it was worlds away from Chicago, and meanwhile it was particularly confounding.

He opened the aspirin bottle he had dumped his painkillers into before getting on the plane. The vicodin Ben had given him was running out, which was probably for the best – it was just further disorienting him. What the hell was he doing in Japan again?

He liked it when the bus left the city. Somewhere along the road it pulled up to a rest stop, and he stepped out into the sun, taking an extra long drag as he stared up at the beautiful mountains. Unlike congested Tokyo, there was nothing here but grass and fresh air. He pushed his hat up for a better view, and to feel the wind in his face. Even if this was a wild goose chase, it was worth it.

Striking another match, he produced the last of his ID cards – the one he had used to get on the plane. It was his driver's license from the state of Illinois. A younger, more vibrant, and less hairy Jimmy Diesi stared back up at him, as if expecting something.

He burnt the card by the road, letting the plastic seal melt onto the pavement. He turned back and got on the bus without a second glance.

All he had to go on was an old photograph and what his father had written on the back. It was blurry to him now, through the haze of pain. He relaxed in the restaurant booth, contemplating more pain medicine – but then again, this was really a conversation he wanted to have his head on straight for.

He had put a Xerox of the picture in a lot of possibility's mailboxes, and only one woman had apparently responded. An older woman in a flower-print dress sat down across from him, the copy in her hands.

"You are looking for me?"

"Yeah," he said slowly. "You know – the man in this picture?" he said hesitantly, sliding it over to her. "He was your husband."

"Daisuke." She quickly clarified, "Diesi. When we met, I spoke little English. He said his name was Sergeant Diesi. I could not pronounce it. So I called him Daisuke."

"He was your husband?"

"Yes. But his family ... didn't like. I had to go back." She paused sadly, stroking the photograph. "I find out from the newspaper when he died."

He stamped out the last of his cigarette in the ashtray. "That was a long time ago. He died when I was young. I don't really remember much – but he talked about you."

"You knew him?"

"Yeah." He averted his eyes nervously. "He was my father."

Mayumi looked at him skeptically, and for once, he allowed himself to be stared at. "You look like Daisuke – " She touched his bare beginnings of a beard as if he were aflame.

He wasn't someone who liked to be touched, but this seemed like the time. "Except – I have black eyes. No one else in the family does."

"I had a son – his name was James."

"Jimmy. No one calls me James." He wanted to light another cigarette, but it didn't seem appropriate. "And no one ever will. They all think I'm dead. It's why I came here. And – I wanted to see if you exist, or dad was just making you up."

He turned away. Through the glass, Kyoto residents were passing in oblivion. There was a pause; maybe he had been wrong all along. Maybe she was playing for a fool. Christ, he wanted a cigarette. But before he could reach for woman, this women he had just met was hugging him, clutching his wounded torso like he was desperate to escape. "Mom – " he cried, pain rushing through his body. "Ow. Seriously. It's great to find you and all, but that HURTS." She released him, now a sobbing mess, and he clutched his side protectively.

"My son – my little boy – You're injured!" She tugged on his jacket. "Who did this to you?"

"A guy I know. Grew up with him. You remember Magnelli? Anthony?" She nodded cautiously. "His son – Chris. It's a long story, and it's not a big deal. He just knocked me around a little." And as long as he didn't pop all his stitches, she would hopefully never know otherwise. "Anyway, it got a little hot at home. I had to disappear."

"You in your father's business?" she asked. "When I met him – he was a soldier. I didn't know – "

"It's just a different kind of soldier." Or so he told himself. "It doesn't matter. I'm not in that business anymore. You don't have to worry."

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"I'm telling you, you've got to take this guy seriously!" Inspector Zenigata said. "If he says he's going to be there, he's going to be there."

The FBI agent stared back at him with disinterest. This must have been the fifth time this had happened today. After receiving Lupin's note on his car windshield – announcing the thief would break into the mansion of Anthony Marcello and steal a diamond from his collection – Zenigata had run straight to the police, who had redirected him to the FBI, who had sent him scuttling from busy agent to busy agent. He was accustomed to this sort of treatment, but even the famous inspector had his limits. At least his English had improved since he had first started chasing Lupin, or he suspected he would have gotten nowhere at all.

The agent, who's name was Carlson or something, glanced at the note again. "You're telling me this thief leaves notes detailing his future crimes. On your car. Conveniently."

"Yes, G-ddamnit it!"

"Is he the Riddler or something?" the agent said with a smile. "You realize he listed the date and time as Tony Marcello's wedding?"

"It makes a certain amount of sense. Lupin is very methodical. If Marcello and all of his guards are at a church, his house will be left unguarded."

But the agent wasn't impressed by this amazing detective work. "Look, Inspector – " He glanced at the folder on this desk, "Zenigaba –"

"Zenigata."

"Right. Explain to me why the FBI should care that some crook is going to steal a diamond from the biggest mob boss in Chicago?"

Zenigata fumed. "Well, for starters, theft is still a felony in America. Not to mention breaking and entering."

"And grand racketeering. And murder. And tax evasion. All of which we're fairly sure Marcello is guilty of," said the agent. "Look, let me put it into perspective. While you've apparently been jetsetting around the world looking for a cat burglar, we've been building a case against the Marcello family. We've bugged his house and searched his offices. We've got people in witness protection for giving us leads. Now do you really want us to potentially blow all of that by working with him to catch this 'Lupin' character?"

"Agent Carlson, all I'm asking for –"

" – is a few of my men. All of which I need to cover the wedding. You don't think we're on the brink of a mob war here? Don't ask me again."

Americans were a rather rude people, or so Zenigata had learned. Carlson merely went back to ignoring him instead of dismissing him in any way, leaving Zenigata to growl in disgust and storm out. Of all of his rotten luck – Not that he wanted to ask a criminal for help, but this was Lupin he was talking about!

He had to admit to himself that Lupin's plan was pretty brilliant with the timing. Marcello's mansion would be unbelievably available while he was off marrying Fujiko –

No, it didn't make sense. Lupin would never allow Fujiko to marry someone else. He had always managed to talk her out of it. He was in love with her – that much was obvious. But if the heist went as planned, Lupin would be elsewhere while Fujiko took her vows. It had to be a scam – and there was someone who would know all about it.

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Zenigata had never been in a bridal shop. He imagined most men hadn't. His wedding had been traditional Shinto anyway. He felt a little odd storming into a woman's territory, but a job was a job.

Fujiko Mine was on the pedestal in front of the mirrors, having her dress hemmed. She didn't blanched for a moment. "Zenigata. What a surprise."

"Where's Lupin?!?"

She put her hands on her hips. "He'd better not be here. Honestly, I expect more than peeping from him."

"That's not what I mean! What's the scam, Fujiko?"

"Why does everyone keep asking that? Honestly. Can't a woman just settle down without the interrogations?"

"Agh! You're not fooling me!" He pulled his handcuffs out. "You can either tell me or we can discuss it at the station!"

"Oh, I didn't know you had jurisdiction, Inspector Zenigata. Do you even know who I'm marrying? The man must have the best lawyers in the country at his bidding. And mine."

"Hmph." But she did have a point. "And I suppose he knows all about your past with Lupin? As a diamond thief? You don't think he found that suspicious?"

Fujiko paused. "What do you want, Zenigata? Wait, I'll answer that. You want Lupin. You're completely obsessed, you know that? Well, if you think Lupin and I are working together on this one, you're wrong! I only know that he's going to try to steal the diamond during my wedding."

He waved the note in front of her. "Lot of good that does me?"

"What? I think it does you plenty of good, come to think of it. Why don't you ask the FBI for help? I'm sure they're on top of Tony and his house as it is. They'd love an excuse to peek around."

"You don't – " He thought about it. "Heheh. Thanks, Fujiko! I'll be back for you when I finish with Lupin!" He didn't give her any more attention as he left.

"Huh. Who knew Zenigata would need so much help with police work," Fujiko mused.

"Yeah," Lupin said, stepping out of the dressing room. "And I'm glad you think I'm not some kind of disgusting peeping tom."

"Barely. And remind me why I'm helping you again," she asked.

"Because there's something in it for you that shines and cuts glass," he said with a wink. "My darling Fujiko – "

She slapped him. "Stop talking like that. I'm going to be an honest woman in two days."

"I'll believe it when I see it," he said with a playful grin.