Thief in the Night
A Lupin the Third fan fiction by Lywinis
Chapter Three: The Inquisition, What a Show…
Cara swallowed her fear and settled for righteous indignation instead. "Who the hell do you think you are, Pops? Barging in on my father like this. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, old man."
He smiled, his eyes boring into her. She resisted the urge to ask if he were cock-eyed. "Your father asked me to stay. I told him I needed to speak with you…about a personal matter. He was delighted to let me stay, once I flashed the badge, that is."
"Well, stop sitting there like an overgrown vulture and come into the kitchen," she snapped. "I'll get a beer and we can discuss whatever it is you want to know. Please make it quick, it's been a very long night."
"I'll bet," Zenigata muttered at her retreating back. "I'll also bet you won't be so thirsty once you hear what I have to say." He truly respected this woman; she was the only one who had ever bested Lupin and gotten away scot-free. He would have asked her to aid in his investigation, but she would have never helped. He was a cop, she was a cat burglar…it was simple as that. He grabbed his hat and coat and followed her into the kitchen.
The Brouligiere kitchen was clean; in fact, clean was putting it mildly. It was spotless. Every surface was antiseptic. It made her want to sweep the utensils and plates to the floor, to make a mess every time she stepped into it. She resisted the urge, grabbing a Killian's out of the fridge and popping the top off the bottle with a flick of her slim wrist. Zenigata had seen her do the same thing to a man's neck. He swallowed slowly, declining the beverage she offered him. She turned her chair around and straddled it, while he took a seat opposite her.
"So, spill it," she said irritably, taking a swig of her beer.
"We know about the heist on the Sutton Hoo excavation site," Zenigata began. She grunted, shrugging, as if to say, "And I care why…?" He went on, plowing ahead because she was the only lead he had for Lupin. "I also know for a fact, by way of scientist Kenneth Foley, that you were there that night."
"So," he said, drawing out the moment, his slightly off-kilter grin seeming harsh and more than a little crazy, "see Lupin tonight?"
"No." She set the bottle onto the table with an audible thump. "I've been out of the racket for years, Pops. Lupin wouldn't come looking for me, and you know it. We…left on uncomfortable terms. You're just an obsessed old man looking for leads on a case you should never have taken in the first place." She smirked at the way his eyebrows beetled when he scowled. "I was there on a professional level, that's all."
Cara knew she had gone too far with her "obsessed old man" remark, but she pressed on, her voice dangerously quiet. "And the next time you flash a badge at my father in his own house, I'll make sure you're drinking that nasty ramen of yours through a straw for the next three months. You were out of line."
Cara was the only one of Lupin's gang that Zenigata truly feared…and respected more than a bit. She glared at him now, and he shrank back a little; the woman was well known for her violent temper, and he had been on the receiving end of that temper at one point. He hadn't been able to walk straight for three days. He brought out his handcuffs, slowly inching them within striking distance, then leapt toward her, slapping the cuff on her wrist. She gave him a tired look.
"Can't this wait till tomorrow?"
He looked at her incredulously. "Hell no. You think I'm going to let you get away? Don't be stupid!"
She rolled her eyes. "Whatever, Pops." And, true to her nature and training, she slipped out of the cuffs. He goggled at her. "What, you thought Lupin was the only one who was double jointed? He's not the only kinky one of the old group, not by far."
He turned a beet red, the color flushing up the back of his neck. "Hold still, damnit!"
"Not a chance." But she stood still amiably, allowing him to get close to her, and right as he was about to slap the cuffs on her again, she ducked under him and flipped him onto his back. He landed with an "Oof!" and a groan as his back protested. She made a break for the door, darting out into the cold night.
She didn't get very far. A bright spotlight was on her almost as soon as the door opened, and a heavy blow came down on the back of her head. She crumpled, not expecting the strike, and collapsed semi-conscious to the pavement. Her entire body felt numb, and her mind flashed back to the conversation she had with Jigen in the sedan.
"You know Fujiko won't let you get away clean with your take, Cara."
"I know."
"Well then, damn it, let me protect you!"
Damn Lupin. Damn him to hell.
Her world faded…
She woke up slowly, the Scotland Yard cell cold and foreign. Her wrists were sore from where she had been cuffed during transport. At least, she assumed that was why they were red and swollen. She staggered over to the toilet by the window and vomited. Wiping her mouth violently, she looked out the window, her blue eyes burning with malice. Outside her barred window, it was a typical London day: rainy.
She'd be damned if she ever worked with them again. They were all nothing but trouble. Hell, she would bet all of her nonexistent inheritance that Jigen and Goemon knew about the sting operation on her house, but hadn't bothered to inform her. She was expendable, after all. It left a bitter taste in her mouth. She spat again. It wasn't just the aftertaste.
She rinsed her mouth with brackish water as she made her plans. It made her sick, made her insides clench and roil with pent up hatred and anger. Her fingers wound around each other and she made three silent promises to herself. Had one been able to see the mental chalkboard she set up for herself, it might look a little like this:
One: Never trust any man ever again.
Two: Get out of jail without scandal to her father.
Three: Come out of this on top of Arsene Lupin III.
She swore it. She would come out on top, and grind that little monkey-faced bastard into the dust.
Her cell door clanged open about three days after her bail hearing. Set at over three hundred thousand pounds, she knew no one would have the scratch to spring her. She watched the floor as she heard her father's steady tread on the concrete. He stopped next to her, and for the first time in his life, seemed uncertain as to what he should do. He coughed nervously and folded his arms behind his back.
"Yes, Papa?"
"I've come to take you home."
"I'm not going."
"Impossible. Your bail will be paid shortly, and they took me on honor that you would attend your trial."
"I'm not going, Papa. I'm going to stay here and face the music."
He looked flabbergasted. "You mean, you would do that, even when you told the Inspector that you had no part in the robbery?"
"You were eavesdropping again, Papa," she noted mildly.
"It's my damn house, I'll listen to whatever conversation I want to." She raised an eyebrow at the expletive; Alphonse de Brouligiere never swore, not even in times of extreme stress.
To his surprise, she broke the silence with something that should have swelled his pride, but didn't. "I'm sorry." Her bloodshot and bruised eyes stayed on the floor the entire time.
"For what? For not allowing me into your life, and allowing me to help you? You are twenty-five years old, Cara, and an adult in your own right. I am just a meddling old fool. But you are still considerate enough to bow to most of my tyrannical whims and orders, even when you have enough money in your trust fund to move to a different place."
"You were there, Papa, I couldn't let you live by yourself, even if you are a crotchety old bastard." She smiled slightly at his gruff chuckle. "I may not like you, but you're still my Papa. I'm somewhat obligated to love you."
He patted her shoulder awkwardly. "Well, if you feel that you must stay, then you must. My lawyer will help you, and you will surely come out on top of this one."
"Papa, I have a feeling that that is exactly what is going to happen."
The trial would take place shortly after. It was a media circus, as was to be expected when someone as rich as the Brouligieres were caught in scandalous turmoil. She knew she would be shunned and not allowed back into polite society, but she had never had any use for polite society in the first place. She chalked it up as an acceptable loss.
The lawyer, Marco Pellini, was as Machiavellian and sly as one could have hoped. He was the best that money could buy, in Italy and all across Europe. He stared hard at her across the mahogany desk, his eyes barely leaving her cleavage to acknowledge the brain that resided above. She instantly disliked the man, but he was the biggest shark in the legal sea at the moment, and so she put what trust she had to give in his abilities. At the moment, he was going over the details of that night.
"So, Ms. Brouligiere, you were in the office with Mr. Foley the entire time?" he asked for the millionth time, his ballpoint pen tapping on his legal pad.
She resisted the urge to scream and shook her head. "No, I went out briefly, to get my tools and briefcase from the back of the car. My driver was leaning against the door and smoking, so I told him to go on break until I called for him, which was a few hours later, around ten o'clock or so. I stopped afterward at a bar, had a few drinks and mingled, then I got home about midnight to find the Inspector sitting in the library. I offered him a drink and he declined, accusing me of stealing the entire jewel library of the Sutton Hoo excavation site, along with several tons of gold."
"What happened next? Was the Inspector in his right mind at the time?"
"No, he seemed a little off-kilter. He kept getting a glazed look in his eye and accused me of partnering up with a Mr. Lupin. I was outraged, and then he slapped a pair of handcuffs on my wrists, saying he wouldn't let me get away. I defended myself, flipping the man onto his back and bolting out of the door to go and call the police. To my dismay, the police had surrounded my house. I was struck on the back of the head with a blunt object, and the next thing I knew, I was in a Scotland Yard cell, awaiting trial for a crime I did not commit."
"Mmm, obviously not a fair trial," came the voice, but the eyes never left the cleavage. Good lord, this man was more lecherous than Lupin! And here she thought such a thing couldn't possibly exist. She glared at him, making him meet her eyes for once. He smirked at her. "I think I can help you, Ms. Brouligiere. But in return, I'll want something from you." His eyes raked her chest.
She glared at him again, her hands on her well-formed hips. "Surely you realize that there is no way in hell I will agree to your demands, Mr. Pellini? My father is already paying you quite a handsome retainer, and if you think I'll grant you any…sexual favors, you're quite out of your reputedly brilliant mind."
He laughed at her. She studied his face, and her suspicions were confirmed. His eyes were crinkling at the corners, and not just any crinkling. That could mean only one thing. She reached out an impeccably manicured hand, grabbed his hair at the hairline, and pulled. He gave a yelp, and then his face came off.
Lupin sat there, looking like the proverbial kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He rubbed the back of his neck, abashed. "Guess you caught me."
"How could I not? You're too damn obvious with your disguises. I thought Pepé and Henrìk were better with their faces?"
He shrugged. "They were on vacation. I had to improvise."
It was her turn to smirk. "The master thief is caught by the pupil. Not bad."
"Don't get ahead of yourself, it was a lucky break."
"It was your attitude that gave you away, you know."
"You wish."
She glared at him. "So what brings you to my lawyer's office? Come to give a signed statement that I do not work for you and never have?"
"Hardly, although your duplicity never ceases to amaze me, dear heart. I've come to tell you that Fujiko double-crossed you. Your bank account in Switzerland has been cleaned out."
"What!" She grabbed him by his jacket lapels, yanking him up to eye level with her. "How in the hell did she get my account number and verification code?"
"I…sort of…let her have it?"
"You DID WHAT!" She was livid. "How could you be so brainless? For a master thief, you sure are stupid."
He scowled. "Name-calling will get you only so far, Cara. Normally, I love it when a woman talks dirty to me, but this is uncalled for."
"I'll tell you what's uncalled for. Trusting you, Lupin. After what you did to me, I should have left well enough alone. But I didn't, I thought maybe you'd grown up and grown out of that whore of a girlfriend. I was wrong, and now I'm paying the price for it. I'll do jail time if I have to, but know this: if I ever see you again, I won't hesitate to put a bullet in your brain."
He was up and around the desk in a blink of the eye. He grabbed her by the forearms, jerking her towards him. His lips crushed themselves against hers, and she could do nothing about it. Although Lupin was unusually wiry, he was strong when he needed to be. She tried not to be swept away be her hormones, she even got up her knee to jab at his groin, but a skillfully placed thigh took the brunt of her blow. His tongue probed at her lips, seeking entry, but she held herself stiffly against him.
At least, for the first few seconds that was. Her arms swept up his chest and around his neck, her eyes closing. She tried to draw away, but Lupin, always Lupin, kept her right where he wanted her. Her thoughts swirled around themselves in a tangled jumble, but they soon mattered little as a haze swept over her vision and she sought more of his kiss. Lupin had always been a skillful kisser. She had never let him get farther than that, and surprisingly, he respected her for that.
His arms wrapped around her, one across the small of her back, one across her shoulders, holding her to him so he could drink his fill. He came up for air, breaking off the kiss suddenly. She looked back at him, dazed and confused.
"What are you after now, Lupin?" Her voice was low and husky, the beginnings of a bedroom voice he never knew she had. He nearly attacked her lips again, but he held himself back.
"Right now? Just you."
"Do all your women fall for that line?"
"Only the good ones."
"Sorry to disappoint, then."
He laughed flippantly. "Fujicakes, nothing could—" He stopped, his eyes widening in horror as hers narrowed in anger and hurt.
She shoved him away, a desperate need to get away from him fueling her arms. He slammed against the desk, sliding over a corner and onto the floor.
He stood and walked over to her hunched form, trying to comfort her and right his slip. Her hand knifed up and across his cheek, and had slashed back against her side before his brain even registered he'd been slapped. He put his hand to his throbbing cheek and decided he'd deserved that.
"Cara—"
"I don't want to hear it, Lupin."
"But—"
She was already gone, the door swinging silently shut behind her.
She sat in her Scotland Yard cell, awaiting trial. She had decided she would defend herself, relying on the years before cat burglary, when she had been an aspiring law student at Oxford. Before Lupin…before dropping out. She had a law book in front of her, open to a passage about a case in America that had been dropped because of insufficient evidence. That O.J. Simpson chap had had a good lawyer, she thought to herself. It's too bad he's not certified in London. I could use his help.
Her head was aching, but she pressed on, making meticulous notes on a yellow legal pad. Her eyes began to water, when finally a guard came to her cell. It was none other than Zenigata.
"Time to go, my little chickadee," he called gaily to her.
"Go fuck yourself, Pops," she muttered.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"That's right, it had better be nothing, cause you're already in deeper trouble than you can even imagine."
"Pops?"
"Yeah?"
"Do me a favor and shut it, would you?"
He puffed himself up in indignation, but a second officer arrived to unlock the cell. He tipped his hat to her apologetically and cuffed her, leading her out of the cold cell and out of sight. Zenigata swore and patted his trench coat pockets. He needed a cigarette.
Cara chuckled to herself as she was led down to a squad car through a sea of reporters. They screamed questions at her from every side, but she used her breeding to its advantage and stuck her nose in the air. Another officer carried her briefcase for her, and she was seated in the back with a polite nod from both of them. She smiled at the gentlemen in blue, and a dozen flashbulbs went off, illuminating her pale and drawn features for the cover of the evening newspapers.
It was going to be an interesting trial.
She demanded that she be allowed a trial in the United States, and after much deliberation, she was extradited. Her mother had been an American, and she had been born on American soil. Only after her mother had died did she move in with her father at his London house. She shook her head at the insecure, afraid child that had moved into the house at thirteen and had remained into her late twenties. What a change she had made.
Her eyes were drawn to clouds outside of her window. Zenigata snored beside her, his complimentary alcohol wasting him completely. She shook her head as he rolled onto her shoulder and tried to drool on her. Lightweight.
The plane had been in the air nearly four hours, and it would be about sixteen more before it landed, but she couldn't sleep. She could, however, stick airline peanuts up Pops' nose to amuse herself. He lay with his head back now, snoring up a storm. She popped open the peanuts they had given her earlier, took aim, and fired. A perfect shot; it sailed through the space between them and into his left nostril. His snoring changed slightly in pitch, which was pretty funny to her. She stifled her giggles as he looked around sleepily, then turned in his chair, falling back into slumber. She had to be going crazy…all she could think of were new ways to torture the beleaguered inspector.
She turned to her side, opposite him. Well, she tried to. The handcuffs that connected them didn't allow for much privacy. She was sick of this. She expertly cracked her knuckles and slipped out again. Much better. Turning to her side, she dozed as the plane soared over the Atlantic.
Zenigata grumbled about her slipping her cuffs, but he was slightly confused by how she didn't try to bolt as soon as the plane landed. He wondered if she was all right, but he was still pretty miffed that she had cuffed him to his chair. He also had this nagging sinus infection, one that seemed to be just in his left nostril. He tried his hanky, but it was no good. He disliked flight; it always screwed with your system.
She chuckled at him when he blew his nose in Customs. "What are you snickering at, delinquent?" He was not about to take any guff about how he was getting old and sick.
"Nothing." She tried not to look at the snot-encrusted peanut, but it mocked her, and she nearly burst out in guffaws. Zenigata looked at her wildly contorting face for a moment, then growled and barreled them through O'Hare.
"Ah, Inspector Zenigata, so nice to meet you." A man was striding through the crowd towards them, his hand out. Zenigata took it, and then realized he still had his hanky in that hand. The other gentleman didn't seem to mind, as he was looking Cara over with a mixture of disgust and anger. "So, she's the one causing all the trouble for the scientists of Sutton Hoo. What a shame."
She stood defiantly and stared him down. He was about six feet tall, and looked like he weighed no more than 185 pounds. Blue eyes, chestnut hair just beginning to salt and pepper…he was a fireplace lawyer, it looked like. She put on her coldest glare for him, and was satisfied to see him flinch. "What, are you, cock-eyed, or something?" she said, the contempt in her voice audible and dripping, even in the noisy airport. "What are you staring at, Yank? You have a problem?"
"No problem, I just like to know who I'm putting behind bars, Ms. Brouligiere."
Zenigata shuffled his feet. "Cara, this is, uh, I'm sorry, sir, I didn't catch your name—"
"It's Gregory Callahan, Inspector, and I'm the prosecuting attorney for Ms. Brouligiere's case. You also have a peanut up your nose, did you know?"
Zenigata swiped at the offending nut, yelping as it came free. He glared at Cara, but she was too busy to notice, locked into a staring match with Callahan. He looked back and forth between the two, noting the palpable hatred. He decided to get Cara as far away from this one as possible, or she'd be likely to slip her cuffs and kick his ass.
He shuttled her away, Cara unwilling to break eye contact. Callahan gave her a sarcastic salute with his fore and middle fingers, sweeping them in a jaunty salute; she responded by flipping him her middle.
Callahan chuckled to himself as he walked out to his car. The snow was beginning to fall, signaling the beginning of the Christmas season. The perfect time to start and end a trial quickly. The judge, eager to be off with his family or his mistress, depending on whom they got to hear the trial, would demand a prompt decision.
He slid into the Buick, the engine already running, and turned to look at the chestnut-haired woman next to him.
"How did it go?"
"According to plan. She hates my guts."
"She'll hate them even more when she finds out who you're really working for."
"But that won't be until the end of the trial." He ran a hand up the inside of her creamy thigh.
She smiled indulgently at him. "Of course not. I always keep my promises."
"Yes, Fujiko, you certainly do."
Author's Note: Finally, right? Heh, I know. For my reviewers, all two of you...thank you. You helped me along the way, because without you, I never would have gotten my lazy ass in gear to get this done.
Next chapter will be up soon, I promise. This is a long chapter, however, and hopefully you'll be entretained. Ciao!
Lywinis
