Disclaimer – I own no rights to any of the characters or trademarks herein, and I'm not planning on stealing them.
True-angel7 – Thanks for your review. Hopefully it only gets better from here.
Fumio Machii was sitting beneath the parasol of a table on a hill overlooking Woodcut Manor, an anonymous bodyguard to his left and an American, pale as chalk and tall and thin as a rail, to his right. All three were staring holes into Sir Matthew.
"Let me say this one more time, to make sure I understand," Machii said. He paused between each word, letting his rumbling voice and almost sing-song cadence accentuate each one. "Your research on my project was taken from you, at a frivolous party, by a common thief."
"No, Mr. Machii!" Sir Matthew insisted. He was starting to tremble, standing up before Machii and his men, his back to his estate. "Not just any common thief. This man was Lupin III."
"A name I may have heard before," Machii said, stopping to rub his neatly trimmed goatee and take a sip from the tall glass of tea in front of him.
"They say he's a master thief. Maybe even the greatest in the entire world. What was I supposed . . .?"
Machii cleared his throat, and Sir Matthew turned as pale as Machii's American companion.
"I cannot control Lupin's actions," he said. "Lupin does not work for me. But you . . . you I've given good money. I can be very disappointed in you."
"I still have the research," Sir Matthew said. He looked at the blades of grass at his feet, no longer able to keep contact with Fumio Machii's intense stare. "All the man has is a back-up on a flash drive."
"Of research that is supposed to be the exclusive property of Machii Robotics." Machii finished his tea and stood up from the table, then slowly made his way around to Sir Matthew. "Other than this intrusion, how was your party, Sir Matthew? How is your lovely daughter? She is twenty-one now, correct?"
Sir Matthew raised his head quickly.
"If you hurt Hazel . . ."
Machii put a hand on Sir Matthew's shoulder, and the English gentleman screamed.
Machii just shook his head and patted the shoulder.
"Do not look at me like I am the villain in some spy thriller, Sir Matthew. Once the Asimov Project is assembled, I need you to perform the procedure."
It was a busy night in the neon-blue lit nightclub in Tokyo, the murmur of the crowd just an indistinct hum, nearly drowned out by the syncopated rhythm of the music playing.
A ridiculously grinning figure in a loud red jacket, banana yellow necktie over a pitch black dress shirt, and bright white slacks, stumbled from the bar, martini in hand, and collided into a sexy young woman with bleached hair, spilling his cocktail over her cocktail dress.
"Watch it!"
"Oh, I'm sorry," the man in the red jacket slurred. "Let me make it up to you. I'll buy your next drink."
She just flipped her short hair and started to walk by, but the man put an arm across her chest to stop her.
"Let me buy you that drink. I insist."
She tried to push away, but he just wrapped the arm around her.
"You might as well let me buy you that drink. I'm not taking 'no' for an answer."
"I believe the lady wants to be left alone."
The new voice was as steady and even as a whisper, but loud enough to be heard above the throbbing beats.
The man in the red jacket turned, letting the girl walk away. The speaker was definitely American. His outfit seemed more appropriate for a Chicago jazz club than a Tokyo dance club. But he definitely didn't give the out-of-place impression of a typical tourist. Definitely an ex-pat who'd lived in the country long enough to become as comfortable with his surrounding as the natives, but with a confident appearance that seemed like he could be just as comfortable no matter which continent he was on.
His suit was jet black, and a wide-brimmed fedora, of the type that had long fell from commonplace, was slanted across his nose, completely concealing his eyes. A long-beard jutted and curved so that the tip pointed to the brim of the hat.
"You'll stay out of this," the man in the red jacket said, lifting the corner of his jacket so the other man could see his Walther in its holster, "if you know what's good for you."
"You could get in a lot of trouble," the other man said, lifting the corner of his suit coat so the man in the red jacket could see his own holster, and the Smith & Wesson .357 Magnum in it, "carrying that around here."
"Perhaps we'd better take this outside."
The nearest throng of the surrounding mob followed the two men into the alley outside and gathered around as the two men stretched.
The man in red threw the first punch, a right jab that twisted the man in the fedora's head back.
The man in the fedora responded with a left jab that twisted the man in red's head back.
The man in red tackled his opponent, driving him into a wall. The other man wheezed and then brought an elbow down into the man in red's shoulder.
When the man in red dropped, he kicked the man in the fedora in the shin.
As the man in the fedora hopped around on one foot, grabbing his hurt leg, the man in red deftly moved away and rose back to his feet. He laughed defiantly.
The other man's fist came out of nowhere and caught him in the nose.
He returned the punch.
A right jab.
A left jab.
And then both men wound up to swing at the same time, instead losing their balance and swaying into the full bags of trash that had overflowed from the nearest dumpster.
The crowd dispersed as the two fighters lied wheezing where they had fallen.
When everyone had disappeared, both men managed weak chuckles.
The man in red extended his hand.
"Nice to see you again, Jigen."
Daisuke Jigen shook the hand. His other hand went into his coat pocket for a box of Pell Mells. He fished a cigarette that already looked like a dogend out with his teeth and started it with a disposable lighter lying in the trash beneath him.
"Finally made it back to Tokyo, huh? What brings you?"
"Work," Lupin replied. "You on a job right now?"
"Between jobs at the moment. Why?"
"Thought I could cut you in on this thing I'm doing right now."
Jigen stood up, brushed his suit off, and helped Lupin to his feet.
"Let's discuss it back at my apartment. This place cuts their bourbon too much."
Daisuke Jigen pulled a handle of whiskey from a drawer in his apartment and poured it over two glasses of ice, then handed one glass to Arsene Lupin III and clinked their glasses together.
"Kampai."
They took a long pull on their glasses. Jigen took his drink smooth and easy, not showing any reaction while Lupin coughed.
"So," Jigen said, "new jacket?"
"Picked it up in London. Why? You like the green one better?"
"I kinda preferred the pink."
He grinned. Lupin turned away.
"That was a mistake, and I thought we agreed never to bring it up again."
"Enough about your new wardrobe. What's this job you wanna bring me in on?"
Lupin pulled out his smart phone and adjusted the projector on the back. Soon, the image of Fumio Machii was spread across Jigen's apartment wall.
"I think I've heard of this guy," Jigen said. "Machii. His old man was some kinda big kingpin in the Yakuza, right?"
The image changed to newspaper articles confirming what Jigen said.
"Until he had a massive stroke, turning him into a total vegetable," Lupin said. The slide changed to a younger Fumio Machii. "Then his son went legitimate. Supposedly, anyway. Graduated from Osaka University. Started Machii Robotics, one of the most successful and technologically advanced robotic companies in Japan, probably the biggest in the world."
The slide switched to profiles of Fumio Machii, now in his fifties, two other men, and a woman.
"Machii has been working on a top-secret project with three other leading experts in their fields. Vincent Chung, Benjamina Carson, and Sir Matthew Woodcut."
"I heard you dropped in on Doc Woodcut a couple days ago," Jigen interrupted. "Had some Interpol cop chase you away, though."
Lupin slyly pulled Hazel Woodcut's necklace up from beneath his shirt and plugged the flash drive into the phone. Now the images were clinical shots of messy cadavers, anatomical diagrams, and complex mathematical equations.
Jigen took another sip of his bourbon.
"So this is the Asimov Project. What is it?"
"Hell if I know. I'm a thief, not a scientist. But industrial espionage is big business. We get our hands on the other three pieces of data, we stand to make millions on the black market."
Jigen finished his glass and went to pour another.
"You need a refill?"
Lupin took another tiny sip.
"I'm still working on the first one."
"So what about this Interpol inspector?" Jigen said, fixing his drink. "Not like you to get caught in the middle of the job."
"First of all, I finished the job," Lupin said. "Secondly, Interpol was tipped-off I would be there."
"And how were they tipped off?"
"They received a note," Lupin said. Jigen went pale under his fedora when Lupin cleared his throat to recite. "Dear Interpol, I hear Dr. Woodcut is having quite the shindig for his pretty daughter at his mansion in England. Still haven't got my invitation though. Must have got lost in the mail. Don't bother sending me another one. This is my RSVP. Hope to see you there. Love . . ."
"No," Jigen said. The surprise on his face was obvious even with his eyes shaded by the brim of his hat. "You didn't."
"Lupin the Third."
"You tipped the ICPO off about your own job? Why?"
"This inspector, Zenigata, has been trying to sniff me out for over a year now. I wanted to finally meet him face-to-face." Lupin stretched out over Jigen's sofa. "Besides, I'm third-generation gentleman burglar. You don't know what that's like. My father and my grandfather were both chased after by the greatest deductive geniuses of their time. If I don't have a nemesis worthy of hunting me down, if this job gets too easy, there's no point in me doing it anymore."
"And this Zenigata. You think he's a worthy nemesis?"
"Too soon to say. I looked in his eyes, though, and I think there's some potential there."
"There's just one more thing I don't get." Jigen took a swallow of his fresh glass of whiskey. "You've been out of the technological espionage game for a long time now. You're mostly about the bling these days. Why go after this?"
Lupin stood up again and, clenching his jaw with determination, projected another series of images.
"Fumio Machii may claim to not be following in his father's footsteps, but he likes to invest the money from his robotics company into some questionable projects."
The series of images showed Machii in scenes with human traffickers, mercenaries, and drug dealers, and even some shots of Machii committing other acts of atrocity himself.
Lupin looked over at Jigen. Without being able to see the eyes under the hat, he still knew Jigen long enough to read the subtle emotions in his mouth and chin. Though Jigen seemed completely stone-faced, Lupin could see the righteous indignation growing in him, the same disgust he felt himself. And he knew that beneath the black suit beat the heart of a tarnished white knight.
"And I figure," he continued, "if Machii wants to give his hard-earned money to criminals, why not us?"
Jigen, still outwardly calm, took another sip.
"Why the hell not? Count me in."
A/N – When I get around to writing the next chapter, I'll be bringing another one of the classic characters into the action. Guess who?
