"May I see an ID?" I ask.

He pulls his wallet out and flips it open. His badge says he's Interpol. But the ID kind of looks old…


Hartman, Victor


Oh, shit.

Gunslinger Girl

Crossover


Inspired by The Oddity's fan fiction "Showdown" and Colonel Marksman/G.D. Wallez's fan fiction "Innocence". Happens at around the same time.

Not linked to my usual GSG fanon.


Victor/Hilshire


"Victor Hartman" eyes me as I study his ID. He's waiting for me to make a reaction. Any reaction. The one he's looking for to throw me into jail– or to put two in my chest and one in my head.

"Well," I drawl, "Everything seems to be in order, Officer. So, am I under arrest now?"

"No. I just want to ask you some things about the murder."

"I've already talked to the local cops. To have Interpol involved is rather irregular. Was Marc into drug trafficking or terrorism?"

"Need-to-know basis."

"Anyone can fake a badge and the attitude, Officer Hartman. I came from the Philippines. There, you can pick up shiny police badges and papers at the local bazaar–" the Tagalog word is tiangge "–For five hundred pesos minimum. That's five euros at the current exchange rate. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

I'm not acting. I'm really tired and frustrated and royally pissed off. I hope it gets into this guy's thick head that I want to be left alone to think of a plan to get out of this fucking mess I've jumped headfirst into.

"I understand," Hartman says. "Unfortunately, I can't give you any further proof of my identity."

"Is it because you don't have proof in the first place?" I tartly ask.

He looks a bit pissed by that. Good. Join the club.

"Would you like a drink?" I suggest.

"Is this a bribe?"

"More or less. I feel horrible. The entire murder has got me all worked up. Please let me indulge in some foolishness."

"All right. Coffee will do."

"Black?"

"Black is fine."

I order one for him and another shot of what I've been drinking. "Ask away," I mutter.

"I thought you didn't trust my credentials," Hartman noted.

"I don't. But it's not like anything will change whether I tell you or not. Marc will still be dead."

"We might be able to find his killer with what you tell me."

"I rather doubt that." Hartman gives me a long look. I smirk at him. "Oh, I'm not implying anything bad about your capabilities, Officer. But I come from the Philippines. There, it takes years to catch the perp, the trial that follows takes a decade at the least, and then the killer goes free at the fucking end of it because the prosecution and the victim's family got too tired to go on with the show."

"This isn't the Philippines."

"Ah, but it's human nature, too."

"And you're an expert on human nature?"

"I'm an avid student of life, to quote a friend of mine. Actually, it's not so much a human thing as it is a societal thing."

"What do you mean by that?" he asked.

"I mean that organized societies and cities change people. Humans were never criminally greedy in the first place. Our ancestors were too busy running down a dinosaur for dinner to worry about what the other guy in the cave across the brook had. But once people started settling down in one place and accumulated surplus resources, including and most especially Time, they became bored. And the bored mind is always the devil's playground."

"So civilization was a bad thing?"

"No, but it did open up new ideas for us. And some of those ideas were bad. Let me put it this way. Back then, if someone ate other people, it was because they were hungry and didn't have any other food around. Nowadays, if you think Mrs. Smith next door is a delicacy, you're a very disturbed individual. That or you star in your own movie trilogy, which the public sucks up to because it explores the darker side of human nature that everyone openly denies but secretly acknowledges and even lusts for.

"I'm not saying that civilization made mankind evil. But it did give us time to think things over. And some of the things we thought up aren't pleasant," I finished.

Wow. Rolito Miranda, historian, sociologist and psychoanalyst. Maybe there's hope for me yet outside The Business, Marc or otherwise.

Hartman frowns. "You don't put much trust in people, do you?" he accuses.

"Oh, I trust people enough. Or rather, I know enough of human nature to be able to more or less predict what a person will do. I believe in the fact that we humans are capable of great good. But I also acknowledge the other side of the coin: that we can do the most terrible things to one another and to themselves."

Yes. We do the most terrible things. A good man forced to flee his homeland because of wrongful accusations and blind hatred from the very best friend whom he trusted the most. A good son who went to see his long-absent parents, only to find that they have been murdered the night before, when he and his Sensei, who'd become his lover, were making love.

A daughter who stumbles upon the slaughter of her whole family, and found their killer waiting for her…

"You… You killed my parents…"

"Yes. I did."

"Why? Why? Why?!?"

"You're too young to understand it yet. One day, when you're older, you will. But for now…"

"Are you going to kill me, too?

Jessica…

"Are you all right, Mr. Darren?"

Hartman looks at me worriedly. Damn. I've been spacing out again.

"Yes. Yes. I'm fine." I smile. "Shall we attend to business?"

"If you're all right with it, Mr. Darren…"

"Oh, don't worry about me, Mr. Hartman. And call me Sheo."

"Okay. Sheo." He considered his question. "You were the first to discover the body?"

"Yes. I made sure not to touch it." I also ditched my surgeon gloves into the nearest canal before placing the call. Never place a call with gloves on. People will wonder why you didn't have fingerprints on the phone. That lesson I learned from a kiddy book. Encyclopedia Brown. The memory makes me feel young again. "I've watched enough police shows to know what to do."

"Wise. Your opinion of it?"

"I'm not an expert, but anyone can see that someone broke his neck."

"So who's the suspect?"

"Whoever it was who was sharing the bed with him, I'd guess."

"How did you guess there was someone else there?"

"Victor– may I call you that?" I ask out of politeness' sake.

"… Yes…"

"Okay. Victor, people don't just break their necks like that. I saw bruising around Marc's neck. I know enough medicine and saw enough murder mysteries to know what a forcibly broken neck is. Marc didn't twist his own neck while he was sleeping. Someone did it for him."

"The suspect?"

"My opinion?"

"Go ahead."

"Anyone. A guy, I'd guess. Normally, girls don't have enough strength…"

"Normally?"

"Have you ever heard of Amazons and Japanese pro wrestler women? There are women who are as strong as men. Maybe even stronger. I'd know; I've met enough of them in my time." Hell, near everyone who's kicked my butt has been a girl. Vien, Takane-sensei (oops; I meant Hibiki. Gomen gomen, Hibiki…), Masakari, Jess, Hari, Peppo, Yu Fang, Yu Lang, Canon, Elena... "Gender equality applies," I quip, "And besides, it's not exactly the hardest thing to break someone's neck."

"And on what expertise do you base that last opinion on? I mean the neck-breaking being easy?"

"Logical assumption taken off self-defense training lessons. A character in the Stephen King novel The Green Mile states that a little girl could break a big dog's neck if she only knew where to grab. Expanding on that, my Sensei– my teacher in martial arts– taught me how to break a person's neck if necessary. It's surprisingly easy."

Contrary to what the movies all show, kiddies, you break a person's neck not by twisting sideways, but by shoving his head backwards and upwards. The human head-neck is built to turn left or right, an evolutionary development alongside forward binocular vision. You break a neck by twisting it another way than designed.

"So you admit you can kill people, Sheo." Almost an accusation, that; something I've heard from a lot of people, too, and one I've learned how to answer.

"We all can kill other people, Victor. I can. You can. A little girl jealous of all the attention her baby brother is getting can stifle him with a pillow. We all have that potential to be murderers, just as we are all potential saints. It depends on what we choose to do– or choose not to do."

Victor smiles wanly. "Had you ever taken up Logic courses in college?"

"Nah, the place I studied at didn't have them. The closest we had was Philosophy. I did take up Theology, but only as a side course."

"And your main course?"

"Creative Writing. My Mom would tell you I'm a journalist. That's why I know she doesn't love me. Journalists get shot."

"Oh, yes, they do." We toast on that one. "Then assuming the killer is male–" Victor begins.

"Never assume," I scold. "Assuming gets you killed."

"Literally?"

"Figuratively, too."

"Good point. So do you have any solid guesses on who killed Marc?"

"By way of just being there at the scene of the crime? The girl he slept with. What was her name? Triela, I think."

The resulting look on Victor's face is so priceless that I'm tempted to take a picture using my cell phone's digital camera.

"Is there something wrong, Victor?"

"Ah… no… nothing…"

"Do you think she's the killer? This Triela?"

"We have no such evidence otherwise." He pauses. "How do you know her name?"

"Marc's drinking buddies and Hobbes told me."

"Hobbes?"

"Head waiter at Rolito's Pasta." The curious Victor raises a stolid eyebrow. I grin. "It was called that before I ever came across it. You can go ask the owners," I suggest.

"Maybe I will."

Oops. I think I was too smart for my own good. If Victor goes to Rolito's and asks Mark's friends, and they tell him that I told him I knew Triela's guardian, and he suspects…

Fuck that. If Section Two ever comes for Aunt Carla and Uncle Franco, I'll Lambda Driver their asses back to the Stone Age, secrecy be damned. I've lost enough loved ones. Everyone else can go to Hell.

"What exactly did they tell you?" Victor asks.

Smart boy. Okay, time to watch what I'm saying. Give him just enough of the truth…

"That Marc had a hot date that night. I managed to get them to tell me the girl's name by scaring them into thinking I knew the guy who was responsible for her, and that he was a terrifying guy."

I successfully try not to smile at Victor's sudden scowl. Have you ever thought to look in a mirror? No wonder your cyborg went off with the first cute boy she ran across…

"Why did you chase them?"

"Marc seduced Triela at a restaurant I theoretically own. Did I mention that I was an honorary owner? I didn't? Well, now you know. Anyway, it makes me responsible for him. It's bad for business if a regular customer rapes another customer."

"Rapes?"

"Classic rapist pattern. Boy takes girl out to expensive joint. Boy gets girl drunk. Boy takes girl to motel."

"And where were you during that time?"

"At my hotel room." I give the address of the hotel where the shoot-out above my head occurred. Hartman looks rather displeased. So the guy who roomed above me was a Section Two cyborg, then? "There was a shootout there, Officer. You might want to look it up as well."

"Did you report it?"

"No, I was too busy barricading the door. I didn't want to make the people upstairs think I was on to them. But other people reported it for me, so there."

"Why didn't you call the police yourself?"

"Victor, I was sitting right beneath the shooters. I could hear their gunfire. Maybe they could have heard me or my phone. I didn't want to risk getting shot."

"You've been shot before?"

"I've seen the news and some corpses. It doesn't look to be too enjoyable."

"You did the right thing."

"Thanks. I try my damnedest."

I pay for our drinks. Hartman offers his hand. I take it. His eyebrows rise. "You've got calluses on your palms," he observes.

"Classes in Japanese swordsmanship. Kendo and iaido. Also arnis. It keeps me in shape."

"Ah. Well, goodbye, Sheo."

Bye, Hilshire.