A/N: Hello, hello, my wonderful fans. Well, it seems this story isn't ready to start back up without any glitches. You see this whole "Roadway Murder" arc is in trouble. Of course, I do my research, and plenty of it, and it seemed that everything was all ready to go. Until, of course, I decide to look one last time. Without going into details (as I may find a way to salvage it) The 'murder weapon' is... a little off the mark. So, I'm trying to not only come up with an entire case on the fly, but an entire case that's already been set up. Not an easy thing to do. Fortunately, I can still do a (very) little bit of the story without having to worry about that, and I gave us a little peek inside the Org. to keep everyone happy. But until this is resolved that's all I can do. So rather than whittling away at the finer points of the plot by myself, I thought I'd put out this little poll:
Should I:
A) Scrap the whole arc, delete the chapters already posted (I'd probably repost the BO scene), and just move on to the Kid heist,
B) Say 'screw reality!' and just do things how I was going to before, or
C) Try to iron out the details, and take however long it might take?
So far, I'm trying for C, as that's my goal. But, if that takes me more than a few days, and I have fans asking me to either do A or B, I would be completely fine with that. I apologize a thousand times over for this. Like I said, I did my research, and I thought this was sound, but even Conan would come to the wrong conclusions if he had bad information, ne?
Well, now that that's done, here's my reviewer responses!
- - - - Reviews! - - - -
Chelseaj500: Thank you again for reviewing! ^_^ I'm looking forward to your opinion on this whole screw-up. I apologize again for it. :/
Jebbifurzz: I can see several similarities if I start to look for them. Even our chapter naming scheme is similar, with a case in multiple parts and small 'intermission' sort of chapters. I'm hoping to have your input on this whole problem I'm having, as I've been having exactly those same feelings, especially about this chapter and the last one. (And the more I pour over all of this information, the more a redo is starting to sound appealing.)
ZXCVBNMEM: Hehehe I'll take that as a compliment. ^_^
YumeTakato: See me now? :P
What could cause a red coloring of the skin? he wondered. It certainly wasn't any kind of physical trauma. So a poison then? He flipped methodically through a mental array of poisoning signs and symptoms. The pattern of discoloration struck him as being very similar to cyanosis, though the color was wrong. Cyanosis, caused by oxygen deprivation, would give the victim's skin a blue discoloration. But red? He delved deeper into the masses of information he had stored within his cranium, theories being shot down nearly as quickly as he could churn them out.
Mercury poisoning? he wondered. No, there aren't any of the other symptoms. Besides, mercury wouldn't kill you that quickly... Hmm, maybe there's some connection to his work? He paused, working that possibility through. Come to think of it, I don't even know the guy's name, let alone what he does. I need more information. But how am I supposed to get any kind of information on him without telling everyone that he was murdered?
I can't point anything out to the police. Ran is way too suspicious. Still, he noted this as a possible last resort. I could put Occhan to sleep, but if I use my only tranquilizer dart just to convince them that this wasn't an accident, I won't be able to solve the case as sleeping Kogoro. Third... He tried to think of a third option, but nothing came to mind. Unless... he shook his head. He'd need more evidence to do that, and that defeated the whole point.
He paced up and down the side of the car, glass being pulverized into a powder beneath him. The wind was starting to pick up, and whenever a chill would race through him, he'd scold himself for not listening to Ran and bringing something warmer. But he couldn't allow the distractions to go on for long, and tried to ignore how cold the air was getting to be.
His arms were crossed tight against his chest, shaking ever so slightly. He took a moment to wipe the fog from his glasses and try to calm himself with a steadying breath. The wind ruffled his hair, the fog still hung stubbornly to the glass, and he was quickly finding out that his mittens were no substitute for a genuine microfiber cloth, but he had to make do with what he had.
He jumped with a start at the distinctive sound of cracking glass. He felt the glasses in his hand slip out of his grasp as he spun around as quickly as he could without losing his balance, only to come face to face with Ran.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you." She was looking down at him with a sad smile, like he'd just reminded her of an old childhood pet that'd died a long time ago. Or maybe, a good friend she hadn't seen in a long time.
She picked his glasses up off the ground, and Conan's heart raced. "Thanks Ran-neechan!" he said, swiping the glasses out of her hand and giving her a halfhearted sheepish grin. That look was as good as tearing his heart out and stabbing it with a fork.
Her melancholic smile slowly dissolving to be replaced by a genuine one, even as a dangerous glint of curiosity lit up her eyes. "What are you doing over here, anyway?"
The thought of lying to her even more twisted his gut in a horrible way. He felt like some kind of awful monster that the townsfolk should be chasing away with pitchforks and torches."I was checking for gasoline fumes," he said somberly, not quite able to hold up his usual carefree persona. "Car's often get leaks in the gas tank when they flip, and sometimes they can explode."
Of course, it would be very rare for a car to burst into flames after this long, but she doesn't need to know I know that.
Ran reached out a hand, a little more than halfway between the two of them in a manner that clearly said grab me. Conan tentatively reached out and took hold of her hand, and she started leading him away from the wreckage and back towards their rental, which Kogoro was leaning against with a cigarette held firmly between his lips as he fished for a lighter in his pocket. "Wh-Where are we going?" he asked, failing to hide the shaking in his voice as another chill passed down his spine.
"Officer Yumi is finished with us," she informed him. "So we can finally head home."
He nearly tripped over his own feet. This is not good. He shot a look back at the wreckage behind him. I need to do something, now. If they tow that car and the body is moved to the morgue, they'll destroy the evidence! He set his eyes forward, unseeing, trying to find a way out of this. Obviously I can't just tell them that I figured out this wasn't an accident. But if I don't do anything, someone's going to get away with murder!
He didn't have any time. They were only steps away from the car, and if he was going to do something, it was now or never.
A lone man made his way through the bland beige halls at a modest pace, eyes gazing straight ahead. Messy brown hair covered half of his face while the black fedora resting on his crown, tilted near imperceptibly forward, shadowed the rest. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, their glow almost too bright after having just come in from the dark night streets. He passed doorway after doorway, all closed and locked securely, paying the mahogany doors slightly less attention than he would have a wad of used chewing gum discarded on the sidewalk.
He was dressed in a close fitting black suit, built remarkably similar to that of a policeman's uniform but without any of the badges or lettering. The harsh claps of his black shoes echoed in the narrow space as they beat against the hard tiled floor, each clack bringing him one step closer to his destination.
As the hall turned abruptly to the right, he came to a halt. He pushed the call button for the elevator before him, waiting patiently for the doors to glide open. After it arrived, he'd stepped inside, and he'd punched the number for the top floor, he leaned against the side. The current floor was displayed on a digital readout above the doors, the numbers ticking by one by one. When the red glowing numbers read 43, the doors parted and he resumed his purposeful stride toward the door. The only door. It was obviously made to give guests quite an impression, being made of solid oak and standing over 5 meters in height.
He raised his fist as if to knock on the door, but hesitated. Something he never did. He was in trouble, he was sure of it. He might have secured their prize, and eliminated those two annoying pigs that saw him do it, but he'd been caught in the act. He might have been able to pin the blame on a dead man, but someone would connect the dots sooner or later. Collecting himself with a mental shake, he gave the door three hard raps before taking a step back.
No, he'd been an assassin since he was 17. Every mission he'd pulled off for the past 16 years had been successful. Surely that entitled him to at least one mistake, didn't it?
The door slipped open, the old dry hinges whining in protest to the movement. The office was definitely that of someone with power. Large pine desk, new red wine carpeting, cherry bookshelves filled with leather bound volumes of various subjects and sizes. Immediately apparent was the scent of cigar smoke; Wood polish and old leather creeping in a moment later.
The sole light was a brass lamp on the desk, and even that wasn't very bright. The shadows it cast were indistinct and elongated, giving the whole office a haunted, otherworldly feel. The back wall was made entirely of glass, tinted so dark it may as well have been crafted from solid obsidian. It may well have been.
"Come in, Whiskey," a voice spoke from the high-backed chair. It was charming, yet rough as sandpaper. A voice that could just as easily give a speech to the upper class as an order to kill.
The man, Whiskey, did as he was told, taking a few tentative steps inside. It wasn't the first time he'd been in this office, far from it. But, this was the first time that he'd ever had something to fear.
"Thank you," the voice spoke again. "Vermouth, close the door, if you'd please."
The door groaned as it shut, and instantly Whiskey's eyes turned to a womanly figure with one hand extended in his direction as the other pushed the door shut with a soft click. The hand extended towards him, he could tell, held a gun poised to put a bullet through his brain.
"Now," the voice carried on in a carefree manner, "explain to me exactly what happened."
Whiskey was a man that wasn't shaken easily, but the boss did not hesitate to weed out any weak links in the Organization. He found that he had to swallow a lump in his throat before he could speak. "Well, you see, everything went according to plan until he showed up!" It was difficult to get the words to start, but once they began to flow there was no holding them back. "I mean, I killed that guard and took his uniform, nobody suspected a thing. I even spoke in a Kansai Ben accent all day! I knocked the target out and lit the place on fire, left the usual false evidence and already had some other sap in cuffs. Then this brat shows up out of nowhere and starts telling everyone that I was guilty, and explains to them exactly what happened like he had been there and before I knew it, there were these cops coming after me and-"
The boss raised a hand, and it was like some imaginary mute button had been pressed. His mouth kept moving for a moment, but the sound had already died.
The room was silent for a beat. But when the boss spoke, laced with a quiet rage that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, he wished the silence could have stretched on forever. "You mean to tell me, you were outsmarted by a child, Matsuda?"
His forehead broke out in a cold sweat, his stomach dropped, and his mouth was so dry it might as well have been filled with sand. He'd said his real name. "But, he lives with that detective! Mouri Kogoro! He's even in the paper as Kaitou Kid's nemesis! He's better than the cops! I'm telling you, this is no ordinary-"
The sound of a gunshot cut him off abruptly. It was followed shortly by the thud of Whiskey's crumpling body. He'd felt no pain, and only experienced minimal amounts of fear. That's more than most of the members who'd outlived their usefulness could have asked for. However, the shot had not come from Vermouth, who was nonchalantly slipping her pistol back into it's hidden holster, but the the smoking barrel of the silver revolver held by the boss himself.
"Incompetence cannot be tolerated Vermouth, no matter how much you wish you could ignore it." The boss pulled the gun back out from under the sparse light of the lamp, concealing its existence once more.
"Do you think I should do a follow up report on the kid?" Vermouth asked.
The boss chuckled, an eerie sound that set even her nerves on edge. "Whiskey was one of my best assassins, but any man can make a mistake. I was even willing to let him live, until he came up with that ridiculous excuse." He didn't say another word on the matter, and so she took that as a no.
"Is that all you wanted, sir?" she asked.
"Why the hurry?" he asked, a suave charisma beginning to overtake the cool, emotionless tones of but only a moment ago. "Do you have someplace you need to be?"
She knew what he was trying for, which was a considerable contribution to the small smirk that crept across her lips. "I do, actually. If we're to keep up with our latest quota, I need to go find some more... recruits, don't I?"
He sighed, standing, and sliding a drawer open. "What a shame." He placed his gun on the velvet cushion inside the drawer like it was a fragile valuable, then slid the drawer closed once more. "I was hoping we could go out to dinner tonight. It's been a while since we've gotten to spend any time alone."
Vermouth's grin only grew. "Yes, but soon, we'll have all the time in the world. Both of us will." She chose that time to open the door, allowing a sliver of dim light to flood the floor, illuminating the still-warm corpse.
Apparently, this brought the boss' attention back to the man that he'd shot just moments before, who he'd all but forgotten about. "Oh, " he called, stopping her half through the doorway. "Could you get Crane to clean this mess up?"
"Of course," she answered, pulling the door shut behind her. The smile fell immediately to be replaced by a cold look of indifference, disguising the revulsion she felt. The elevator was still there, waiting to take her away, and a small sense of relief filled her. One of these days, she thought as the doors closed, enveloping her in generic, melodious music. Someone is going to put that man in his place.
The doors opened with a ding fairly quickly, though after all, she had only been descending a single floor. I just hope I'm the one that gets to do it.