A/N: YAY! Fast update! At least for my standards ^^;; Enjoy chapter 24 everybody! Remember to review :D
Dislcaimer: I don't own Avatar the Last Airbender.
+Jones+
"Oh my god."
The words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself. And then he repeated it again until his voice stopped shaking.
Thankfully, the body of the woman had not been punctured fifty times by a sharp object nor twisted into a satanic display. He didn't know why but the fact that Yumi didn't mutilate corpses relieved him. Jones knew from his years on the police force (though the majority of that time had been spent pushing paperwork) that bodies weren't always left accessible and peaceful lying on the floor. Over the years he had interrogated some of the craziest of bloodthirsty whackos and one time, while reviewing a case portfolio, he wondered what it was in humans that enabled them to beat their wives and children to death with the same hammer, saw off their various limbs and bury them in the neighbor's backyard when they weren't home. Small consolation though it was, he was glad to know that Yumi, at the very least, had some principles.
From his awkward angle, he leaned onto the wall and craned his neck to check beneath the counter one last time for any signs of dismembered body parts. After he was certain, he took a deep breath and grabbed the left ankle of the body and tugged. It took several heaves to drag the body completely out onto the lobby floor and when he was finished, Jones wiped sweat off his forehead.
Lying flat on her face, the dumpy woman's head was nothing but a ball of wiry hair with a crusty patch of matted brown where the blood had dried. Her entire back and the side of her arm were coated with the dust it had scraped up from being dragged across the floor. For some reason, this bothered Jones a lot more than the fact that there was a middleaged female corpse spread-eagled at his feet.
On a sudden thought, Jones sprinted around to the counter again and checked the registrar. The Kensington family, which had been their pseudo family name, was scribbled underneath the previous day's date in pencil. The few guests to have arrived before them that same month had all left at least a week before their arrival. Scanning the list, he saw that one name was jotted down below theirs.
"Fantasia Dunk?" he said allowed. The name seemed oddly familiar but Jones knew that if this woman was still in upstairs in her room, he only had a few minutes to act. Squeezing out from behind the counter, he walked back to where the woman lay on her stomach. Stooping down next to her, he proceeded to pull her pants pockets inside out. A ball of rubber band, a packet of chewing gum, coupons for a bake sale two weeks ago, a black bobbypin, a laminated video rent store card, some loose change, lint. In her sweater pockets there were a set of house keys, three nickels, and a receipt for last month's grocery shopping. No car keys.
Frustrated and panicky about the only guest at the inn who had not appeared yet, Jones checked the clock. It was five past ten; nearly two hours since Yumi had departed with Katara in tow.
Hurry, hurry.
Spotting a brown jacket draped over the back of the chair behind the counter, Jones decided to check it. Though he had not been hopeful, he was still disappointed at the pathetic pile of gritty coins, a broken toothpick and a pocket comb with half its teeth broken.
For good measure, he hurriedly yanked open all the doors, shoving yellowing pages of last year's records aside and tossing rolls of receipts to the floor. Lip balms with missing caps; bits of torn paper; a battered old ball cap; a half-empty bag of moldy peanuts; a mini stapler; more rubber bands; extra-large paperclips; various rubber stamps; folded envelopes; candy wrappers. All junk and nothing useful. No key. No cash or credit card. No panic-management manual.
Jones finally reached the last drawer, the collection of useless objects piled around his ankles like he was wading around in a junk yard. Kicking a manila folder away, he tried to wrench the door open but it was stuck. Backed up against the wall, Jones put his right food on the edge of the desk for leverage and pulled as hard as he could.
With a sharp snapped noise, the drawer popped out of the desk with such force that flopped down onto the floor completely, the pressure on his left leg, propelling the counter forward and the whole thing fell over with an earsplitting crash. When the last of the debris had fallen and stopped bouncing or spinning across the floor, an eerie silence fell. Jones's shut his eyes and tried to hear a sound. If Fantasia came out into the lobby right now, she would surely see the toppled reception desk, the dead body and Jones leaning against the wall with a drawer on his lap.
Wearily, he looked down at the contents of the drawer and he could have sworn his heart leapt onto his tongue. There on top of a faded pink diary was a silver car key with the smiley face logo of an auto repair shop grinned up at him almost mockingly.
The entire lobby was quite silent but he got up anyways, dusting himself off and pocketing the precious car key. He then picked another key off the wall where all the room keys hung and pocketed that too. Stepping over the scattered papers and personal objects, he walked around the fallen counter, glanced once more at the dead body and then made his way down the hall in search of room 6 where Fantasia Dunk was staying.
+Yumi+
The warehouse's interior was just as gloomy and bare as the outside. The only source of light was the sunlight filtered through the dirty broken windows. When Yumi stepped into a pool of its warmth, her shadow stretched in front of her, leading the way. There was nothing left except for a couple of plastic containers long abandoned and thickly coated with dust. It rose in small puffs around her as she walked calmly toward the far end of the first floor landing toward the lift.
"We'll meet at the halfway point. You bring the girl and I'll bring the boy."
"Where's the halfway point?" she had asked in a tone suggesting there were talking about something nothing more serious than a quick chat at a nearby café.
He didn't answer immediately even though Yumi was certain he had a place already suitably prepped for such an occasion. He was just stalling to create an air of clumsiness and unpreparedness. Yumi already knew there was no such thing for Clivian. He would be ready for anything.
With the underlying tone of hesitancy and uncertainty, none of it overdone, he finally answered, "We'll meet at the old Waver district near Albany. That should only be a little over an hour from where you are."
Yumi didn't ask how he knew. He was either bluffing or making an educated guess. Either way, the tactic was smooth; make her uneasy and confident at the same time. Insecurity and confidence rolled nicely into one. It was Clivian's kind of thing.
She held her breath and counted to five without answering. Then she answered, "Fine. It's a deal. See you around ten."
"Don't be late." Clivian advised her before hanging up.
Yumi stepped into the lift and pressed the button for the 11th floor. Their meeting was to take place on the roof but the lift didn't go all the way up. No doubt Clivian had men on the 11th floor waiting to escort her to him but she knew they wouldn't dare hurt her in case they lost Katara. Her only trump card was currently squirming inside the trunk of a car far out her reach. The irony… Play it well enough that wouldn't be a problem but the odds were very long. They would figure out her plan sooner or later.
When the grills of the lift slid open, she was met by two slender men, both wearing immaculate suits and tailored Italian silk shirts. Their ties were probably made by the same foreign brand. Their shoes were polished to perfection as were their manicures though they were hidden inside a pair of expensive looking black leather gloves. One was a handsome blonde with beautiful hazel eyes, the other looked Middle Eastern with his black hair slicked back and a diamond earring glinting on his left earlobe. It was apparent that Clivian was averse to hiring bulky, rugged men who smelled of cheap cologne and sweat. These men were the real deal.
"Miss Yumi Kim?" the blonde spoke in with a slightest hint of an Australian accent.
Yumi shrugged. "You gonna shoot me if I'm not?"
The dark-skinned one almost grinned but the blonde one said with increased politeness, "This way please," and gestured toward the stairs leading up to the roof. The blonde one took the lead and the Middle Eastern man followed close behind Yumi as she climbed.
The landing was cramped with a single door leading out onto the roof. The blonde extracted a key from his expensive pants pocket and opened it. The old metal door creaked open and a gust of cold wind whistled past them.
As expected, the stage was set. The first thing Yumi saw when she stepped out into the pale light was a black EC 120 helicopter glinting faintly in the sunlight. Clivian was standing right in front of the aircraft flanked by two more men with expensive suits. Both had brown hair one in curls and the other in carefully gelled into spikes. The one with spikes looked more serious but looked much younger than his curly-haired companion. Clivian, stuck between the two, stood out the most with his salt-and-pepper hair, his silver Armani suit and pleasant smile. A stranger would have thought that he was greeting an old friend which was not entirely untrue.
Yumi stood still a couple of feet away from him and but her escorts walked on, splitting paths to stand on either side of the three opposite her.
"Yumi," Clivian said genially, flashing white teeth at her. "Long time no see."
"I see you're full of bullshit as usual." Yumi answered without the slightest hint of pretense. Then, scanning the lineup added, "Your Armani posse for real?"
"If by real you mean do they know how to kill a man blindfolded and get me 1st class tickets on a fully booked plane two minutes before takeoff in the same breath, then yes. They are real." Clivian replied pleasantly, looking left and right at his bodyguards.
Wind billowed around them, whipping Yumi's curls from her face. The men didn't move and they obediently stood their ground with the stoic expression of a person being paid more money than an average bank manager made in a week for one day's work. As Clivian had attested, you couldn't get any more real than that.
"Right. So I they're gonna handle the exchange part of the deal since you don't want to get your own leather gloves dirty."
Clivian laughed at her remark as though he thought it a clever joke. Yumi half-expected the bodyguards to laugh sycophantically along with him but they resumed their expressionless stance without comment.
"You were always intuitive, Yumi." Clivian chuckled appreciatively. "Clever and always two steps ahead of all the other children. Not even your brother could compare…"
The remark about her brother had been slipped in smoothly as emotional bait. Clivian was playing a rather cheap game to provoke Yumi and she knew this. But ignoring it was also playing into his trap so she went along with it.
"Where is he?" she asked calmly. She looked straight into Clivian's eyes, challenging him. Her voice was steady and not a trace of concern or fear could be detected.
Clivian smiled again, rocking back and forth on his feet like an eager schoolboy. He tilted his head skyward and contemplated the dull sky for a few seconds. Yumi let him. She didn't care how long his games took because Clivian wasn't stupid enough to drag it out for too long. He was a busybody and busybodies with power and authority were meant to be seen by the right people. He had work to do; a schedule to keep. Clivian had far more to lose than his reputation. He'd be mad to postpone the meeting, to childishly pull out because if he gave Yumi the smallest clue that he wasn't giving up her brother, she would automatically assume him dead and dispose of Katara. That was Clivian's reasoning and Katara meant more to him than he cared to admit.
At last he stopped rocking and fixed his gaze on Yumi's again.
"Where is Katara, may I ask?"
"She's safe." Yumi replied laconically. "For now."
"I could say the same," Clivian laughed delightedly, "about your dear, dear brother."
+Jones+
Room 6. Jones stood outside the door, heart thumping, ear pressed against the door. He wasn't entirely sure what he was going to do if Fantastia was inside. Should he knock her out, scare her? Should he lie that he had just been to lobby and found evidence of a murder robbery? Would she believe anything he said?
He knocked on the door, three sharp raps and then waited, heart drumming incessantly. There was no answer. He knocked again and called out, "Hello? Is anybody in there?"
One minute ticked past then two. Jones, unable to wait any longer, pressed the key into keyhole and unlocked the door. Very slowly, he inched the door open.
The layout of the room was identical to that of the room he had been staying in with the exception of one extra room and a slightly larger kitchen. He peered inside each room, checking that the closets were empty of any frightened Fantasias. Not only were there no signs of person hiding in the closets, there was not a scrap of clothing. There was no sign of a traveling bag and the bed showed no signs of every having been slept in. He remembered from the previous night that due to the lack of visitors, the inn's cleaning was done entirely by the reception lady. Was it possible that Fantasia had checked out and the reception lady had neglected to make a note of it?
"Hello? Is anyone here?" Jones shouted at the room again. No reply came.
Returning to the living room, Jones walked around the furniture, looked underneath them and then straightened up to give the space one final sweeping glance before heading over to the bathroom. This bathroom, unlike theirs, actually had a shower curtain which was pulled all the way shut, obscuring the bathtub. Jones switched on the light and froze abruptly. A silhouette could be seen behind the curtain. Someone or something was behind it, doubled over or crouching.
Cautiously, Jones approached the curtain inch by inch and then, with one outward sweep of his hand, tore the curtain aside. Wedged inside the tub was a black motorcycle and in one stroke of realization, Jones remembered who Fantasia Dunk was.
The memory of the identification card swam before his eyes. Fantasia Dunk was Katara's alias.
A/N: Fantasia Dunk... how many of you remembered who that was xD I had to recheck the previous chapters too so don't feel too bad if you didn't catch it at first. As always, thanks a million for reading my fic and review, review, review~