Chapter 19: "All That's Left"
"Order number 655?"
The barista called out into the moderately filled coffeehouse, her eyes scanning over the customers gathered at the pick up station. I raised my receipt to show her the bolded numbers on the slip of paper. The numerals '655' were written out in toner and then affixed to the surface with a laser.
"Here you go. One Americano, no cream, no sugar; and one vanilla-bean frappé?" She recited back the order in her hands.
"Yeah." I answered in what could almost pass for Neanderthal communication. I gingerly took the drinks that she handed over one at a time.
The sweet smile the barista flashed me didn't go unnoticed, and made me feel even more uncomfortable. I quickly glanced downwards at the cups in my hand, the motion causing my glasses to slide down my nose. I placed my espresso down awkwardly and quickly pushed the bridge of the spectacles back into place so it was no longer obstructing my vision.
The barista gave a small giggle, and I took it as my cue to save myself from further humiliation by quickly retreating to the back of the cafe, where my companion for the afternoon was sitting at a corner table. Rumi's head tilted upwards as I approached, her face in its usual listless state.
"I know it's not much of a consolation…" I started to apologize as I placed the frappé before Rumi. "... but here you go."
"Hachiman, it's fine. It's work, I get it." Rumi says curtly, taking the drink in hand and sipping it. I could almost see her relax a tiny bit. A cold beverage like that was quite appropriate for the absolute scorcher today was. Speaking of today...
A pang of guilt flashes as I recall what today should have been. A new sweets shop called "Mishichi", had opened in Ginza, and it quickly made headlines with the story behind it's inception. [1] The Japanese pastier who established the shop had traveled all over the world, and learned the secrets behind creating traditional sweets from Turkey, India, Pakistan and Bangladesh. When he returned to Japan he modified the recipes to better fit Japanese palettes. The exotic treats quickly developed a cult following.
One type of sweet that caught my and Rumi's eyes was this small white orb called rosh gholla. According to the social media post, it hailed from the Indo-Bengal region and was made by curdling milk. After the whey was removed, the remaining solids were kneaded by hand into small spheres before being cooked in hot syrup until light and fluffy.
The look of fascination on Rumi's face led me to ask her if she wanted to go, preferably on a day when I didn't have work and she didn't have school. She agreed enthusiastically and made me promise. Fast forward a week, and the strategy was to meet up at this coffee shop after she ran morning errands in the area; then taking my car to Ginza to sample the delicacy we were eagerly anticipating.
That was supposed to be the plan anyway.
As soon as Rumi had arrived, I had received a call from Min-san, letting me know that Saito had come through and procured 'the proof' as per our agreement. The time and place had been determined, and the ball was in my court. Unfortunately for Rumi, this was something I couldn't put off. I tried explaining to her all that I could to the best of my ability. I could tell she was disappointed, even if she tried to play it off with a poker face.
This made me feel even worse, because I knew how much she was looking forward to it. Rumi was an understanding person and emotionally mature beyond her years. This probably developed as a result of how her father and uncle had jobs where they would leave for long periods of time for responsibilities beyond their ability to put aside. Rumi didn't resent either of them for that, and was even proud of the fact.
But that didn't mean I felt any better about it.
I wracked my head for a good solution, and ultimately decided my pride was secondary to making it up to Rumi. I had whipped out my phone and sent a text message to one of the few people I could potentially rely on. They answered back in the affirmative, and all I had to do was wait after giving them the address.
I took a sip of my Americano, the bitter taste registered on my tongue. I may be going insane, but I swore that coffee used to have more taste way back when. Perhaps I should go for a different type of café next time? I heard straight Cubano tasted like liquid smoke.
"So who are we waiting for?" Rumi's question disrupted my thoughts about coffee, and I looked up at her to see the teen stirring the frappé slowly, folding the white whipped cream into the drink. She certainly had a sweet tooth.
"Someone I know."
"You have friends, Hachiman?" Rumi looked at me as if I told her the secret to the universe. Or why mandrills have rainbow colored butts. It was the same magnitude of revelation that clearly astounded her.
"An acquaintance."
"Your partner from work that Uncle Kenji brings up?"
"Shiba? No. Besides, I'm not leaving you with another man."
"You don't trust him?"
"It's not about trust." I clicked my tongue. "I don't want anyone getting funny ideas about you. That's the last thing I need on my plate."
"... yeah?" Rumi's voice had a bit of an uptick near the end, a sliver of something reminiscent of positivity I would say.
Our conversation was cut short when the sound of a car pulling up just beyond our window caught our attention. Traffic to and from the coffee house was miniscule, so every car's passing tended to stand out in its own way. Not that this pearl-white Mercedes sedan with a chrome AMG badge needed to emphasize its presence even further.
"... is that them?" Rumi asked curiously, leaning forward.
"Should be."
"... not surprising they drive a car like that, knowing you."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Shizuka's car is so… that. And so is yours."
"You don't seem to complain when Shizuka drives you to school in the Porsche."
Rumi blushed. "W-well…"
She twisted away and her red face became pale as her attention returned to the world outside, where the driver of the white Mercedes was now exiting. The door opened gently, revealing a plush black leather interior that was interrupted by an elegant leg of Yukinoshita Yukino swinging out followed by the other as she stood in the harsh sun of the café parking lot. She wore light clothing, a cream colored blouse with a navy blue skirt that reached just above her knees. Smart choices, considering that the sun had developed a sudden desire to incinerate us all.
"What the hell, Hachiman!?" Rumi whirled around on me, spitting venom.
"W-what!?" I stuttered back, not expecting such an extreme response.
"What is she here for!?" She hissed.
The front door opened and I heard a worker greeting Yukinoshita as she entered the little establishment. I raised my hand slightly and waved, getting her attention. Rumi looked over her shoulder, gaze following Yukinoshita as the older woman walked towards our table. No questions were asked (nor objections voiced) when Yukinoshita placed her white leather handbag on the circular table before sliding out a wooden chair to sit to my right. I wasn't sure if it was my imagination, but the air got colder, emanating from Rumi like she was a block of ice.
"Good afternoon, Tsurumi-san, Hikigaya-kun." She greeted neutrally, not a syllable out of place or out of tone.
"... sure, 'noon." Rumi responded quietly, bringing the straw of frappé to her mouth to sip quietly at.
I raised an eyebrow at this, but think nothing more of it before turning to face Yukinoshita. "Yo."
"... I see you're wearing the proper clothing for an outing." She drawled.
"I mean, it was bought right?" I looked down at my body, which was covered in the casual wear we had purchased together from the mall awhile ago. "Might as well. Been getting used to it."
When I say 'getting used to,' I mean 'getting used to sitting down with a small-of-the-back holster.' The way it dug into my spine made me feel like the Hunchback of Notre Dame, except due to a herniated disc rather than a bad draw of the genepool (not that I didn't get a poor result from that either). It was unpleasant, to say the least.
"It seems the old cat did learn some new tricks," Yukinoshita said with a wry smile.
I frowned. "You're still on about that?"
"But of course. Is it not but another testament to how I was able to reform you into a human being?"
"This is going beyond 'noblesse oblige' and straight into the territory of 'messianic complex.'" Besides, didn't you just call me an old cat?
"I think many would agree that I am your savior."
I opened my mouth for a retort, but Rumi spoke before me.
"Can you guys stop?" Rumi mumbled loudly. "It's annoying."
"Yeah!" I voiced my agreement, my hope for survival renewed with the reinforcements sent my way. "She's rig—."
"It's stupid anyway. We all know Hachiman is an idiot."
"Oi."
I leveled a glare at Rumi, who glared right back, not giving an inch. The self-proclaimed 'Savior of Hikigaya-kind' used a hand to try and muffle an undignified fit of giggles. Alas, I was besieged from all sides, might as well admit defeat before demands got worse.
I let out a weary sigh, addressing Yukinoshita once more. "Thanks for coming out here on such short notice. Didn't interrupt anything, did I?"
"Not at all, and it was no trouble." Yukinoshita assured. "Although, I have to admit that I am a bit curious. It is quite rare for you to ask a favor of someone else. The text message you had sent me was vague on the matter."
"There are some extenuating circumstances, but the long and short of it is that I promised to take Rumi to a sweets shop in Ginza, but something came up for work. She's been looking forward to this for the past week, and the dessert is only available for a limited time. It'd be a waste if she doesn't go just because of me. I was hoping you could take her."
Yukinoshita blinked a few times and looked at me with eyes full of suspicion. "... you said this was planned a week in advance?"
"Yeah."
"... is that so...?"
Blue eyes narrowed and flicked towards Rumi, who in turn snapped her head away from the both of us. Yukinoshita passed an inspecting gaze over the teenager, who squirmed under the scrutiny. I tilted my head over to get a look at what exactly caught the lawyer's attention. I didn't see anything out of the ordinary. Today wasn't a school day, so Rumi had forewent her school uniform and opted for something more casual like myself. Blue skinny jeans and a soft red short sleeve shirt that was covered by a thin black button-up sweater.
She looked rather nice in it.
"... my condolences…" Yukinoshita said somberly, almost out of pity if I didn't know any better.
"I don't want to hear that from you…" Rumi groaned in a low voice.
"He's always been like this, if it makes you feel better."
"It doesn't."
"I see." The corner of Yukinoshita's mouth twitched. "Good luck."
"I really don't want to hear that from you."
A conversation on a higher plane and beyond my understanding had just occurred, leaving me baffled. They simply stopped talking as if they had reached some sort of conclusion despite none of what they said indicating that. All I really knew was that I was mentioned… maybe?
"So, uh..." I coughed into my fist to reorient my thoughts. "Can you do it?"
"I feel as if I must do it. Especially after the humiliation this girl must be feeling, O' Incognizant One," sighs Yukinoshita, her words were accentuated by Rumi's face turning a shade of pink.
"What?" I had no clue what Yukinoshita was referring to, or whether she insulted me or not.
"Nevermind. I was foolish to expect anything. I'll take Tsurumi-san to this shop. She has the directions I presume?"
"Have her put it into your GPS. Pretty straightforward path from here."
"I see, then I have nothing else to ask." Yukinoshita stood up and slung her bag over her shoulder before turning to Rumi. "Shall we be on our way?"
"... might as well…" Rumi said with a depressed huff, her chair clattering as she stood.
"Goodbye, Hikigaya-kun"
"See ya, Hachiman."
"Have fun you two."
I watched as they pile into Yukinoshita's car, and nodded when Yukinoshita waved at me before they set off, joining the local road and eventually the thoroughfare beyond.
Alright, time for my 'date.' But first, I need to go home for a wardrobe change. What I was wearing wasn't appropriate for the task at hand.
I needed to be less memorable.
Δ▼Δ
I may complain about how others don't recognize me as a detective (which hurts a bit, considering I spent a lot of time at school and then slaved away for a few more years of my life afterwards), but I'm aware that this has its own benefits. It let me not be a detective when I needed to be Villager B.
Blending into a crowd and going unnoticed are skills I developed in my youth. It wasn't anything as complex or requiring of a specific talent as manga or anime might make it seem, and I would most certainly be noticed on a basketball court no matter what. [2]
There was once a social experiment done to explore human crowd psychology where they had various numbers of people looking up at the sky in a crowded intersection, and observed the outcomes. Amazingly, it only took three people looking upwards to cause almost every person in the intersection to look up as well.
The concept then, of going unnoticed, was simple: do what everyone else does. As long as at least three others are doing the same, the hive mind of the sea of people would accommodate you.
I stood at the street corner in my work attire, leaving my glasses and tie behind while allowing my hair to return to it's naturally messy state. I never made eye contact with anyone, making sure to keep my focus just below eye level. Hands were shoved into the pockets of my open blazer, covering up a simple white shirt that had the top few buttons loose. I looked just like the typical salary-slave unwinding after a work day where I had just missed every performance goal my overly excited manager had set.
Yeah, I'd be miffed too.
The walk signal changes color and I languidly strolled forward. Lax and easy body language was a must. Tensing was far more visible than you would expect, and disproportionately attracted attention. The human mind was hardwired to keep us alive, so any threat that caused your body to stiffen would instinctively make others look at you in case you had found such a danger and were trying to communicate it. It was an evolutionary survival mechanism for a species that lived in groups.
I reached the other sidewalk and a passing woman bumped into my shoulder as she was preoccupied with trying to find something in her bag while walking.
"Sorry, pardon me!" She gave a quick bow and ran off, not even waiting for my response. I watched as she dissolves into the masses of bustling human bodies in downtown Tokyo.
I kept moving, since standing still while everyone else moved was a surefire way to be remembered. In a few minutes I arrived in front of an electronics store, with a black sedan idling on the road just before it. The car was a Toyota Crown, and while not the newest model, it was easily recognizable because of how popular and common of a vehicle it was in Japan. Elegant and functional bodylines with a few chrome finishings at the front grill gave it that distinctive look.
Interesting choice of vehicle.
The person in the driver's seat was Saito, wearing the exact same things he did when we first met in Ming-san's shop. The drug dealer caught my gaze and raised a hand in greeting. I nodded slightly in response and walked to the other side of the car, opening the passenger door and sliding in. I was met with the smell of aged fabric and some radio program being played through blown out speakers.
"Took ya long enough." Saito grumbled.
I exaggeratedly pulled back the sleeve of my left arm and pointedly looked at the watch located at the bottom of my wrist. "You might want to get your clocks checked. According to mine I'm 5 minutes early."
Another thing I learned in the military: if you're not 5 minutes early, you're 10 minutes late. And if you were a single second earlier than those 5 minutes, you would be the butt end of every joke for being 'useless'. It was something about making soldiers discerning, if I recalled correctly.
Saito clicked his tongue. "Got here earlier than I thought. Tried listening to the radio to pass the time, but it's all the same fucking news on every fucking station."
"Something happen?"
"You don't know?" Saito asked surprised. "Big stuff just went down over in Singapore."
"Singapore?" I repeated, before remembering something. "Aren't the Summer Olympics going on there?"
"Yup. Crazy shit happened a few hours ago. Some terrorists from Laos went and killed a ton of Vietnamese athletes."
"What!?" I asked shocked. "How!?"
"Suicide bombers." Saito answered with a shrug. "Killed six athletes and ten bystanders. Dozens more were hurt. Every station says a different number, but they're all around that ballpark."
"... that right?" The information had me floored. "I'm guessing a terrorist cell took responsibility?"
"That's what the news says. Blank Shell they call themselves, separatists from Laos."
"Are the games still going on?"
"No clue, I think they're still trying to figure all this shit out. It's a clusterfuck. A really fucked reminder for the Israelis there, I'm guessing."
"Israel? Oh… yeah, Munich."
The Olympics held in Munich in 1972 was an infamous event that went down in history as the 'Munich massacre.' The Palestinian terror group, Black September, took eleven Israeli athletes and one police officer hostage. They demanded the release of 234 Palestinian prisoners jailed in Israel and West Germany.
By the end of the incident, and after a failed rescue attempt, all twelve hostages were dead and only three terrorists taken into custody. Not that it mattered, since Black September demanded they be released for a hostage exchange after they had hijacked Lufthansa flight 615.
The entire ordeal was considered one of the greatest failings of the international community.
Saito nodded somberly. "Just goes to show that the world is one big shithole floating in space."
"Can't say you're that off…"
"Right?" Saito cracked an empty grin, and I grimaced.
The drug dealer looked into his rearview mirror before passing his eyes at me. I nodded and put on my seatbelt. He released the parking break and pushed the automatic drive selector into forward and twisted the wheel. Saito gave one last lingering gaze to his surroundings before the car set off.
"We're gonna drive around for a bit. Lose any tails I might have." He explained as he followed a winding busy road in the middle of the district. Saito took care to mix between lanes, placing the car into groups of similarly colored and shaped vehicles so as for it to get lost. I could respect the caution.
After an hour of mind bending turns and seeing the same intersection more than 5 times, we finally entered a multi story parking lot, where Saito parked at the first spot on the second floor. He took a deep breath and pulled on the neck of his brown jumper before turning to me.
"Right, then. Let's get down to business."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the black leather wallet I had seen him with at Min-san's. He removed a white card and handed it over to me. I took it gingerly and marveled at the texture. There were thousands or millions of grooves in the surface that reflected the light strangely, but still felt smooth to the touch. My brain was having a processing crisis trying to bridge the sensory inconsistency between vision and touch.
"This it?" I asked.
"Yuuuup." Saito responded with a nod. "As I promised, I got ya a card associated with the name 'Sayama Sayato.' Credentials should be updated in about 24 hours from 6 hours ago, so… in 18 hours you'll be good to go."
"How'd you manage this?"
"Trade secrets, my man." Saito gave me a wink that was wholly inappropriate for a man his age. "Though I will say someone owed me a loan, and he has an ear to someone big."
"So he's dead then?" I asked in a deadpan.
"... you're kinda dark, ya know that?"
"Sorry."
Saito frowned at me, clearly understanding the insincerity in my words.
"Anywho… the associated account has about 100,000 yen on it. Don't ask where I got it, I don't know either."
"How do I use it?"
"Do I look fucking stupid?" Saito laughed. "I'll give you details about all that shit when you do your end of the deal. I used to play poker, I know how this game works."
I nodded slowly. "Seems fair enough. I'll contact my person as soon as I can."
"Yeah? Min trusts you, I guess I have to as well. And hey, prison is objectively better than a morgue."
I didn't laugh at his joke. Instead I gave him a blank stare, which made him wince. I unhooked the seat belt and the man next to me unlocked the doors. My fingers that were about to pull on the door release stop mid motion.
"So…" I trailed off, getting Saito's attention. "When'd you steal the car?"
His eyes bulged, and for a moment I'm afraid they would pop out of his skull. "What the fuck!?"
"So it is stolen." I pressed for a confirmation.
"How'd you know!? It's been, like, 5 fucking years! I stripped the VIN and everything. I even made sure to paint the inside of the body panels too!"
"Calm down." I had grin on, amused at his over-the-top response. "This brand is well known. The Toyota Crown is one of the most commonly stolen cars in Japan. I just guessed. Thanks for admitting to it just now, by the way."
The smugness that colored my voice was intentional, by the way.
"You son of a bitch…" Saito heaved a breath, and massages his temple. "I see why they made you a detective. Sneaky little fuck."
Now it was just pure curiosity driving me. "So you pedal drugs and steal cars? You running some double indemnity service?" [3]
"Okay, okay, okay!" Saito said wildly. "To clear shit up, I used to steal cars."
The way he stressed that word and his reaction made it clear to me that he was serious about making sure I understood and believed the distinction.
"Why stop?"
Saito shrugged. "Nicked cars don't make as much money as drugs."
"True." I hummed thoughtfully, trying to frame my mindset to that of a criminal. "But it's far less risky. You can hide stolen cars in plain sight, not so with drugs."
"I sort of like the risk. Adds some flavor to it."
Well, that was an answer I didn't expect. I gave the drug dealer a sidelong glance. "Is that why you stole cars? You liked the rush?"
"Nah, not at first." Saito looked forward, out of the windshield into the parking lot and the tiny community garden in front of us. "Dad died when I was a little brat, so I had to help my mom. But she got sick, and we needed money. I worked a few part time jobs. I started stealing cars when it was getting hard to make ends meet."
"I see." The usual back story to any criminal, I wasn't shocked. My curt answer seemed to spur Saito on.
"Did that for a bit. I think Ma noticed, or at least guessed. Old hag was way too smart, ya know?" Saito gave a small chuckle, eyes misting over. "But she didn't say anything. Just thanked me and shit. When she died, I didn't really know what to do or how to feel."
"Besides the thrill of stealing cars." I conjectured, the painting that was his personality was being filled by color within my mind's eye.
"Yeah!" Saito said surprised. "Holy shit, you get it?"
"Kinda. Saw people go through something similar once."
Some of my squad back in Sri Lanka were like that. All hope seemed lost, and they had nothing to live for. But a few started feeling that little thrill of combat in the back of their minds as epinephrine rushed in and melted their starved emotions. They lived purely to experience the next battle, eagerly going along with plans I had set forward, no matter how dangerous. They began to find their own enjoyment in the killing, relishing in the savagery like it was a hobby.
And it might have been, who knew. It kept them sane enough to survive for a whole year.
"That right? Nothing really mattered to me anymore. I didn't even have a need to spend money. Not like I have a giant house or nice cars. I just wanted something to do, I guess."
"So you started looking for the next adrenaline rush. That next high of euphoria."
"The itch got bigger the more shit escalated. Started off stealing sedans in the neighborhoods. Then I got picked up by a group of car thieves. And let me tell you, these guys were absolute fucking pros. We rolled up on dealers and took cars straight off the lots, it was nuts. Fucking ballerina shit. Swan Theft Auto. Luxury, sports cars, SUV's; you name it, we stole it. The 911's made tons of cash. When I got tired of that, I eventually started pushing drugs. There was so much fucking money, so much fucking thinking involved. It was fun."
A dark grin twisted my lips. "Your definition of fun is kinda…"
"Yeah, it's fucked." Saito agreed without hesitation. "But hey, it's fun to me at least. I liked it. And that's all that matters. The game of cat and mouse I played with the police. Making that big sale. All part of the experience."
"You don't think about the people you harm?"
Saito looked at me with the same expression a toddler gave when showed the quarter-behind-the-ear-trick for the first time. "No. Why should I? Not like they'll think about me."
"Well… can't say you're wrong..."
"Of course you can't." Saito snorted and leaned back in his seat. "I mean, just like you can't say its wrong to want to live. I know I fucked over a ton of people, and I'm in their shoes now, but I still want to at least get by. Yeah, I'm being a complete limp bitch, but it's who I am."
"Huh." I remarked thoughtfully, his words sounding familiar. "I thought the same way. Actually, almost word for word of what you said."
"Yeah? Hated yourself too?"
"Absolutely. But I made way less money than you."
"What the hell? You lost both ways then! What's the point?" Saito guffawed in between bouts of obnoxious laughter. It was contagious, and before long I found myself laughing along with him. We eventually calmed down, and came to a quiet moment where Saito spoke once more.
"Hey… Hikigaya? Thanks for the talk. Needed that. A quick therapy session."
The absurdity of the statement made my face slacken.
"I am the WORST possible person to be a therapist." I say in a deadpan, the thought so ludicrous I couldn't even find the humor in the irony. That's just me though, Saito seemed to find it hilarious anyway and merrily cackled away.
Suddenly my phone started buzzing loudly, which was surprising since it had been on the fritz lately in terms of receiving calls. A series of numbers was on the screen, and I immediately recognized it as Shiba's.
Something was wrong.
I accepted the call and quickly raised the device to my ear. "Talk to me."
"Senpai, we have a situation." Shiba's breathless voice came over. I could hear sirens and shouting in the background. "The laundromat in Shinjuku? It just caught on fire during a shift in the stakeout."
"Shit." I bit my tongue. "I'll be there as fast as I can."
"Okay."
The call ended and I turned to face Saito. Before I could speak, he shoos me away with a hand.
"You got something to go to right? Police stuff."
"Yeah," I said, a bit of me hesitant. "Are you sure? You don't want me to stay with you until you get somewhere secure?"
"My guy, I've been on the run all my life. Running from my dad and his shitty belt; running from the cops; running from poverty; running from boredom; running from the Families. I'm a master at it now! I can handle myself for another day or two." He gave me a cocky grin that proudly displayed the laugh lines along his cheeks. "After that, though, I'm fucked. So you better come back to protect me, eh?"
"Of course." I scoffed, putting as much sarcasm into my voice as possible. "Anything for the damsel in distress."
He laughed.
"Yeah, that's right. I'm a fucking princess, so you gotta save me 'kay?"
Δ▼Δ
I was once more thankful for the Japanese public transportation system. It was reliable, like the old IT guy at HQ with the dirty sense of humor and a God-given talent to fix any printer with a few smacks and choice swear words. With trains running every five minutes in either direction at rush hour, I was in Shinjuku within 30 minutes. I quickly exited the station and ran in the direction of the suspicious laundromat that I was sure was involved with the Yakuza.
A tower of black smoke marked the spot, and the street was covered in a crowd of people who all stood before it like a wall.
I forced my way through with shouts and pushes, not caring for those that yelled back at me in anger. When I made it through I was met with yellow police caution tape, two officers quickly approached me when I attempted to slide beneath it. I reached into my pocket and procured my badge. They nodded and let me through.
Red and blue lights flashed from the tops of the two patrol cars and a single ambulance. The two colors alternated, bathing my vision in either-or, but never both. A fire truck sat off to the side, the firefighters stood back while clad in their heavy gear, watching the fire play out. The laundromat seemed relatively well off, aside from the billowing smog. Shiba stood before his Skyline sedan. As I walked close, my partner noticed my presence with a concerned face.
"Senpai!"
"Bring me up to speed."
Shiba nodded. "There was a minor fire in the backroom of the laundromat. Exact time is unknown, but it was during a rotation of lookouts."
"A twenty minute gap then." Shit, the stakeout was an age old tool for investigators, but it had one crucial flaw: the human element. Organizing hours on hours of observation wears down on people, and breaks are necessary. Rotations were particularly vulnerable if the next lookout was late due to negligence or circumstance, and the previous one had to be somewhere or had fallen asleep due to exhaustion.
"Yes, about three hours ago." Shiba supplemented with frustration. "Lookouts saw smoke and immediately phoned the fire department and HQ. Firefighters have got it under control. We're just waiting for the green lights to head inside."
"Damn it." I cursed, putting a hand over my mouth. There were butterflies in my stomach, the bad kind where the feathery wings were brushing the inside of my diaphragm. Rather than butterflies, it would be more accurate to say I had moths fluttering around in there.
It was nearly two hours before the firefighters declared the laundromat safe enough to enter. By then evening had rolled in, the sky darkening into a deep purple.
Kazuya Ryunosuke was nowhere to be seen, but I was told that he was aware of the situation, however was out of town on family matters. He would be returning to Tokyo with the soonest train he could grab. At the very least, he wasn't in the store when this happened. Yakuza or not, no one deserved to die by being burned alive. I could still see those sparks beneath my eyelids.
The front of the store was spotless, minus the black trail of dirty water and soot from the boots of the firefighters. No doubt because it was only the store room that had caught on fire. Concrete didn't burn, so once the doors were closed, the fire could be contained easily as it burned itself out. The acrid smell of burnt plastic filled my nostrils as we neared the back of the store.
The piles of bottles and bags of the laundry supplies that I had seen last were incinerated. We could barely tell anything from the remains. The heat produced was such that if there were any drugs, we wouldn't be able to identify them from all the carbon, silicon, and other crystals formed as a result of the blaze.
"You think they noticed?" I asked to Shiba. "The stakeout, I mean."
"It's a possibility." Admitted Shiba slowly. He knelt down to lift up a metal sheet, finding the one bare spot of clean concrete beneath it. "However, Hiura-san and his team aren't amateurs, so it's unlikely. But it's still a possibility."
It was convenient, a fire that begins during a short break in the stakeout. But all conspiracy theories began as such: finding patterns where there were none. It was one of the marks of insanity. I took a deep breath and pulled the reins on my racing thoughts. There were inconsistencies, I acknowledged.
The stakeout had gone on for nearly 5 weeks. Plenty of time to be detected, yes, but the day was important. Today was Sunday, not a day that blue bottles were sold. There shouldn't be any evidence to hide today, a fire would simply attract more attention to the location. It was illogical.
Did that mean that my hypothesis was wrong? Were blue bottles not used as drug transportation vessels?
"Do we know the cause of the fire?"
My partner shook his head. "Fire marshals are going to start their investigation tomorrow. It could take one to ten days."
I ran a hand through my hair, which was slick with sweat from the residual heat of the run combined with the anxiety of not knowing where this case was headed. One of the major leads was shot down, potentially permanently, and I had gleaned absolutely nothing from it, barring conclusions made from mental gymnastics.
It would be a long night.
Δ▼Δ
Little did I know, my night had barely begun.
Around midnight, Shiba and I returned to HQ to record the events that had just occurred and our findings. The office was open twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, but it was usually dead around this time of night.
Which was why I found it strange when I noticed all the activity in the parking lot. Officers were running in an out, and cars were haphazardly parked, as if they were just pulled in and stopped at the soonest opportunity. Shiba and I shared a look as he parked the Skyline, both of us wondering what was going on.
My question would be answered soon, after we had sat down at our respective desks at the office. I was halfway done with my report when I heard the flurry of footsteps outside in the hall. The echoing pitter-patter of shoes hitting the tiled floors drowned out whatever sounds my keyboard was making.
A detective I had seen in passing appeared in the doorway, out of breath. "Is Hikigaya here?"
I didn't like the way he said that.
"... that would be me." I responded slowly.
"You have a brother or something? Went missing recently?"
My brain stopped.
"What?" I asked perplexed. "No, I only have a younger sister."
The other detective blinks. "Really? We just pulled in a body down in the morgue that has you listed as the next of kin."
I didn't think, I just stood and Shiba followed after me as we follow our fellow detective to Forensics, where the morgue was located. I didn't even have time to reflect on how it had been awhile since I stepped foot down here. The Chief and Shiba made sure to keep me away. I appreciated the sentiment, but I hated being babied.
"It should be here." Indicated the detective, pointing towards a glass room with a single tarp covered body. "We just got to taking off the clothes. Pretty horrific shit."
I opened my mouth to tell Shiba to go and see, as the smell down here was making me lighthearted already, and I didn't want to make things worse. But the words never left my mouth as I noticed something in the bin in the corner of the room. I saw a brown sleeve hanging over the lip of the vessel.
A sleeve that belonged to a very familiar brown jumper.
My feet began moving on my own. Time seemed to slow down the closer I got. I couldn't tell any color other than that bright white of the covered dead body. It was almost blinding. I ignored Shiba's shouts of worries, tuning him out as I lifted the blanket. How strange, my stomach was calm. My eyes didn't threaten to roll into the back of my head. My throat wasn't swollen, and I could breathe easily. The nausea I had felt before disappeared like a late summer night's breeze.
"Senpai!"
"I'm fine." The strangest calm colored my voice. I wondered if I was trying to convince myself. But nothing else mattered. Listening to the other detective didn't matter. The lights and sounds didn't matter. Shiba's worry didn't matter. The way my heart seemed to race inside my ice cold frame didn't matter.
None of that mattered when I saw Saito's body on the table before me, dead as can be. A single, horrible, disgusting, and cynical joke gibbed in my mind.
He wouldn't have to run away anymore.
I had to stop the snort at the hilarity. Natural comedian, I was.
"You know him?" Asked the detective, walking up to me.
I covered the face with the blanket in a single, unperturbed motion. Eerily and disgustingly smooth in that deliberate action.
"Never saw him before in my life." I responded, words as fluid as a river bank.
Shiba didn't say anything.
"Yeah? Well, shit." Groaned the other detective, scratching his head furiously.
I turned around and walked away, going back up the stairs into the upper floors of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department. Shiba's footsteps trailed behind me, never once stopping until we reached the office. The hallways were suddenly much colder, quieter, and lifeless; exactly what I had expected it to be when we first walked in. The chaos of the police headquarters almost a hallucination.
I didn't know how I got home, or even when I did. There was no desire to answer the texts Rumi had sent about her outing with Yukinoshita. Not that I could, my phone had died sometime ago and I couldn't be bothered to charge it. There was a pile of clothing on the tiled floor of the bathroom, the steam within the space soaking them thoroughly.
I was sitting in the bath with the water turned up to dangerously hot temperatures. My skin was red at the contact with the scalding water, but I felt nothing. I was warm, but still numb. As if my nerves had just outright lost functionality. Water splashed when I drew my legs to my chest and wrapped my arms around my knees. The pale white lines of scars and blotches of darker skin that covered my upper arms and shoulders came into my peripheral view. There were similar marks on my chest and back, and they only seemed to become more pronounced with time.
They were permanent testaments that I may have left that Jungle, but that Jungle didn't leave me. It would never leave me, so I just had to get used to it and all the things that I did. Accept that this was just how things were and would be for as long as I live and breathe.
Huh.
Did this mean that I was finally used to seeing dead bodies?
"About time." I whispered bitterly, closing my eyes and resting my chin on my knee caps. A single drop off water slid off my hair and trailed down my forehead and face like a snake.
It was ice cold.
Arc 1: "Detective Hikigaya Hachiman"
References:
[1] The name of the shop is "Mishichi" and is written with the hiragana "みしち." This is intended to sound like the Bengali word "mish-tee" which means "sweet" or "sugary" and is also used as a noun to refer to the sweets made by curdling milk. The characters みしち literally translate to "mischief." The pastier intended for this double meaning :^)
[2] "Kuroko no Basket" reference. One of the protagonists, Kuroko Tetsuya, had the ability to 'disappear' on the basketball court by taking advantage of people's eyes and where they kept their attention. This leads to some absolutely hilarious and absurd plays.
[3] Reference to the movie Double Indemnity from 1944, by Billy Wilder.
Author's Note:
Did you really think I was going to let this all sunshine and rainbows with Yukino and company? SIKE. This chapter is me throwing cold water on the characters, reminding them of the bitter reality that is life. The world that inhabits this AU isn't well off, and the microcosm of joy Hachiman may have in his personal life doesn't exist out in the world proper.
Terrorist attacks, drug trafficking, innocents dying, children suffering. It's all out there, and our 'hero' is aware of this. The death of Saito is a brutal reminder that you can't turn your eyes away from reality.
In other news, the reader response to the Secretary-chan scene last chapter was great! I'm happy that it touched some of you on an emotional level. It gives me some reassurance that my OC's aren't hated. Maybe I'm doing something right for once?
-SouBU
(Editors: Lord of Admirals; Xynovitch)
Revision Log:
03/17/2020: Re-uploaded with overhaul of tenses and changes in word choice and sentence structure as well as major grammar fixes. Edited author's note to be more succinct and relevant.