AUTHOR'S NOTE: Fujiko and Zenigata will make appearances pretty soon. I was going to have Zenigata come in later on, but I decided to move some things around and feature him earlier instead. Expect Zenigata and Fujiko to pop up in the next few chapters.
Hatson knew better. Sholmes inviting him to lunch wasn't like him at all. Sholmes offering to drive was out of character altogether. When he got the invitation, Hatson realized it was late enough in the day that he'd enjoy a lunch, and he was curious to know what was on his roommate's mind. Maybe he had heard back from the police, gotten a lead on the Buckingham Palace theft?
When Sholmes, reticent as usual, turned his vehicle out of the city limits, Hatson started to worry. Would he get back in time to see his afternoon patients? Sholmes usually responded best when people were their most frank. Which, while sometimes frustrating, could be refreshing at other times.
"Where are we going?" Hatson asked.
London's metropolis had all but phased out of the landscape. Their car passed long fields and trees.
"I checked the deeds to homes in and directly outside London's jurisdictions," Sholmes began, not taking his eyes off the road. "If I were an international thief and needed a place to stay long term, it'd be advantageous to stay somewhere close to the city, but far enough away that gunshots or large vehicles wouldn't be considered suspicious. There would ideally be a lot of storage space, as well."
"You still suspect Lupin III?" Hatson responded, feeling his stomach sink another inch. He knew better.
"If I'm correct on this, the home he owns and is currently staying isn't far away. Tracking the places he might own globally isn't easy. The only organization that has any kind of record of this is Interpol, and what it has is piecemeal at best. I have to say, though, that unless the document was forged, I'm surprised the name 'T.N. Krumpits' on the deed didn't strike anyone else as suspicious."
Hatson snorted. "So you still haven't heard from the London police?"
Sholmes briefly turned to look at Hatson, and Hatson struggled to read his expression. "No," Sholmes said, his voice blank as usual. "Unsurprisingly, at this point."
"So we're going to Lupin's hideout?" Hatson asked, resisting the temptation to add, sarcastically, "knock on his door, and hope they invite us for coffee?"
"We are," Sholmes responded. "Though we'll make sure we pass by unseen. I am most curious about whether they also took the Father Thames statue outside St. John Lock."
"That's missing?" Hatson said, astounded. "I hadn't even heard that."
"Police had enough time to send a sentence to the news stations. Their reports should just be getting out now."
"Interesting." Hatson slumped in his seat, trying to seem more relaxed than he felt. He rubbed the edge of his beard thoughtfully. "Do you think he'll try to steal Big Ben next?"
Predictably, Sholmes did nothing to acknowledge Hatson's joke.
They passed the next few minutes in silence until Sholmes turned off the road.
"No one will see us here?" Hatson asked as Sholmes parked into a thicket of trees.
"Not many people should be here," Sholmes responded. "Most of the residents in this area commute to work in the city. It's too far for Lupin to see the vehicle from his house, unless he has something like a drone."
"Does he have a drone?" Hatson asked, panic tightening his chest.
"We will find out," Sholmes said, as he opened the door and got out of the vehicle.
"You didn't have to say we were going for lunch if we weren't," Hatson huffed. The reality was setting in for him now that they would soon be casing the home of a notorious criminal.
Sholmes didn't say anything. They walked on in silence. A rather ordinary two-story house came into view. There was a tree next to a large set of windows. There was also a storage shed.
Sholmes hunched down, walking at a brisk pace with his knees bent. Hatson followed him. Once they reached the base of the tree, Sholmes took a large rope from a hook in his coat (how Hatson didn't notice it before, he wasn't sure), and threw it so it wrapped around a branch. Hatson watched in awe as Sholmes tied a knot around the end of the rope, then pushed the rope upward so the knot tightened itself around the tree branch. To Hatson's horror, Sholmes started to climb noiselessly up the rope until he paused just below the window wall.
Trying to stop him would create too much noise. Hatson could only hold the rope steady. He knew so much better than to join Sholmes in this crap. When it was joining Sholmes to look at public records, to interview witnesses, to file reports to the police, it was one thing. They weren't really putting themselves in danger. Hatson did admire Sholmes' deductive skills. He couldn't understand why Sholmes didn't go ahead and apply for a job in the London police department. He had helped solve enough of their cases to be an honorary detective already.
Sholmes didn't seem particularly interested in the perpetrators from what Hatson remembered of past cases. He was interested in how criminals carried out the misdeeds, their motives, the details that others could overlook. It was unusual to see Sholmes interested in seeing a criminal in person, even a renown one like Lupin.
Hatson was jolted out of his thoughts when Sholmes jumped down from the rope. The next second, one of the windows above them opened. Hatson had never run so quickly in his life.
Gunshots rang behind them. Hatson swallowed down a yell and turned toward Sholmes. He was surprised to see that Sholmes was smiling slightly.
"They're not bullets," Sholmes said quietly. "I happened to glance at the man who opened the window. He had a gun but didn't pull it. I think they are fireworks meant to imitate the sound of gunfire."
The two of them had turned into the thicket of woods and reached the car.
"My guess is the man didn't take us seriously, and he didn't want to waste bullets," Sholmes continued.
Hatson wanted to ask Sholmes why the fuck they had done this. Why the fuck they had put themselves in a situation where a man could have used bullets on them and didn't. He teetered between whether it would be worth it to say something or not. He let the pros and cons fight themselves out in his frazzled mind.
"So that wasn't Lupin?" Hatson asked instead.
"No," Sholmes responded. They both got in the car and Sholmes started the engine.
"There were two other people with him from what I could see," Sholmes continued as they drove away from the woods. "The first was the man at the window. From what I remember he is a skilled marksman named Daisuke Jigen. The second was a samurai named Goemon Ishikawa XIII."
"A samurai . . ." Hatson was hit with a realization. "Did he have bandaged fingers by chance?"
Sholmes looked at Hatson with genuine surprise. "Yes! How did you know that?"
"He . . . had injured his hand, and I bandaged it at my practice," Hatson recalled. He was hit with another realization. The rod that Hatson thought was a walking stick must have been some kind of weapon. He didn't think he could feel any more like an idiot, but here he was.
Sholmes took in the information. He was driving more quickly this time, and Hatson was relieved to see the city come into view.
"Do you think he will come back?" Sholmes asked Hatson.
"I'm not sure," Hatson responded. "I did give him my card, so he can call my office." Hatson hoped the samurai – Goemon, was it? – hadn't gotten a close look at him at the hideout.
"Interesting," Sholmes said. Sholmes didn't elaborate, so the car fell into silence.
"I shouldn't have told you we were going to lunch," Sholmes said after a while. Of all of the things Sholmes could have said, this surprised Hatson the most. He felt sudden affection for his roommate, the friend he had known the longest since Hatson moved to London.
"Thanks for saying that," Hatson said, then couldn't believe himself as his mouth opened and he proceeded to say more. "I'd be glad to join you, just not when I have patients." What was he saying?
"Understood," Sholmes said, not looking away from the road, but Hatson saw the corners of his mouth lift.
Thanks to Sholmes' speed, Hatson was only a few minutes late for his first afternoon patient. As Hatson settled into the routine of his medical practice, as though the last hour had not happened, Hatson couldn't help but feel that his roommate and the life he led was not a boring one.
"What's going on?" Lupin asked hoarsely, ears ringing from the gunshot blasts. Jigen continued to glare out the window, taking a few moments before lowering his hand and turning around.
"Two jokers were spying on us. They were hauling ass when I started throwing the pop rocks."
So it was the pop rocks that made the noise, not bullets. Lupin felt himself relax. "Did you get a look at them?" he asked.
"Not their faces. But from what I could tell they looked like complete morons." Jigen looked out the window, incredulous. He smiled before reaching his hand out and pulling up a thick rope clumsily tied to a tree near the window.
"A toddler could have done better."
"Could they have been working for someone?" Goemon asked, looking less amused than Jigen. "The most dangerous people are often the most hidden."
"Maybe, but I doubt it. I was hoping to scare them more than anything." Jigen went to sit back down on the couch.
"Should we go to a different hideout?" Goemon asked.
"In a few days, once we get through Wimbeldon," Jigen said. He looked at Lupin. "That sound good to you?"
"Sounds good to me," Lupin said. Suddenly exhausted, he picked up the blanket that fell off him and slipped back onto the recliner. He grabbed a handkerchief and blew his nose, noisily.
"You should get some sleep," Goemon said to Lupin. "You sound worse today."
It hurt his head to nod, but Lupin nodded. "I'll be OK. It's just a curse."
"A what?" Jigen gave Lupin a quizzical look. Lupin realized what he said, but he didn't feel up to correcting it.
"Nevermind."
Lupin turned his head to the corner table to take a long sip straight from the flask. He missed Jigen gesturing to Lupin and making a circular motion around his ear with his finger. Goemon gave Jigen a slight smile.
Lupin made himself as comfortable as he could on the recliner, hoping he could finally drift off to sleep.