Magic Kaitou: Philanthropy
Aug. 15th, 2010 12:00 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
what_we_dreamTitle: Philanthropy, or, Five times Kid saves Nakamori’s bacon. Not that Nakamori would admit it.
Series: Magic Kaitou
Pairing: None
Rating: PG
Notes: I posted the first part of this a while ago figuring that I'd never finish it, but I wrapped it up as a housewarming gift for What We Dream.
Summary: Despite the fact that in most any light you could look at it he's the enemy, Kid isn't always an antagonist.
i. Take Wing
In a lot of ways, Nakamori misses the old squad. Misses the men, misses the faith he could place in them, misses knowing which way they’ll jump at nearly any move on Kid’s part. But there’s something to be said for that uncertainty, and the fact that he doesn’t know what his men will do half the time when pressed means that Kid, who knew the old ones just as well, doesn’t either.
Of course, that ignorance also has the makings of a true blue disaster.
It’s the rainy season, rain pouring down from the sky so thick it feels like there must be an ocean up there above the clouds that’s leaking through. But weather’s never stopped Kid before, and tonight’s no exception.
They’re standing on the roof, those without the uniform hat wiping water from their eyes every few seconds while trying to keep an eye on the white figure of the thief, balanced precariously on the edge of the roof.
They’ve got him surrounded in a complete semi-circle, and it might actually work this time because the combination of the wind and rain make the glider extremely dangerous to begin with, and even if Kid can keep in the sky he’ll have little control of where he lands, and Nakamori’s got two teams ready in cars.
The wind’s whipping around, drawing Kid’s cape out like a flag and then slamming it back into his body with a dull thwock that’s nearly lost under the stones-on-tin sound of the rain.
“Give it up, Kid,” shouts Nakamori, and he has to shout despite the fact that he’s only five metres from the thief. The men on the two ends of the ring, near the edge of the roof, shuffle in closer. “Come on in, and we can all get out of the rain!”
Kid is standing with his back to the empty sky, but he hasn’t stepped up onto the wide raised edge of the roof, yet, and Nakamori knows he must be just as aware as the Inspector of the dangers of using his glider, must be weighing his other options. Nakamori grins; Kid’s smoke won’t work in this rain, either. They’ve got him, this time. Almost certainly.
“I’m afraid, Inspector,” begins Kid, raising his head to stare Nakamori in the eyes. A waterfall of rain sluices down from the brim of his hat over his back. He gets no further.
A quick flash of movement from Kid’s right draw his eyes, and Nakamori’s as well. Ohara, new even for the new squad, and right out on the left edge of the circle, has hopped up onto the roof’s edge and is charging Kid, hoping to force him forwards into the ring of cops. Kid dances backwards, eyes wide and face suddenly serious in the poor lighting.
Nakamori, with his heart in his throat, is already stepping forward and yelling at the man not to be a damn idiot. Half the Squad are moving not towards Kid but Ohara.
And then the wind wheels around, and slams a sheet of rain like a pane of glass straight into them all from behind. Ohara, on the slick metallic paneling of the raised edge, skids. His eyes, wide and horrified, turn from Kid to his superior. And then he’s gone, dropping into the darkness 42 stories above the soaked Tokyo streets, night ringing with the simultaneous cries of 14 police officers.
An instant later, Kid dives after him.
Nakamori hits the edge at this point, along with the rest of the squad, all of them staring over the side. Nakamori yanks his radio out, twists the dials in a panic and cuts off the scream of static with a curse.
“Teams two and three, Ohara just fell off the roof! Repeat, Ohara’s fallen off the roof, and Kid’s gone after him! South side! Get your asses out there!”
Nakamori’s seen the thief do a lot of stupid things. He’s seen him light fireworks while holding them, seen him slice through the only rope holding him 8 storeys above ground, seen him dive straight off a bridge and into a white-water river. He’s not sure any of these things even compare to what he’s just done.
In the pounding rain, he can make out Kid’s white form slicing through the air like a hawk, held tight and aerodynamic as his cape flaps around him. Ohara, in his dark uniform, is almost impossible to make out. But it’s clear when Kid reaches him, because the cape snaps out into the familiar almost-triangle and his decent slows dramatically. And then the wind and the rain hit like twin blows and he flips sideways and spins straight into the side of the building. With Ohara in his arms he can’t fend off with his feet, and they slam into the glass before tumbling back out again into the powerful currents.
Watching the glider fighting to stay in the air is the most terrifying thing Nakamori’s seen in years, and judging from the absolute silence on the roof except for the one tiny exclamation of “Holy shit,” from further down the line, he’s not alone in that. Kid’s an exceptional pilot, and for each air current he loses he manages to find another just as he’s in danger of having the glider’s nose forced down too far, but at each shuddering falter Nakamori feels his heart squeezing.
When it’s finally clear, after several torturous seconds, that Kid’s going to make it to the ground, Nakamori takes off for the stairs. He peels down one flight, squad trailing after him, and bolts into the elevator locked on the top floor. Oogawa, Sawada and a handful of others trip in before he pulls out the key holding the elevator on the 41st floor and slams 1.
The elevator takes half a minute to descend to ground floor, 30 seconds Nakamori passes by tapping his foot furiously, pulling out his carton of cigarettes and then slamming it back irritably into his pocket.
It’s the longest elevator-ride of his life.
On the ground, the police-cordon is relatively unattended due to the rain – even Kid’s fans having some limits. The two squad cars parked by the kerb are empty, and Yamamoto and Hoshino are in the street, stopping traffic.
This is because Ohara is sitting in the middle of the wet road, staring dazedly up at the sky, rain streaming down his face.
Kaitou Kid is nowhere to be seen.
Nakamori marches across the pavement to the man. Ohara blinks and turns to look at his superior and, spotting his expression, replaces his shell-shocked expression with one of mute apprehension.
Nakamori would like to ask him what the hell, the hell, he was thinking. And he will, later. Repeatedly. But for now there’s more important things.
“Ohara, where’s the Kid?”
The man glances around, as if expecting him to pop up behind him. “I don’t know, sir. He dropped me here, and took off.”
“Took off,” says Nakamori flatly. It’s less windy down here, but there’s no way Kid could get airborne once on the ground, regardless.
“I, uh… he maybe ran off, Inspector?”
Nakamori gives him a look that makes Ohara squirm. “And you didn’t try to stop him?”
There’s no answer to that, and Ohara doesn’t try. Just looks miserable, and wet, and alive.
“Right then. Back to the station. Don’t bother with the report, I’ll do it.”
Ohara nods frantically, scrambles to his feet and takes off. Just as well. The idiot’s got no experience in making up excuses for the stupid messes Kid gets himself into.
ii. Cry Wolf
Nakamori hates the rural ones. The roads are terrible, back-up’s non-existent, and nine times out of ten something goes wrong even more spectacularly than usual.
This time it’s some gem adorning a shrine in a limestone cave up in the wilds of Aomori, and even leaving plenty of time for bad roads they still barely make it on time, cars confiscated from the local Aomori city precinct raising clouds of dust behind them as they hurtle over potholes approximately the size of Lake Biwa.
The cave is surrounded by thick woods, and not particularly well signed. Not a big tourist location. There’s not been a lot of concern over protecting the shrine since it’s on an island in the centre of a frigid lake and can only be seen through a tiny hole in a rock wall; the original access caved in twenty years ago.
They all pile out of the cars, Ueda and Mizawa hurrying off with a couple of men to establish a perimeter. They disappear into the thick trees almost instantly while the rest of the squad moves towards the entrance to the cave, a dark and looming hole in a rocky outcropping that rises from the moist earth.
They don’t get that far. Without warning, Kid comes pelting out of the entrance to the cave, a white blur in the late afternoon sun. He turns as soon as he hits the sunlight, and in a display of gymnastics impressive even for him, vaults himself up onto the sheer side of the rock and scrambles up higher.
“Wolves,” shouts the thief, turning to stare at them over his shoulder with an intensity that belies the ridiculousness of his position. “There are wolves in the cave!”
Nakamori pauses, and then:
“Back in the cars!” he bellows. The men, heading uncertainly for the thief, break off and turn for the squad cars, just as the first of a pack of wolves trots out. The men double their efforts immediately, and slam into the cars, Nakamori in the driver’s seat of the closest. Kid shimmies higher on the rocks, heading for the relatively low top.
The wolves, as it turns out, are not particularly interested in attacking. They give the herd of cars a few disinterested looks and, confident that their territory is secure, head back into the cave.
By which point Kid, of course, has reached the flat roof of the caves, and is long gone.
iii. Sure Footed
Nakamori’s job takes him to elegant stores, beautiful museums and ancient temples. Sometimes, though, the places it takes him are frankly bizarre.
He’s in the mansion of an eccentric billionaire – is there any other kind? – named Gorou out in a rural area of Yamanashi with a beautiful view of Saiko, one of the five lakes of Mt. Fuji. As a billionaire with an interest in jewellery, he happens to own several huge diamonds. Also as a billionaire with an interest in jewellery, he happens to have had an elaborate security system of his own devising built into the mansion.
Nakamori sprints down a hallway of the western-style mansion, his footfalls on the marble floors echoing in the long enclosed space like horseshoes on cobbles. Ahead of him, Kid takes a sharp left, his mantle flapping for an instant behind him, bright against the sombre oak paneling.
The security systems thus far have failed. The giant steel-wire net was easily avoided, the movement-activated spears easily dodged, and the series of falling cages bypassed entirely by a back-stairs route intended only for the use of the cleaning staff.
But now they’re out in the long open stretches of the mansions corridors, and Nakamori is a champion sprinter. The Squad are straggling along behind him, not all of them as lucky as Kid in avoiding the mansion’s traps. He lost Washio and Murata to the net, Ishida, Takarai and Hoshino in dodging the spears, and suspects the group led by Sawara which he sent around to try to cut Kid off have fallen to the cages.
Nakamori, as always, is further fuelled in his pursuit by his rage. But tonight, while his irritation with Kid for showing up the Task Force once again burns as always, his fury with the mansion’s owner entirely eclipses those flames. The security system, which the proud and boastful Gorou refused to dismantle, has slowed them down while of course not hindering Kid in any way. Worse, it has actively endangered the Squad. The wires of the net-trap are hard and the springs strong enough to break bones if the target doesn’t stand precisely in the centre of its radius, the cages are heavy and easily capable of injuring anyone they fall on, and the spears have not been blunted. Nakamori, sprinting through the mansion, is cursing Gorou far more strongly than Kid tonight.
He skids around a corner, aware that they’re coming up to a whole range of exits very soon. But, to his surprise, at the end of the hallway Kid is standing stock still, hands by his side, monocle sparkling in the bright artificial light. He’s grinning with perfect confidence, of course.
Nakamori, eyes narrowing suspiciously, slows to a jog. Kid’s standing some twenty metres away, the edge of his mantle rippling in a soft breeze. Behind him, he hears Oogawa round the corner with the rest of the remaining Squad. Nakamori raises his hand to caution them without looking around, hears them slow.
At the end of the corridor, Kid’s grin takes on a hint of mischievousness which Nakamori nevertheless doesn’t see reflected in his eyes. They are bright and attentive as always – just as always.
Kid doesn’t make mistakes when it comes to acting. Nakamori stops, suspicion thrumming like electricity through his veins. Kid inclines his head just a centimetre, and in a smooth movement pulls out his card gun. Before they can properly react – before they can draw their own weapons, or charge him, or make to dodge – he’s speaking in his usual theatrical tone.
“Why, Inspector. Is that a trap door right in front of your feet?”
Nakamori doesn’t fall for the attempt to re-direct his attention, until the thief fires his gun straight at the Nakamori’s feet. Four of the huge marble tiles immediately fall downwards, their outside edges lined with hidden hinges. Nakamori looks now, and notices with a thrill of horror that he can’t see any sign of bottom in the looming darkness before him.
When he looks up, Kid has already gone.
iv. Passing Notes
Nakamori finds a note in his mailbox – his mailbox at home – which reads:
The Squad will be audited next week. You might want to clean up your records.
There is no signature. He has no idea, to this day, why the thief left him the note.
v. On the Inside
Nakamori dreams, sometimes, that Kid will march right into the station, hold up his white-gloved hands, and say “arrest me.”
He doesn’t.
But he does march right into the station once. Just not as himself. Entirely.
It’s summer, and it’s boiling hot, and the humidity’s so bad that water’s beading on glass all over the city. Everyone is short-tempered, everyone wants to get the hell out of Tokyo with its 13 million people all getting in each others’ way, and everyone wants the stifling heat to let up.
But, just at the moment, what everyone really wants is to solve the series of attacks being perpetrated on police stations.
They’ve managed to keep the attacks low-key for the moment, to largely keep them out of the media and public awareness. But four stations in Tokyo have been targeted in the past week. The first just involved the power being cut, and was assumed to be a practical joke. The second and third both involved timed smoke bombs being set off throughout the station. The fourth, tear gas. They so far haven’t been able to pull footage showing the perpetrator, and no one’s reported noticing anyone suspicious. But it’s undeniable that these attacks are becoming more dangerous, and the fact that they haven’t been able to identify any suspects is alarming. The unspoken question has already travelled the length and breadth of the Tokyo Force: how long will it be before they set off something deadly?
Security has been increased at all locations, and men have been pulled from the slower divisions and portfolios to act as surveillance and investigation. The entire Squad has been seconded in the absence of any immediate notes from Kid – those who served in Section One have gone to investigation along with himself, Oogawa and Sawara, as they all have more than a decade of experience at tracking down intelligent criminals. The rest have gone to surveillance and patrols.
These is no place other than the main Metropolitan Police building that could house such an extensive investigation at short notice, so they’re still working out of the Squad office and running upstairs to meetings every few hours. Nakamori’s got a bunch of new men working under him in the Squad’s room who’ve moved in from the outlying stations, and who keep commenting on the newness of the Squad’s furniture and their fancy coffee machine.
The remaining Squad men are less impressed – the four of them have been moved into Nakamori’s office and are working off fold-up plastic tables to make more room for the new men. Nakamori’s less than impressed because due to the speed at which any potential updates could arrive he has to keep the office door open, and he’s never been much good at paying attention to paperwork in noisy environments.
It’s only later that it occurs to him that perhaps they should have treated this emergency more like a Kid heist, and considered that bringing a huge number of strangers into the building in a compromised situation might facilitate what they’re trying to prevent.
.
As it is, he’s sitting trying to read the forensics reports from the Akihabara station – smoke gas attack #2 – with the noise from the outdoor office and the rest of the floor filtering in when something catches his eye. An unfamiliar sergeant, walking into the outer office and past the rows of desks in a steady, determined stride. He passes the seconded men without saying a word, staring straight at Nakamori with hard eyes. It makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up; all he can think is: Gods, there’s been another one. But there are no folders in the man’s hands, no reports, no memos. And no one would send a sergeant now, when they’re so short-staffed and when the phone on his desk is in perfect working order. Nakamori’s not that important to this investigation.
The sergeant walks past Washio and Yamamoto, and Oogawa and Sawara, without saying a word. Marches straight up to his desk and stops. Pulls a cell phone out of his pocket, snaps it open, and puts it down on the desk. On the screen is a picture of a man in plain clothes in what looks like a basement, putting something up against the wall.
“This was taken fifteen minutes ago in the basement. You need to evacuate this building. Now. Don’t ask questions, don’t prevaricate, don’t start an investigation. Evacuate. Now.” He speaks in a low tone, words fast and crisp and carrying under them the strength of a man speaking not only from conviction but from desperation. Nakamori opens his mouth, and the sergeant makes a tiny movement with his hand as though stretching his wrist. Opens his fisted fingers to reveal Kaitou Kid’s monocle in his palm, tiny charm swinging. His hand had been empty a second ago. “Now, Inspector,” says Kid’s voice. He turns sharply, and marches out again.
Nakamori blinks once, then snaps up straight. His men, watching Kid walk right out without any idea who he is, turn to look at him. “We’re evacuating the building,” he snarls, picking up the cell phone in one hand and his office phone in the other. Dials the emergency code, and tells the operator to signal an evacuation, and hangs up. Phones straight through to Arakawa, and tells him the same. By the time he’s on his feet, Oogawa’s already got the men in the outer office moving.
When the bomb squad goes in, they find enough chlorine gas to wipe out half the building set to go off at the height of the afternoon shift-change. With the picture from the phone, they’re able to track down and arrest the terrorist. Nakamori refuses a commendation, and tells Arakawa he doesn’t know who the source of his information was or why the man came to him.
Loyalty isn’t confined solely to thieves, after all.
Series: Magic Kaitou
Pairing: None
Rating: PG
Notes: I posted the first part of this a while ago figuring that I'd never finish it, but I wrapped it up as a housewarming gift for What We Dream.
Summary: Despite the fact that in most any light you could look at it he's the enemy, Kid isn't always an antagonist.
i. Take Wing
In a lot of ways, Nakamori misses the old squad. Misses the men, misses the faith he could place in them, misses knowing which way they’ll jump at nearly any move on Kid’s part. But there’s something to be said for that uncertainty, and the fact that he doesn’t know what his men will do half the time when pressed means that Kid, who knew the old ones just as well, doesn’t either.
Of course, that ignorance also has the makings of a true blue disaster.
It’s the rainy season, rain pouring down from the sky so thick it feels like there must be an ocean up there above the clouds that’s leaking through. But weather’s never stopped Kid before, and tonight’s no exception.
They’re standing on the roof, those without the uniform hat wiping water from their eyes every few seconds while trying to keep an eye on the white figure of the thief, balanced precariously on the edge of the roof.
They’ve got him surrounded in a complete semi-circle, and it might actually work this time because the combination of the wind and rain make the glider extremely dangerous to begin with, and even if Kid can keep in the sky he’ll have little control of where he lands, and Nakamori’s got two teams ready in cars.
The wind’s whipping around, drawing Kid’s cape out like a flag and then slamming it back into his body with a dull thwock that’s nearly lost under the stones-on-tin sound of the rain.
“Give it up, Kid,” shouts Nakamori, and he has to shout despite the fact that he’s only five metres from the thief. The men on the two ends of the ring, near the edge of the roof, shuffle in closer. “Come on in, and we can all get out of the rain!”
Kid is standing with his back to the empty sky, but he hasn’t stepped up onto the wide raised edge of the roof, yet, and Nakamori knows he must be just as aware as the Inspector of the dangers of using his glider, must be weighing his other options. Nakamori grins; Kid’s smoke won’t work in this rain, either. They’ve got him, this time. Almost certainly.
“I’m afraid, Inspector,” begins Kid, raising his head to stare Nakamori in the eyes. A waterfall of rain sluices down from the brim of his hat over his back. He gets no further.
A quick flash of movement from Kid’s right draw his eyes, and Nakamori’s as well. Ohara, new even for the new squad, and right out on the left edge of the circle, has hopped up onto the roof’s edge and is charging Kid, hoping to force him forwards into the ring of cops. Kid dances backwards, eyes wide and face suddenly serious in the poor lighting.
Nakamori, with his heart in his throat, is already stepping forward and yelling at the man not to be a damn idiot. Half the Squad are moving not towards Kid but Ohara.
And then the wind wheels around, and slams a sheet of rain like a pane of glass straight into them all from behind. Ohara, on the slick metallic paneling of the raised edge, skids. His eyes, wide and horrified, turn from Kid to his superior. And then he’s gone, dropping into the darkness 42 stories above the soaked Tokyo streets, night ringing with the simultaneous cries of 14 police officers.
An instant later, Kid dives after him.
Nakamori hits the edge at this point, along with the rest of the squad, all of them staring over the side. Nakamori yanks his radio out, twists the dials in a panic and cuts off the scream of static with a curse.
“Teams two and three, Ohara just fell off the roof! Repeat, Ohara’s fallen off the roof, and Kid’s gone after him! South side! Get your asses out there!”
Nakamori’s seen the thief do a lot of stupid things. He’s seen him light fireworks while holding them, seen him slice through the only rope holding him 8 storeys above ground, seen him dive straight off a bridge and into a white-water river. He’s not sure any of these things even compare to what he’s just done.
In the pounding rain, he can make out Kid’s white form slicing through the air like a hawk, held tight and aerodynamic as his cape flaps around him. Ohara, in his dark uniform, is almost impossible to make out. But it’s clear when Kid reaches him, because the cape snaps out into the familiar almost-triangle and his decent slows dramatically. And then the wind and the rain hit like twin blows and he flips sideways and spins straight into the side of the building. With Ohara in his arms he can’t fend off with his feet, and they slam into the glass before tumbling back out again into the powerful currents.
Watching the glider fighting to stay in the air is the most terrifying thing Nakamori’s seen in years, and judging from the absolute silence on the roof except for the one tiny exclamation of “Holy shit,” from further down the line, he’s not alone in that. Kid’s an exceptional pilot, and for each air current he loses he manages to find another just as he’s in danger of having the glider’s nose forced down too far, but at each shuddering falter Nakamori feels his heart squeezing.
When it’s finally clear, after several torturous seconds, that Kid’s going to make it to the ground, Nakamori takes off for the stairs. He peels down one flight, squad trailing after him, and bolts into the elevator locked on the top floor. Oogawa, Sawada and a handful of others trip in before he pulls out the key holding the elevator on the 41st floor and slams 1.
The elevator takes half a minute to descend to ground floor, 30 seconds Nakamori passes by tapping his foot furiously, pulling out his carton of cigarettes and then slamming it back irritably into his pocket.
It’s the longest elevator-ride of his life.
On the ground, the police-cordon is relatively unattended due to the rain – even Kid’s fans having some limits. The two squad cars parked by the kerb are empty, and Yamamoto and Hoshino are in the street, stopping traffic.
This is because Ohara is sitting in the middle of the wet road, staring dazedly up at the sky, rain streaming down his face.
Kaitou Kid is nowhere to be seen.
Nakamori marches across the pavement to the man. Ohara blinks and turns to look at his superior and, spotting his expression, replaces his shell-shocked expression with one of mute apprehension.
Nakamori would like to ask him what the hell, the hell, he was thinking. And he will, later. Repeatedly. But for now there’s more important things.
“Ohara, where’s the Kid?”
The man glances around, as if expecting him to pop up behind him. “I don’t know, sir. He dropped me here, and took off.”
“Took off,” says Nakamori flatly. It’s less windy down here, but there’s no way Kid could get airborne once on the ground, regardless.
“I, uh… he maybe ran off, Inspector?”
Nakamori gives him a look that makes Ohara squirm. “And you didn’t try to stop him?”
There’s no answer to that, and Ohara doesn’t try. Just looks miserable, and wet, and alive.
“Right then. Back to the station. Don’t bother with the report, I’ll do it.”
Ohara nods frantically, scrambles to his feet and takes off. Just as well. The idiot’s got no experience in making up excuses for the stupid messes Kid gets himself into.
ii. Cry Wolf
Nakamori hates the rural ones. The roads are terrible, back-up’s non-existent, and nine times out of ten something goes wrong even more spectacularly than usual.
This time it’s some gem adorning a shrine in a limestone cave up in the wilds of Aomori, and even leaving plenty of time for bad roads they still barely make it on time, cars confiscated from the local Aomori city precinct raising clouds of dust behind them as they hurtle over potholes approximately the size of Lake Biwa.
The cave is surrounded by thick woods, and not particularly well signed. Not a big tourist location. There’s not been a lot of concern over protecting the shrine since it’s on an island in the centre of a frigid lake and can only be seen through a tiny hole in a rock wall; the original access caved in twenty years ago.
They all pile out of the cars, Ueda and Mizawa hurrying off with a couple of men to establish a perimeter. They disappear into the thick trees almost instantly while the rest of the squad moves towards the entrance to the cave, a dark and looming hole in a rocky outcropping that rises from the moist earth.
They don’t get that far. Without warning, Kid comes pelting out of the entrance to the cave, a white blur in the late afternoon sun. He turns as soon as he hits the sunlight, and in a display of gymnastics impressive even for him, vaults himself up onto the sheer side of the rock and scrambles up higher.
“Wolves,” shouts the thief, turning to stare at them over his shoulder with an intensity that belies the ridiculousness of his position. “There are wolves in the cave!”
Nakamori pauses, and then:
“Back in the cars!” he bellows. The men, heading uncertainly for the thief, break off and turn for the squad cars, just as the first of a pack of wolves trots out. The men double their efforts immediately, and slam into the cars, Nakamori in the driver’s seat of the closest. Kid shimmies higher on the rocks, heading for the relatively low top.
The wolves, as it turns out, are not particularly interested in attacking. They give the herd of cars a few disinterested looks and, confident that their territory is secure, head back into the cave.
By which point Kid, of course, has reached the flat roof of the caves, and is long gone.
iii. Sure Footed
Nakamori’s job takes him to elegant stores, beautiful museums and ancient temples. Sometimes, though, the places it takes him are frankly bizarre.
He’s in the mansion of an eccentric billionaire – is there any other kind? – named Gorou out in a rural area of Yamanashi with a beautiful view of Saiko, one of the five lakes of Mt. Fuji. As a billionaire with an interest in jewellery, he happens to own several huge diamonds. Also as a billionaire with an interest in jewellery, he happens to have had an elaborate security system of his own devising built into the mansion.
Nakamori sprints down a hallway of the western-style mansion, his footfalls on the marble floors echoing in the long enclosed space like horseshoes on cobbles. Ahead of him, Kid takes a sharp left, his mantle flapping for an instant behind him, bright against the sombre oak paneling.
The security systems thus far have failed. The giant steel-wire net was easily avoided, the movement-activated spears easily dodged, and the series of falling cages bypassed entirely by a back-stairs route intended only for the use of the cleaning staff.
But now they’re out in the long open stretches of the mansions corridors, and Nakamori is a champion sprinter. The Squad are straggling along behind him, not all of them as lucky as Kid in avoiding the mansion’s traps. He lost Washio and Murata to the net, Ishida, Takarai and Hoshino in dodging the spears, and suspects the group led by Sawara which he sent around to try to cut Kid off have fallen to the cages.
Nakamori, as always, is further fuelled in his pursuit by his rage. But tonight, while his irritation with Kid for showing up the Task Force once again burns as always, his fury with the mansion’s owner entirely eclipses those flames. The security system, which the proud and boastful Gorou refused to dismantle, has slowed them down while of course not hindering Kid in any way. Worse, it has actively endangered the Squad. The wires of the net-trap are hard and the springs strong enough to break bones if the target doesn’t stand precisely in the centre of its radius, the cages are heavy and easily capable of injuring anyone they fall on, and the spears have not been blunted. Nakamori, sprinting through the mansion, is cursing Gorou far more strongly than Kid tonight.
He skids around a corner, aware that they’re coming up to a whole range of exits very soon. But, to his surprise, at the end of the hallway Kid is standing stock still, hands by his side, monocle sparkling in the bright artificial light. He’s grinning with perfect confidence, of course.
Nakamori, eyes narrowing suspiciously, slows to a jog. Kid’s standing some twenty metres away, the edge of his mantle rippling in a soft breeze. Behind him, he hears Oogawa round the corner with the rest of the remaining Squad. Nakamori raises his hand to caution them without looking around, hears them slow.
At the end of the corridor, Kid’s grin takes on a hint of mischievousness which Nakamori nevertheless doesn’t see reflected in his eyes. They are bright and attentive as always – just as always.
Kid doesn’t make mistakes when it comes to acting. Nakamori stops, suspicion thrumming like electricity through his veins. Kid inclines his head just a centimetre, and in a smooth movement pulls out his card gun. Before they can properly react – before they can draw their own weapons, or charge him, or make to dodge – he’s speaking in his usual theatrical tone.
“Why, Inspector. Is that a trap door right in front of your feet?”
Nakamori doesn’t fall for the attempt to re-direct his attention, until the thief fires his gun straight at the Nakamori’s feet. Four of the huge marble tiles immediately fall downwards, their outside edges lined with hidden hinges. Nakamori looks now, and notices with a thrill of horror that he can’t see any sign of bottom in the looming darkness before him.
When he looks up, Kid has already gone.
iv. Passing Notes
Nakamori finds a note in his mailbox – his mailbox at home – which reads:
The Squad will be audited next week. You might want to clean up your records.
There is no signature. He has no idea, to this day, why the thief left him the note.
v. On the Inside
Nakamori dreams, sometimes, that Kid will march right into the station, hold up his white-gloved hands, and say “arrest me.”
He doesn’t.
But he does march right into the station once. Just not as himself. Entirely.
It’s summer, and it’s boiling hot, and the humidity’s so bad that water’s beading on glass all over the city. Everyone is short-tempered, everyone wants to get the hell out of Tokyo with its 13 million people all getting in each others’ way, and everyone wants the stifling heat to let up.
But, just at the moment, what everyone really wants is to solve the series of attacks being perpetrated on police stations.
They’ve managed to keep the attacks low-key for the moment, to largely keep them out of the media and public awareness. But four stations in Tokyo have been targeted in the past week. The first just involved the power being cut, and was assumed to be a practical joke. The second and third both involved timed smoke bombs being set off throughout the station. The fourth, tear gas. They so far haven’t been able to pull footage showing the perpetrator, and no one’s reported noticing anyone suspicious. But it’s undeniable that these attacks are becoming more dangerous, and the fact that they haven’t been able to identify any suspects is alarming. The unspoken question has already travelled the length and breadth of the Tokyo Force: how long will it be before they set off something deadly?
Security has been increased at all locations, and men have been pulled from the slower divisions and portfolios to act as surveillance and investigation. The entire Squad has been seconded in the absence of any immediate notes from Kid – those who served in Section One have gone to investigation along with himself, Oogawa and Sawara, as they all have more than a decade of experience at tracking down intelligent criminals. The rest have gone to surveillance and patrols.
These is no place other than the main Metropolitan Police building that could house such an extensive investigation at short notice, so they’re still working out of the Squad office and running upstairs to meetings every few hours. Nakamori’s got a bunch of new men working under him in the Squad’s room who’ve moved in from the outlying stations, and who keep commenting on the newness of the Squad’s furniture and their fancy coffee machine.
The remaining Squad men are less impressed – the four of them have been moved into Nakamori’s office and are working off fold-up plastic tables to make more room for the new men. Nakamori’s less than impressed because due to the speed at which any potential updates could arrive he has to keep the office door open, and he’s never been much good at paying attention to paperwork in noisy environments.
It’s only later that it occurs to him that perhaps they should have treated this emergency more like a Kid heist, and considered that bringing a huge number of strangers into the building in a compromised situation might facilitate what they’re trying to prevent.
.
As it is, he’s sitting trying to read the forensics reports from the Akihabara station – smoke gas attack #2 – with the noise from the outdoor office and the rest of the floor filtering in when something catches his eye. An unfamiliar sergeant, walking into the outer office and past the rows of desks in a steady, determined stride. He passes the seconded men without saying a word, staring straight at Nakamori with hard eyes. It makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up; all he can think is: Gods, there’s been another one. But there are no folders in the man’s hands, no reports, no memos. And no one would send a sergeant now, when they’re so short-staffed and when the phone on his desk is in perfect working order. Nakamori’s not that important to this investigation.
The sergeant walks past Washio and Yamamoto, and Oogawa and Sawara, without saying a word. Marches straight up to his desk and stops. Pulls a cell phone out of his pocket, snaps it open, and puts it down on the desk. On the screen is a picture of a man in plain clothes in what looks like a basement, putting something up against the wall.
“This was taken fifteen minutes ago in the basement. You need to evacuate this building. Now. Don’t ask questions, don’t prevaricate, don’t start an investigation. Evacuate. Now.” He speaks in a low tone, words fast and crisp and carrying under them the strength of a man speaking not only from conviction but from desperation. Nakamori opens his mouth, and the sergeant makes a tiny movement with his hand as though stretching his wrist. Opens his fisted fingers to reveal Kaitou Kid’s monocle in his palm, tiny charm swinging. His hand had been empty a second ago. “Now, Inspector,” says Kid’s voice. He turns sharply, and marches out again.
Nakamori blinks once, then snaps up straight. His men, watching Kid walk right out without any idea who he is, turn to look at him. “We’re evacuating the building,” he snarls, picking up the cell phone in one hand and his office phone in the other. Dials the emergency code, and tells the operator to signal an evacuation, and hangs up. Phones straight through to Arakawa, and tells him the same. By the time he’s on his feet, Oogawa’s already got the men in the outer office moving.
When the bomb squad goes in, they find enough chlorine gas to wipe out half the building set to go off at the height of the afternoon shift-change. With the picture from the phone, they’re able to track down and arrest the terrorist. Nakamori refuses a commendation, and tells Arakawa he doesn’t know who the source of his information was or why the man came to him.
Loyalty isn’t confined solely to thieves, after all.
