Digimon Fan Fiction ❯ Ken Ichijouji and the Case of the Divine Miss I ❯ Standoff at High Noon ( Chapter 3 )
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: ElJuno 
Ken gets wet, Iori is tense, and one-too-many are given.
Anime/Manga: Digimon Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Mystery / Comedy | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 11.01.2002 | Updated On: 11.02.2002 | Pages: 3 | Words: 2.2K | Visits: 251 | Status: Work In Progress
Ken gets wet, Iori is tense, and one-too-many are given.
Anime/Manga: Digimon Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Mystery / Comedy | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 11.01.2002 | Updated On: 11.02.2002 | Pages: 3 | Words: 2.2K | Visits: 251 | Status: Work In Progress
And now we have the third chapter. I don't think this one is as funny as the other ones, but it's needed.
And if YOU think that this is taking too long, just think of what it must be like for the characters...the first two chapters, together, probably made up around an hour and a half (it's 9:30 am at the beginning, and it's noon at the beginning of this one.) I'd say that this one takes up around half and hour to an hour. At best, we're dealing with 3 and a half hours so far. Ken is NOT getting that well paid for all this legwork...
*****
It's around noon now, and the rain has started to fall as heavily as bombs in a blitzkrieg. When we left the Greasy Spoon, Wormmon was happily riding on my shoulders, but (again, like a cat) he doesn't really enjoy getting wet. I jump below the overhanging roof of a little newspaper kiosk to pull him under my jacket and drip dry for a few moments. Of course, the vendor stares bullets at me until I throw him a nickel and grab the top paper off his pile.
Someone, or a group of someones, has been bringing thieves...the actual words in this rag are "to justice"...while keeping their identity secret. They don't ask for any money, any reward, any anything, and no one knows their identities. Do-Gooders. You know I hate them, if only because they tend to make the lives of people like me a little more difficult.
The vendor is starting to give me his killing look again, so I slip Wormmon down into the crook of my elbow, protected by my jacket and leave, making certain to throw the newspaper in his direction as I go. I'm not bad, really. It's just I don't like being rushed, especially when God has decided to piss rain down over the city. I head...
Well...
There's an old truism. Stop me if you've heard it..."It's not what you know, it's who you know."
It's at least half bullshit, at least in my line of work.
What you know is pretty much the most important thing. You need to know where to start, how to go about things, and, most importantly, how to put the pieces together. Of course, it's also important to know people, but it's more important to have a number to choose from, and then you have to figure out which ones to ask which questions.
Of course, maybe I just discount informants because mine are second-to-none. Well, second-to-some, but CLOSE to second-to-none.
And, of course, speaking of informants and who you know...
Hmmm.
Let's hope he's not on a lunch break. He never used to take them at sane times, but you never know...
The police station is close enough to walk...good thing, that. I hate the idea of another train ride today. Of course, on a day like this, "close enough" is a relative term, meaning something like "close enough that you don't collapse." I walk in the front door definately drowned-rat looking, but not wet enough that you'd believe I'd fallen in a river. I drip dry in the entryway for a few seconds, making a mental note to buy an umbrella at some point, school my face into what Daisuke's started to refer to as the "asshole" glare and head straight back to the door marked "Chief". The look does what it's supposed to...while several beat cops start to make motions to stop me, none of them try to complete the operation.
I open the door like a hurricane and blow in, closing it carefully behind me. Of course, he's there...the man never learned the fine art of the lunch break. He looks up at me then almost groans, his face a Rembrandt-perfect picture of frustration.
"Ichijouji." He sighs.
"Hello, Iori." I shoot back, slumping into one of his "guest" chairs.
Way, way, way back when, back when I was the asshole behind the badge, Iori Hida was my partner. My second partner, if you really want to know. The bastard really IS a Do-Gooder type, but we still tend to get along...well, "alright" is a bit of an overstatement. It's better to say that we're something more than acquaintances, something less than friends. Of course, on the other side, the man stood between me and murder back when I was getting my sorry ass shown the door.
And, no, you DON'T want to know if I would have been murderer or murdered. Hell, I don't think I know these days.
"What do you WANT, Ichijouji?" He asks.
"What, you don't think this is a social call? Maybe I just woke up this morning with a burning need to see your pretty face."
He rolls his eyes, which is actually a good sign. Last time I tried that joke he slammed his hand in a door. I just shoot him the most guileless smile I can manage and light up a cigarette.
"Those things are going to kill you, you know." He says.
"With the way things are going these days, they'd better hurry up if they want to be first in line." I respond.
"Good point." Iori's actually gotten MUCH better with my jokes recently, strangely enough. Back when we were partners, he reacted to every one like I was punching him in the face. Of course, back then I wasn't telling them as often, and they weren't nearly as sterling. Just call it a side effect of losing the uniform.
I reach into my jacket and jostle Wormmon out from under my jacket onto my lap...I looked like I was in my 6th month or so, which is not good for my manly pride. I remove my hand, pulling out that damned photo and hand it to Iori in one smooth motion. "Taichi Yagami. Discuss." say.
"What about him?"
"Anything of note. He ever murder anyone? Got any bad enemies? Too many overdue parking tickets?"
"Do you honestly think I know everything about everyone?"
"Actually, yes. Everyone of note, at least. But if you can't tell me, I at least want access to your files."
"...Ichijouji..." Iori sighs.
"Look, this guy is my case, and I need to know as much as possible if I'm going to be able to do my job."
"And I need to do MY job, as well, and currently that includes having several people looking into him."
"His disappearance? Why can't we help each other out?"
"...He's missing? Since when?"
"A while, I presume, since it's gotten bad enough to warrant someone hiring me to find him." Suddenly those words penetrate my brain...dammit. This got too...I look up as slowly as I can, and take a long, thoughtful drag off my cigarette. "Wait a second. What do you mean 'he's missing'? What are you interested in him for, if not his disappearance?"
"It's police business, Ichijouji."
"Police business. Right. Come on, you can trust me."
"I could once."
"What the bloody hell do you mean?"
Iori drums the photo on his desk and looks at me with tightened lips. "Three months ago..." He begins. "Three months ago you came in and asked me for permission to use our files to help with one of your cases. I said 'no', if I remember correctly. But here's a funny thing...I came into work the next day and someone had obviously broken into the file room. You had your case closed within the week."
I carefully school my face into my most guileless mask and take a drag off my cigarette, carefully resting my other hand on Wormmon's head. The impression I'm going for is innocent Madonna...innocent Madonna with burning fag, of course. Iori doesn't seem taken in, though...he stares at me for one of those seconds which seems to go on for hours (and not in a fun way) and then continues. "Not that you weren't good at it, Ichijouji...you were. Very much so. If I didn't know the kind of things you do...those little tricks you've been pulling for years...I wouldn't have suspected a thing."
"I took that son of a bitch all the way down, though. And you didn't have to lift a finger."
"You could have risked so many investigations that..."
"But I DIDN'T, did I? I just saved you some work."
"And lined your own pocket, I presume."
"Not as much as I might have."
"So what exactly happened, then?"
I lean as far back in the chair as I can without toppling. "My mother didn't raise the kind of fool who'd spill his secrets to the police chief."
"And my mother didn't raise the kind of fool who'd give access to a dangerous mercenary."
"I'm not as mercenary as all that."
He presses his lips into a tight line again. He's always been tenser than a steel band. I think he needs a nice, long vacation. Or just to get laid, either one would do. "I notice you don't challenge 'dangerous.'"
I give him a slow grin...it's the kind that could put a thin skin of ice on water. Even down, below where I'd assume that it's visible, Wormmon shivers and looks up at me. "At least..." I begin, as coldly as I can. "At least I'm dangerous and I'm on your side."
"You know as well as I do that you're on no one's side but your own."
"If that was so, I'd have availed myself of the nice little price Miyako's old bosses have put on her head by now. You know about that one, right? It's a very big number...and I always seem to have money trouble these days..."
Iori drums his fingers slowly, then looks down. For a second, I almost fancy he looks guilty, or maybe possessive. I've always suspected that my dear ex-partner carries a very heavy torch for my even-dearer secretary.
He looks back up. "You might be on someone's side, but it's not the side of the police. I'd even venture to say that it's not always the side of the law."
"Then what side am I on?"
"I honestly haven't the slightest clue. I don't know the first thing about you, Ichijouji."
"Iori, for a guy I've never slept with, you know an absolute metric shitload about me. On the list, you're behind Daisuke, maybe one ex-lover, and Miyako."
"That might have been true once. But there are rumors these days."
"There are always rumors."
"These ones are different."
"They never are."
Iori waves his hand dismissively, then sighs. "Back on track...how much are you being paid for this case, Ichijouji? I'll double it."
"Hida, you could rob a bank and not have enough money to get me to drop this."
He looks as flustered as a wet cat. Or maybe a wet digimon. "Listen...listen. Ichijouji...Ken...this is different. Just...just drop it."
"You know, you're the second person who's doubted me today..."
"I'm not doubting you, Ken. Just the opposite, in fact." He pinches the bridge of his nose like he's feeling a headache coming on.
"Christ...if you don't doubt me, then tell me..."
"I can't."
"Well, then. Fuck you, too." I grab my photograph from where he's been worrying it incessantly.
"Dammit, Ken, you have absolutely no clue what you're getting into."
"If I really have no clue, then tell me..."
"If I tell you, you'll already be in too deep."
I rub the side of my nose slowly, then begin. "Just give me...ten words. Ten words and I'll leave."
"Ten words?"
"Yeah. That's all I'll need. Come on, Iori, you're a good guy...you always have been..."
"Listen, Ichijouji..."
"I'm going to find out anyway." I say. "And when I do find out...well...if it's THIS dangerous, then finding it out for myself will be even more dangerous, no?"
"No."
"Just ten words. Come on, Iori."
"Five."
"Fine. Five. I'll take five."
"And you'll leave then?"
"Yes."
"And I won't find my files broken into again?"
I spread my arms as wide as I can to show my sincerity. "Of course not."
"Fine. Five words."
I point my fingers like a gun. "Go."
"The Order of the Seven Stars."
"...excuse me?"
"Your five words. 'The Order of the Seven Stars.'"
I nod, slowly. "And that's all I get?"
"That's all you get."
"Thanks."
I lift Wormmon, then stand up again, feeling uncomfortably wet in places which were touching the chair seat. My cigarette has been forgotten for so long that it's just gone out, and, after a second's consideration, I just fling the butt into the wastebasket. I get to the door, get half out, then turn and give my most demonic grin. "Iori?"
He looks up from his work. "What?"
"That was six words."
Then I leave.
And if YOU think that this is taking too long, just think of what it must be like for the characters...the first two chapters, together, probably made up around an hour and a half (it's 9:30 am at the beginning, and it's noon at the beginning of this one.) I'd say that this one takes up around half and hour to an hour. At best, we're dealing with 3 and a half hours so far. Ken is NOT getting that well paid for all this legwork...
*****
It's around noon now, and the rain has started to fall as heavily as bombs in a blitzkrieg. When we left the Greasy Spoon, Wormmon was happily riding on my shoulders, but (again, like a cat) he doesn't really enjoy getting wet. I jump below the overhanging roof of a little newspaper kiosk to pull him under my jacket and drip dry for a few moments. Of course, the vendor stares bullets at me until I throw him a nickel and grab the top paper off his pile.
Someone, or a group of someones, has been bringing thieves...the actual words in this rag are "to justice"...while keeping their identity secret. They don't ask for any money, any reward, any anything, and no one knows their identities. Do-Gooders. You know I hate them, if only because they tend to make the lives of people like me a little more difficult.
The vendor is starting to give me his killing look again, so I slip Wormmon down into the crook of my elbow, protected by my jacket and leave, making certain to throw the newspaper in his direction as I go. I'm not bad, really. It's just I don't like being rushed, especially when God has decided to piss rain down over the city. I head...
Well...
There's an old truism. Stop me if you've heard it..."It's not what you know, it's who you know."
It's at least half bullshit, at least in my line of work.
What you know is pretty much the most important thing. You need to know where to start, how to go about things, and, most importantly, how to put the pieces together. Of course, it's also important to know people, but it's more important to have a number to choose from, and then you have to figure out which ones to ask which questions.
Of course, maybe I just discount informants because mine are second-to-none. Well, second-to-some, but CLOSE to second-to-none.
And, of course, speaking of informants and who you know...
Hmmm.
Let's hope he's not on a lunch break. He never used to take them at sane times, but you never know...
The police station is close enough to walk...good thing, that. I hate the idea of another train ride today. Of course, on a day like this, "close enough" is a relative term, meaning something like "close enough that you don't collapse." I walk in the front door definately drowned-rat looking, but not wet enough that you'd believe I'd fallen in a river. I drip dry in the entryway for a few seconds, making a mental note to buy an umbrella at some point, school my face into what Daisuke's started to refer to as the "asshole" glare and head straight back to the door marked "Chief". The look does what it's supposed to...while several beat cops start to make motions to stop me, none of them try to complete the operation.
I open the door like a hurricane and blow in, closing it carefully behind me. Of course, he's there...the man never learned the fine art of the lunch break. He looks up at me then almost groans, his face a Rembrandt-perfect picture of frustration.
"Ichijouji." He sighs.
"Hello, Iori." I shoot back, slumping into one of his "guest" chairs.
Way, way, way back when, back when I was the asshole behind the badge, Iori Hida was my partner. My second partner, if you really want to know. The bastard really IS a Do-Gooder type, but we still tend to get along...well, "alright" is a bit of an overstatement. It's better to say that we're something more than acquaintances, something less than friends. Of course, on the other side, the man stood between me and murder back when I was getting my sorry ass shown the door.
And, no, you DON'T want to know if I would have been murderer or murdered. Hell, I don't think I know these days.
"What do you WANT, Ichijouji?" He asks.
"What, you don't think this is a social call? Maybe I just woke up this morning with a burning need to see your pretty face."
He rolls his eyes, which is actually a good sign. Last time I tried that joke he slammed his hand in a door. I just shoot him the most guileless smile I can manage and light up a cigarette.
"Those things are going to kill you, you know." He says.
"With the way things are going these days, they'd better hurry up if they want to be first in line." I respond.
"Good point." Iori's actually gotten MUCH better with my jokes recently, strangely enough. Back when we were partners, he reacted to every one like I was punching him in the face. Of course, back then I wasn't telling them as often, and they weren't nearly as sterling. Just call it a side effect of losing the uniform.
I reach into my jacket and jostle Wormmon out from under my jacket onto my lap...I looked like I was in my 6th month or so, which is not good for my manly pride. I remove my hand, pulling out that damned photo and hand it to Iori in one smooth motion. "Taichi Yagami. Discuss." say.
"What about him?"
"Anything of note. He ever murder anyone? Got any bad enemies? Too many overdue parking tickets?"
"Do you honestly think I know everything about everyone?"
"Actually, yes. Everyone of note, at least. But if you can't tell me, I at least want access to your files."
"...Ichijouji..." Iori sighs.
"Look, this guy is my case, and I need to know as much as possible if I'm going to be able to do my job."
"And I need to do MY job, as well, and currently that includes having several people looking into him."
"His disappearance? Why can't we help each other out?"
"...He's missing? Since when?"
"A while, I presume, since it's gotten bad enough to warrant someone hiring me to find him." Suddenly those words penetrate my brain...dammit. This got too...I look up as slowly as I can, and take a long, thoughtful drag off my cigarette. "Wait a second. What do you mean 'he's missing'? What are you interested in him for, if not his disappearance?"
"It's police business, Ichijouji."
"Police business. Right. Come on, you can trust me."
"I could once."
"What the bloody hell do you mean?"
Iori drums the photo on his desk and looks at me with tightened lips. "Three months ago..." He begins. "Three months ago you came in and asked me for permission to use our files to help with one of your cases. I said 'no', if I remember correctly. But here's a funny thing...I came into work the next day and someone had obviously broken into the file room. You had your case closed within the week."
I carefully school my face into my most guileless mask and take a drag off my cigarette, carefully resting my other hand on Wormmon's head. The impression I'm going for is innocent Madonna...innocent Madonna with burning fag, of course. Iori doesn't seem taken in, though...he stares at me for one of those seconds which seems to go on for hours (and not in a fun way) and then continues. "Not that you weren't good at it, Ichijouji...you were. Very much so. If I didn't know the kind of things you do...those little tricks you've been pulling for years...I wouldn't have suspected a thing."
"I took that son of a bitch all the way down, though. And you didn't have to lift a finger."
"You could have risked so many investigations that..."
"But I DIDN'T, did I? I just saved you some work."
"And lined your own pocket, I presume."
"Not as much as I might have."
"So what exactly happened, then?"
I lean as far back in the chair as I can without toppling. "My mother didn't raise the kind of fool who'd spill his secrets to the police chief."
"And my mother didn't raise the kind of fool who'd give access to a dangerous mercenary."
"I'm not as mercenary as all that."
He presses his lips into a tight line again. He's always been tenser than a steel band. I think he needs a nice, long vacation. Or just to get laid, either one would do. "I notice you don't challenge 'dangerous.'"
I give him a slow grin...it's the kind that could put a thin skin of ice on water. Even down, below where I'd assume that it's visible, Wormmon shivers and looks up at me. "At least..." I begin, as coldly as I can. "At least I'm dangerous and I'm on your side."
"You know as well as I do that you're on no one's side but your own."
"If that was so, I'd have availed myself of the nice little price Miyako's old bosses have put on her head by now. You know about that one, right? It's a very big number...and I always seem to have money trouble these days..."
Iori drums his fingers slowly, then looks down. For a second, I almost fancy he looks guilty, or maybe possessive. I've always suspected that my dear ex-partner carries a very heavy torch for my even-dearer secretary.
He looks back up. "You might be on someone's side, but it's not the side of the police. I'd even venture to say that it's not always the side of the law."
"Then what side am I on?"
"I honestly haven't the slightest clue. I don't know the first thing about you, Ichijouji."
"Iori, for a guy I've never slept with, you know an absolute metric shitload about me. On the list, you're behind Daisuke, maybe one ex-lover, and Miyako."
"That might have been true once. But there are rumors these days."
"There are always rumors."
"These ones are different."
"They never are."
Iori waves his hand dismissively, then sighs. "Back on track...how much are you being paid for this case, Ichijouji? I'll double it."
"Hida, you could rob a bank and not have enough money to get me to drop this."
He looks as flustered as a wet cat. Or maybe a wet digimon. "Listen...listen. Ichijouji...Ken...this is different. Just...just drop it."
"You know, you're the second person who's doubted me today..."
"I'm not doubting you, Ken. Just the opposite, in fact." He pinches the bridge of his nose like he's feeling a headache coming on.
"Christ...if you don't doubt me, then tell me..."
"I can't."
"Well, then. Fuck you, too." I grab my photograph from where he's been worrying it incessantly.
"Dammit, Ken, you have absolutely no clue what you're getting into."
"If I really have no clue, then tell me..."
"If I tell you, you'll already be in too deep."
I rub the side of my nose slowly, then begin. "Just give me...ten words. Ten words and I'll leave."
"Ten words?"
"Yeah. That's all I'll need. Come on, Iori, you're a good guy...you always have been..."
"Listen, Ichijouji..."
"I'm going to find out anyway." I say. "And when I do find out...well...if it's THIS dangerous, then finding it out for myself will be even more dangerous, no?"
"No."
"Just ten words. Come on, Iori."
"Five."
"Fine. Five. I'll take five."
"And you'll leave then?"
"Yes."
"And I won't find my files broken into again?"
I spread my arms as wide as I can to show my sincerity. "Of course not."
"Fine. Five words."
I point my fingers like a gun. "Go."
"The Order of the Seven Stars."
"...excuse me?"
"Your five words. 'The Order of the Seven Stars.'"
I nod, slowly. "And that's all I get?"
"That's all you get."
"Thanks."
I lift Wormmon, then stand up again, feeling uncomfortably wet in places which were touching the chair seat. My cigarette has been forgotten for so long that it's just gone out, and, after a second's consideration, I just fling the butt into the wastebasket. I get to the door, get half out, then turn and give my most demonic grin. "Iori?"
He looks up from his work. "What?"
"That was six words."
Then I leave.