GetBackers Fan Fiction ❯ The Get Backers Go Shopping ❯ The Get Backers Go Shopping ( Chapter 1 )

Title: The Get Backers Go Shopping

Disclaimer: The characters Ban Midou, Gingi Amano, Paul and Natsumi are borrowed from the manga and TV show Get Backers by Yuya Aoki.

Summary: This story was written for the 2005 MediaMiner Action Autumn Oneshot Mini Fiction Contest.

-o-o-o-o-

Paul looked at Ban over the top of his newspaper. “How long are you planning to nurse that same cup of coffee? It must be stone cold by now.”

“You offering me a fresh cup?”

“Got money?”

“Nope.”

Paul raised his newspaper and resumed reading. Ban lifted the cup of cold coffee in both hands and leaned his elbows on the counter with a sigh. He shuddered as he took a sip. Beside him, Gingi slumped over on his stool with his cheek resting on the counter. He blinked wide-eyed at Ban.

“I'm hungry, Ban. Let's order a pizza.”

“How? This miser won't even front me a cup of coffee.”

“But I'm starving!”

“Deal with it.”

Gingi's eyes welled up with pitiful tears. “Come on, Paul! Just one slice! We'll split it!”

“Get a job,” Paul muttered from behind his paper.

Natsumi sailed in from the kitchen. “Who wants to do me a favor?”

Gingi sat up. “Will it earn me a slice of pizza?”

Natsumi laughed. “I suppose so. I need brown mushrooms. Can you go to the market and buy some for me? I need a couple dozen.” She handed Gingi some money and then shook a finger at him. “Make sure you use that to buy my mushrooms!”

“Yes ma'am!” Gingi hopped off his stool. “Come on, Ban!”

Ban groaned. “Why do I have to go?”

“Because we're partners. We're supposed to do every job together. Come on!” Gingi grabbed Ban's arm and dragged him off his stool, causing him to spill coffee everywhere.

“Gingi!”

“Sorry! Let's go!”

Ban muttered to himself as he followed Gingi out the door. “We need to get a real job. We're the best recovery service in town! Surely, somebody somewhere has lost something they want back.”

“Maybe we'll find work at the market,” Gingi said cheerily.

“Oh, sure, helping some old lady find her money inside her purse.”

“Don't be such a downer, Ban. Good luck comes to happy people.” Gingi bounced along, humming to himself.

“If that was true, you would be swimming in luck. But then, maybe it bypasses the empty-headed,” Ban added under his breath.

At that moment, a young boy dashed out of an alley at full speed and collided head-on with Gingi, sending them both sprawling. The boy clung to Gingi for a second as they rolled over a few times. Then he sprang to his feet with surprising agility and raced away.

“Sorry mister!” the youth shouted back over his shoulder. He disappeared up the street in the direction of the market.

Gingi stood up more slowly and brushed himself off. “Who was that? I didn't recognize him.”

“I don't make a practice of knowing every street urchin who lives around here,” Ban said.

Three men appeared at the end of the alley. Two were Japanese but the third was clearly a foreigner, either American or European. They looked up and down the street, clearly upset about something. Their eyes fell on Ban and Gingi.

“Excuse me,” said one of the Japanese, “did you see a boy come out of this alley just now? Perhaps he was running.”

“Yeah,” Gingi said. “He went that way.” He pointed up the street. “Did he steal something from you? We could help you get it back.”

“For a fee,” Ban interrupted. “We're a recovery service.”

The foreigner whispered something to the other Japanese man under his breath and shook his head. The second man stepped forward and bowed. “No thank you. We can take care of this ourselves.” The three men hurried up the street in the direction Gingi had indicated.

“What do you suppose that was all about?” Gingi asked.

“The kid probably stole something from them.” Ban frowned. “Those guys look dangerous. That kid could be in more trouble than he bargained for.”

They continued up the street to the vast open-air market. Part farmer's market, part flea market, the space between the booths was jammed with people of all ages and quality of dress. Fine ladies in kimonos shopped in the company of a servant or two carrying shopping baskets. Children in school uniforms bought candy and small toys. Poor old men in shapeless robes begged for handouts. It was an exciting and colorful place.

“I love the market!” Gingi exclaimed cheerfully as they made their way into the crowd. “Where do you suppose the mushrooms are?”

Ban shrugged. “I guess we'll just have to look for them.”

They wandered rather aimlessly between the stalls. Gingi kept stopping to gaze wistfully at the fresh fruit until Ban sighed noisily in exasperation.

“Quit dawdling, Gingi! We'll never get back to the Honky Tonk at this rate!”

“Ok! Ok! I'm just hungry!” Gingi looked around and pointed. “Maybe that's it over there.”

“Why if it's not Gingi Amano!” exclaimed a smooth, cold, urbane voice.

Gingi froze. “Oh, no!” he whimpered. He slowly turned his head and looked over his right shoulder.

Akabane stood behind him with a plastic shopping basket over his arm. “I do hate shopping for one,” Akabane said and he smiled. It made his lean pale face look even more chilling. “Would you care to dine with me this evening, Gingi? I have fresh fish. I am planning to make an old family recipe. It is quite good.”

Gingi slowly shook his head.

“No?” Akabane seemed faintly amused. “We could enjoy a quiet evening of cards afterward.”

Gingi began to tremble and his eyes went completely round. “I… I… have p…plans,” he stuttered.

“How unfortunate. Perhaps another time.”

“Uh… sure…”

Suddenly, the three men Ban and Gingi had encountered earlier appeared.

“Transporter!” one of the Japanese shouted, confronting Akabane, “the item you obtained for us has been stolen. We need you to get it back.”

“I am a transporter, gentlemen,” Akabane replied. “My job ended when you paid me. Your loss is your problem.”

“But…”

“I really must insist.” Akabane suddenly radiated dark menace.

The men took a step back.

“If you need an item recovered,” Ban interrupted, “you need a recovery service, not a transporter.” He indicated himself and Gingi. “That's us.”

The man squinted at them. “We saw you in the street.”

“That's right.”

“That boy you saw stole something from us.”

“Ok. We'll find the kid. You think he's in the market.”

“This is where we last saw him.”

Ban looked around. “Then he's probably still here. There are a lot of places to hide. Gingi, you go that way. We'll loop around the perimeter and work our way toward the center.”

“Right!” Gingi dashed away.

Ban, however, folded his arms and regarded their new employers. “You better tell me what we're looking for. A kid like that will probably have a lot of people's stuff.”

“You don't need to know!” the foreigner spoke aloud for the first time. His Japanese was heavily accented. “Just bring us the kid. We'll get what we want from him.”

“Very well.” Ban set out in the opposite direction from Gingi.

Akabane followed him. “Perhaps I should tell you that these gentlemen are hardly honest businessmen.”

“I could tell,” Ban replied dryly.

“There might be others seeking the same item. I had… difficulties transporting the item here. The fact that these three lost the item so quickly gives me some concern that other interested parties may be involved.”

“That's good to know. Do you know what the item is?”

“No, but it was quite small. I carried it in my pocket.”

“Hmmm…”

“Well, have a nice day, Ban Midou. Next time we meet, perhaps we will have time for a fight?” Akabane sounded hopeful.

“Yeah,” Ban snorted. “Next time.” He hurried on. He met Gingi on the far side of the market. “Any luck?”

“Nothing.”

“All right, let's be more methodical about this. If you were a kid hiding from people in this market, where would you go?”

“Depends on how good a look at me they got.”

“How so?”

“If I thought they wouldn't recognize me on sight, I'd hang out with a bunch of other kids.”

“Good call!” Ban rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “There's a video game arcade near the center of the market. A lot of parents leave their kids there while they shop. Let's check it out.”

The video game arcade was crowded and noisy. Dozens of kids were massed around the machines, cheering and jeering as players did well or poorly. A little old man seated on a rickety chair to one side of the entrance offered to exchange game tokens for money.

“I'll give you a good deal,” he wheezed. “Better than the token machine inside.”

“We're not planning to play,” Gingi said apologetically.

The old man's eyes narrowed. “Well, if you're planning to talk to the kids, they'll say more if you trade them some tokens.”

Ban laughed. “You're a shrewd fellow, aren't you?” He produced a coin. “Here, give me some tokens.”

The old man snatched the coin out of Ban's hand and replaced it with a little pile of tokens. “Thank you, sir. Have fun.”

They stepped inside and Ban looked around. “You got a better look at the kid than I did. You go look around and I'll stop anyone trying to leave who resembles the one we want. I'll hand out tokens to get them to stay.”

Gingi nodded and moved slowly into the arcade, his head turning from side to side as his eyes flicked over the children. There were more boys than girls in the arcade, which made the search that much harder. Then he stopped as his eyes fell on a boy squeezed into the shadows next to a DDR game. The boy's eyes met Gingi's and he flinched. Gingi pointed at him.

“Hey kid! I need to talk to you!”

The boy darted away, clearly hoping to use his smaller side and the crowded aisles to his advantage over Gingi's larger size, but he had not counted on Ban waiting at the exit. Ban grabbed his arm as he tried to slip by.

“Hey!” the boy shouted. “Leggo!”

“You stole something,” Ban said. “We want it back.”

“I didn't take anything from you, mister!” The boy squirmed in Ban's grip.

“Not from us, from three men in an alley.”

The boy stopped struggling. “Who says? Search me! I got nothin'!” He lifted his chin defiantly.

“You found the boy!” The three men appeared with angry but relieved looks on their faces. “Give him to us; we'll get what we want from him.” Their dark glowers promised very rough handling.

Gingi stepped between them and the boy. “I don't think so. We said we'd get your property back for you. The boy's not part of the arrangement.”

Suddenly, three guns appeared, pointed straight at Gingi's chest.

“We said we'll take him!” the foreigner snarled. “Get out of the way!”

Gingi held his hands out to either side and sparks crackled along his fingers. “A crowded market is not the place to be pulling guns!” he growled.

“I agree,” said a new voice. “Why don't you drop your weapons?”

The three men's heads snapped to the right and they stared in surprise at the new arrival. A neatly dressed man in an expensive Armani suit regarded them with a cold smile.

“Why don't you three just move along and I will conclude the business with these two gentlemen?”

“Not a chance, Kinta!” the foreigner snarled. “The item is mine!”

“Paying a transporter for something does not make it yours, Martell-san. Now, unless you want a lot of deaths on your hands, I suggest you drop your guns and move along. My men have you surrounded.”

Martell's eyes flicked to left and right, observing the men in suits on every side, their hands resting inside their suit jackets. His eyes narrowed dangerously.

“Watch out, Gingi!” Ban whispered, but the words had barely left his mouth when Martell whipped his gun to the right and opened fire on Kinta. Kinta dove to the side and his men immediately returned fire. Martell and his companions dove behind the nearest cover, guns blazing.

“STOP IT!” Gingi cried as bullets sprayed through the marketplace and tore into the walls of the arcade. Screams erupted on every side. Gingi brought his hands up in front of him and lightning shot out, crackling through the air in all directions. He charged forward, blasting anyone with a gun with blue-white bolts of lightning.

The old man seated outside the arcade darted inside the entrance with a squeal of fear, knocking over his little chair. Ban hefted it and heaved it to his right, where it crashed into one of the gunmen and broke apart, sending him reeling into his nearest companion. Ban then raced to his left in a blur of speed and knocked Kinta sprawling.

In seconds, the fight was over. Gingi's lightning had reduced all the guns to lumps of molten metal. Two men who had not dropped their weapons fast enough were clutching badly burned hands by the wrist, howling in agony. Others were desperately trying to pat out flames that had erupted in their clothing.

Martell was lying on his back staring up at the sky with unseeing eyes. Charred black streaks in his clothing emitted smoke and the smell of burned flesh. His two companions huddled nearby, their eyes fixed on Gingi in stark terror.

“Take him and get out!” Gingi growled. When the two continued to just stare at him, Gingi raised his hand and let lightning flicker between his fingers. “Move!”

The two men leaped to their feet, hefted their probably dead companion and raced away.

Ban lifted Kinta by his shoulder and tossed him forward onto his knees. “You and your men get out, too. You should know better than to fire guns in a place like this.”

Kinta rubbed his shoulder and glared up at Ban. “What about my property?”

Ban waved his hand toward the arcade. “The kid's gone, so it looks to me like you're shit out of luck. He'll have dumped it and got himself to the other side of town by now. Now get moving, before my friend here decides this whole thing was really your fault.”

Lightning crackled impressively around Gingi's body.

Kinta scrambled to his feet and stumbled away, trailed by his men.

Gingi looked around. “Was anyone hurt?”

Ban also looked around. “It doesn't look like it. That's pretty amazing.” Behind them, the sounds of the arcade games resumed. Within moments, the noise and bustle of the market returned. Ban glanced at his watch. “Shit! This has taken way too long. Natsumi will be pissed. Let's get the damn mushrooms and get back.”

“Hey look!” Gingi pointed. “There are mushrooms right there!” He hurried over to the stall, digging into his pocket for the money Natsumi gave him. “I need two kilos of mushrooms,” he said to the woman working at the stall. He held out the coins and then stared in confusion at his own hand. “What's that?” From among the coins, he removed a small, flat leather pouch with a flap that folded over and closed with a snap.

Ban leaned over his shoulder. “What? You don't know what's in your own pocket?”

“I didn't put this in there. I don't recognize it.” He held it out to Ban, who took it gingerly.

Ban carefully undid the snap, opened the little pouch and looked inside. “What the hell...?” He took a folded piece of paper out of the pouch. “It's just an old US dollar.” He unfolded the bill and turned it over. Scrawled across one corner in English were the words Yours forever, Elvis. Ban's eyes widened and he nudged Gingi. “If this is genuine, it's worth a fortune!”

“What is?” Gingi turned around, a bag of mushrooms in his arms. Ban showed him the dollar and Gingi frowned. “Who's Elvis?”

Ban's jaw dropped. “Who's Elvis? Gingi, did you grow up in a vacuum in the Limitless Fortress? I don't believe it!” Ban carefully folded the bill and put it back in the pouch. “I bet this is what everyone was after. That kid probably shoved it into your pocket when he ran into you.”

“Wow! And I had it the whole time.”

Ban laughed gleefully. “Maybe we're finally in for a little good luck, Gingi! Let's get back to the Honky Tonk. Maybe Paul will have some idea if this is genuine.”

Back at the diner, Ban burst through the door excitedly. “Hey, Paul, you have to see this!”

“Just a minute!” Natsumi interrupted. “You didn't forget my mushrooms did you?”

“No way Natsumi. They're right here.” Gingi handed her the bag.

Natsumi peeked inside. “Gingi!” she exclaimed in annoyance. “I said brown mushrooms! These are shitake!”

“What?” Gingi stared in confusion. “They're brown aren't they?”

“They're the wrong kind!” Natsumi fumed. “Now get back down to the market and get me what I asked for. No pizza until I have BROWN mushrooms! Now go!”

Gingi's shoulders slumped and he clumped toward the door resignedly. Ban opened his mouth to start speaking again and Natsumi glared at him.

“You too!” she ordered imperiously and pointed after Gingi.

“But…!”

“And make sure he gets the right ones this time.”

“Paul!”

“Better do as she says. The dinner rush is about to start and pretty soon we won't have any pizza left.”

“How can you run out of pizza?”

Paul grinned at him. “We don't have any mushrooms, do we?”

Ban slapped his forehead. “Augh!”