Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Im Falle eines Falles ❯ Chapter 2 ( Chapter 2 )

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The Case of the Missing Exchange Student

Part 2

Wufei Chang woke slowly. It was like resurfacing, after plunging into the deep end of a pool. Slowly his senses started to return. He opened his eyes, but it took a few moments before he was able to focus. He was lying on his back on a narrow cot.

The young man sat up, swung his legs over the edge of his bedstead and groaned. His head was pounding, he was dizzy, and his mouth was dry and felt as thought he had been chewing on an old sock. He waited for a moment for the vertigo to dissipate before he rose to his feet.

The room…, cell he was in was small and without any windows. It was only dimly lit by a single light bulb dangling from the ceiling, but he could make out a toilet and sink across the room, a small table and a single chair and a heavy iron door.  No, this was definitely not his room at home.

Where am I? And how the hell did I get here? Wufei frowned as he thought hard. Slowly his memory started to return. He remembered going out with his friends, leaving the bar and walking home on his own; a car pulling up next to him; a man asking for directions. Then somebody grabbed him from behind. He was pulled into the car; somebody pressed a strangely smelling piece of cloth over his nose. He tried to fight but he passed out quickly. How long have I been out? A few hours perhaps?

He started to inspect the cell closer and realized that both the table and chair were bolted to the floor, so using them as some king of weapon or throwing object was out of question. On the table was a plate with sandwiches, and a bottle of water. Suddenly Wufei realized that he was starving. He eyed the food suspiciously and decided rather not to eat it. His right arm itched and when the young man raised hand to scratch himself he noticed two little, red marks on the skin near his elbow joint. Needle tracks!? Wufei frowned. They had probably given him some type of drug, most likely to keep him sedated, which meant he might have been out for much longer than he initially thought. How dare they to kidnap and drug him, whoever they were.

In a flash of anger Wufei walked to the door and started to pound against the metal. It didn't take long before he could hear voices and footsteps.

“What the hell do you think you are doing? Shut up before I come in and make you,” somebody yelled at him from the other side of the door.

Wufei snorted as he continued to pound against the door. Let's see about that. He could hear a lock being opened, then the door swung open.

Before the other man was able to even set one foot into the cell, he was kicked in the stomach. He was thrown backward and doubled over in pain. Wufei followed with a few solid punches that sent his opponent into lala land.

All bark and no bite. The Chinese youth gave a condescending snort. He felt better already. Unfortunately the feeling didn't last too long, because he found himself suddenly confronted by a whole group of men. With an angry shout Wufei attacked the man closest to him. For the first time in his life he was grateful that his grandfather had been so strict about his Wushu training. In a fair scrimmage he would have been able to take on two or three opponent easily. But there was nothing fair about this fight. He managed to land a series of kicks and punches before somebody hit him over the head with a hard object. Wufei broke to his knees and was immediately attacked from all sides.

“That's enough!” a voice, deep and emotionless, ordered. “He is no use to me bruised and beaten up. Get him up on his feet.”

Wufei was grabbed by his arms and pulled to his feet. Two men were holding each of his arms. The youth scowled at the tall, dark-haired man who had given the orders. Apparently he was the boss around here. “Who the hell are you?”

The man gave an amused snort and stepped toward him. He seized Wufei's chin and forced it up. “You have spirit; I think I'll enjoy breaking you. Once you are trained I'm sure you will be a goldmine for me. The customers will be crazy for you.”

Wufei gave an angry growl and tried to break free.

The man simply laughed. “Lock in up again, and make sure he don't get another chance to escape.”

#####

“Where are my car keys?”

Treize looked up from the computer screen. Milliardo was standing in the door, propped against the frame, looking like a sex-god. “You are going out?”

“Well since you seem to be hell-bent on working tonight instead of asking me out, I thought I'll check out that bar Wufei and his friends went to after their movie.”

“Hmmm…” The tawny haired man let his gaze wander over his lover's body. A white, almost see through, and partially unbuttoned shirt showed off the blond's perfectly tones chest and left little to the imagination. A pair of very tight, very low cut jeans hugged his slim hips like a second skin. “Don't you think that you might be a little over…, or shall I say underdressed for the `Well'?”

Milliardo shrugged. “I wasn't planning on spending all night there. Why don't you give me a call when you are done here; we can meet somewhere,” he suggested. “So, where are my keys?”

“You don't have a driver's license.” Treize reminded.

“And you point is?”

The tawny-haired detective sighed. “Try to be serious for just one moment, Milliardo. I bet Bonaparte has every cop in this town looking for your car. The moment you pull out of the driveway they will be all over you like flies over a piece of rotten meat. I really don't feel like driving downtown tonight to bail you out of jail again.”

“You've got a point there,” Milliardo admitted. “I'll take the Mercedes.”

“Wait a moment, I just bought that car.”

“Don't worry, I'll bring it back in one piece, I promise.” The blond assured him, already on his way out.

###

The `Well' was nearly empty. A few teens and tweens played pool or sat around alone or in small groups talking. Milliardo turned a few heads as he walked in and headed directly for the bar.

“Hello there,” the bartender put down the glass he had been polishing and came over to him. “What can I get you?”

“I'll have a Rusty Screw, but go easy on the lemon,” Milliardo ordered.

The man looked at him as though he was speaking Chinese.

“How about an Admiral with…never mind, just give me a double scotch on the rocks.”

“Coming right up, Sir.” The man walked away to pour the drink and was back only a few moments later. “I don't think I have seen your face around here before; new to the neighborhood?”

“Kind of,” Milliardo replied evasively. “Do you remember all of your guests?”

“Most of them,” the bartender replied. “People say I have something they call a photographic memory,”

“Is that so? Then, perhaps you can help me. I'm looking for someone.”

That statement earned Milliardo a suspicious look. “Are you a cop?”

“Do I look like a cop?” the bond asked as he pulled out Wufei's photo and a twenty dollar bill.

“No,” the other man laughed, “not really. Besides, cops usually flash their badges, not cash.”

Milliardo grinned. “There is more where that came from, if you can give me some helpful answers. The boy in the photo, do you remember him?”

The bartender only took a quick look then nodded. “He was here a couple of days ago, but he wasn't alone. There were four of them, they came, had some drinks and played a couple of rounds of pool. I remember it well, because the kid got a little offensive when they ordered some shots and I ask him for his id. He didn't stay long, left by himself. About an hour later the rest of them left as well.”

Milliardo nodded as he emptied his glass. This pretty much cooperated with the story that Wufei's friends had given them earlier that day. “Anything else you remember?”

“Hmmm…Not really,” the man replied, then looked at Milliardo somewhat suspiciously. “Why are you asking? You're not one of those guys, who like little boys, are you?”

“He didn't come home that night. Like I said I'm looking for him. He is my little brother.”

“Your brother?” The bartender took another look at the photo and frowned slightly.

“Same father, different mothers,” the blond lied through his teeth.

“Ah, I see.” The man reached for the whisky bottle and refilled Milliardo's glass with a sheepish grin. “This one is on me. Sorry for suggesting that you might be some kind of pervert, but in this business you meet a lot of strange people. See the guy sitting alone in the corner to your left?”

Milliardo nodded as he glanced at the man in question. “What about him?”

“I don't know, but the guy gives me the creeps. He comes here almost every evening, always alone. He has a few drinks and he watches the kids play pool.” The barkeeper shrugged. “But hey, it's not like I can refuse to serve him or throw him out just because I don't like him, right?”

“Right,” the blond confirmed. “Do you remember if he was here the night my brother and his friends were here?”

“I think he was, and now that you mentioned it, he actually left shortly after the kid.”

Interesting Milliardo thought as he watched the man's reflection in the mirrors behind the bar. Maybe I'm on to something here. “Do you remember the night, about four weeks ago, when three Japanese boys visited this bar?” It was a long shot, but worth a try. The blond could barely believe it when the bartender actually nodded.

“Of course I remember. Funny kids; didn't speak very much English, but from what I gathered they wanted to see the town. They asked me if I knew some places to have fun.”

“What about him?” Milliardo gestured in the direction of the man at the table in the corner. “Was he here too that night?”

“I'm pretty sure he was.”

It gets better by the minute, Milliardo thought with a satisfied smile.

#####

Treize smoothed out his outfit in front of the large dressing mirror. He was dressed in a midnight blue, three button Armani suit. A blue and grey silk tie lay snuggly around the collar of his white shirt. Giving the sleeves one last tug he studied his reflection critically before nodding to himself.

He was just about to walk out of the bedroom when his cell phone rang. He pulled the phone from his pocket and flipped it open. “Hello?”

“Treize, it's me.”

“Milliardo, I was just about to call you. Where do you want to meet?”

“Actually I'll need you to pick me up,” the blond detective replied.

Treize frowned. “Pick you up from where? What happened to my car?”

“Your car is fine,” Milliardo assured him. “I left it at the `Well'. I'm on foot right now. I think we might have gotten lucky. I'm following a suspect who might be involved in Wufei's disappearance.”

“Where are you right now?”

“We left the `Well' and headed west on Sunflower Blvd. Looks to me like he might be heading for the piers. I have a tracer on me. I'm going to activate it.”

“Got it,” Treize nodded. “It should take me about ten to fifteen minutes to get there. I'll keep my distance until you call me.”

“Roger that.”

“Be careful Milliardo,” the tawny haired man added before the connection died.

#####

“Sir,” Detective Otto stuck his head into then small office that he shared with Detective Bonaparte. The young, rookie officer had only been working for this division for a few weeks, and his much older, and more experienced partner was till showing him the ropes. “I have an Officer Beckman from the 52nd precinct on the line. He says that the car that you asked him to look out for, the silver Porsche with the GV65 7B68 license plate, just passed them on the off-ramp to the 805 freeway. He wants to know if they should stop it.”

“Tell him to follow the car, but don't stop it yet.” Bonaparte rose from behind his desk and reached for his gun holster and jacket. “I want to be there when they arrest him.”

Otto grimaced slightly. “Are you sure about this, Sir?”

“Of course I'm sure,” the detective snapped. “Peacecraft has no regards whatsoever for the law, that's why he lost his license to begin with. And if he still drives that racecar of his even without a license, he ought to be arrested, don't you agree?”

“I do agree, Sir, but I think that it isn't our job to do. We should just leave it to the city police.”

“Nonsense; I have been waiting for this day for a long time.”

#####

“Alex, phone for you.”

A young man with shoulder long, blond hair looked up from the billiard table. “Can it wait; I'm in the middle of a game.”

“It's the boss.” The other man explained before he turned and walked back upstairs.

Alex put down his cue and gestured for his friend to play on without him. The phone was hanging right by the door that separated the club from its back rooms. He picked up the receiver that had been left dangling from its cord. “Mr. Catorce?!”

“Alex, I have a job for you,” the man on the other end of the line explained. “Brook just called in. Apparently he is being tailed by some guy who has been asking a lot of question at the `Well'. He thinks it could be a cop, and he sounded like he was getting cold feet. I want you to take care of the problem.”

“Where do I find them?”

“I told Brook to end down to the old warehouse by the pier. They should be in about fifteen to twenty minutes I would guess.”

Alex nodded. “Alight, Boss; consider it done.”

“Call me when you get back.” With that Frank Catorce, owner of the Risqué club, terminated the connection.

Alex hung up the phone as well. His car was parked in the lot at the back of the club. It was only a short drive from there to the old warehouse. The pier lay dark and deserted. Nobody saw him when he pulled up behind the warehouse and removed a rifle case from the trunk of his car. He entered the abandoned, old building unseen, settled down beneath of the glassless windows, and opened the case. He assembled his rifle quickly and methodically, with the experience of somebody who had done this many times before. Last but not least he loaded the weapon with a single bullet. He had been a sniper before he started working as hitman for Catorce, and he had yet to miss a target.

The young man checked his watch. It was a quarter before midnight. If the boss's calculations were correct Brook should be here any moment. And indeed, only a few minutes later he noticed a figure coming down the dimly lit street. With a quick look through his scope Alex made sure it was right man. He didn't see anybody else. But then again, if there really was a shadow, it wasn't to expect that he'd follow his target openly. He used the scope on his rifle to search the area. A smirk crossed his face as he noticed a tall man with long, blond hair hiding in the shadows. Ah, there you are! So, Brooks wasn't just being paranoid after all.

#####

Treize swallowed a curse at the sound of sirens, and the sight of flashing lights in his rearview mirror. “Damn it, I really don't have time for this, right now,” he groaned. Nevertheless he pulled over and rolled down his window.

The patrol car stopped right behind the Porsche and one of the officers exited and came toward him. Treize flashed the man a brilliant smile. “Good evening, Officer. What can I do for you?”

“License and Registration, please.” The officer was still checking his papers when a white, unmarked sedan pulled up right beside them.

Treize managed to hold on to his smile, even as he recognized the men in the car. Detective Bonaparte got out of the passenger seat and walked over to the Porsche, frowning when he recognized the driver. “Khushrenada, what are you doing here?”

“As hard as it might be to believe, Detective, I was driving down the street when I was pulled over. The nice officer here was just about to tell me why; weren't you?”

“This is your partner's car, is it not?”

“It is,” Treize confirmed cheekily. “But I assure you I did not steal it, he loaned it to me.”

The bearded man huffed.

“Looks like everything is in order with his papers, Sir,” the Officer remarked. He seemed unsure about what to do next and looked at the detective for help.

 Bonaparte grimaced, then finally mumbled. “I apologize, it seems as though we've made a mistake.”

Treize smirked smugly. He only wished he could have captured this moment on tape somehow and replay it for Milliardo to see. Just as the officer gave him his papers back, Bonaparte's rookie partner stuck his head out of the passenger window.

“Sir, I just got a call from the dispatcher. There was a shooting at the old pier; one victim, male. The paramedics declared him dead at the scene. We are to lead the homicide investigation….”

Treize didn't hear anything else; he had already started the car and pulled back onto the road. A shooting at the old pier, one victim, male… his heart had almost skipped a beat at those words. Milliardo had been heading for the old pier when he called. Be safe, Milliardo. Please be safe!

###

Treize raced down Bristol Blvd. The street was empty and he didn't care if he was breaking every traffic law in the book. Everything he could think about right now was Milliardo.

The usually deserted pier was filled with police vehicles, officers and spectators. He stopped the Porsche behind one of the patrol cars.

“Sir, you can't go any further, this is a crime scene.” One of the officers tried to stop him as he slipped through the yellow tape.

He just ignored the man.

“Stop, Sir. Don't go any further,” the officer demanded, his voice firmer this time.

The tawny haired man kept walking. They would have to arrest him if they wanted to stop him from checking if the man who was shot was his lover.

“Treize?!”

Milliardo's voice had never sounded sweeter to his ears. The blond was standing near a police car to his right, with two cops. Treize breathed a sigh of relief as he headed toward them. Then he noticed that the shirt that Milliardo was wearing was soaked with blood. “Milliardo, are you alright?”

“I'm fine,” his partner assured him. “The blood isn't mine.”

Just then Bonaparte's unmarked police car arrived at the scene. Treize watched as the detective got out of the vehicle and talked to one of the officers nearby. The cop said something and pointed in Milliardo's direction.

Bonaparte scowled as he walked toward them, followed by his rookie partner, Detective Otto. “What is he doing here?”

“He was a witness to the shooting, Sir. The only witness it appears,” one of the officers explained.

“I see,” The detective nodded. “So, tell me then Peacecraft, what did you witness?”

“I've already given my statement to one of the cops that arrived before you.” Milliardo replied smugly. “I really don't feel like repeating myself.”

“Perhaps you might want to adjust that attitude of yours a little,” Bonaparte growled. “You know I could take you Downtown and put you in protective custody. You are the only witness in this case after all…”

“And I could call my lawyer and have him file a complaint for harassment,” Treize countered. He glared at the grey-haired detective. “I think your little personal vendetta has gone far enough.”

Before Bonaparte could reply anything, his partner jumped in and stopped him. “Let them go, Sir. It's not worth the trouble,” the argued. “We know where they live after all.”

“Fine,” the older man agreed reluctantly. “You can leave, but I expect to see you tomorrow morning at my office to sign your statement, Peacecraft. If you are not there at 9am on the dot, I'll send a patrol car to pick you up, with sirens, handcuffs and all the bells and whistles.”

Milliardo snorted. “I would say kiss my ass, Detective, but you might take that the wrong way and actually take me up on it.”

“You…!” Bonaparte hissed.

For a moment it looked like he was actually going strike the blond, but Otto reacted quickly and put himself between the two men. “Calm down, Sir.” He turned his head and glared at Treize. “Get him out of here, now.”

Treize gave the young detective a curt nod, grabbed his lover by the shoulder and prodded him toward their car. “That's enough, Milliardo. Let's go.”
He opened the door for Milliardo, before walking around the Porsche to the driver seat. “Are you sure, you are alright?” he asked as he slipped behind the wheel.

“I'm fine. Just a little edgy,” the blond replied sardonically. “Watching somebody getting his head blown off does that to me.”

Treize said nothing, and didn't ask any more questions. He knew that Milliardo would talk about it when he was ready. And he didn't have t wait long. After a few minutes of silence, his partner snorted and shook his head. “You know, whoever killed him could have just as easily shot me. Instead they chose to take out one of their own men.”

The tawny haired man raised one eyebrow and glanced at Milliardo before looking back at the road. “Are you complaining?”

“No, but it tells me what kind of people we are dealing with,” the blond replied. “He used a payphone while I was following him. He might have noticed that he had a shadow. I guess he called the people he worked for, not realizing that he was signing his own death sentence in doing so. He had become a liability, so they killed him without hesitation.”

“Too bad we didn't even get a chance to ask him a few questions.”

“Well, at least I got this off him before the cops came.” Milliardo pulled a small square object from his pocket.

“What is it?” Treize asked, without turning his head.

“A match book, from a club called `Risqué',” the blond explained. “He wasn't dressed like someone who would visit that kind of club.”

“Hmm…It's a long shot, but perhaps we get lucky.”

“That's what I thought too. So I guess we will be going clubbing tomorrow night.”

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T.B.C.

 

Author's Note: 

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