InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Tightly Strung ❯ Baboons and Bus Tickets, Part One ( Chapter 2 )

Tightly Strung

Disclaimer: (laughs) Do I have to? I mean, really. I wouldn't spend hours and hours writing smutty, dramatic stories about Inuyasha if he were padding around my bedroom in a loincloth, would I?

I do not own Inuyasha.

A/N: The next two chaps. were not originally part of my outline for this story, so they are a little shorter and may be rewritten later. They also may suck, but you aren't exactly buying me at Barnes & Noble, so you won't really be out a whole lot. At any rate I hope that you enjoy it.

Baboons and Bus Tickets, Part One

The 44th precinct was not exactly one of NYC's most popular haunts. If you were not one of the brick building's employees, chances were it was a place that you never really wanted to visit.

Behind the mirrored glass that shielded him from the three individuals in the room beside him, Merick Jangnes frowned and exhaled smoke into the air. It rolled against the glass and then plumed out into the air around him, creating intricate shapes that would fade away unheeded by their creator. He was a tall, sparsely built man, in his late forties, with eyes that were as intelligent as they were weary. People often told him that he looked like Roland from that old Stephen King novel, The Dark Tower.

Curious as to how someone could look like a character from a book, he had bought said novel and read it….whole series, in fact. It really hadn't pleased him. The gunslinger, Roland, had been a lone soldier whose unhappy destiny seemed to include only one activity; to battle a dark, elusive enemy while watching his companions suffer and meet miserable fates. The only thing the hardened warrior had to look forward to was eradicating the evil he tracked.

Merick was a Police Commissioner in New York City. He didn't need to read a book about something he lived every day.

He didn't turn when Ian, the staff criminal psychologist and the closest thing Merick had ever had to a best friend, walked in to stand beside him. The younger man stood beside the Commish and looked at the detectives in the next room, interrogating the thin, blonde woman sitting solemnly at the room's lone table. Saying nothing, Ian turned to stare at the profile of the man beside him. What he found there unsettled him. Merick's face usual poker face had been given the day off, and in it's place, a troubled look occupied the chiseled gauntness.

He decided that whatever had made this chink in his friend's armor, would best be dealt with in a swift manner. Clearing his throat, he spoke. "So… what have we here?"

Without removing his eyes from the scene before him, the commissioner handed him the woman's file. He waited patiently until Ian had thumbed through the paperwork before answering. "What we have here is the Stephford wife of a City Councilman and mother of two without so much as a traffic violation who snuck out of her own bed in the middle of the night, ran up a large tab at a Downtown pub, and ran out without paying it. While the bartender called the police, she carjacked a pimp at knife point, and then proceeded to go on an 70 mph joy-ride through the Warehouse district and ended up hitting and killing a young musician. She took out a bus-stop with this poor kid IN it." Sighing heavily, he handed the doctor a glossy, black and white 8x10 of a young, fair-haired man with huge, haunted eyes. It was autographed.

"Hey, I know this kid………Jack something-or-other, heard him play down at that café you love so much. You know the one with the great Fried Chicken. Smells like Motor oil up in that joint, if their food wasn't so good you wouldn't catch me hanging around." Ian sighed melodramatically. "The report says there was enough powder on the front seat to overdose a Thoroughbred. It looks like a toss in to me….this bitch got sick of playing wifey, gets all coked up, and runs over Mr. Guitar-strumming poet laureate here." He tossed the heavy black and white print on to the table in an almost disgusted fashion. " She's not crazy, she's just an irresponsible dumbass, and if Councilman Draven wants me to say his wife is certifiable then he can just suck-"

"Whoa, kiddo." Merrick cut him off with a hand gesture. "Your ecchi fantasies concerning Councilman Draven are going to have to play second fiddle for the moment….I don't want a professional statement."

The young psychologist arched an eyebrow. "Then why'd you call me in here?"

Merick's gaze shifted back to the scene in front of him as he reached for the receiver of the cream-colored phone on the small table in front of the viewing glass. "I haven't even finished adding the remainder of last night's case evidence to the folder yet. It doesn't contain her statement as of now, either. Before I add those things and let this mess fly, what I want from you is your personal opinion." He continued to look ahead as he pressed a button and in the other room, one of the detectives picked up the phone. The Commissioner's voice rolled out, cool and smooth, as if he were ordering coffee. "I want you to take her back trough the entire statement, beginning to end. Give us about 45 seconds before you start."

Setting the receiver back in its cradle, Merick shoved his hands back into his pockets, and looked solemnly at his companion. "How long have we been friends, Ian?"

Frowning, Ian searched the man's face, and then looked back through the glass for a moment. Whatever this was winding down to was beginning to give him that `Twilight Zone' feeling. And coupled with the odd-ass mood that his best friend was sporting, the surrealness of the situation was making his stomach flutter. Something just felt wrong here. Almost as if they were in the wake of some flux of destiny…Ian shook his head, hard, to clear it. Where the hell had THAT come from? He looked back up at Merick. "Nine years…why, Mer?"

"Nine years is a long time to be friends with a person. After that long you should pretty much know if they're full of shit or not. Don't you think so?" He chewed his lip thoughtfully for a minute. "I've been a cop all of my life, Ian. The most important asset a cop has are his instincts; I always prided myself on having a pretty sharp set."

"Honestly, I think you probably have better instincts than anyone I've ever met. But this whole gig is making me a little nervous. If you don't mind, I'd like to know where you are going with this."

Merick gave him a look that could have nearly been called blank were it not for the small amount of weary distress peeking out from the light blue eyes. "I just want you to listen to it, and I want you to watch her. I want you to tell me how you feel about it."

Unable to resist the oppurtunity to lighten the mood, he grinned smugly and gave a short, dry laugh. "Tell you how I feel about it? What's with the `Mars & Venus' bullshit all of a sudden, Mer? You goin' through menopause or somethin'?"

A ghost of a smirk lit his face for a moment. "Laugh while you can, asshole." The detective that had spoken with Merick moments before stood in front of the glass looking toward them expectantly, then nodded. Turning around, he asked the blonde to start again at the beginning.

The two men on the dark side of the glass had settled back to listen as the woman cleared her throat to speak, and Merick spoke once more before lapsing into a moody silence.

"Keep in mind…it hasn't changed ONCE in six hours, even while she was sobering up."

For the next hour and a half, the two men listened raptly as the statement was repeated and questioned twice. The blonde finally broke in exhaustion, weeping tiredly as she used both of her slender hands to brush her hair away from her face in an exasperated gesture. "I have told you and told you and told you and fucking TOLD YOU already a thousand times!!! I do not remember anything beyond going downstairs to get a glass of water and then swerving then swerving when that fucking thing landed-" her hands flew to her mouth as her hysteria rose visibly. After a few trembling pants, her eyes grew impossibly wide and she removed her hands from her mouth to shake them slightly at the sides of her head. "Oh, God, am I losing my mind?" She shot a terrified glance at the detective beside her, and began to weep in earnest.

Merick was the first of them to move. The phone inside the interrogation room rang, shrilly dispelling the sense of suspended reality that had fallen over both the men questioning and those listening to them. "You need to call a paramedic. Mrs. Draven appears to need medical attention." The younger detective hung up the phone, then picked it back up and dialed the front desk to be patched through to emergency medical.

Mrs. Draven, who had began to hyperventilate, was being soothed by a young female officer who had been allowed in to attend to her. Within what seemed like moments, but Ian knew had to be much longer, the two detectives who had questioned her came to her side and began to usher her from the room to meet the ambulance that awaited her outside.

Merick looked over at the pale, staring figure beside him, and cleared his throat.

"Well?" He asked. Ian merely stared back large-eyed, in a manner not unlike a gerbil under a flashlight. "What did you think?"

Ian shook his head again, clearing it of thoughts that seemed too illogical to be housed in the finely trained mind that he was still paying student loans on behalf of. "What do I think? I think that I was wrong in my initial diagnosis. Obviously, she is delusional. She should be evaluated by a doctor, and hospitalized until her tri-"

The words dried up in his throat as Merick pulled a small evidence bag from the pocket of his blazer, and looked down at it seemingly lost in his own thoughts. Suddenly he recalled those words from their conversation earlier, filtering through his mind with a cold exactness: ` I haven't even finished adding the remainder of last night's case evidence to the folder yet,' he had said, hadn't he?

The bottom dropped out of Ian's stomach as he watched the intensity of Merick's frown increase until it was so tight that it appeared he might start weeping, just like the Draven bitch had.

"Mer, please tell me that you don't believe this. I mean, this is New York City, for Chrissakes! Not the goddamn Amazon!"

"I stood there where you are now, not even seven hours ago, laughing the first time I heard her go through it for the recorded statement. I mean, in a city where you hear everything, this was pretty fucking original. But when she went through it a few more times with them grilling her, and it didn't change it all started to feel kind of, … well, wrong. So I went out there, back to the scene, to do a sweep."

Merick turned toward Ian, holding out the plastic zippy bag hesitantly. "There was almost no one there. The street looked really quiet, must've been quiet for most of the night. I walked over the report specs, and looked around. When I found it, I didn't even know how to feel." His hand shook slightly although his voice betrayed nothing. "Lab sent them back about two hours ago."

Looking green, Ian reached to take the bag from that shaking hand. "I suppose the label is going to tell that these belong to exactly what Draven claims she saw, won't it?" he said, as he studied the pale, coarse hairs. Mer nodded.

Ian stared at the bag. "So…let me see if I've got this straight." Ian's comically deadpan expression masked the racing of his mind as he fought to stay calm. This had to be a joke. Had to be. Surely there was just no way this could be happening. The feel of the cool plastic in his hand seemed to laugh at his staunch denial, to force him to plug the totality the physical evidence into the equation along with the illogical story and try to solve for X. A crazy story was one thing, but a crazy story complete with an evidence bag…. Ian's mind reeled. "A giant, white baboon-man freefalls into the middle of the Eighth street bridge onto the front-end of a Caddy that is going 70 miles an hour, sits calmly on the hood blocking Mrs. Draven's vision as she swerves wildly then crashes into a bus stop, and then hovers over the dying Musician she hit for, like, thirty minutes, managing to go unnoticed by pretty much everybody except Drunken Draven. Did I miss anything?"

Merick fought the urge to laugh at the arid delivery of such an unsettling series of events. Strangely enough, Ian's shell-shocked expression and hostile panic made him feel a slight amount of comfort. His gut had told him to go back for another round, find more evidence…but he still wasn't really prepared for what he had found. The fact that the psychologist was also desperately unnerved by the situation was enough to assure the older man that his instincts were at least still on target, even if they were pointing him in an insane direction.

Merick turned away for a moment to process his thoughts and busy his shaking hands, trying to find some intelligent reply to the breakdown of fantastical sounding data that had last spilled from the room's other occupant. Finding none, he turned back and handed Ian a steaming Styrofoam cup, and shook his head. "Nope. That's pretty much it."

===============================================================

The dark figure moving forward in the pre-dawn light shook itself lightly, emitting an irritated sigh. The dark grungy, streets of the inner city neighborhood that blurred as he sped through them were strangely empty, which meant only one thing. His master was near.

Beneath the white of his cloak, the jewel gave off an unhappy surge of power; causing his chest to constrict and making his stomach roll with nausea. He really fucking hated carrying this thing. The longer one held it the heavier and more smothering it became. As if in spite, the dark purple orb gave another pulse, nearly causing him to dissolve into the concrete in a writhing heap.

"Shit…."

That last bit had just been ridiculous! The bitch driving the car had been trashed out of her mind, so her reactions were really slow, and not being able to actually touch the wheel himself, he had had to rely on the hope that she would act out of instinct, judging it best to swerve in the direction in which she could see. Never mind that there had been a bus stop with a MAN inside it lying in the middle of her chosen path.

That was the thing about drunken people. They made poor decisions.

Picking flecks of glass from his pelt, he sighed again. If he elected to tell himself the truth, then he would be forced to say that the job itself really wasn't the problem. He had done things like this a thousand times. Sometimes they tried and it worked out, sometimes the powers that WERE intervened and shit went awry. But this time was different. This wasn't his first rodeo, after all. He had been doing this for a long, long time, and he was quite accustomed to the protocol.

And he knew that the bounty he had collected a bit ago just wasn't….kosher.

The soul, while contractually bound, had not yet been corrupted. Jake had signed on with the team, but he hadn't actually given into anything yet. He was just sort of floating in limbo, living in the moment. He had let to make a physical commitment to any of their advances. That meant bad things, considering that the jewel was zinging contentedly as it adjusted itself to the added power that it had just consumed. Bad things, because in the world of divine and carnal judgment, it was the action that accompanied any given emotion that always sealed the deal…the fruit the tree bore, so to speak. And since Jake had not truly been corrupt, but was only theirs because of a technicality, that could only mean one thing.

It was a trap. Or worse, a distraction.

That evening, earlier, he had tried to explain this to his grace. That their timing was off, and that even if they somehow were allowed to succeed, then it might just mean that they had made an irrevocable error. The opposition hadn't made a move either to aid or injure them in hundreds of years, and as far as he could see, they were grossly overdue. It just made sense. But as usual, his protests came to absolutely no avail. His master had always done just as he pleased, and if he felt that he was within his right then he simply reached out and grabbed it, striking down anything that stood between him and the object of his desire. Usually wearing that "go-fuck-yourself "smirk of his while he did so.

He smiled lightly. Despite their history, he could not help but feel fondly for His Grace. He was a truly misunderstood being. Branded ever as the destroyer of all that was innocent and good, slandered by everyone, depicted grotesquely…his entire existence had to be lived in the shadows. And for what purpose? He had an excellent notion that while he feigned innocence and confusion, that his master understood perfectly the reasons for his current position. And he would bet a thousand sunny mornings that it all had to do with His Grace's mad, beautiful father. In fact, he would be willing to go so far as to say he knew that it did.

Just as he knew that they had been baited into this night's events.

Crouching, he sprang upward with supernatural strength to scale a large chain-link fence, landing as lightly as a feather into a nearly deserted alley on the other side. Lifting himself, he straightened, and continued onward, now ambling slowly toward a great black Escalade parked down near the mouth of the alleyway. Reaching the passenger's side door, he opened it and climbed inside. Dark, sultry music permeated the interior of the SUV and the night air swept in a bevy of city smells through the open moon roof. After pausing a moment to try to relax a bit, he removed the grotesque mask, which resembled a baboon's head, and slid the chain that held the jewel up over his head, sweeping the long, thick cascade of his dark and decidedly unruly hair through so that it didn't snag. Stretching out his upturned hand, he offered the object to the individual beside him.

When it wasn't immediately taken away, the white-clad henchman turned to look at his companion. The driver's tall form was slouched into the plush leather of the seat, seeming to be so relaxed that the outrageously beautiful young man could have been in an easy chair before a fire in some pleasant study instead of sitting in a deserted alleyway in Queens in an eighty thousand dollar vehicle. His golden eyes held their customary pleasantness as they stared at the necklace dangling from the outstretched hand that cradled it. He continued to do so with out speaking, as he munched contentedly on a what looked to be a large order of Chicken Rings from White castle; otherwise, his only movements were to reach forward over the hand before him to dip pieces of aforementioned chicken rings into a container of honey-mustard sauce resting on the truck's dashboard.

Growing impatient, both with the silence and with dangling his arm clear to the other side of the car, Naraku allowed his hand to bounce lightly in front of the seat next to him, and cleared his throat suggestively.

The silver-haired man turned his gaze toward him, and a set of velveteen dog-ears atop his head gave a friendly twitch as the mouth below them quirked into a placid half-smile. "Would you mind just holding onto it for a moment until I'm finished? I don't want to get it all greasy."

"Goddamn it, Inuyasha, you KNOW I hate to hold this damn thing. You may be invulnerable to it, but I'm NOT." He cut himself off, giving a great huff before continuing. "Do you have any idea how painful it is to carry the jewel while it is absorbing power?"

Inuyasha sighed behind a closed mouth full of White Castle. Swallowing, he looked over at the man in the fur robe beside him with a slight frown. "You don't have yell, since I am two feet away from you. And you don't have to be such a bitch about it, either. If it hurts, just put it down in the console. It's a necklace, not a two-year-old. It's not as if it is going to get bored and toddle off if you aren't holding onto it. I mean, DAMN! " Pulling another chicken ring from the paper carton, and reaching forward to dip it, Inuyasha's face softened back into its former serenity. He looked back to the windshield, seeming to survey the night before him. It was windy out, and paper and other small bits of trash leapt and swirled fitfully in the currents of restless air. They were like solemn, orphaned stage performers dancing without purpose beneath the orange-red glow of the streetlights. Suddenly, he felt very old.

Suddenly, he felt his age.

When he spoke again, his voice was soft and sad. "It's been centuries since you raised your voice to me in such a manner….since you called me by my name."

Naraku's features twisted into a contrite expression. "My Grace, forgive-"

Holding up a hand, Inuyasha made an eloquent plea for silence. "Why? I know why you did it…you're still worried. You needn't be. I told you before. I have this under control. It's completely routine and expected for us to do something like this. We push the envelope; that's our job. He could have stopped it at any moment. Even if the end result was unavoidable, be could have halted the fiasco I caused. He knew our plan."

"But that's exactly what worries me. Why? Why would he blatantly break his own rule merely to pacify your impatience? We are so close, and yet he shows no concern. Within another century or less you could be powerful enough to destroy him if you so chose, and he makes no move against you. It just doesn't make sense. He must be up to something."

Inuyasha lifted a brow. "And if he is?"

Naraku gave him an incredulous glare. "Sometimes I wonder if you aren't just as crazy as he is! How can you just sit here and ignore this? Obviously he is up to something, and since he has never let you slide to this extent, and obviously what we just did is a part of whatever plan he is hatching. And if he is making it this obvious, it means that he isn't worried about you being able to stop him. Are you telling me that doesn't make you the least bit nervous?"

With a small laugh, Inuyasha placed his ring back into its box and placed the carton back into the white paper sack beside him. Turning aside, he picked up the sauce, and tossed it out of the open window into the alley. "Naraku….I'll only say it once, so make sure you have your listening hat on, okay buddy? Now, whatever my father may or may not be planning is quite irrelevant. If this were a part of some grand scheme, then we'd be in a world of hurt trying to figure it out. I have been involved with him in one way or another for Millennia, and even I can't get my head around his logic. He really does work in mysterious ways….hides reason inside chaos. If he wants to throw us a curveball, there's not a damn thing we can do to stop him. The best way by far to deal with him is to be calm and prepared. I'm just going to stand here on home plate and wait this out. We are going to keep doing what we do." Inuyasha shot him a cocky grin. "If it makes you feel better to worry, then you go right on ahead. But I really wish you wouldn't. It makes me feel like you don't have any faith in me."

After wiping his hands on a napkin, Inuyasha picked up the blackening jewel from the console, and stared at it sitting softly in his cupped hand. The jewel emitted a low humming noise, and Inuyasha allowed his eyes to drift shut for a moment while he closed his hand around it tightly before placing it back into the console. "Without the Jewel, which he can't even get close enough to touch, how could he possibly bring any attempt to end me or my plans to fruition? He would have to place himself within my power to get near it, and he would never do that." Inuyasha smiled mirthlessly as he turned the key in the ignition and the Escalade's engine came to life with a throaty purr. "We have nothing to worry about. I do not plan to lose."

Sighing heavily, Naraku leaned back into the seat and closed his eyes. "I just don't like it. I have a really bad feeling, and I…I don't know. I just hate the way everything feels right now. Like the end of everything is looming in front of us."

Inuyasha flashed a wide smile, this one warm, as he shifted the SUV into drive. Dawn was coming and he had pressing matters at home to attend to. He was ready to start moving. He sat the White Castle bag into his companion's lap before taking his foot off of the break. "Here…eat. It'll make you feel better. You're exhausted, and that's why your nose is all out of joint. A couple of burgers, a little rest, and you'll realize that I'm telling you the truth."

Naraku opened the bag, and pulled out one of the Chicken Rings and gave it a dubious once-over. Looking over at Inuyasha, he smirked. "I wish I felt as confident about it as you do."

Inuyasha's laugh was full of mischief. "About the chicken rings or being the victor of Armageddon?"

"At this moment, I'd settle for either." Sitting back, and finally seeming to relax, Naraku chewed his food thoughtfully while his right foot beat silently to the music coursing from the speakers. The music was exhilarating. "What's this we're hearing?"

Inuyasha beamed at him from the driver's seat. "Claude Chaloub. Fantastic, isn't it? He's very hot right now. Good-looking Turkish kid, studied in London….I told you the violin was coming back." He said with a satisfied smile.

Inuyasha hummed softly as he gave a right turn signal, and pulled out into traffic. Somewhere in the distance church bells pealed. The traffic was heavy, but the traffic was always heavy here, and unlike most people, he enjoyed rush hour. As they entered the freeway, cars all around them honked, and people swore at one another through their windows in the crawling traffic as they battled furiously within this sprawling exodus whose languorous pace held their lives at bay. But Inuyasha only smiled as he fiddled with the CD changer.

It was time to find his next little `project.' An excited grin stretched itself across his mouth, and his eyes narrowed in concentration. What he needed was something challenging, something with bite. Some drama. Something he could really sink his teeth into. And judging from the strange feelings of providence tingling in the air since last night, he had a good idea that this next venture….whatever it was….would be extremely satisfying.

Shifting down, he began to weave in and out of the cars around him, looking ahead to find the easiest route out of the standstill. He really wanted to get started now. In his haste he almost managed to clip a small brightly colored Honda as he moved into the lane ahead of it. The owner, a middle-aged woman with a sour expression, rolled down her passenger's side window and began to curse him colorfully in Russian. Smiling into his rearview mirror, Inu lifted his hand and gave her the finger without turning around.

The Honda's horn erupted in a series of staccato blasts, and the angry woman's shouts grew in intensity. Inuyasha made a couple of soft sympathetic noises as he shook his head at Naraku. He sighed. "People get so upset. It isn't healthy."

"Well, you did cut her off."

"This is New York. Even I get cut off here!"

"Hey, I was just saying…."

Inuyasha glared. "Whose side are you on anyway, bastard!!?"

Naraku met his gaze with an owlish look. "All this talk about what's healthy….who's upset now??"

"One more word and you're riding with the fat lady."

Naraku stared forward with a tight, amused expression and continued to nibble on the chicken. Maybe Inuyasha was right. He felt better already.

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Thank you, to all you guys who reviewed. I will try to email those of you with questions, since I was too lazy here. I apologize and I hope that it isn't too confusing thus far.

Also, I promise Inu won't always be so boring…I am just trying to lay a little groundwork. Inu and Naraku are really going to be fun to read…hopefully, anyway. Like I said in my previous note, chap 3 is were the action starts to tie together, and all of this stuff will eventually make sense.

Thanks!!!!!! ~_*