Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction ❯ Distance ❯ Chapter 13 ( Chapter 13 )

He must have wandered for an hour or more. What had he expected? That Akane would sit around for four years, wishing she hadn't thrown him out like an old sack of rice? That she'd wait for his stupid ass to come sniffing around?

Ranma kicked the pavement and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He was an idiot, just like Akane had always said. And just like Kasumi said, Akane never could just sit and wait.

“Fuck!” Ranma shouted, ignoring the shocked looks of passerby. He glared at them and ducked into an alley next to a bookshop, crouching down and clasping his head in his hands.

How the hell could he go back there and watch Takahiro put his hands all over her? The thought made him want to puke. But he had no money on him for a train, and there was no way he could walk to Nerima in any reasonable amount of time.

No, his growling stomach told him, he had to go back, at least to get his things so that he could get out of that pit of despair and back to Nerima. Maybe he'd move in with Master Gyaru and his wife, after all.

As he wandered out of the alley, he tried not to look at anyone. Walking down the street, he looked around at the unfamiliar sights, and realized, painfully, that he was lost - not as lost as Ryouga, but lost. He smacked himself on the forehead. He really was an idiot.

Sighing, he found a phone booth and looked for the name Tendou in the phone book. “Alright!” Ranma shouted when he saw that she was listed. He picked up the phone, and then remembered that he didn't have any money. “Shit…” he muttered, storming back out of the booth. He looked around at the tall buildings and grumbled to himself.

“You need some help?” Ranma looked up at the voice and tried to smile at the young man, about Ranma's own age. He was dressed in a nice suit, and wore his bleach-blonde hair very short.

“No, no, thank you, I'm fine,” he started to walk away, but the young man stepped in his way.

His expression was stony. “I think you need some help.”

Ranma frowned and took a step back, muscles tensing, wondering what this kid wanted. “Come with me, I'll help you.” The kid repeated. Ranma looked around quickly at the passersby, but they were ignoring the exchange, almost deliberately. He scowled back at the young man, only to fine him joined by two others in almost-identical suits.

“Look, kiddo,” Ranma spat derisively, “you need t'get outta my way, okay? I'm in a real bad mood, an' I'm lookin' to let off a little steam. Y'want me to let that off on you?” He knew his accent gave him away as an outsider, but Ranma didn't care. He put up his hands in a modified crane pose, keeping his feet firmly planted. The three toughs grinned at him.

“Outsider, eh? Think you're a fuckin' Samurai?” the blonde spit rudely at Ranma's feet. “We'll show you what we think of outsiders, little bitch.” He pulled out a switchblade, and Ranma's caution spiked. This wasn't good; this wasn't a fight he needed right now, not when he was angry and unfocused. A knife wielded even by an inexperienced fighter was something to worry over.

The youth flipped the knife around expertly and motioned to another alley. Ranma followed him into it, eyes on the knife in the boy's hand, waiting for an opportunity. He got it when the young man turned his eyes, just briefly, to signal his two comrades. Ranma struck out at him with the speed of someone trying to grab a chestnut out of a fire. He slapped the boy's wrist like he was a naughty puppy, the subtle strength in the hit making him cry out and drop the knife from suddenly-slack fingers.

Before he could recover, Ranma performed a front scoop kick to the kid's groin that made his voice reach an octave that would earn him a place on any choir. He dropped like a stone, clutching his crotch and sobbing. Ranma brought his hands up again, waiting. “Anyone else?” the kids started to back away, and then they ran. Ranma scoffed and casually kicked the knife across the alley, out of reach of the groaning boy on the ground.

“You idiot,” Ranma groused, lifting the young man to his feet by the front of his suit, “why the hell d'you people always wanna fuckin' fight me?” before the young man could answer this question, however, there was a shout from the end of the alley.

“Don't you move! I'm calling the police!” Ranma balked at the older woman who, bravely, took out a cell phone and immediately began to dial. Ranma looked at the red-faced boy in front of him, - who, he realized, was much younger than he had originally thought - at the dark stain on the front of his pants, and then back at the woman who was glaring at him fiercely whilst she spoke frantically into her phone.

“Waitasec, this ain't what it looks like!” Ranma shouted, dropping the boy and backing away. As Ranma looked down at the kid at his feet, he cursed. This could end very, very badly. “Please, y'got it all wrong! He attacked me!” The woman backed away, clutching her purse to her chest. A crowd was gathering, effectively blocking that exit unless he leapt over their heads, which he could easily do. He looked at the other end of the alley, saw the high stucco wall, and groaned.

“You all see that knife! He's a thug! Look at those clothes!” Ranma looked down at himself at the woman's angry shout, and grimaced; in his white t-shirt and jeans, he did look an awful lot like a common street thug.

At that moment, an officer, probably already nearby when the woman called, came into the alley, holding a club in one hand and a pair of cuffs in the other. “Okay, now jus' hold on a minute. This kid pulled a knife on me; y'better tell them you little…”

“Fuck you.” The kid spat, crawling to his feet and dusting himself off. He half sobbed, “He totally jumped me for my money!”

Ranma scoffed. “Bullshit, you attacked me!”

“Look, you're both coming with me.” The officer put his cuffs away with a roll of his eyes and motioned for the two of them to follow him. Ranma grumbled but did as he was told. The young man paused to pick up his knife, but the officer stopped him with a warning shout. “Hey! I'll take that!” he snatched the knife and flipped it closed with one hand, slipping it into a pouch on his belt.

Ranma let the officer lead him into the back of a car. The young man got in next to him, smelly and pissed. “Nice bladder control, moron.”

“Fuck you.” He repeated tonelessly, looking away.

“What are you, some kinda wannabe tough-guy?” Ranma asked snidely as the officer got into the driver's seat and pulled away from the curb.

“Cut the noise back there.” Ranma obeyed instantly, glaring at his neighbor.

They rode to the precinct in silence. When they arrived, the officer led both of them into the low white building and sat them on benches a few feet from the door. The building was mostly empty of people, save for some officers doing paperwork. Ranma spied a snack table in a corner and his stomach growled loudly. The officer who took them in raised an eyebrow and walked over to the table, coming back with a flaky, buttery pastry and holding it out. “Thanks.” Ranma said, embarrassed. He ate the pastry as politely as possible, wiping his hands on his pants afterwards.

“Now, what the hell is going on?” the officer asked, standing in front of them. He looked at the would-be thug, who was hanging his head and sniffling. “What are you, in high school?”

The kid nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Jeez…” the officer groaned, “There's a phone over there. Call your parents.” He jutted his thumb in the direction of the phone, on the reception desk. The thug bowed profusely when he stood, tears drying on his pimply cheeks.

Ranma looked at the kid's back in disgust. “What's your name?”

“Ranma Saotome, sir.” Ranma said quietly, looking away. This was the second time in his life he'd even been in a police station, and he already hated them.

“I'm Officer Miike,” Ranma's head snapped up.

“Are you related to Kenichi?” he asked hopefully.

The young officer raised an eyebrow and then nodded. “Yes, Kenichi is my older brother. Why? You get into a lotta trouble in Nerima?” He asked suspiciously.

Ranma smiled; for once, the crazy coincidences that seemed to run his life were working in his favor. “Nope; model citizen,” Officer Miike did not look convinced, so Ranma continued, “he helped me out when my boss got jumped, an' I beat up the, um, assailants.”

“Ooh…” realization donned, and Officer Miike smiled, “I remember now. Kenichi called me last night about that. He said you reminded him of his son.”

Ranma smiled. “His son must be a pretty charmin' guy.”

Officer Miike looked a little sad at that. “He died… in a car wreck seven years ago.”

“Oh… shit, I'm so sorry, I had no idea,” Ranma paused, “I only just met yer brother.”

Officer Miike shrugged, “Hey, well you know,” he looked at where the thug was calling his parents, and smirked, “I think I've seen that little shit before.”

Ranma snorted, glad for the change of subject; death made him impossibly uncomfortable, especially having just lost Kaibutsu. He shivered a little, and centered himself. “Yeah, he needs a good smackin'.”

“Fuckin' right,” Ranma liked Officer Miike more than he expected to, and the two shared a quiet laugh at the thug's obvious discomfort in his soiled pants as he cried into the phone, “ok, who can I call to come get you?”

Ranma flushed. “Uh, well, I'm sorta stayin' with someone while my apartment is… I mean,” Ranma twiddled his fingers; he did not want Akane to have to come pick him up at the precinct. That was the last thing he wanted in the world.

Officer Miike put up his hands and smiled. “Say no more. Tell me where you're at, and I'll drop you off.”

Ranma grinned. “Thanks, Officer Miike.”

“Call me Kentaro.” They shook hands, and Kentaro led him past the front desk. Ranma stuck his tongue out at the thug in satisfaction, flipping him off for good measure, and the kid glared back at him.