Saint Seiya Fan Fiction ❯ Walking the Other Way ❯ Enter Shaka ( Chapter 6 )

Standard disclaimer: I don't own Saint Seiya, and I'm not making money out of this.

 

Walking the Other Way

A Saint Seiya Gift fic

 

DragonRuler

 

Chapter Six: Shaka

 

The melody of his cell phone disturbed the silence he'd been trying to hold. Cursing he ducked his head between his shoulders and returned the silence by tapping one button of his phone. But it was too late. They'd heard. Quickly he grabbed his microphone. “All units move in,” he shouted, as he ran forward, breaking the new silence for real.

 

From all around the house, little blue men with big guns jumped from out of the bushes. He arrived at the heavy door together with another officer. Both aimed their guns and shot the lock to pieces. To the right he could hear some of his men jump through the window. Inside sheer panic was at hand, as the drugs smugglers tried to escape. Someone had thrown a smoke grenade, causing him and his men to shove down their goggles. This would not take long. He only hoped some of the bastards would still be alive to talk.

 

Ten minutes later silence surrounded them again. He looked round for possible trouble makers, but every one of the criminals was either down, hiding or held under shot by one or more officers. “Well done, men.”

 

“Shaka,” a voice shouted.

 

Shaka turned round, removing his goggles from his dusty face, and saw his colleague Mark Johnson walk up to him. The two of them worked together as little as possible, due to a complete lack of understanding between them. This came more from the side of Johnson than Shaka's, for the man had a terrible issue with Shaka's origin and reputation. It wasn't clear to anyone, except Johnson, why…

 

“Why the hell did you move in so soon?”

 

“Because a sound gave us away, officer Johnson.”

 

“What sound might that have been, huh?”

 

Shaka hid a grin. “My cell phone.”

 

“What?”

 

“My cell phone,” he repeated, as he pulled out the little betrayer. A call from 77th Street.

 

“You can bet that Morpeth will hear about this one, Shaka.”

 

“You want to tell him right now, Mark? Cause it was his department that called,” Shaka taunted the other, as he called back the number.

 

“Officer Shaka reporting. Ah, Wolters. Hmm. Uhuh. No problem, I'll be right there. And tell Morpeth the drug raid went perfect.”

 

“Perfect? You call this perfect? Two of our men are wounded,” Johnson whined.

 

“Deadly?”

 

“No, of course not. Would I be standing here if they were bleeding to death?”

 

“Did any of the thugs escape,” he asked, ignoring Johnson's last remark.

 

“No, but…”

 

“Then we're fine.” Shaka walked away from Johnson, searching for the wounded. He'd seen one of them go down during the raid, but didn't know about the other one. He found them sitting on the grass. One had been shot in the leg, the other in the shoulder.

 

“Hi, guys. Feeling generally ok?” He bent through his knees and checked his men's wounds.

 

“Of course, officer,” one grinned. “Another success. You won't hear us complain.”

 

“Great. We'll get you to a hospital in no time.” Shaka rose again and clapped his hands loudly. “All right, men, well done! Search those guys for anything: drugs, guns, knives and get'm in the first van ASAP. We've got wounded who need care.”

 

Shaka got behind the wheel of the first van, checking in his rear mirror if all went well. In no time he saw seven heads in his van and felt the doors lock safely. None of the drug dealers had managed to escape. It was a shame that no real big fish had been there, but eventually they'd get caught as well. At least, that's what Shaka planned to do and should that not happen he was determined to make it as hard as possible on them.

 

They pulled up at the police station, leaving their captives to the hands of others. His job was done, Shaka knew, now it was up to Justice to take over. Together with his team he headed for the locker rooms, where they got rid of their uniforms. Knowing Morpeth wanted him over, Shaka shoved his helmet, goggles, gloves and thick bullet proof vest into his locker. Nevertheless he took the time to put on the standard bullet proof vest under his shirt, before heading for the commissioner's office. Securing his gun at his ribs, Shaka left the locker room.

 

“Catch you later, Shaka!”

 

“See you, guys,” he called back.

 

Walking through the hallways, Shaka watched his numerous colleagues roam about, working at their desks, on the phone, getting ready for a move out and mainly being very busy. This was where the man felt at best: a place where he was about to get new assignments every time he showed his face, a place where he got the chance to change lives and where he lost all his time. Because at home there would be too much thinking, just like there would be when he had a nine to five job. There was a reason why every office wanted him. It did not matter what time they needed him, Shaka was always present. No wonder, of course, that he lived alone in his apartment, safe for two cats who luckily were great hunters and loved to sleep in Shaka's bed. The cop looked through Morpeth's windows and walked inside after a short knock.

 

“Ah, Shaka,” Morpeth acknowledged the man. “Well done, as always. Sit down, sit down.”

 

Shaka saluted to his superior, and then sat down across the man smoothly.

 

“You got some explanation already?”

 

“Nothing much, Wolters said something about artworks reappearing in Japan.”

 

Morpeth grinned under his moustache. “Guess the boy was a bit too impressed. It's about this.” He handed the pictures to Shaka, who let out a low whistle at the sight of them.

 

“I know some of these works,” he said appraisingly. “War loot.”

 

“Ah, so you know. Good, that's just as easy. All those works appeared somewhere in Asia over the last few weeks. The exact date and place are in the file, go ahead and read it. It's your copy anyway. If they were just contemporary works we wouldn't mind them much, but as you pointed out already these aren't exactly recent. So we want someone with a small team to investigate where these things come from and take them back to their countries of origin or the rightful owners, if any inheritors of those families still live. You generally get the idea.”

 

Shaka nodded. “Interesting case, but I'm sure I can do more here.”

 

“You can always do more somewhere else, but for one my instincts tell me this is a huge black market we might be able to disable if we butt in and for two there's a lead in Japan. I saw it fit to send you.”

 

Morpeth surely had intended it to be a gesture, but the blonde cop across him was surprised and taken aback. However within seconds, before Morpeth could really notice anything, he'd recovered.

 

“You'll be more at ease than anyone else on our force. You speak the language, you know some of the forces, and perhaps they'll still know you, if not in person, then certainly by reputation. So, I suggest you study what we have so far, pick your men -six in total- and leave as soon as possible. Your objective is first locating the ones who provided these works, arrest them and then disable the black market as much as possible.”

 

“Six additional men? I can leave tomorrow.”

 

It had been nine years since he'd left Japan.

 

“Great, I knew you'd take it. That was all.”

 

The tall blonde rose from the chair and left Morpeth's office. Back to Japan, was all that rang through his head. Back to the place he'd tried to leave behind.

 

*****

 

Of all nights, I have to be at ease on this one, Shaka thought wryly. Of all evenings this one, the night before his return to his home country, he just had to be off duty. Unwillingly he unlocked the door to his apartment, for once confronted with his celibacy as a nuisance. Of course, if he would have a human companion here, he'd have to leave her behind tomorrow.

 

“Might as well be alone,” he mumbled.

 

From the bedroom he heard a loud thump, followed by a softer one and he knew two cats had entered the place, in reaction to his return. One after another they walked into the living room, to the adjacent kitchen, where they immediately started mewing. Shaka smiled and walked over, to pet both animals and feed them. Suddenly he remembered something. Quickly he put the food to the ground and left the apartment again. He knocked at his neighbour's door, thankful that it wasn't too late already. A young woman opened the door.

 

“Hi Janice. I wanted to ask you something, I know it's a bit late notice, but I'm leaving tomorrow. Could you take care of my cats?”

 

“Hi Shaka,” she smiled. “It's always late notice, but no problem.”

 

“Who is it,” a voice called from inside.

 

“Shaka, from next door,” Janice yelled back. “Sure, we'll take care of your cuties.”

 

“Thanks,” he sighed. “Here's the spare key.”

 

“How long will you be off?”

 

“I don't even know,” he said carefully. “Is that a problem?”

 

“Not at all. Just wondering.”

 

He nodded. “You can call the precinct for anything urgent. Just ask for Morpeth.”

 

“I know,” she nodded in return.

 

“Ok, well… have a nice eve then.”

 

“See ya.”

 

Shaka returned to his apartment, while Janice looked after him with a doubtful look in her eyes. His door fell into lock again.

 

“All right, you're right, An. He is cute, but he's sure weird,” she said, as she closed her door. “He barely noticed I'm standing in my underwear. And that long hair… How does he manage?”

 

Although he wasn't really hungry, Shaka knew better than not to eat and pushed a bowl of soup in the microwave. He dropped into his couch, soon to be joined by Houdini who sprawled over his legs. A deep purr filled the room, as he tried to divert his thoughts by reading on in his book, the latest by Stephen Fry. After a while he was forced to put on music to disturb the silence, which he usually detested. Five minutes later he closed the book roughly, alarming the cat on his lap.

 

“Oh, sshhh. It's nothing,” he cooed the animal that threw him an indignant look. Nevertheless the cat nestled herself again, purring contently at the attention. He put the book on the table next to his couch and noticed the file he'd put down there. Just as he was about to pick it up the microwave beeped a few times.

 

“Come on, Houdini, move.”

 

The cat hopped off his legs into the warm spot he left on the couch and went back to sleep. Shaka soon sat eating next to her, holding the bowl in a towel against the heat. It wasn't long before Hillary, his smallest cat, smelled the food and jumped on to his lap. Inquisitively she made a small peeping sound while she walked over Shaka's tummy, closer to the bowl. The blonde man looked up from staring at his soup to see two green eyes observe his every move. Softly purring in anticipation the small cat poked her head over the edge of the bowl.

 

“Ack, Hillary, no,” Shaka chuckled. “Wait. I said: wait, you little…”

 

The cat backed off a little but only because Shaka's hand forced her to. Eagerly she watched his hand dip the back of the spoon in the soup.

 

“Here you go,” he said while holding out the spoon.

 

Pleased Hillary sniffed the liquid and closed her eyes in joy as she licked it off. Shaka now took sips from the still quite hot soup since his spoon was taken. He knew why he'd taken in these two cats. About a year ago he'd found them, when they were still kittens, abandoned and starving in the cold rain. First he had walked away, due to lack of time, but that same night he'd returned to the spot to find the two small creatures. Catching them had been easy, since both of them were too confused to actually flee. Both kittens fitted in the palm of his hand then.

 

Now both cats filled his lap, healthy and extremely attached to the human who'd taken them in. That particular human was thankful for the distraction the two animals allowed, like right now when they performed a raid on his food. But his food got finished and the two cats went to sleep. He was alone again with his thoughts. A quick glance at the clock only told him it was too early for sleep. With a sigh he gave in and took the file.

 

There were few actual facts in it, but plenty of guesses as to the origin of the works. Frankly, it surprised Shaka that so many had turned up at once. There had to be a logical explanation for that. Pondering, he stared at the pictures while curling a lock of hair around his finger. They must've been presented on the black market, shortly after one another, which gave him the good guess that one person or group was behind it. The sudden appearance out of nowhere also made believe that whoever was at the source needed money badly. No professional would risk this unless he was in deep trouble, or if there were too many dead ends the cops would run into before getting to the criminal.

 

Shaka searched for a pen to scribble his thoughts in the margin. In his mind he went over the list of men he'd assigned to join him. Six he thought too much so he'd decided to round up four, two of which would arrive a bit later due to urgent cases. Their flight was scheduled at 10.14 in the morning, where he'd explain part of the case to Silver and Badami. Time passed by without the blonde noticing it, as he fled from his thoughts into his work. When the clock turned to 1.30 in the night his head slowly lolled forward as sleep finally overcame him. Shaka fell slightly to the side into the cushions, joining his cats in sleep.

 

*****

 

The clouds surrounded them like huge icebergs. Above a crystal clear blue sky washed over the plane like the sea over a coral reef. Silver tried to find his place in the small seat, but failed miserably. He was simply too tall. Next to him Shaka smiled understandingly.

 

“Doesn't matter what class we travel in, huh,” Silver grimaced.

 

“Nothing whatsoever,” the blonde chortled.

 

Silver ran his fingers through his greyish hair. Although he was only in his thirties his normally raven black hair was already shot through with grey streaks. Of course this had been noted by anyone on his force who made the link between the man's name and his hair.

 

“Don't worry though. Badami and I move after I give you the explanation. There's room aplenty,” Shaka said.

 

At this Silver curiously poked his head over the edge of his seat, noticing how few people travelled in first class. All the better, he thought, this way no one would overhear their conversation.

 

“Japan's really going downhill, isn't it?”

 

Shaka made a slight face at Badami's remark.

 

“A bit,” he finally said. “Now, listen up.” He opened the file and explained his men what the goal of this trip was. Silver listened closely, now and then taking a peek at the pictures. It was good to be on the road again, but he had to agree it was a long shot to fly to Japan just on account of the World Wars. Of course he kindly mentioned this to Shaka, who nodded in return.

 

“I had the same thought, but if you consider it a bit further Japan isn't such a weird guess. The country has reasons aplenty to use such methods; after all it is in trouble and no one is really eager to pitch in, what with the tests they've been running.”

 

“I thought no one knew about that…”

 

“In theory, no one does, but in reality… The public isn't stupid, although many like to think that.”

 

“Agreed, but you're not telling me these guys are professionals. If Japan needs money it would have better and more subtle ways to get it.”

 

“Exactly,” Shaka nodded again. “They're either amateurs or desperate professionals, and my guess is the first. No one without a record has links to the black market so let us assume they were fair people, who had to turn to desperate methods. They won't have done the sales themselves and here I see something: whoever did the sales wasn't picky about his clients.”

 

“Most of them were tracked by this Chinese guy, Marukame, and his team,” Badami said. “As if they'd want to be noticed.”

 

“We can't be sure about that, but I don't think Japan's a bad start. The Yakuza still have their fair share in the black market,” Shaka said.

 

Silver looked sideward at the blonde man's face. A strange tone had crept into his voice. Suddenly Silver remembered Shaka's origin, which one would easily forget upon the man's appearance. He was a quite tall man with long blonde hair that almost reached to his waist. Most remarkable of all were Shaka's eyes which were a deep sea blue, surrounded by thick black lashes. Silver cocked an eyebrow in wonder because he'd never really thought about it. Shaka's identity card said he was born in Japan, where he'd also lived most of his life, but obviously his blood wasn't Japanese. Generally no one asked about since Shaka never talked about it, but Silver guessed this trip might reveal more than the man would ever say about it.

 

“Where do we start then?”

 

“We keep our ears and eyes open,” Shaka replied. “I'm going to see if anyone I knew is still on the forces. We'll check with the authorities if anyone filed stolen works.”

 

“That's highly doubtful,” Silver said.

 

“True,” Badami said. “But who knows what we can read from their reactions.”

 

“Will we mention titles? Maybe they won't cooperate if they know the nature of our questions.”

 

“We won't at first,” Shaka said. “But it depends on circumstances. Eventually we might be forced to tell them. However, if they refuse to cooperate we know enough. I made copies of the file for each of you. Don't leave it hanging around.”

 

Silver took the file from Shaka's extended hand and put it in his hand luggage. His legs were already starting to hurt and they still had some hours to fly. Badami left his seat, Shaka following close behind him, and both men slid into two empty rows in front of Silver. Content the black haired man turned in his seat, stretching his legs on the two now empty seats next to him. He propped a pillow behind his back and dozed off. Plenty of time to ask questions later, he thought.

 

Shaka nestled himself much the same way as Silver, but could not sleep even if he'd wanted to. Instead he was going over a mental list of names. Names of people he'd known while at Japan's service. He wondered who'd still be there. Shaka almost wished none of them would still be present, despite the practicality of their presence in the light of the mission. It would be unavoidable, he knew that much. All he could hope for were some good guys left in the higher ranks, but for some reason he doubted that.