This isn't a City Hunter fanfic...and it's not much of a
spinoff, even though I stole one character from that show--but she only
appeared in 2 episodes (that I'm aware of).
I felt like writing this one day so here it is. No title.
Comments are most welcome since I'm unsure whether I should run with
this or not.
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She stared silently at conflagration. It appeared as a rising
sun, disturbing the still of night with its flickering dance. As the pale
amber phosphoresce played around the corona, the house continued its
decay into ash, almost unseen through the impenetrable black smoke.
The woman continued to stand from a distance--the unbearable heat
unfelt as memories and life burned to cinders. The firefighters gutted
the bowels of the screaming miasma; the woman hugged her coat and
walked away. Penetrating the darkness, the flames greedily reached
out to the night sky, but there was only the house, and the cool night
air, to feed it.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Amidst the neon glare of the Love Motel district in Tokyo were
compact buildings that, like weeds, grew unfettered and choked the life
out of naive little dens. One such portrait of innocence stood its
ground; a lonely two-storey brownstone with a modest sign that read:
Kamimura Detective Agency.
Inside the old office, a desk with an old-fashioned, black
rotary-dial telephone supported a faceless man. Faceless, since his
head was buried in his arms, and an unnerving strangling sound did not
escape his mouth but seemed to vibrate through his body. It was a
sunny day--the venetian blinds were only half-shut, allowing thin beams
to slice onto the back of the napping figure; yet they did not stir
him. The coffee, still hot, sat neglected on the far corner of the
cluttered desk, the surface on which paper clashed with paper in a
never-ending campaign to dominate space. The vacuum-like exposed areas
sucked in any passing files. The young man, having unkempt black hair
with a rebellious tuff that eternally struggled to escape his head, was
blissfully unaware of the white mass which threatened to engulf him.
His name was Seiji, and he was hard at work.
Supposedly.
Alas, tranquility was at last disturbed by someone stumbling through
the office door like a beer-stenched derelict; but this was no ordinary
derelict. She wore a purple chemise that was well-fit for a such a
well-fit figure, and white pumps. Providing a perfect match to her
dark brown eyes, her hair was tied back by an omnipresent pink bow.
Aiko Kamimura was a ravishing derelict, certainly; however her manner
had as much grace as a road accident.
"Hey! I'm back!" she yelled, squelching a hiccough. "Are you
sleeping your lazy ass again?"
She saw the sleeping body and decided that her two-stage shooting
technique was in order. Perhaps this needed a little explaining since
this method was first developed while under the protection of City
Hunter Ryo Saeba, a charming lecher. To be sure, a charming lecher is
about as likely as friendly virus but Ryo was a professional! However,
it was his partner, Kaori who, in a fit of shooting practice misfires,
had inadvertently inspired Aiko an ingenious method of target hitting:
two stage shooting. Instead of hitting the target directly, a gun can
be aimed so the bullet bounces off a number of different objects before
striking its intended target, just like in a game of billiards.
After careful consideration--and the desired level of damage--
she threw a small rubber ball which zig-zagged about the room: first
hitting a side wall, then the coffee table, then the ceiling directly
above, finally hitting Seiji's desk and shooting up into his face,
causing the man to stir. The coffee remained untouched.
He mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like 'a hot date
with Morpheus'.
"Don't you want to know how it went?" Aiko said.
He rubbed his eyes, then yawned. "Not really."
"Well, I won't be taking it."
"Hm?" he hummed, his interest piqued. He reached for the lonely
coffee.
She leaned on her desk before continuing. "Mr. and Mrs. Sakamoto
claimed they were being watched, their mail censored and objects in
their home being turned to odd angles."
"How long's this been going on?"
"Nearly 30 years."
Seiji laughed.
"It's the only case of dual delusion I have ever experienced," said
Aiko.
"So, take the case?" he smirked, knowing full well the answer.
Aiko said in a subdued tone, as if any alcohol in her system had
suddenly dissipated, "I don't think so."
Seiji sluggishly jammed his face into the coffee and
enthusiastically slurped it down, hoping the caffeine would kick in
quicker. At this moment he had several assignments floating around his
brain, so he needed to be alert. He scratched his head, his hair feeling
a little stiff.
"Aiko, have you seen my pen?"
If there was an answer, it had to wait.
"Good day, Mr. Kamimura," announced a plaid suit which encased a
diminutive man.
"Actually," Seiji pointed at Aiko, "she's Kamimura."
"Oh, I'm sorry," he said bashfully, mumbling some lame excuse about
political correctness. "My name is Mr. Tayama of Kobayashi Insurance.
Can you help me?"
"Sorry, he's the detective; I just own the place."
Flustered but attempting to maintain his composure, the insurance
representative proceeded to outline the case. "A residential house had
burned to the ground recently, and the police are sure it's arson but
have no luck in finding suspects."
"What about the person who owned the house?"
"Ah yes, a lady by the name of Watanabe The police questioned her
but she claims to have been working that night." Mr. Tayama pulled out
two cigarettes but put one back on the brisk hand wave from Seiji. "Of
course, we have our suspicions and we be
lieve it might be her; that's where you come in."
Seiji nodded in understanding.
Aiko watched admirably as the two gentlemen fade away and are
replaced with a vision of older days. The image of her father sat at
the same desk while an eight year old Aiko-chan laughed in his arms.
The mature Aiko smiled at this and remembered, 'I wanted to be a
detective to know the reason behind his practice. What promted a kind
and considerate man to be in this line of work?' She did, however,
become a detective for a short period, but after her first assignment
involving a lost dog she decided she wasn't cut out for that. Since it
was Ryo Saeba who actually solved the case, she wanted him to take over
her position so she could be his assistant. However, Ryo already had a
partner and his own specialized line of work, so he graciously declined
the offer.
"Aiko can take this case," the voice said.
Reality returned, and Aiko saw the two men observing her. "Sorry?"
"It's a simple job," Tayama said. "Seiji insists that you are the
best qualified."
"But--"
Seiji interupted. "I'm examining the physical evidence in this
case, so don't worry."
"Mrs. Watanabe is staying at a Hotel," the representative
explained, handing a card with the address and phone number to Aiko,
"so you can contact her there. Thanks and good luck." He bowed before
leaving.
A simple job? Best qualified? Aiko wasn't sure if she was
supposed to be flattered or insulted.
"Besides, you're a better people-person than I," the detective winked.
"Oh, really?" she said politely. The alcohol out of her
bloodstream, she no longer had the nerve to stand up for herself.
"Time to go. I must check out the charred remains," Seiji spoke as
he stood up. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a glass bottle
with golden liquid. "Oh, I should clean this out before my next
surveillance mission."
Aiko grimaced as Seiji allowed the bottle to rest on his desk.
"When stuck in my car and nature calls, I'd hate to have a bottle
with room for no more. Besides, waste is a terrible thing to mind," he
grinned and insinuated himself out of the room.
"Why can't you clean it now?" she said after him, but he was gone.
Her gaze rested on his desk. "He's not like my father. That's for sure."
The crystallizing urine said nothing.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The charred hulk of a house did not react when a beatup red Nissan
Micra collided with a nearby curb, effectively halting the vehicle. The
scruffy form that people knew as Seiji, crawled from the car.
"Come on, buddy," he said affectionately as he reached behind the
driver's seat to retrieve his trusty umbrella. "You won't get wet
today."
His beloved utility in hand, Seiji approached the door--what was left
of it, that is--and paused before knocking.
"Hello? May I enter?" he asked politely.
The gaping maw, created by anxious firemen, did not respond but
remained open.
"I'll take that as a 'yes'."
The trenchcoat walked through the chopped down door and inpected
the debris. He picked up the door knob separated from its host, twisted
it but it wouldn't turn. Carefully reaching the basement, he avoided
weakened floorboards by tapping his umbrella .
"Find anything yet, Ami-chan?" he asked his umbrella. If it
responded, it must have spoken in a voice that only he could hear.
The wood creaked under the pressure of his feat and the pungent
odour of sulphur lingered in his nostrils. In one corner, he noted a
pile of ash that could be old newspaper bundles that were placed by the
now blackened furnace.
Judging from the direction of the burning which traveled outward
and upward, Seiji discerned the possible cause. Remnants of rhodakit
that the police sprinkled on the ash to detect hydrocarbons showed
positive signs. The conbustion was accelerated by a deliberate
placement of parafinn, a petrol based chemical. Inspected the windows,
no sign of tampering.
He heard something or someone and ran for the stairs but in his
haste he carelessly allowed himself to step onto a weak board, and his
foot broke through causing him to be stuck in place. As he frantically
tried to free himself the adjacent wall fell towards him.
----to be continued----
I don't know. Should I continue this or what?
--Omega
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omega@io.org
small sig, eh?
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