Previous chapters can be found at:
http://www.fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=526120
-------------------------------------------------
Nabiki - Dark Justice
by Soul Survivor
Chapter III - Daily Grind

Twisting under her sheets, Nabiki slept, her mind
awash with images she desperately wished to forget. 
Her rumpled covers and bedclothes, both soaked in
sweat despite autumn's chill that crept in through her
open window were signs of the futility of her wish.

Over and over, she heard the muffle 'phut' of the
silenced pistol as the back of Toshi's head blew out
in a reddish gray mist, and all she could do was
crouch there, out of sigh behind that damn dumpster,
helpless to stop it.  The granite shore of her icy
calm was being worn down by waves of guilt, fear and
doubt, and soon there would be nothing to protect her
from the world around here, soon her soul would be
laid bare.

Then the image shifted to the fight itself, the rush
of power from the hood, the feeling of flesh and bone
giving way beneath her fists and feet, the heady smell
of cordite in the air, then the blood...  Blood on her
hands, on her shoes and spattered on her clothes as
well.  Here the demons of guilt and self loathing came
out to play, telling her how bad of a person she truly
was.  Nabiki the killer, Nabiki the unfeeling bitch
who lied to the cops with a straight face not 2 hours
after her friend was shot right in front of her.  All
of her emotions, all of her demons were seeing to it
that she paid for her sins in her own private little
hell.

Yet through all of this, there was a point of light,
an area of calm and control, Something that offered
peace to her troubled soul.  All she had to do was
claim it, use it, make it her own and all would be
well...  For a while.

Reaching out, she embraced the light, clinging to it
as a drowning man will cling to anything that will
keep him afloat.

On the edge of awareness, Nabiki thrust her hand into
her pillowcase, closing it instinctively on the scrap
of black fabric hidden within.  Pulling the hood over
her head, she felt its icy calm embrace her,
liberating her from her demons for yet another night.

Standing, she slipped out of her bedclothes tossing
them aside as she allowd the chiil night air caress
her naked flesh.  Then, slowly and deliberately, she
dressed herself in silk clothing that she had
'borrowed' from Ranma as it allowed her more freedom
of movement.  Once properly attired, she slipped from
her window to the roof and from there off into the
night.  The hood had a price for the calm it granted
her...  Now it was time to hunt.

>From his room in the attic of the Tendo Dojo, a
wrinkled old man paused in his ironing to watch the
hooded figure leave, and frowned in confusion.  While
he could feel the chi of Soun's middle daughter, he
could also sense the presence of others around her,
chi ghosts of a sort, aiding and bolstering her
energies with their own.  This bore looking into.

Torn momentarily between his curiosity and the pastel
blue panties on his ironing board, he finally decided
to keep his priorities straight and do what was
important. 'Besides' he thought to himself, 'I can
always get Saotome to check it out in the morning.' 
So, with the incident, if not forgotten than at least
files away for later reference, he returned his
attention to his beloved beauties.  "Ahh...  My silky
darlings..."

-----------------------------------------------

Hidoshi Takamoro was annoyed.  No, he was beyond
annoyed...  He was Royally Pissed.

"What the hell do you mean, his file is gone!?  I was
told that it had arrived this goddamn morning!  Are
you telling me that you managed to lose it in less
that four fucking hours!!!"

The object of the angry detectives verbal assault, a
rather flustered young file clerk at Tokyo General
Hospital, chewed her lip a moment before anwering.

"Errm...  Not lost sir, destroyed.  I shredded them
myself a little over an hour ago."

As nervous as she was, the clerk had to bite back a
smirk as the rather rude detectives face proceded to
turn a rather fascinating shade of purple, the veins
on his forehead bulging in time to the pounding of his
heart.  For just a moment, it seemed as he were going
to scream, instead, when he spoke, it was little more
than a strangled gasp.

"You...  You shredded them!!?  What the fuck for!!!"

Bringing herself fully under control, she schooled her
features into an inscrutable mask of perfect calm,
striving to keep and even tone of voice as she
answered.

"In accordance with instructions I recieved from the
Prime Ministers office, all information on the
American, Wayne Sidmonson, was destroyed and his body
turned over to the American Consulate along with all
of his personal effects."

The detectives purple face got just a little darker
upon hearing this, and his hands began to shake. 
Forcibly calming himself, Takamoro seethed at the
injustice of it all.  Finally, he was able to speak in
a reasonably calm voice.

"Did they give you any reason for this?"

With only the barest hint of a smirk, the young lady
looked Takamoro in the eye.  Pausing a second for
effect, she delivered her final verbal bitchslap in a
sacharinne laced tone.

"I'm sorry detective, that information is classified."

-----------------------------------------

Later that day, the detective had gone from pissed to
furious.  Every lead he tried to follow on the gaijin
came to a dead end.  It was as if the man had never
existed at all.  Worse than that, his only other
subject couldent exist at all.

Aside from bruises that were disproportionatly small
for the damage inflicted, his only other lead was a
smudged partial print on one of the pistols.  While
useless for ID it did tell him two things.  One, he
was dealing with either a girl or a small man with
feminine hands..  And two, he was dealing with someone
who had the presence of mind to wipe down the pistol
before leaving it behind.

According to ballistics, the pistol had accounted for
four of the Tong trash in that alley three in the head
and one through the heart to be exact.  Not to mention
on crooked cop, also through the heart.  However, it
also accounted for eight of the rounds in the late Mr.
Sidmonson which left an interesting picture.  Either
subject 'X' was involved in the shooting of the
gaijin, which didnt seem right.  Or subject 'X'
disarmed a trigger happy tong punk, capped him with is
own pistol and _then_ proceeded to open a can of
whoopass on the rest of the involved parties... 
Equally as improbable, and yet...

At least he could be sure that the pistol was not
Simonsons.  The gaijin's preference seemed to go to
larger calibers, as was evidenced by the two .50
Desert Eagles found at the scene. 'Not to mention the
rather large holes found in a few of those chink
gangsters'

So, in the end, that left him with either a girl or a
small framed man who moved like Jet Li, punched like
Mike Tyson and Shot like Billy the Kid...  Yep... 
Today was going to suck dog balls.

Tbc

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