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So, what happens when a struggling writer is both unemployed and between semesters, and decides to write a Secret Society Private Investigator Series crack fic where Hisao and Kenji are Heterosexual Life Partners/Vitriolic Best Buds while Hisao is Happily Married to Hanako?

…Well, you prove what happens when you write after drinking too many Kilted Mexicans, for one. You also get…

Hisao and Kenji- Master Detectives!

Now with it's very own (er, sorta) theme song!


(Thanks Helbereth)

TV Tropes Page

Mystery One: O Father, Where Art Thou?
Part One: The Job (This Post)
The Clues
The Informant
Infiltration
Retrieval
Mission Complete
----
Mystery Two: Wherehouse, Warehouse?
The Client
The Trail
Infiltration
Allies
Complications
Retrieval
----
Mystery Three: Mason-Free
Moving In
Arrival
Exposition
Assault
Escape
Dinner
----
Mystery Four: Templar, Templar
The Plan
Border Descent
Infiltration
Download
Escape
----
Mystery Five: Quia Peccavi Nimis
Questions
The Plan
Infiltration
Distraction
Monologue
Escape
----
Mystery Six: The Final Showdown?
Planning
Allies
Infiltration
Placement
Escape
----
Hisao and Akira(?!)- Terror in the Night!
----
Mystery Seven: Hisao and Kenji Versus the Predator
Prey
Equipment
Bait
The Hunt
Worthy
----
Mystery Eight: Art Seizery
Composition
Pastiche
Contrast
Shadowing
Framing
----
Mystery Nine: The Illuminati’s Revenge!
Determination
Backup
Infiltration
Resurgence
Armor
----
Mystery Ten: From Sea to Shining Sea
The Client
Day One
Day Two
Day Three
Day Four
----
Mystery Eleven: Lending a Hand
Uninvited Guests
Exposition
Conversations
Confrontation
Negotiation
More Conversation
----
Mystery Twelve: The Final Mystery?
The Client
The Contact
Diplomacy
Breakdown
Aggressive Negotiations
Conclusion?
----
One Shots:
Sparring and Scarring (chronologically follows Mystery One)
Drink Hard on a Couch (chronologically follows Mystery Eight)
Hisao and Kenji: Masterful One Shots!
----

Theme:

In the not too distant future
Somewhere in north Japan
Hisao Nakai and bro Kenji
Were plotting a half-baked plan
The world was run by Puppeteers
The names of you should know
They ran the world from afar,
So the Duo grabbed a gun
And blew them into tar.

“WE’LL STOP YOU!!”

We’ll call forth our fast armies,
The best we can buy (la-la-la.)
They’ll have to stand and fight them all,
Or else they will die (la-la-la.)

Keep in mind these two are hit
With heart and vision aches (la-la-la.)
Good thing that they have help
And the list really takes the cake.

Ally Roll Call:

The Warehouse! (Don’t tell Artie!)
David Sarif! (Its evolution, son!)
Freemasons! (We’re all dead now!)
Itachiiiiiiii! (I want my money!)

If you’re wondering from where they get
All of they’re cool toys (la-la-la),
Just repeat to yourself “its just a fic
For reading with the boys…”
For Hisao and Kenji- Master Detectives! (twang!)

Kenji’s office always depressed me. It was dark, it was dirty, and it was in a cheap, poorly lit part of town.

The office I spent far too much time in was actually a converted studio apartment, with the living area transformed into an office. A large dark wooden desk sat prominently in the middle of the only real room, a couple of nearly burnt out lights flickering overhead. A cot and sleeping bag were shoved into a far corner, while a green metal stack of drawers was to the left of the desk in a different corner. Papers and books were piled everywhere, as were a few stray drawers- I really needed to stack those somewhere. And buy another bookcase, to put next to the one on the right of the desk. A coffee pot was… somewhere around.

The desk was disturbingly clean, with just a flat calendar, a half-empty bottle of whiskey, and two glasses sitting on it. A laptop and printer were hefted to one side as well. A half-empty pizza box was perched on a nearby stool, the flap still open from lunch. Kenji still hated phones, so we used my cell phone a lot. Kenji Setou leaned back in his desk office chair, his black shoes perched on the desk while he stared at the ceiling after one too many shots. His eyes, partially hidden behind thick, round glasses, glinted in the dim lighting as he pondered some crazy thing or another. His hands were behind his back, ruffling his black hair in the process.

As for myself, Hisao Nakai, I sat in a simple green folding chair across from him, reading a book in between glances to the front door down the, for lack of a better word, “hallway.” We’re both wearing somewhat casual brown suits, although Kenji’s red and gold scarf was wrapped around him as usual.

Once again I question why I’m here, ten years after graduating high school with my work partner. Well, I’m his partner- he owned the office, he’s the private investigator, technically I’m just his secretary, but he insisted I be his partner, entitled to half the profits from jobs. Which reminded me again why I was here.

I owed him money. The irony did not escape me. Otherwise I wouldn’t be here; I had a job, I had a wife, I had two kids. If it wasn’t summer break, I wouldn’t even be here at three in the afternoon on a Wednesday. I still had papers to grade, a wife’s manuscript to look over and compliment, and possibly a partner’s body to hide when I finally snapped and hit him over the head with the whiskey bottle.

“Relax, man,” Kenji said, his voice piercing the sullen silence of the office like a foghorn. He may be legally blind, but over the years he’s developed an odd ability to sense my mood.

“I would, if we had had a job in three months,” I said to him, not looking up from my book, “good thing we both have day jobs, or we would be out of business and on the street.”

“Nah, that wouldn’t happen,” Kenji said, “Hanako makes more than either my writing or your salary, she would cut her hair before she’d let us out on the street.”

Fair point, but unfortunately, I was personally one whiskey shot past being rational when it came to arguing something. Especially arguing with a borderline schizophrenic conspiracy theorist wearing a scarf in the middle of the summer.

Fortunately, Kenji was spared my rant by the front door opening, the business sign clattering lightly on the white wooden door as it creaked open. It took me a second longer then it should have to recognize the entrant. Her long bubblegum pink hair should’ve given it away, but seeing Shiina “Misha” Mikado in a brown skirted suit struck me as so out of place that my brain refused to accept it for a few seconds. The two briefcases she held in each hand didn’t help, either.

“Misha?” I asked, as Kenji was too blind to see the newcomer. He did straighten up and quickly hide the bottle of whiskey in a desk drawer, though.

“Misha, that lackey for the Student Council President?” Kenji asked.

Misha nodded to me and put her hands on her hips. Well, she tried to, “I was her translator, not lackey~!”

“Pay no attention to the man behind the desk,” I said, “welcome to Setou Private Investigative Services, how can we help you?”

I stood up and offered her the third chair, a simple brown rolling office chair. She placed the cases next to her and sat, smoothing her skirt out along the way. She quickly grabbed one of the briefcases and placed it in her lap. Kenji, meanwhile, leaned in close to her face in order to see her, which she didn’t seem to mind.

Kenji grunted, “well, how can we help you?”

Kenji had never gotten over some of our high school grudges, and Kenji’s near one man feud against the Student Council was one of them. Hell, if we didn’t need the money, he probably would’ve thrown her out.

Misha sighed, clinging to the case as she spoke, “Shicchan’s father has gone missing, maybe~.”

That got our attention. I had met Jigoro Hakamichi once, during his niece’s wedding. The thought of that bear of a man missing was disconcerting- the sword he carried everywhere should’ve been easy to spot, at least.

“Start from the beginning, please,” Kenji said. At least he could be polite as a professional courtesy.

“Last night, Shic-er, Shizune’s- father went to a bar near the international airport, and he never came back. I would go to the police, but Shizune found this,” Misha hefted the case onto the desk and opened it with a loud snap, “with her mother’s personal affects a while ago, and she thinks it’s related to his disappearance.”

Kenji looked closely into the contents of the case, a bunch of manila folders. As he started taking them out and placing them on the desk, we both were able to see the black ink stamp on the top left of each one. Each folder had a different thickness and stamp.

“Shizune is familiar with your writing,” Misha said to Kenji, “do you recognize these symbols?”

“Of course I do!” Kenji said, holding up the first folder, which had a stamp of a floating eyeball above a pyramid, the eye within the top part, which was slightly separated from the rest of the structure, “this is the Illuminati’s symbol! And this,” he pointed a finger at another one, bearing the Eye of Horus Egyptian glyph- don’t ask how I knew that, “is the Eye of Horus! I don’t know much about them, but what I’ve found mentions ‘Regents,’ ‘artifacts,’ and ‘Warehouses.’”

Kenji dug deeper into the case, pulling out two more folders, “this is the Knights Templar symbol,” he said, pointing to a perfectly symmetrical red cross, the one stamp not in black ink, “and this,” another cross, but this one was inside a shield, “is the Knights Hospitaller.”

Kenji stopped at the last folder, stamped with a right and compass forming an almost triangle around an English letter G. He frowned at that one, “this is the Freemasons, but they’re a part of the Illuminati. Nominally, at least- the war between the two never went hot.”

“See, you look at these and you believe that they’re real~!” Misha cut in, “if we went to the police, or to his company, they’d laugh at us. That’s why we need you~.”

“His company?” I asked.

Misha nodded, “Shizune’s father is a senior partner with Yutani Private Military Contractors and Security. They have the resources to find him, but they wouldn’t take anything we said seriously,” Misha turned from me to face Kenji, “but you do, so that’s why we need you to find him.”

Misha hefted the other case and opened it with it facing her. She pulled out some more folders and placed them on the desk, “this is all the information we can get about his job, his work, and his last known locations. We know this will be hard to do, so we’re willing to pay well,” she turned the case around and plopped it onto the desk, “this is the first half, you get the rest when he’s found and safely brought back from… wherever he is.”

The briefcase was full of cash. A lot of cash. Enough cash that, with the other half, I wouldn’t have to work for Kenji again.
Kenji looked into the second case, the new folders, and even sniffed and flipped through some of the wads of cash. Then he looked at me, his eyes narrowed in thought. I sighed, nodded, and we both turned to Misha and said as one:

“We’ll take the job.”

+++

Next Chapter

I really miss my sanity sometimes. Feedback is, as always, appreciated.

Also, you’re welcome for not linking to TV Tropes.

Also also, don’t worry, USM fans, that is still an ongoing project. Writing this is pure catharsis for me.

This looks somewhat promising, although having two disabled people as detectives has its drawbacks, especially since one is nearly blind even with glasses and the other could die at any moment. But I can forfeit realism for entertainment.

Roamin12 wrote:This looks somewhat promising, although having two disabled people as detectives has its drawbacks, especially since one is nearly blind even with glasses and the other could die at any moment. But I can forfeit realism for entertainment.

Thanks, because realism is going out the window next chapter Well, depending on your personal definition of realism, at least.

Hisao will address the difficulties of two disabled detectives in the next chapter

This is a hilarious concept. I hope it turns out as good as I imagine it will.
Also, imagine Kenji in a fedora?

The O.H.L. wrote:This is a hilarious concept. I hope it turns out as good as I imagine it will.
Also, imagine Kenji in a fedora?

Hmmm... I like the way you think.

And the Insanity continues.

Previous Chapter

Part Two: The Clues

Misha left after filling out some forms- basically a contract and some tax documents, nothing serious. While she filled those out Kenji pored over the various folders, his eyes narrowing as he brought the pages mere inches from his face. Once she left he threw one of them down and pointed at it dramatically.

“This is perfect!” he practically shouted, “all this time my work has missed this kind of information! Dates, names, locations, plans, even intelligence reports on the other organizations! The next time my publisher bitches about ‘fact-checking’ I can throw these folders in her face!”

He nudged the folders toward me and I reluctantly started glancing through them. It hurt to admit it, but it looked like the documents were on the level. All this time I had just assumed Kenji was insane, and while I still believed that, it looked like he was right about at least some of what he had been ranting and writing about for the last eleven years.
The more I looked at these folders, the more nervous I became. This was serious stuff here, and if these groups were as powerful as the documents before me indicated, me, Kenji, and my family could be in serious shit. How much shit, I had no idea at the time. Lucky for my family, most of it landed on me and Kenji.

While I looked through the folders, my heart beating a bit erratically every now and then, Kenji was looking through the clues Misha had provided us. The prospect of a payoff had probably managed to focus him on the task at hand. That or he was biding his time until he could scan and save every single paper Misha had given us.

After an hour or so, with a shot of whiskey in hand to calm my heart- yes I know it only aggravated my arrhythmia, I didn’t care at that point- Kenji told me a rough outline of what went wrong with Mr. Hakamichi’s day.

“Two days ago, around six pm, Mr. Hakamichi left his work to go home, according to his secretary,” Kenji said, “however, an hour later he was spotted on security camera footage across the street from the Brass Wok.”

The Brass Wok was a dive bar near the airport. The only thing that kept it in business was a few dozen local drunks who hadn’t keeled over from liver failure yet. Kenji and I went there at least once a week. For a dive, it was pretty well stocked, and they had the best Jamaican chicken wings I’ve ever tasted. One of Kenji’s informants worked there, too.

“Roughly four hours later, he walked out of the Wok and ended up in a nearby alley. After that, the trail goes cold.”

“I don’t suppose someone checked the alley before they hired us?” I asked.

Kenji nodded, “Misha and Shizune did it themselves when he didn’t come back the next day. They didn’t find any signs of a struggle, or his sword. They would have gone into the Wok, but it was closed.”

I nodded at that, though he probably didn’t see me, “all right, so we go to the Wok and ask Itachi if he saw or heard anything, and move on from there. Easy enough.”

“Not quite,” Kenji said, fiddling with his scarf, “we have a couple snags here. One, if there’s no signs of a struggle, he either knew his assailant or was knocked unconscious. Both of those possibilities have my spleen worked up.”
I used to roll my eyes whenever Kenji mentioned his spleen, but the thing was a disturbingly accurate alarm for danger. It reminded me of Ciaphas Cain- HERO OF THE IMPERIUM- ‘s itching palms. I straightened up in my chair as I digested this new information.

“This is sounding more and more like a bad idea,” I said. A new thought struck me, “wait, this can’t be a coincidence. Shizune’s father goes to a bar we frequent for information, disappears, and now we’re being hired to find out what happened.”

Kenji shrugged, “maybe, man. But I can’t let an opportunity like this pass by. I can finally expose these organizations to the world, so thoroughly and convincingly that they can be brought down once and for all! Besides, for all we know, he just went out the other side of the alley and passed out somewhere and got lost,” Kenji’s face became almost maniacal in its passion as he added, “besides, if it is a trap for me, that just means I’m getting closer to revealing the truth.”

Kenji’s eyes went from maniacal to mischievous, and he ducked down to one of the desk’s drawers. A moment later he came back up and set four small clips of ammunition and two small black pistols with stubby barrels on the desk.

“What. Are. Those?” I asked.

“Type 94 Nambu semi-auto pistols,” Kenji said, as if it were obvious, “six round clips of 8 mm ammo, with iron sights. They even fit in our suit pockets. They may be sixty years old, but they still work- I maintain these babies myself.”

As nice as it was to know he could maintain small, delicate machines despite his poor sight, I couldn’t help planting my palm firmly on my forehead after he had finished describing the pistols.

“Never mind how you got World War II era weapons,” I said through my hand, “and never mind the illegality of us possessing them, has it occurred to you that if we end up in a gunfight, the odds are very likely we will both die? You’re blind and I have a heart condition!”

Kenji frowned as he grabbed one of the pistols, examined it, and slammed a clip inside it, “dude, I thought of that. First, I am only legally blind, and all my other senses are at ninja-like levels.”

I doubted that; while Hanako’s blind friend Lilly had managed to get her other senses to Daredevil-like points, Kenji was still pathetically dependent on his limited eyesight.

“And my arrhythmia?” I asked.

“Duh, man, you have a good handle on it, I’m sure you can take a quick burst of adrenaline and exercise.”
This was sort of true; over the years the number of pills I had to take each day had been halved, and I had started a regular jogging/running routine years ago. Still, I doubted any doctor would approve me for performing my own stunts in some high octane action movie. With live ammunition. Kenji seemed adamant on the point, so I sighed and took the gun, sticking it in my left inside jacket pocket, and, almost as an afterthought, shoved the two ammo clips into the right pocket. Good thing I didn’t smoke, or neither would’ve fit.

“There, happy?”

Kenji nodded, and we left the office, locking the door behind us. On the way out we grabbed our brown fedoras on the hat stand by the door, because apparently it’s a rule that all private investigators have to look like American Roaring Twenties gangsters. At least we looked good doing it.

As we left the office, I couldn’t help but hope that this job wasn’t going to be as bad as Kyoto. Naturally I drove us to the bar, an annoyingly long drive in which I called my wife and told her that I’d be late for dinner, and endured another of Kenji’s rants. It took a while, but once we got to near the airport’s outskirts, I managed to find a parking spot, and we walked into the aging wooden dive bar.

I swear the place predated the first Shogun- the building was almost entirely wood, aging wood that had splintered and cracked over the years, decades, or centuries. Every time we came here I wondered how the building stayed upright- the scattered wooden pillars were held up with old phone books and hope. The place was a giant safety violation, but no one cared enough to close it down. At least it was relatively well lit, with old cast iron fixtures bolted wherever a stud refused to rot away.

“Hey man!” Kenji shouted to the bartender, a tall dark skinned man with braided black hair.

I told you, best Jamaican chicken wings in Japan. The bartender, Derrick, waved a greeting and gestured for us to sit down on two old stools. Our informant, the janitor/waiter Itachi, was sweeping the floor on the other side of the building. He was a short young man with dark brown hair and gray eyes, his white apron stained gray. Other then the four of us and the cook in the back, the place was empty.

We took off our hats and settled into the two offered seats, which creaked as we sat in them, and before our eyes two shots of fifteen year old single malt scotch appeared in front of us.

“So what brings you two here in the middle of the week?” Derrick asked.

Kenji and I shrugged, “we need to borrow your janitor for a minute,” I said.

“Ah, it’s like that,” Derrick frowned, “why you always here for my janitor, man? You don’t evah come here just for drinks and wings anymore.”

Kenji laughed, “you know you’re our favorite bartender, man. Coming to visit you must remain a special occasion- Itti’s work related, you know.”

Derrick sighed and barked for Itachi, “I’m gonna go make you guys some wings.”

Itachi took a seat next to Kenji while Derrick wandered off to the kitchen to bark at his cook. Fortunately for us, Derrick was pretty relaxed about his waiter’s second job as our weasel. Hiring him had been a hallmark of Kenji’s PI career, if you let Kenji rant about it long enough. He and Itachi’s grandfather’s had served together during the war, and Kenji was able to suck him in with the whole “brothers in brotherhood” spiel. The money probably helped, too.

“So what do you need now?” Itachi asked.

Kenji sipped his scotch before answering, “was Jigoro Hakamichi here two days ago?”

Normally, Itachi and Kenji played the “my mind is fuzzy, could you refresh it?” gag, so I was surprised when Itachi nodded and sighed.

“Yes, and I think he knew you would come after him,” he said. He turned in his stool to face us, and only then did I notice the fear and resolution in his eyes, “he has a message for anyone coming to find him, one he told me: for the sake of his children, stop looking.”

That stunned both of us. By the time we had recovered, our wings were ready, a nice pile of them on a platter before us.

“You know we can’t do that, man,” Kenji said finally.

Itachi sighed again, “I know. Just, be careful. I’ve…heard things.”

Kenji raised an eyebrow while I started on the wings, “What kinds of… things?”

Itachi’s eyes went from fearful to calculating in an instant, “I don’t know, my memory is a little…”

“Fuzzy,” I cut in. Itachi nodded. Kenji sighed and pulled out his wallet from a pocket. He waved a few thousand yen in the waiter’s face, which lit up at the sight of the notes.

“Hmm, I remember something about the…Yakuza.”

Oh fuck.

“What?” the four of us said. Derrick had heard Itachi, too.

“I’m not sure,” Itachi said.

Kenji, to his credit, did have a sense of nobility about him. Perhaps that’s why he downed his shot and threw the glass at Itachi. His aim was off by about three feet, but that might have been on purpose.

“Hey!” Derrick said as Kenji grabbed Itachi by the apron.

“This concerns the family of some old high school friends, and I would appreciate your help in the matter, okay?”

The idea of Kenji considering Shizune and Misha friends was as startling as it was a lie. More likely Kenji’s curiosity had been piqued by the mention of the Japanese mob. Or he didn’t want to pay for the information, either was likely.

“Tell us what you know, and we’ll double your usual fee,” I said, trying to keep the peace. Itachi nodded heavily, and Kenji let go of him.

“All right, you got it. Just calm down,” Itachi sighed, closed his eyes, and opened them a minute later, “Jigoro Hakamichi used to be a member of the Yakuza- he got out years ago, after leaving a trail of bodies and some missing limbs. He built that business of his on old contacts and friends who had gotten out, too. Unfortunately, his work with them left him enemies outside of the organization.”

“What kind of work was that?” I asked.

“Espionage on potential rival groups. Turns out he had a ton of dirt on all these ancient societies. He kept it for protection for his family- see, they have this weird honor system, because he was able to get the information without killing any of the other organization’s members, they couldn’t touch him.”

“What about the Yakuza?” I asked.

Itachi shrugged, “simply put, when he was done with them there weren’t enough left to do anything about it.”

“Are you saying they’ve grabbed him for revenge?” Kenji asked as he nibbled a wing.

Itachi shook his head, “never, he’d wipe them out.”

The idea that the only people Jigoro had killed were his own did not settle my nervous heart.

“Well then who did?” Kenji asked.

“I have no idea, but, I do have a theory,” Itachi said, “those secret organizations suffer from major infighting sometimes, and it wouldn’t surprise me if one faction within one of them wanted that info Jigoro had to advance their own clandestine career.”

“What about the honor system?” I asked.

Itachi laughed, the nervous laugh of a man caught between two brawling giants, “anyone willing to use the info is either scum or desperate, and neither of those groups tend to care one shit about honor.”

“Anything else?” I asked.

“Just one thing,” Iatachi said as he got off the stool, “if you do find him, he’s just as likely to kill you for finding him as he is to thank you.”

The weasel stuck out his hand and Kenji forked over his payment.

“We’re fucked,” I said after another drink and some wings. Remembering my earlier shots, I made a mental note to not drink for a few days to give my liver- and my heart- some time to recover.

“Nah, we got a real lead now,” Kenji said, smiling maniacally again as the bar’s lighting once again glinted against his glasses.
“How so?” I asked, tipsy enough to humor him.

“If he did that much damage to the Yakuza, odds are good they’re watching him, looking for a possible sign of weakness in case they want revenge.”

I rolled my eyes, “wonderful, all we have to do is contact the Japanese mob and ask them to admit to stalking and possibly conspiring to commit murder.”

Kenji’s smile didn’t waver as he finished his second shot and said to me in a dramatic whisper, “I know how to contact them.”

+++

Next Chapter

I. Love. My. Job.

Now if I could only find out why the post insists on posting without spaces between paragraphs, despite having it set for that in my document.

Yep, I’m still writing this. I’m writing it anyway, I felt I should share my joy with others.

Previous Chapter

Part Three: The Informant


Midnight in a parking garage, how cliché. Fortunately, my wife was very understanding. Still, I owed her a weekend without the kids somewhere north. She did love traveling.

The spot Kenji and I were standing in didn’t echo, in a small smoking nook near the elevator, surrounded by gray concrete that was decently new, though chips and cracks had started to form along the walls. I didn’t know how Kenji knew this guy or contacted him- frankly I didn’t want to know. Kenji kept looking around, his head scanning the pillars and empty spaces around us. Our car was somewhere to the right. The lights hanging above us cast shadows all over the place, making the entire garage floor seem like some strange, modern cave of spooky wonder. Beyond the garage the hum of city life throbbed on, oblivious to two of its kind waiting in a small corner for someone from a different world, a world below the one outside, and yet, still part of it. The sound of footsteps echoing quietly through the floor made us both dart our heads to the left. From the long, grasping shadows came a young man in a black suit, with black hair and a thin beard.

He lifted his hands non-threateningly and came a bit closer, slowly walking towards us until he was in the echo-free zone.

“You called?” he asked Kenji. His voice was low and surprisingly young, the voice of a man who has seen things that aged him prematurely.

Kenji nodded, “I need some help, man, and you’re my only lead. A man’s life hangs in the balance.”

The informant raised a hand, “I don’t want to know. Eighty thousand yen now, or I walk away.”

I sighed and paid the man, pulling a thick wad of cash in an envelope from my inside jacket pocket. Good thing Kenji still liked to hang onto large bills. The informant glanced around and pocketed the money in his suit, giving me a chance to notice the concealed gun holster over his shirt. He looked around again before asking, “what do you need to know?”

“We need to find Jigoro Hakamichi,” I said, “he’s gone missing.”

The Informant’s eyes went wide, “you’re fucked.”

“We know,” I said, “can you help us find him or not?”

The Informant scratched his chin for a second before nodding, “I can. Give me… two days and another fifty thousand, and I’ll give you all the info you need to find him.”

“Not good enough,” Kenji said, “we need to find him soon, if we wait too long he might not be alive when we find him. They grabbed him for information, not ransom.”

The Informant shrugged, “not my problem. However,” he continued, seeing the rage forming on Kenji’s face, “I think I have an idea who grabbed him. If I’m lucky, I’ll have the info you need in… twelve hours. Perhaps less.”

“And the fee?” I asked.

“Keep the extra fee,” he answered, “if he is where I think he is, you two fucking them up will be reward enough.”

“Who do you think has him?” Kenji asked.

The Informant turned to leave, “you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“The Illuminati?” Kenji asked as he walked away.

He stopped in his tracks. Turning his head slightly, the Informant nodded, “that’s my guess. You know how I’ll reach you.”

“Be quick, man,” Kenji said as he left.

“I always am,” The Informant replied, his voice echoing in the garage. It was weird, but one moment I saw him, and when I blinked again, he was gone.

“I’m going home,” I said, “and you’re coming with me to explain to my wife why I spent the last day working with you.”

Kenji shook his head, “no way, man, we need to wait at the office for his info. Besides, you might lead someone to your home if we’re being followed.”

I groaned and assented- he had a point. Just how much a point, I found out a few minutes later. As we were walking back to the car I stumbled, just in time for the bullet zinging towards my head to miss me. Its muted sound echoed through the garage while Kenji shoved us behind a nearby pillar. I got a glimpse of two men in odd looking suits lurking somewhere in the vast expanse of gray before we were behind the concrete pillar.

“What the hell?” I said, “who the fuck is shooting at us?”

“Whoever they are,” Kenji said as he grabbed his pistol, “they’re not Yakuza.”

“How do you know?” I asked.

“I can recognize Yakuza- police reports, web articles, old memoirs, I can tell man. Hell, I can feel it in my spleen, these guys aren’t the mob.”

Kenji fired three quick shots and ducked back next to me. I checked my heart rate and waited for more incoming fire, but none came. Slowly, gun in hand, we both looked beyond the pillar. The gun felt cold and unfamiliar in my palm, so I tried to focus on the fact that someone was shooting at me.

“They’re gone,” I said eventually.

Kenji smiled, “it worked. Whoever they were, they weren’t ready for a fight, so when we gave them one, they backed out to avoid leaving more evidence. C’mon, we need to get back to the office- after checking the car for trackers or bombs.”

The car was fortunately devoid of bombs or tracking devices, but I still took a long and insanely circuitous route back to the office. As soon as we were back Kenji locked, bolted, and chained the door, slapping the CLOSED sign onto the door as he did so. Barely after I had hung my hat he had cleared the desk and set it on its side with the top facing the door. Apparently he kept a sawed-off shotgun under it, because he was holding one while he checked to see if it was loaded.

“Yes, a desk will save us from some ancient secret society,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“Duh, this desk has a bullet proof layer built into it. As long as they don’t have grenades or artillery, we’re fine.”

Way to boost my confidence, Kenji. The Informant had been surprisingly speedy, since a mere seven hours later- during which I once again upset my wife with another call explaining why I was not with her- he had sent me a simple text saying to check our mailbox. Reluctantly unlocking the door and removing the sign, I went downstairs to the shabby lobby and yanked out a small padded envelope from our slot. When I brought it to Kenji he carefully looked through the papers inside.

“This is not good,” Kenji said, showing me the papers as he laid them out on the floor, “floor plan, security camera locations, address, how the hell did he get all this? He even has estimated number of personnel on location.”

I looked over the papers. Looked like Shizune’s father was being held in a very large basement of a dry cleaner’s place. The basement had a long hall and five doors inside- one for a security room, two for servers, a very large broom closet, and a break room. Simple and effective. The security cameras covered every inch of the place, and it looked like six armed guards were constantly on duty, each one armed with a katana, machine pistol, flashbang grenades, and body armor.

I sighed and looked up at Kenji, “we’re fucked.”

That’s when the door flew open.

+++

Next Chapter

Dun Dun…DUN.

I’m having fun. This is fun for me. The pacing sucks, but I’m having fun. I hope you are, too.

You seem to end the scenes perfectly, because every time i hit the end I'm like "Gah! Don't End there, What happens next?!?!"

I love it.

AusJake wrote:You seem to end the scenes perfectly, because every time i hit the end I'm like "Gah! Don't End there, What happens next?!?!"

I love it.

Thanks

Properly ending a chapter can be tricky to do, so I figure the easiest way is a cliffhanger.

Kenji as a Private Investigator detective? Oh, I'm digging up my old noir ff for this

As Hisao (my version) would say, "OH IT'S ON LIKE DONKEY KONG, MOTHA FOKKA ... WE GONNA BE ALL ASCENDED FLUTIST/TONY246 ALL UP ON THIS BE-OTCH"

lolawesome wrote:Kenji as a Private Investigator detective? Oh, I'm digging up my old noir ff for this

As Hisao (my version) would say, "OH IT'S ON LIKE DONKEY KONG, MOTHA FOKKA ... WE GONNA BE ALL ASCENDED FLUTIST/TONY246 ALL UP ON THIS BE-OTCH"

Works for me, you do the gritty, tense, realistic stuff that makes people think and question the world around them, and I'll handle the crack crossover fics

Let me guess...
Lilly got worried and sent Akira to check on them. And now Akira is going to help them rescue her favourite uncle
Kicking ass, of course.

Mirage_GSM wrote:Let me guess...
Lilly got worried and sent Akira to check on them. And now Akira is going to help them rescue her favourite uncle
Kicking ass, of course.

I thought about that, but I figured Akira getting involved was too obvious.

Ass will be kicked, however. Of this I am sure

Normally I’d say something witty, or sardonic, or… something here, but I think this fic perfectly encapsulates my mental state.

Previous Chapter

Part Four: Infiltration


The only thing that saved our client from a torso full of buckshot, besides my partner’s blindness, was that I was able to shove the shotgun down when I recognized the two women in the doorway. As I said, Misha hadn’t changed much, and neither had her partner, Shizune. Her suit was black, the skirt was shorter then Misha’s, and her black hair was longer and in a ponytail then the last time I saw her. Other then that, the former Yamaku High School Student Council looked more or less the same as they did ten years ago. They even acted the same.

While I helped Kenji right the desk Shizune started signing furiously to Misha, who quickly verbally translated what her deaf partner said.

“Shicchan wants to know what you’ve found and what your plan is,” as an aside, Misha added, “sorry about this, but she insisted on coming down here~.”

“It’s alright,” I said, while Kenji moved the papers from the floor to the desk, his disdain for Shizune radiating from every pore.

“We just hit a major breakthrough, actually,” Kenji said, smiling mischievously, “and when I’m through with his kidnappers, those motherfuckers won’t know what hit them.”

“What are you thinking?” I asked, concern evident in my tone. While I remembered my morning meds, Kenji started pulling things from desk drawers, explaining the plan along the way.

“First, we fry the security camera above the dry cleaner’s front door. I have a handy little device for that. Then we pick the locks into the building and down to the basement. After that, all we have to do is sneak around until we find Jigoro, get him out, and blow the place to hell.”

“Excuse me?” I asked.

Kenji rolled his eyes, “relax, man, I mean metaphorically. I have two powerful electromagnets for frying the security footage and cameras, so they won’t have a record of us, and I have some grenades for the servers and any hard tape footage they may have. As for the guards, all we have to do is aim for the head.”

My partner, the insane Asian Rambo Ninja James Bond, “do you hear yourself? How the hell do you expect us to pull that off?”

Kenji frowned, “duh, because it’s so insane, it has to work.”

“Shicchan agrees,” Misha cut in, shocking me thoroughly, “but…” Misha looked concerned.

“What is it?” I asked as I placed my face within my palm.

“Shicchan wants to go with you two, and Misha, too. Wait a minute, I’m Misha!” the two entered a signing battle while Kenji groaned.

“No way in hell are we dragging a couple of amateurs with us,” he said.

“In that case I’m out, too,” I said, “no way am I going into some secret society’s information storage outpost, or whatever this place is. The last thing I need is a repeat of Kyoto.”

“That reminds me,” Kenji said, “I need to bring a flash drive to try and save as much information as I can before I blow it.”

Shizune and Misha stopped signing and Shizune started glaring at Kenji. Leaning over the desk, she was only a few inches from his face as their eyes locked onto each other through their glasses. The two stared at each other for a while, until Kenji groaned and flew his hands into the air.

“Fine, he’s your father, anyway. If you’re going, you’re coming prepared,” Kenji ducked down and pulled more toys from his desk drawers. Most people keep office supplies in their desk, I’m told.

“Here,” Kenji placed four cylindrical like devices on the desk, two round grenades, and two more pistols with two clips of ammo each. One pistol looked older, with a sleek black body. The other was slightly newer, and shining metal.

Kenji pointed to the silvery one, “Browning Pistol. I had to go American for some of my weapons, but if it’s good enough for the Burned Man, it’s good enough for me. As for the other one, we have a World War I era Colt .45. You hit someone with that, they’ll feel it for a while, assuming they live.”

“WHERE ARE YOU GETTING ALL THESE WEAPONS?!” I had officially reached my insanity quota for the week- maybe the month.

Kenji shrugged, “I know people, man.”

I groaned again, “there is no way in hell I’m going down into that basement, and I can’t let the girls go, either.”

“You can’t stop us from going~,” Misha said, her bubbly voice gone in the face of what we were planning.

“Hisao, bro,” Kenji said, putting a hand on my shoulder, “I need you for this, man. You are the only person I trust, and I need someone I trust to watch my back.”

I sighed and glanced around me. Shizune was looking at us, her eyes watering as she sadly looked onward, her face saying “help us, you two are our only hope.”

“Damnit,” I said, grabbing the Nambu back from the floor where I had tossed it when I came back here, along with the ammo. Misha and Shizune looked at the weapons arrayed on the desk.

“Each of you take a pistol and a flashbang,” Kenji said as he loaded his pockets. I did the same,
taking a grenade and a flashbang. Misha frowned.

“I hate guns,” she said.

“Trust me, you want one,” I said. I hated to admit it, but everything so far was screaming at me to bring a gun and be thankful for the quick lesson Kenji had give me while we had waited for the Informant’s information. Shizune prodded her with an elbow, and sighing, she took the Browning. Shizune signed something to Misha, which made her look… distraught.

“Er, Shicchan says she doesn’t want a gun, but if you have a knife or a sword, she’ll take that.”

Kenji reached into his desk drawer again and pulled out a strange looking sheathed knife. It was gray metal with a sturdy looking wooden handle, and when he showed the blade to Shizune it curved at the end, “here, it’s a Bowie Knife.” When Shizune didn’t take the Colt, I did, almost as an afterthought.

Once we were all armed- Shizune tying the knife sheath around her left ankle- Kenji nodded and said, “alright, let’s do this.”

Misha drove us to the dry cleaner’s, or rather two blocks south of the dry cleaner’s, mainly because I insisted we take her car- she and Shizune didn’t have two kids; I do. Calm down, I’m kidding- Shizune insisted we taker her car. Parking in a lot by a shoe store, the four of us stopped just next to the dry cleaner’s alley, through which we could get to the back door. Thanks to the relatively early hour of the day, the streets were pretty much deserted. Kenji pulled a small round metal device from an inside suit pocket and made his way around the one story gray building. The device was covered in cables, and I had no idea what it did or how it worked. All I knew was Kenji somehow climbed onto the roof and dropped the thing on the alley camera over the back door. At least, that’s what he told me when he got back several tense minutes later.

“Are you sure?” I asked, doubting his eyesight.

Kenji frowned, “of course man, I heard it snap on and everything.”

Not reassured, we slowly entered the alley. It was surprisingly clean, with only a small dumpster and some trash cans inside it. The camera over the back door did indeed have the device on it, and when six heavily armed men didn’t come bursting through the orange door in front of us, Kenji kneeled down and picked it open.

“This place is open, you know,” I whispered.

“Then we’ll be careful,” Kenji said, grabbing his pistol and peering inside. He waved us forward as he walked in, and we followed.

The door led into a storage room filled with cleaning supplies in various boxes, tubs, and buckets. The room was pretty small; the four of us barely fit between the light wooden shelves on either side of us. The orange door in front of us was unlocked, and as we opened it we were almost caught by an employee. Kenji managed to quickly and quietly shut the door, and when no one opened it he peered out again. If you’re wondering why we were letting the blind guy take point, he volunteered, and no one else was willing to do it. Again he waved us on, and we quickly darted into the small employee bathroom across from us. The basement door was to our left, all we had to do was get inside.

Fortunately for us, that got easy when the bathroom door was shoved open and who I presumed to be the angry bald owner stood in front of us, broom in hand. I just noticed the odd ring on his right hand when Kenji raised his pistol.

“I will use this,” Kenji said as the owner immediately lunged forward. Kenji fired a single shot, hitting the guy in the left knee- probably by accident. The older man groaned and collapsed on the floor. Kenji kneeled down and checked him for weapons, pulling out a small pistol from a concealed holster, which he tossed into the toilet. He also quickly peered down at the man’s ring as he started groaning.

“Look,” Kenji said, pointing to the ring after he had seen it. It bore the eye from the Illuminati symbol, “damn, I forgot about the business’ internal security cameras. Good thing they’re in on it- their cameras should be linked to the ones downstairs, and there’s no way we tripped a silent alarm. I think.”

“How could you forget the inside cameras?” I asked, my brain focusing on that rather than the loud gunshot or the dedicated store owner.

“I can’t think of everything,” Kenji said before peering outside- first time for everything, I guess. He quickly ducked back in as two shots ripped through the air.

“Shit, his employees.”

Misha covered her ears and cowered in a corner while Kenji fired back. I would’ve joined her, but I needed to watch the basement door, which quickly opened as two men in light gray body armor emerged, each one holding a katana in their left hand and what might have been an Uzi in their right.

+++

Next Chapter

Pro tip: When infiltrating Secret Society strongholds, do NOT let the blind guy take point.

The catharsis factor of writing this cannot be described.

Hisao, Kenji, Misha and Shizune all holding their weapons, drawbros, get to it!