“Hey, Sarge, what’s up?” one of the two cops standing to the side of the clearing called as a medium-sized, dark-haired, dusky-skinned policeman walked out of the trees.
“I think that’s my line,” Sergeant George Amado called back as he walked around the edge of the clearing to join the two, avoiding the bustle of crime scene investigators in the clearing itself.
Looking out over the activity illuminated by portable floodlights, he nodded at the petite redheaded Oriental girl crouched in the snow staring into space, blood soaking her shirt and trousers, clutching the bullet-torn body of a stout man in a dirty gi. “So, Jerry, what’s the story there?” he asked. “I’d think she’d have been taken back to the station by now.”
“She won’t leave, or let anyone touch the body,” one of the two cops said with a shrug. “And the only man to touch her has a broken finger for his pains, so nobody’s tried again.”
“Got it, don’t touch the cute redhead,” Sergeant Amado acknowledged, then sighed and walked over to crouch down next to the teenage girl.
The redhead’s dry eyes glanced over at him, then went back to staring at nothing. For a time, Sergeant Amado simply sat by her side without a word. Finally, he quietly said, “Look, kid, I know you’re hurting, and I’m sorry, but you can’t stay here forever.”
The girl’s eyes flickered to the sergeant. “I’m not leaving Dad,” she said in a low voice.
“Kid ... what’s your name?” Amado asked.
“Ranma.”
“Ranma, your dad isn’t here anymore — he’s moved on, all that’s left is the packaging. It’s cold and wet, do you think your father would want you getting sick guarding a body he doesn’t need anymore?”
For a moment Ranma’s arms tightened around her father’s body, then she abruptly shook her head.
Amado stood up and extended a hand down toward the teenager. “Then let’s go, get you cleaned up, get some food in you. I can’t say things will look better in the morning, but you’ll be better able to deal with it.”
Ranma looked up at the police sergeant’s extended hand for a long moment, then gently moved the body from off her lap and rose without assistance. As she did, Amado got his first clear look at the corpse in the floodlights’ glow and stiffened. He shot a glance at the redhead, then shrugged and motioned her toward the edge of the clearing. “This way,” he said, and Ranma wordlessly followed him out of the clearing to the east, the way she and her father had come several hours earlier.
As they walked toward the edge of the park, Amado nonchalantly asked, “By the way, what’s your dad’s name?”
“Genma,” Ranma answered distractedly.
With an effort, Amado kept from slumping. Damn, I was afraid of that — Stacy is not going to like this at all.
Stacy looked around the bustling office party, her professional “aren’t I having a good time” smile securely in place. She really had more important things to be doing, but she’d already missed the last couple of company get togethers, and her position in the company was beginning to slip a little. Still ...
“Stacy!” she heard from across the room, and turned to see Steve and his wife approaching. “Steve, Jen, you made it, great!” she called back as her smile turned real.
“Yeah, we managed to find a babysitter for Kat at the last moment,” Jennifer said happily.
“And how is my favorite little rugrat?” Stacy asked.
“Doing just fine, and wondering when her Auntie Stacy is going to drop by — she’s missed her favorite playmate,” Jennifer replied.
Stacy’s smile turned wistful. “Things have been ... hectic, lately. But I’ll make time this week, I miss my favorite playmate, too.”
Just then, a ringing came from Stacy’s purse, and she hastily opened it up and snatched out a cellphone. “Sorry,” she apologized to her friends, “this is important.” Flipping open the phone, she glanced at the incoming number and raised it to her head. “Hey, George, good to hear from you, if a bit of a surprise at this time of the evening.”
Suddenly she stiffened. “What!?” she shouted, and the room went quiet as everyone else turned to look at her. Ignoring the questioning looks, she listened for a moment, then said, “I hope you’re wrong, too, but — Genma has a pretty distinctive look. I’ll be right down.” ... “No, I don’t need a ride, and you’d have to get me back here.” ... “A redheaded girl? No, the Ranma I knew was a black-haired boy.” ... “Right, see you shortly.”
Closing the phone, Stacy looked around at all the staring faces, her own face pale. “Sorry, everyone, but something’s come up — I’ll see you all at work.” Turning to her two friends, she added, “I’ll give you a call later, okay?” At Steve and Jennifer’s nods, she quickly collected her coat and was gone.
Sergeant Nathaniel Harmon looked up from his desk as a lovely woman with short, curly blond hair dressed for a party walked into the precinct building. “Can I help you, miss?” he asked as he ran an appreciative eye over her smoothly muscled figure.
“Yes, I’m Stacy Hunter. I’m looking for Sergeant Amado,” the blonde replied tersely, and Sergeant Harmon’s eyes widened.
“Right, he’s expecting you,” he replied as his eyes shot to her face and stayed there. He picked up his phone, and within a minute Sergeant Amado strode through the doors to the back.
“Stacy, thanks for getting here so quickly,” he said as he walked up to the blonde, giving her an appreciative look. “Looking good. Sorry to take you away from your party, and even more for such an awful reason, but ...” His voice trailed off as he motioned her toward the back, and the two headed deeper into the precinct headquarters.
After a moment, Stacy steeled herself to ask, “Genma?” Silently, George pulled a photo out of his breast pocket and passed it over. Stacy took one look and slammed to a stop. Taking a shaky breath, she nodded. “That’s him. How did he die?”
“Someone decided to off Michael Davenport, an assistant prosecutor assigned to the Debbie Jackson case, along with his date. They got him, but his date got away and called the police. She said she was saved by a couple of men but one of them had been shot. When we found the clearing, Genma was already dead and a redheaded girl calling herself Ranma was by his body. She said he’s her father.” Looking Stacy over, George asked, “Are you going to be all right? Because if so, there’s a girl that could use your help — Ranma’s refused to eat or really get cleaned up, the best we could do was get her to accept a change of clothes. Maybe the fact that you knew Genma will mean she’ll listen to you.”
Stacy closed her eyes for a moment, took several deep breaths, and nodded. “I’ll be all right, let’s go.”
Nodding approval, George led her to an interrogation room and stopped, motioning her through. Stacy stepped in to find a petite redheaded Japanese girl dressed in men’s clothes many sizes too large sitting at the table and staring at the wall.
As she approached the table, the girl’s eyes flickered to her, away, then flashed back and fixed on her face. “St-Stacy?” the girl stuttered.
Stacy nodded. “Yes, I’m Stacy — Ranma?”
Yes, I’m Ranma,” the girl agreed, mouth twisting bitterly. After a moment, she added, “I remember how embarrassed you were the first time we sparred, and Dad ended up carrying you into the bath house because you were too sore to walk.”
It is him! Stacy walked over and knelt beside the girl. “What happened to — no, that’s not important right now,” she said, then took a deep breath. “Ranma ... I’m so sorry about Genma, he was a good man.”
Ranma laughed harshly. “Dad was a thief and a liar.”
“Perhaps, but he was a good man nonetheless.” Stacy said. At Ranma’s disbelieving look, she added, “Don’t you think the woman whose life he helped save, and her family, would agree with me?”
Ranma slowly nodded, then her face crumpled as tears finally came, and Stacy pulled the girl into her lap as she sobbed.
Eventually the tears slowed, then stopped, and Ranma pulled away and stood up. “Sorry about that,” she mumbled, turning away in embarrassment.
Stacy stood up and gently laid a hand on the younger girl’s shoulder. “There’s nothing to be sorry for,” she assured her. “Listen, the police are going to want to know what happened. Why don’t you talk to Sergeant Amado — he’s a good man, I’ve known him since ... since I was raped ... and I don’t think he’ll mind if I sit in — and then I’ll take you home, get you fed and cleaned up, okay?”
At the word “rape” Ranma’s head whipped around to stare at her, face contorting in anger. “Rape!? When, and who?” she snarled, but Stacy just shrugged.
“Old news — since before we met. So how about it? Let’s get the interview done and get out of here.”
After a moment, Ranma jerkily nodded, and the two headed for Sergeant Amado waiting outside.
Sitting across the dinner table from Ranma, Stacy stared at the black-haired boy looking dully down at the table, then looked around her apartment kitchen, fighting off the faint sense of unreality that had grown as Ranma had demonstrated his curse and told the story of how he and his father had ended up in Hudson City. “I knew things like that happened to people, but I’d never really believed it,” she murmured softly to herself.
Focusing back on Ranma, she nodded. “Not that it matters to me one way or the other, whatever you may look like, you’re still Ranma. And you father was right, about me being DarkAngel. Whether he’s right about being able to help you ... I don’t know, I’ll have to make a call and ask. Meanwhile, why don’t you get some sleep? Go ahead and use the same bedroom you changed in.”
Ranma nodded, stood up, and started to clean up the dishes from the dinner Stacy had prepared, only to pause when Stacy shook her head.
“Leave it, Ranma, I’ll take care of that,” she said, and Ranma nodded dully and left for the bedroom. Stacy watched him go, looked over the dinner dishes, looked at the clock on the wall, then walked over to an apparently blank section of wall and pressed a thumb against it. A panel next to her hand popped open, and she removed a cell phone from inside the compartment. Opening it up, she pressed in a code, then hit a speed dial button and put the phone to her ear.
“Witchcraft, DarkAngel here, the tagalong on your little adventure in Hudson City a few months ago?” ... “That’s kind of you, but I know I’m not in your guys’ league. Anyway, I’m sorry to bother you so late in the evening, but I have a problem that’s more your type than mine, a kid with two enchantments on him he’d really rather not have, a Jusenkyo curse and one from a ‘wishing sword’ in Japan.” ... “Yes, a Jusenkyo curse, can you help?”
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(Posted Thu, 17 Dec 2009 06:32)
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らんま1/2 © Rumiko Takahashi
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