Bluejay — Linda Anderson when she wasn’t wearing her light blue and white winged battlesuit — did her best to ignore the churning in her gut as she silently glided through the nighttime sky toward her target. She did her best to tell herself that this night was no different than any of the previous raids she’d made since she’d “reacquired” the suit she’d developed from her last employer after being fired when her project was shut down due to cost overruns. Right, this was just one more raid against the Man, sticking it to the oppressors of the People while gaining what you need to live the life you deserve, and helping out a sister in the process. Right, girl, you keep telling yourself that. And one more “did her best,” she tried to ignore the whisper in the back of her mind that breaking into the headquarters of one of the more powerful yakuza clans in Hudson City was not the same as raiding the penthouse of a fat cat Captain of Industry. But she couldn’t keep from wishing for the first time that she hadn’t removed the built-in weapons from her battlesuit.
Quietly landing on the snow-covered roof of the multi-story building — practically a skyscraper for Little Tokyo, though of course puny compared to districts mostly given over to corporations instead of residences and family businesses — the thief-sidelining-as-vigilante froze, waiting: five minutes, ten minutes, half an hour, no alarm. Finally relaxing, she pulled the tools of her trade out of their pouches on her belt, moved to the opposite side of the roof. Using the claws built into her boots to keep herself on the roof, she looked through the windows until she found a working office. She quickly but efficiently checked it for alarms and defenses, and smiled when all she found was a basic alarm system, easily bypassed by one with her skills. The trend continued: in spite of the number of fliers — both superheroes and supervillains — people in Hudson City seemed to instinctively equate height with safety. Maybe because of the dearth of fliers in the city itself?
Window open, she slipped inside, crept over to the door across the room and listened for several minutes, then cracked open the door when she heard nothing. Finding the corridor beyond empty, she closed and braced the door and hooked a flash-bang to it, then slipped over to the room’s other door that turned out to lead to a reception room of some sort, and also braced and booby-trapped it. Her back secure, she turned to the computer on the office desk and brought it up — yup, the codes she’d acquired got her in, flashdrive plugged in, and ... her personal virus in and waiting for the next time anyone used the network for financial transactions. Now, to see if she could find anything about the Stanson sisters and Deborah Manning....
Bluejay jerked upright as the sound of several people entering the adjacent room came through the shared room. Hastily bringing up the digital clock in her helmet’s display, she fought back a curse — she had lost track of time and been there much longer than usual for one of her raids, and all for nothing — many of the files had been in Japanese (she was still kicking herself over her surprise), and even in those that were in English not a hint of information on any of the girls, murdered or kidnapped. And what was someone doing up at this time of night, anyway?
“Well, Oyabun, ya called us and we got here as fast as we could. So what’s up?” Bluejay frowned as she activated her recorder. There was nothing cultured about that man’s voice, and it was in English, and very, very American.
“As crude and direct as always,” a much more cultured male voice responded. (Bluejay gritted her teeth at the sound.) “But useful in this case — it is late, and the situation is ... urgent. You have heard about the case of the Stanson sisters?”
“Yeah, we heard that ya killed ‘em in Japan, and then offed the prosecutor assigned ta the case. Ain’t that a bit over the top for a couple a’ whores? There’s always more where they came from.”
“You are indeed correct, that it is ‘over the top’, which is why we didn’t do either — someone else carried out the acts in our name and we are being blamed, which is where you come in. Official focus we can deal with, and DarkAngel isn’t a serious threat in this situation — some bakuto and gurentai in the hospital for a time, nothing we cannot handle. But the Harbinger of Justice is another matter, and this situation seems to have drawn his attention. He has attacked two of our operations in the past two days, no survivors.”
“And you expect us ta stop him? Forget that, we don’t have no death wish.”
“No, I do not expect the remnants of your motorcycle gang to stop him. But you do not need to — unlike Renegade, he is a careful man, avoiding large numbers of opponents and recently changed situations. I simply need your men to supplement my own security, to both increase numbers and modify the facts on the ground in an obvious way. He should back off at that point, at least long enough for me to deal with this and perhaps point him at another target.”
The conversation became unintelligible as American voices talked back and forth and over each other for a bit, then: “Okay, for three times what ya offered, ya got a deal — after all, the Harbinger might not play by his own rules. So where do ya want us ta head to?”
After a long pause, the cultured voice said, “That is acceptable. I have a map in the other room, it has the locations. I will have the local managers notified that you are on the way.”
Oh, crap, I’ve definitely overstayed my welcome! Bluejay whirled back to the desktop computer, fingers flashing across the keyboard as she activated the program designed to wipe all record of her activities.
The doorknob rattled, and shuddered against its brace. “Odd, the door is unlocked and it doesn’t seem stuck, but it won’t open,” she heard the cultured voice say.
“What?! Get outta the way!” Even as she yanked the flashdrive from its socket and hit the power button to shut the computer down, the door crashed open and her arm-covered headfirst dive through the window was backlit by the flashbang’s thundering explosion. Twisting in midair, she extended her wings, swooped out of the shower of window glass, hit the booster pack, and thundered away.
Miyamiji Junzo, oyabun of the Miyamiji-kai in Hudson City, lowered his arms and blinked his eyes clear of the assault of pure light from the flashbang as shouts of shock from his guests filled the room and the biker that had kicked open the door staggered back, hands over his eyes. Even as the sparkles faded somewhat, one of the leather-clad bikers — their leader “Big Eddie” — pulled the biker that had kicked open the door out of the way and rushed through, pulling out a hand cannon as he did.
Junzo motioned to the one of his bodyguards that hadn’t been looking at the door when the flashbang went off, and followed Big Eddie into the adjoining office. He glanced about at the room, surprised to find no signs of a search, then joined gang leader at the window just in time to push the biker’s gun up, off target from the flying figure rocketing away.
“What the hell are ya doing?!” Big Eddie shouted, rounding on his host, only to freeze when he found the muzzle of the bodyguard’s pistol pressed up under his chin.
Junzo shrugged. “There is no harm in whomever that was escaping, and perhaps some good. All he would have overheard was that we had nothing to do with illegal activities, after all. I want that word to be spread about. And so should you, it lessens the chance that your men might actually face the Harbinger.”
Big Eddie carefully stepped back, then rubbed at his throat at the spot the muzzle had ground into when the bodyguard failed to follow him. “Yeah, I can see that. And I was out a’ line, so I won’t hold it against your dog. The map?”
The oyabun turned to the desk, rummaged in a drawer, then handed his guard a folded up piece of paper. “The map details how many men to send to each location.”
“Right,” Big Eddie said as he stuck the paper in a pocket inside his leather jacket. “All right, boys, let’s head out!”
Stacy braked her sports car to a stop in front of the main entrance to Heaven’s Gate Mall. Leaning over, she unlocked the passenger door for the redheaded Ranma walking over from where she’d been enjoying the bright afternoon sunlight by the mall doors, then started the car rolling forward again as soon as Ranma got in. “So, what did Sensei have to say?” she asked as the teenager fastened her seatbelt, an eyebrow going up at the faint signs of another bruise on Ranma's jaw.
“He said he might know someone that could take in Akane,” Ranma replied. “Whatever else, he can put her up in his own home until something else is arranged. I’ll let Nabiki know tonight. So, what now? Everything taken care of at work?”
“I’ve put out the immediate fires, it buys me a few more days to focus on getting you settled before I have to get back to work, maybe up to a week,” Stacy said with a shrug. “But right now, I’ve gotten word that your costume’s ready.” Ranma shifted in her seat, and Stacy glanced over to catch a grimace on the teenager’s face. “Something wrong?”
“Do I have to stand naked in that tube again?” Ranma growled.
Stacy shook her head. “No, that was to get your measurements, Jason shouldn’t need to scan you again.”
“Good!” Ranma said, then slouched in her seat muttering something about perverts.
“I don’t know,” Ranma said uncertainly as she looked over the dark blue and black costume on the dummy. “I guess I can live with the tight pants —”
“Those aren’t pants,” the shabbily dressed, rather round redheaded man standing next to Ranma and Stacy broke in to say. “It’s a single piece like DarkAngel’s, it just looks like a two-piece costume.”
“Whatever,” Ranma tossed off with a shrug. “Like I said, the pants are okay, and I guess I can live with the feather pattern across the shoulders and down the back — the collar helps — but does the open vee in the front have to go all the way to the belt?”
“You said you could handle cold —”
“I’m not thinking of the temperature, I’m thinking about what I’d look like when I wear that as a girl,” Ranma growled.
“Okay, so it’s a little revealing,” Jason said soothingly. “But remember, it has to fit properly in both your forms — the computer model says that the vee has to be there for the top to provide proper support when you ... shrink. So why don’t you try it on, see if it works the way the models say it should?”
“You don’t know?” the Ranma shouted.
The hi-tech tailor shrugged. “I don’t exactly have dummies that can shrink and enlarge on command, the only way to really test it is on you.”
Ranma glanced over at her presumptive guardian, and her shoulders slumped when Stacy simply shrugged. “Oh, all right, get it off the dummy and I’ll try it.”
“There’s one waiting for you in the dressing room — your spare,” Jason said, motioning toward the nearest door. “The instructions for putting it on are on a card.” With a sigh, Ranma left to change.
As soon as the door closed behind the teenager, one of the other doors opened and a modestly dressed attractive young woman with almost shoulder-length brown hair stepped into the room. With a sigh of relief, Stacy forced herself to relax from the shock of an added visitor. “I’m a little surprised to find you here — normally Jason gives private screenings,” she said with forced nonchalance, glancing at their host out of the corner of her eye. “I wasn’t aware that he knew we know each other.”
“I wasn’t,” Jason said with a shrug. “Bluejay convinced me she knew who you were, said she had something important for you. And you know my policy, I couldn’t simply pass it along myself. I’m stretching things as it is.”
After a moment, Stacy shrugged, then turned back to the new arrival. “This will have to be quick, I’m in the middle of something.”
“Yeah, I know,” her uninvited guest replied uncomfortably. “Sorry to butt in like this, but I found out something last night I thought you should know, and I can’t give it to the police — they wouldn’t believe it from an anonymous source and I can hardly give it to them as Bluejay. Jason says I only have a minute or so, not long enough to explain, so here it is.” She offered Stacy a flashdrive that the other woman took reflexively. “Check out the file labeled ‘Conversation’, it’s a transcript of something I overheard. I don’t really have much more to add, but I’ll be on top of the Stableford office building at midnight if you want to talk.” Before Stacy could respond, Bluejay turned and left.
Stacy was still staring at the door when Ranma walked back into the room. “I think I got this on right,” the redhead said, then paused when she sensed the tension. “Something happen while I was gone?”
Stacy forced herself to relax, then turned to her ward, eyebrow rising as her eyes ran over the tight black pants, blue clinging top that emphasized Ranma’s bountiful chest with the open vee to the waistline and slightly puffed sleeves, and black mask that left only Ranma’s lower face and the red hair on the top of her head and short braid sticking out the back visible. “You look ... cute — very cute. Perfect.”
Ranma stiffened. “And how is ‘cute’ perfect?” she asked in a tightly controlled voice.
“It means thugs are likely to not take you seriously, at least until your reputation overrules your appearance,” Stacy explained. “At least, that’s how it worked for me — I don’t exactly look intimidating in my costume, either. But you’re only going to look like that if you get splashed, so let’s see how you look in male form. Jason, you have the hot water?”
Police Sergeant Amado again stared out across the city from his apartment rooftop. “Bluejay, huh? A thief, but no killer — goes out of her way to avoid it, actually. Do you believe her?” he asked the vigilante standing next to him.
DarkAngel shrugged. “I believe it happened the way Bluejay says it did. Whether it means that the Myamiji-kai really weren’t the ones that carried out the assassinations, that’s inference — the oyabun could have simply been lying to outsiders, or have a subordinate off the reservation. But if he was telling the truth, it would nicely fill in some of the missing pieces of the jigsaw.”
“Yes, it would,” the sergeant agreed. “So, if it wasn’t the Myamiji-kai, who was it?”
“Well, there’s the Hinagawa-kai,” DarkAngel said thoughtfully, “they’re the most powerful worldwide but the weakest here. Perhaps they’ve decided to change that by moving in on the Miyamiji-kai’s territory. Then there’s the Sawakiri-gumi — they’re the most powerful in the city, but so far they’ve mostly avoided the vice trade and have been focusing on continuing the weakening of the Tsukihama-gumi I started when I exposed their sokaiya ring four years ago. And those are just the obvious ones.” She shrugged. “The truth is, when it comes to suspects we have an embarrassment of riches.
“At any rate, now you know what I know, and I’ll get things rolling to make it official.”
Amado nodded. “All right, when the anonymous tip arrives I’ll pass it around and see what we come up with.”
“Good,” the blonde vigilante replied. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some training to get to.” Stepping over to the side of the building, she dove over the edge, cape flashing black and red in the rush of air from her fall. Amado stepped up to the roof edge just in time to see her land gently on the cement floor of the ally, her swingline dropping from where it had gripped a fire escape and retracting into the grip. His eyes widened when a dark-haired costumed male stepped away from a shadowed wall and joined her in her dash down the alley and out of sight. Well, that’s new, he mused, carefully suppressing any thought of the name “Ranma.”
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(Posted Wed, 22 Dec 2010 06:04)
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らんま1/2 © Rumiko Takahashi
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