… The notebook should’ve been more of an eyecatcher, honestly. Instead, fingers gently slipped the lighter from its place for his eyes to observe. Meticulously fiddling with it for details. Neither of them pegged the English detective for a smoker—but then again, who would peg him to be working for a Mafia-esque organization?
Dropping the jacket back onto the chair, he flipped the lid open and set the sparks alight. The stormy, abandoned backdrop became illuminated by a slight colored light. Damn fool let his battery run empty and left it in the windbreaker where he first broke in. Sure, they’d been in here long but there was little he could make out without the lightning flashes, so this would have to do when the Osakan slipped his way into the back of the building. Clouds help them both if another fight would break out—he’d deal with it when Hakuba returned.
Of course, how he’d deal with it might be another matter on hand.
By the time Hakuba found the abandoned cafe, he was drenched from head to waist and damp everywhere else. But even with his hair plastered against his face, the detective found himself hesitating again once he reached the door. He pulled it open quietly and poked his head in first, taking a quick glance around before letting himself in the rest of the way. No one was there, as far as he could tell. Hattori had left.
He sighed a breath of relief and shut the door behind him. If his hideout had been abandoned once more, it would once again be a suitable place to wait for Baaya, or at least for the storm to die down some. He ran his fingers through his sopping mop of hair, scattering rain water on the floor, then looked to his jacket and tie on the chair. Still where he left it. Good.
“Is anyone here?” He asked aloud, lips pursed as he stepped further into the building to take a look around. “Hattori-san?”
With no verbal replies, Hakuba began the process of unbuttoning his shirt again. It was soaked through and cold. The suit jacket wasn’t nearly as comfortable, but it was a fair bit dryer and would do better than his bare skin to keep the chill off. He stripped the shirt off, peeling it from its cling, and draped it over another chair before taking up the jacket and putting it over his shoulders. Much better. The cross wasn’t hidden, but he paid it no mind as he pulled his shoes and socks off, setting them similarly aside.
All of this accomplished, the half-Brit detective reached into the inner pocket and pulled out a cigarette, walking toward one of the larger windows to watch the rain through the cracks in the boards, putting the filter to his lips. He held it there, fishing then for the lighter, and… paused. Hm? No lighter.
He searched the next pocket. Then the side pockets. Then back to where the lighter was supposed to be, panic growing. That… What?
The detective turned to combing the floor around the chair where the jacket had been crouching to search around dusty table legs and bits of debris. Nothing. He looked to the door. Had he somehow lost it out on the street? Smoking aside, he loved that lighter. The notebook was in its place, so he was free to worry about it. Damn.
Briefly, the idea that Hattori might have taken it crossed his mind, but he pushed it quickly away. No. As juvenile and hot tempered as Hattori was, he was no thief. Right?
Hakuba bit his lip. This was highly distressing. He checked the floor again while his hands dug throug his pockets aimlessly.