osakansax:

Nothing. Just an abandoned cafe, the Osakan would come to realize.

He relocated the discarded windbreaker on the floor, pocketed the dead cellphone and kicked the still sopping mess of clothing to the side. As he recalled, Heiji hadn’t been quite fond of the thing. It didn’t do much to break the wind, or at least lessen its hindrance as he ran the whole day looking for one shred of evidence to bring back to Osaka. But the bare bones of the fact was there wasn’t anything, not even a spot out of the ordinary that would catch his eye.

But that factor was the exact reason why his alarum bells were being set off. The dark-skinned teen allowed a quiet, exasperated sigh to escape him. What exactly were the odds that this case concerned his mutual benefactors, his superiors as it were? Or maybe it was a warning to himself, that perhaps he’d been caught in his ideal of perhaps shattering this organization from the inside. A thought like that could make him too paranoid, and what then of the original persona? How safe would he have been regardless of the pseudo-sleeper agent’s existence?

His thoughts upon that matter were shoved aside by a voice he didn’t recognize at first, and as such he responded by swiftly blowing out the lighter’s flare and pressing himself to the nearest wall. Of course, the owner of the voice was hardly unrecognizable—Hakuba finally returned, that forgetful teen who’d left an article of clothing behind. Inwardly he cursed himself as his hoary gaze fixed themselves upon the lighter resting upon the palm of his hand—damn. It would’ve been so easy just to return to the front and hand the lighter back, wouldn’t it? But that agent wanted no confrontation whatsoever, not even an exchange of neutral words. Slipping out the back would’ve been the preferable way out—and he could just mail this item back, procuring the address of another superintendent should be no problem, right?

But what if it was sent straight to the damn man? Chances were pretty high that Superintendent Hakuba knew nothing about this smoking vice of his son…Well. This was a bit of a tight bend, wasn’t it?

A handful of minutes later and the lighter persisted in its inability to be found. Hakuba abandoned the search only when his phone vibrated in his pocket. The detective straightened up, one hand on his back, the other lifting the phone to his ear.

“Moshi moshi?" 

It was Baaya, of course; Hakuba rarely received phone calls from anyone else. She apologized for not getting his earlier messages and, though the static, exclaimed that she would be there soon.

"Ah, it’s all right, Baaya. I’ve found a place to hide away from the rain. Yes, it’s safe." 

The detective paced, bare foot, while he conversed, tone light and casual. Genuine. With the apparent lack of company, Hakuba felt comfortable being more or less himself.

"Mm-hmm. Oh, I ran into Hattori-san. No, he’s gone off somewhere.” Pause. “You’ll have to see the bruise for yourself. No, I didn’t antagonize him! Well… maybe a little…”

The blond laughed, striding to the window to peer out, small and pleasant smile on his face.

“I know, I know. I’ll be careful. Ah, and, Baaya, I seem to have misplaced the lighter…" 

Silence for a few moments as the governess launched into a well-intentioned and loud rant. Hakuba cut her off. "Ah, I know, I know.. I’ll keep looking. I must have dropped it somewhere… but I was certain that I had it when I got here, and.. Hmm. You don’t think that Hattori-san would have taken…?”  Another brief pause. “N-no! Of course not, Baaya! Not with him. Certainly not. God…" 

He sighed.

"Fifteen to twenty minutes? Certainly.. I’ll trace my steps and meet you there in a bit. Thank you, Baaya.”

The detective hung up his cell phone and checked the time before replacing it in his pocket, only to pull out his watch to, again, check the time. “Damn cellular towers are almost thirty four seconds slow… Unacceptable." 

Rolling his eyes, Hakuba reached for his drenched shirt in preparation to leave.

osakansax:

… 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.