[multipart] KKM Crime Noir AU
Title: [None Yet] - Part One
Fandom: Kyou Kara Maou!
Characters/Pairings: Main cast; elements of most common pairs
Genre: Crime Noir Alternative Universe
Words: 2,106
Notes: So, there's a meme circling around LJ asking prompting AU stories. aramuin asked me for a summary of a "KKM crime noir" story. After the summary was written, the idea wouldn't go away. So voila~! There will be probably three several posted parts. :D
I am reeeeally not sure about the First Person voice here. So suggestions would be met with much love.
Another cloudy day. As if it can be anything else in a city where smokestacks by the river belch black smog into the air and the upper class fops conspire to choke and bleed the ordinary man trying to make a living.
I hate this place.
I hate it so much I'd rather stay and watch it burn than leave and try to do anything else with my life. I lean back a little more heavily in my chair and stare out the office window at the gulls circling around the shipyards. It's a little before eleven in the morning, and there's already a half-empty rocks glass on my desk, sitting on top of the spread out newspaper. Buried in the middle of it is an article circled in red ink: "Heiress Found Unharmed, Kidnappers Off to Jail". My mother probably left it for me, lodged in the office mail slot; she still has a thing for happy endings. That girl's parents handed me an envelope full of cash and I don't particularly care about more than that.
Yozak says I should take a vacation. Go someplace with sun and sand and drinks with umbrellas in them. He never has an answer, though, when I ask what the point of "getting away" is if you have to come back.
There is a knock on my door. Doria, my secretary, is God knows where this morning, and so I just call out that the door is open. Doria is absentminded at the best of times; I should fire her, but I know she won't ever get another job. So I settle for the days when she remembers to get the mail and answer the telephone and not tell the clients my rates are negotiable.
The door opens and closes, the glass rattling slightly in its frame. I sit up in my chair and put the paper and glass away. A coffee mug comes out to cover the dark ring on my blotter. When I look up, a little girl is standing in my doorway. "Excuse me, are you Mr. Weller?" she asks in a voice that's high and sweet.
"I am." I fold my hands on my desk and wonder who's responsible for this little joke. Depending on the "case", it'll wind up as a surprise party, matchmaking scheme, or a prank. None of which is going to help my mood. The girl can't be more than ten or twelve, round faced with big violet eyes. Her red and white pinafore dress is crisp and immaculate; what the hell is a ten-year-old princess like this doing wandering into my office? Her hair's pure white, so maybe she had a bad time once, scared the living daylights out of her. "What can I do for you, Miss...?"
She smiles and steps into my office; she's even wearing little white Mary Jane's. This has to be a joke. "Ulrike," she chirps. "I am very pleased to meet you."
No last name. "Likewise," I reply, leaning forward a little. "How can I help you?"
Ulrike hurries over to the desk and hands me an envelope. Good paper, handwritten script. I glance at her again and assume she didn't write it. She smiles at me. "My father would like to hire you to find someone for him."
I raise an eyebrow. "Your father?" So it's the matchmaking scheme. My mother and I need to have a talk.
She nods. "Yes. He said that money is no object. The person he is looking for needs to be found."
They always do, I nearly tell her. Instead, I pry the envelope open with my finger and pull out a letter and a photograph. The photo catches my eye first; it's a boy about my brother's age, fifteen or sixteen, dark hair and eyes with faintly Oriental features. He's standing with a woman I assume to be his mother by her age and the arm around his shoulders. I would hesitate to even think they were family -- she is light haired and looks European -- but they have the same smile. Setting the picture down, I glance up at Ulrike. She's glancing around the office, taking in the bare walls and nondescript file cabinets. She notices me looking at her and blushes, waving a little. I turn my attention to the letter.
"Captain Weller--"
My eyes widen at the salutation. Someone is either very uninformed or has a lot of nerve.
"Please forgive my inability to meet with you in person. My business regularly keeps me out of the country, and I am departing for New York this morning. Please do not hesitate to confide in my daughter; she is wise beyond her years."
I am starting to think, however belatedly, this is not someone's joke at my expense.
"Your reputation precedes you, in both your previous and current careers. I would like to enlist your services to find a young man named Yuuri Shibuya. He is the son of a colleague and dear friend of mine from Tokyo and was visiting me with his mother until a few days ago. I have reason to believe he might be in danger, however, I would prefer to keep this out of the papers, for his mother's sake."
Typical abduction for ransom. I wonder if the kidnappers have made contact yet.
"As Ulrike has undoubtedly told you, I will not hesitate to pay what is required for his safe return. Should you have any doubts about my intent, I will pay you twice your usual rate and any expenses you should incur in your search. Please consider my offer, and should you accept, bring this letter to my home tomorrow to collect half your fee and the information I have regarding the case.
"Sincerely, S. King."
Very carefully, I fold the letter back up and slip it in the envelope, but leave the photograph out on my desk. I've heard of King. Big time dealer in art and antiquities, very old money. Definitely rich enough to make good on his promise. Ulrike swings her legs in her chair, and smiles expectantly. "My father is very worried about Mr. Yuuri," she says. "Will you help him?"
Somehow, I know I'm going to say yes, despite what sounds like real risk in taking the case. If he hadn't mentioned the kid's life was in danger, the sheer amount of money he's offering says it all. This Yuuri looks like a good kid, probably doesn't deserve to be kidnapped and hidden somewhere in a foreign country. He probably doesn't speak the language well, if at all.
I sigh and wish I hadn't put my drink away. "Yes," I reply. "I'll take the case."
The girl smiles wider and claps her hands, jumping off the chair into an ersatz curtsy. "Thank you very much!" she chirps. "I will see you tomorrow, then. Goodbye!" And with a wave, she hurries out the door; I can hear her shoes on the stairs.
The ice in the rocks glass has mostly melted, watering down the scotch, but I finish it off anyway. The glass dangles on the edges of my fingers as I look back out the window. I'm going to need help with this; my usual contacts will be fine, but I'll need more than that. But half of the promised fee will be more than enough to grease some palms and loosen some tongues.
I deposit the glass back on the desk and stand slowly, leaning more heavily on my right arm than my left; doctor says the bullet's still in there, but they can't find it, so I can't move it much anymore. I collect the letter and photo, sliding them both into my coat's inner pocket, and head out the door, down to my usual bar three streets down. It's always five o'clock somewhere.
Stale smoke and low voices greet me as I open the door; were it not for the alcohol openly displayed, I would be hard pressed to say I wasn't still outside. A black haired young woman smiles and gives me a little wave as she heads out; she works here as a waitress, but I never see her unless one of us is coming and the other is going. Name's Christine, I think. Pretty, but that's really all I know. The door closes behind me and I step over to the bar.
"What'll you have, hon?" I look up and cringe. Yozak winks at me from behind a quarter inch of makeup.
"I didn't realize it was Tuesday."
He grins. "Comes every week," he replies, pitching his voice just a little higher than usual. "Are you having something?"
"The usual." I roll my eyes and move to sit, then catch his wrist. "And stop taking my aftershave."
Yozak leans in closer, as if to show off how it smells mixed with powder and face cream. "But it smells so gooood, Captain." And it does. I let him go with a snort. Another wink and he's sashaying away to fix my drink and show off the cling and flare of the black pencil skirt he’s wearing. Truth is, I knew exactly what day it was before I even walked in the door. Half of my visits are on Tuesdays. He has so much fun it's hard not to want to come by. The heels he's wearing are getting a bit worn down, though. Maybe I'll get him a pair for his birthday.
A glass finds its way in front of me with a smart click on the bar top. "It's a bit early today," Yozak muses, leaning against the bar. "Even for you."
I raise one eyebrow in his direction and shrug. "I have a case," I pull the letter out of the coat pocket and hold it up. "Thought you might want to see."
"More stray kittens escaping their rich daddies?" Yozak plucks the letter from my fingers, opens and skims it, twining a lock of hair around one finger. He whistles almost immediately. "This guy's got some kinda nerve."
"I thought so." I knock half the scotch and soda back with one swallow. I haven't been captain of anything in roughly five years. Yozak gets away with calling me my old rank because he likes to be a bitch sometimes, and he was one of my Lieutenants. He also probably knows me better than I know myself, which makes me wonder why we're still friends.
Another whistle. "Captain, let's run off to Monaco."
I had only just put the glass to my lips when he said that, so I manage to avoid choking on an ice cube. "What?"
Yozak waves the letter a little bit. "If you survive, you'll be able to retire."
The alcohol is starting to work, so I feel able to laugh a little more easily. "That's a big 'if'."
"Is this the kid?" Yozak examines the photo closely, memorizing every detail the way he does. "What's someone want him for? Doesn't look like much."
I reach out and snatch the picture away. "That's because you're thinking with the wrong part of your body."
He laughs, setting the letter down. "Tetchy, tetchy, Conrad." He swallows down the last of my drink and moves away to refill it. I roll my eyes. Tuesdays are not serious conversation days for us.
"I'll keep an eye out and ask around," Yozak says as he returns with my refilled glass. "Get me a photo of this King guy or the kiddo's dad, if you can."
Picture and letter are tucked back into my pocket and I nod. "I'm going over there in the morning, I'll see what I can do." If Ulrike can’t -- or more likely won’t -- give me a picture of her father, I can always go talk to a few friends at the local paper. "Thursday?"
He nods, resting an elbow on the bar and propping his chin up on it. "Mmhmm. Usual payment," he says with a slow smile that works very well with the red lipstick he's wearing. "In advance this time."
"Without me knowing if the information's any good?"
"It's always good." He winks. I laugh and salute him with my glass, not able to argue that. "And I don't want to risk you not being around to collect from."
I snort. "Heaven forbid." I finish off my drink and lay some money on the bar. A lot more than the drinks cost; the first half of Yozak's "payment".
Yozak grins and kisses the pad of his finger, then presses it against my mouth. "See you tonight."
Fandom: Kyou Kara Maou!
Characters/Pairings: Main cast; elements of most common pairs
Genre: Crime Noir Alternative Universe
Words: 2,106
Notes: So, there's a meme circling around LJ asking prompting AU stories. aramuin asked me for a summary of a "KKM crime noir" story. After the summary was written, the idea wouldn't go away. So voila~! There will be probably three several posted parts. :D
I am reeeeally not sure about the First Person voice here. So suggestions would be met with much love.
Another cloudy day. As if it can be anything else in a city where smokestacks by the river belch black smog into the air and the upper class fops conspire to choke and bleed the ordinary man trying to make a living.
I hate this place.
I hate it so much I'd rather stay and watch it burn than leave and try to do anything else with my life. I lean back a little more heavily in my chair and stare out the office window at the gulls circling around the shipyards. It's a little before eleven in the morning, and there's already a half-empty rocks glass on my desk, sitting on top of the spread out newspaper. Buried in the middle of it is an article circled in red ink: "Heiress Found Unharmed, Kidnappers Off to Jail". My mother probably left it for me, lodged in the office mail slot; she still has a thing for happy endings. That girl's parents handed me an envelope full of cash and I don't particularly care about more than that.
Yozak says I should take a vacation. Go someplace with sun and sand and drinks with umbrellas in them. He never has an answer, though, when I ask what the point of "getting away" is if you have to come back.
There is a knock on my door. Doria, my secretary, is God knows where this morning, and so I just call out that the door is open. Doria is absentminded at the best of times; I should fire her, but I know she won't ever get another job. So I settle for the days when she remembers to get the mail and answer the telephone and not tell the clients my rates are negotiable.
The door opens and closes, the glass rattling slightly in its frame. I sit up in my chair and put the paper and glass away. A coffee mug comes out to cover the dark ring on my blotter. When I look up, a little girl is standing in my doorway. "Excuse me, are you Mr. Weller?" she asks in a voice that's high and sweet.
"I am." I fold my hands on my desk and wonder who's responsible for this little joke. Depending on the "case", it'll wind up as a surprise party, matchmaking scheme, or a prank. None of which is going to help my mood. The girl can't be more than ten or twelve, round faced with big violet eyes. Her red and white pinafore dress is crisp and immaculate; what the hell is a ten-year-old princess like this doing wandering into my office? Her hair's pure white, so maybe she had a bad time once, scared the living daylights out of her. "What can I do for you, Miss...?"
She smiles and steps into my office; she's even wearing little white Mary Jane's. This has to be a joke. "Ulrike," she chirps. "I am very pleased to meet you."
No last name. "Likewise," I reply, leaning forward a little. "How can I help you?"
Ulrike hurries over to the desk and hands me an envelope. Good paper, handwritten script. I glance at her again and assume she didn't write it. She smiles at me. "My father would like to hire you to find someone for him."
I raise an eyebrow. "Your father?" So it's the matchmaking scheme. My mother and I need to have a talk.
She nods. "Yes. He said that money is no object. The person he is looking for needs to be found."
They always do, I nearly tell her. Instead, I pry the envelope open with my finger and pull out a letter and a photograph. The photo catches my eye first; it's a boy about my brother's age, fifteen or sixteen, dark hair and eyes with faintly Oriental features. He's standing with a woman I assume to be his mother by her age and the arm around his shoulders. I would hesitate to even think they were family -- she is light haired and looks European -- but they have the same smile. Setting the picture down, I glance up at Ulrike. She's glancing around the office, taking in the bare walls and nondescript file cabinets. She notices me looking at her and blushes, waving a little. I turn my attention to the letter.
"Captain Weller--"
My eyes widen at the salutation. Someone is either very uninformed or has a lot of nerve.
"Please forgive my inability to meet with you in person. My business regularly keeps me out of the country, and I am departing for New York this morning. Please do not hesitate to confide in my daughter; she is wise beyond her years."
I am starting to think, however belatedly, this is not someone's joke at my expense.
"Your reputation precedes you, in both your previous and current careers. I would like to enlist your services to find a young man named Yuuri Shibuya. He is the son of a colleague and dear friend of mine from Tokyo and was visiting me with his mother until a few days ago. I have reason to believe he might be in danger, however, I would prefer to keep this out of the papers, for his mother's sake."
Typical abduction for ransom. I wonder if the kidnappers have made contact yet.
"As Ulrike has undoubtedly told you, I will not hesitate to pay what is required for his safe return. Should you have any doubts about my intent, I will pay you twice your usual rate and any expenses you should incur in your search. Please consider my offer, and should you accept, bring this letter to my home tomorrow to collect half your fee and the information I have regarding the case.
"Sincerely, S. King."
Very carefully, I fold the letter back up and slip it in the envelope, but leave the photograph out on my desk. I've heard of King. Big time dealer in art and antiquities, very old money. Definitely rich enough to make good on his promise. Ulrike swings her legs in her chair, and smiles expectantly. "My father is very worried about Mr. Yuuri," she says. "Will you help him?"
Somehow, I know I'm going to say yes, despite what sounds like real risk in taking the case. If he hadn't mentioned the kid's life was in danger, the sheer amount of money he's offering says it all. This Yuuri looks like a good kid, probably doesn't deserve to be kidnapped and hidden somewhere in a foreign country. He probably doesn't speak the language well, if at all.
I sigh and wish I hadn't put my drink away. "Yes," I reply. "I'll take the case."
The girl smiles wider and claps her hands, jumping off the chair into an ersatz curtsy. "Thank you very much!" she chirps. "I will see you tomorrow, then. Goodbye!" And with a wave, she hurries out the door; I can hear her shoes on the stairs.
The ice in the rocks glass has mostly melted, watering down the scotch, but I finish it off anyway. The glass dangles on the edges of my fingers as I look back out the window. I'm going to need help with this; my usual contacts will be fine, but I'll need more than that. But half of the promised fee will be more than enough to grease some palms and loosen some tongues.
I deposit the glass back on the desk and stand slowly, leaning more heavily on my right arm than my left; doctor says the bullet's still in there, but they can't find it, so I can't move it much anymore. I collect the letter and photo, sliding them both into my coat's inner pocket, and head out the door, down to my usual bar three streets down. It's always five o'clock somewhere.
Stale smoke and low voices greet me as I open the door; were it not for the alcohol openly displayed, I would be hard pressed to say I wasn't still outside. A black haired young woman smiles and gives me a little wave as she heads out; she works here as a waitress, but I never see her unless one of us is coming and the other is going. Name's Christine, I think. Pretty, but that's really all I know. The door closes behind me and I step over to the bar.
"What'll you have, hon?" I look up and cringe. Yozak winks at me from behind a quarter inch of makeup.
"I didn't realize it was Tuesday."
He grins. "Comes every week," he replies, pitching his voice just a little higher than usual. "Are you having something?"
"The usual." I roll my eyes and move to sit, then catch his wrist. "And stop taking my aftershave."
Yozak leans in closer, as if to show off how it smells mixed with powder and face cream. "But it smells so gooood, Captain." And it does. I let him go with a snort. Another wink and he's sashaying away to fix my drink and show off the cling and flare of the black pencil skirt he’s wearing. Truth is, I knew exactly what day it was before I even walked in the door. Half of my visits are on Tuesdays. He has so much fun it's hard not to want to come by. The heels he's wearing are getting a bit worn down, though. Maybe I'll get him a pair for his birthday.
A glass finds its way in front of me with a smart click on the bar top. "It's a bit early today," Yozak muses, leaning against the bar. "Even for you."
I raise one eyebrow in his direction and shrug. "I have a case," I pull the letter out of the coat pocket and hold it up. "Thought you might want to see."
"More stray kittens escaping their rich daddies?" Yozak plucks the letter from my fingers, opens and skims it, twining a lock of hair around one finger. He whistles almost immediately. "This guy's got some kinda nerve."
"I thought so." I knock half the scotch and soda back with one swallow. I haven't been captain of anything in roughly five years. Yozak gets away with calling me my old rank because he likes to be a bitch sometimes, and he was one of my Lieutenants. He also probably knows me better than I know myself, which makes me wonder why we're still friends.
Another whistle. "Captain, let's run off to Monaco."
I had only just put the glass to my lips when he said that, so I manage to avoid choking on an ice cube. "What?"
Yozak waves the letter a little bit. "If you survive, you'll be able to retire."
The alcohol is starting to work, so I feel able to laugh a little more easily. "That's a big 'if'."
"Is this the kid?" Yozak examines the photo closely, memorizing every detail the way he does. "What's someone want him for? Doesn't look like much."
I reach out and snatch the picture away. "That's because you're thinking with the wrong part of your body."
He laughs, setting the letter down. "Tetchy, tetchy, Conrad." He swallows down the last of my drink and moves away to refill it. I roll my eyes. Tuesdays are not serious conversation days for us.
"I'll keep an eye out and ask around," Yozak says as he returns with my refilled glass. "Get me a photo of this King guy or the kiddo's dad, if you can."
Picture and letter are tucked back into my pocket and I nod. "I'm going over there in the morning, I'll see what I can do." If Ulrike can’t -- or more likely won’t -- give me a picture of her father, I can always go talk to a few friends at the local paper. "Thursday?"
He nods, resting an elbow on the bar and propping his chin up on it. "Mmhmm. Usual payment," he says with a slow smile that works very well with the red lipstick he's wearing. "In advance this time."
"Without me knowing if the information's any good?"
"It's always good." He winks. I laugh and salute him with my glass, not able to argue that. "And I don't want to risk you not being around to collect from."
I snort. "Heaven forbid." I finish off my drink and lay some money on the bar. A lot more than the drinks cost; the first half of Yozak's "payment".
Yozak grins and kisses the pad of his finger, then presses it against my mouth. "See you tonight."