The Investigation Continues

Two Shiketsu students exited a junk yard. One a young woman with long flowing brown hair glanced around nervously as if she were expecting a gun shot at any moment. The other a tall muscular young man studied a red booklet with a deep scowl. The girl was Sally McCarthy. The boy was Christopher Cain.

Christopher turned the rough red passport over in his hands. The name. ‘Yuri Ivanov,’ it sounded REALLY familiar to Christopher. He couldn’t place it.

Sally looked back at Christopher. “Anything usable?”

“No.” Christopher flipped through the passport again. He couldn’t speak Russian, but he’d been hoping he might find a Zairyu Card, the permanent resident ID, stamped in the passport’s pages. No such luck. The page the stamp should be on was torn out. The address at the front of the booklet was deliberately redacted.

Christopher frowned. There was something so familiar about that name, ‘Yuri Ivanov,’ where had he heard it?

“Is it HIS passport?” Sally grumbled, she knew the answer. She didn’t like that she knew the answer.

Christopher showed her the passport’s photo. The photo was of a fat man, bald, clearly not Desolator. Clearly not the man Sally had increasingly associated with the devil himself.

“Maybe it’s a disguise?”

“Maybe.” Christopher whispered half heartedly. Neither of them believed that. “This name is killing me.”

“Yuri Ivanov?”

“I swear I heard that name… recently too.”

---

Sally shook her head violently as the pair rounded a corner and a familiar landmark came into view. Thanks A Latte stood nearly empty this afternoon. The sight reminded Sally of a happier, simpler time, a time where Desolator, the Reaper of Tuscon, wasn’t telling her she’d grow up to be just like him. A time where she and Noah came to a cafe as friends and left as more. Sally’s fist tightened. A bullet formed in her arm. The bullet was a .50 caliber. She was very upset. Would she remember this damn investigation whenever she passed Thanks A Latte now? Would this memory live alongside her first date with Noah?

“Maybe you could Foogle him?” Sally suggested, desperate for a change in subject.

“Oh.” Christopher pulled out his phone and began to type. Sally shook her head. For a smart kid, he could be pretty dumb. They walked next to Thanks A Latte now, the smell of freshly brewed coffee assailed Sally’s nose. It was a nostalgic smell. A smell that drew her to thoughts of home.

---

Christopher’s mind itched as the smell of coffee tickled his nose. He typed the name Yuri Ivanov into his phone. He swore he remembered the name being spoken in his presence. By one of his friends? No. By his dad?

As Foogle populated search results, Christopher remembered a morning a few weeks ago. He’d only been half listening to his dad as the coffee brewed. Dad was… complaining?

No. This conversation happened when he heard the name. It wasn’t how.

Foogle finished loading. Christopher saw the first result. Yuri Ivanov, found hanging in his room. 3 weeks ago.

“Found him.” Christopher reported somberly. He showed Sally his phone. Sally accepted the phone and read. She came to a stop at the corner of Thanks A Latte. Around the corner was an alleyway inhabited by two metal bins, overflowing with trash. Next to the bins was a simple metal door, one Christopher knew for a fact was never locked. Sally leaned against the dirty brick wall still looking at the phone.

Christopher frowned. Sally was more distressed than he thought she’d be. She knew they were dealing with a killer right?

“Did he--”

“Kill him? … yeah, probably.”

“Should we take this to the cops?”

“Maybe? I don’t know. We can’t prove it was ever in Desolator’s possession and, I’m not sure, but we may be breaking the law just investigating this.”

“You have a license don’t you?”

“Yeah, but this isn’t an emergency. I’ll figure that part out okay?” Worst came to worst he’d give the passport to the hero he’d be interning with… which was looking increasingly like Smokin’ Sexy considering he’d only gotten the one fucking offer. Was that Rosethorn’s doing? Did she want to make sure he was with someone she trusted? Either that or the reasons for his frequent hospitalizations had gotten out.

Sally nodded numbly.

“I guess the real question is.” Christopher continued. “Why did we find this?”

Sally was quiet. Christopher didn’t notice. He was lost in his mind.

“I don’t think it was just a mistake. First of all, why would Desolator pick up a victims’ passport? … Assuming he did kill Mr. Ivanov of course.”

“He did.” Sally whispered.

“Yeah, probably, but that still begs the question, why did we find it?”

“Dammit.” Sally seethed.

“Sally?” Christopher couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard Sally curse. She looked like she was about to explode. Then, suddenly, she slumped. She slumped like a deflated balloon. She didn’t look up. She refused.

“It’s a warning. To me, maybe to you too. Desolator’s saying, ‘Past here all bets are off. I’ve been actively trying not to kill you, but this is what I do for a living. Do you really want to push this further?’”

Christopher was silent. Sally’s analysis seemed… sober.

Abruptly Sally turned into the alleyway. Christopher followed.

“Where are you--?” Christopher began.

Sally pointed her palm at the trashcan. The one oozing with refuse. Christopher had just enough time to cover his ears before a mighty BANG echoed through the alley. The trashcan exploded under the weight of her .50 caliber round. It flew backwards into its neighbor, both toppled with a cacophonous clang. Trash, freed from the bin by the almighty impact, fluttered through the air like a disgusting snow.

Christopher kept his hands over his ears, ready for Sally to fire off more rounds. She didn’t. She stood there a moment observing the carnage she’d wrought.

“Dammit. Dammit. Dammit.” Sally cursed again and again as she watched pieces of trash flutter towards the ground. “Why am I like this?”

Christopher slowly lowered his hands from his ears. “You okay?” Christopher asked stupidly.

Before Sally could answer the alley’s door burst open. Thanks A Latte’s barista busted through the door. Light danced around her fingertips. She pointed her hand at the two figures standing in the alley behind her shop.

“Lysingen-san! Hold on!”

Helene blinked. She looked at the girl with a smoking palm held at her side. Then at the boy with his palms outstretched in a placating manner. She recognized them both but knew the boy.

“Quirk boy?” Helene questioned.

“Yeah! We uh--” Helene’s eyes drifted to the trash blanketing the alley’s floor. She looked back at Christopher. Her eyes narrowed. Christopher tried to smile under the weight of Helene’s gaze. He failed. What he had was a sad twitching mess of an expression that oozed guilt. “--we saw a rat?”

---

3 hours later

Sally and Christopher rode the elevator of their apartment complex. They were covered in sweat and grime. They’d spent hours cleaning up Thanks A Latte’s alleyway for their apology. At least Ms. Lysingen hadn’t banned them from Thanks A Latte. And after all that cleaning, they still had to walk home during the hottest part of the day in the middle of a Japanese summer.

Their mood wasn’t great.

“You just had to shoot the fucking can.”

“Shut up.”

“Or what? You’ll shoot me? Please do! I can’t fucking move because of you.” Christopher sniffed his clothes. He shook his head “This will never wash out.”

Sally grimaced. “… sorry.”

Christopher sighed. The novelty of Sally apologizing was overwhelmed by his fatigue. “It’s whatever.” He looked at Sally. She was every bit as miserable as him. “You feel better?”

“No.”

“… You want to talk about it?” Christopher offered lamely.

Silence. Sally didn’t answer. Christopher wasn’t surprised. He ignored the increasingly awkward atmosphere. This wouldn’t last much longer anyway. In only a few he’d exit the elevator, rush to his apartment. He’d burn his clothes. Then he’d jump into the shower and--

Suddenly Sally pulled the emergency stop lever. The elevator screeched to a halt.

--Or, he was going to sit in the elevator and play ‘world’s most unqualified therapist’ to the short tempered girl with guns in her arms. Fantastic.

Sally’s hand stayed on the lever for a moment. Neither of them said a word. Christopher tried to prepare himself to receive whatever tirade Sally was cooking up. Sally tried to prepare herself to say what she really needed to say.

“I knew why he did it.” Sally finally whispered.

Christopher tilted his head. Was she talking about why Desolator left the passport? “I know, your reasoning was--”

“No! I mean… I knew, immediately. Like it was, like it was exactly what I would’ve done.”

“…”

“He said I’m like him Chris.” She didn’t look up from the elevator’s console. “And every night I see that smug bastard’s face. He knows how I think, but why does he know? Is it because he’s right? Am I just fooling myself with this hero thing? Am I really just a murderer in denial? Was that night… really an accident?”

She looked back at Christopher. “That’s why I shot that can. I just saw why he’d leave his victim’s passport so quickly, so easily. Then… I saw his face. That knowing smug face. He said ‘I told you you were like me.’ Then all I could see was red.”

Christopher didn’t say a word as Sally controlled her breathing. “Telling me I’m not like him would be real nice about now.”

“You aren't." Christopher answered without hesitation. "Desolator knows how you think because he’s been manipulating people since before our parents were born. He knows you have anger issues. He plays on that insecurity in the hopes that your guilt will cause you to assign more malice to your outbursts than exist. Finally, and this is the single most important distinction between you and him, you’re not a monster.”

“You don’t know that Chris, not really.”

“You told me your story. You killed two people on accident. What about the third?”

“The third?”

“There were 3 robbers right. What happened to the third?”

“She lived and testified against me.”

“Did you know she was alive when you called the police?”

“I thought they all were.”

“Okay, and when you found out one or both of the others might be dead?”

“Chris, can we not?” Sally shook. He was making her relive that night. That awful, stupid night. The night she so desperately wanted to take back.

“Alright.” Christopher managed gently. “Let me finish by saying this. If you were like Desolator, you’d have killed the third then told the police you saw a gun. It was dark, they were criminals and there'd be no conflicting account. The police would’ve accepted it. Instead, you were horrified. You were human. You weren’t Desolator.”

Sally turned away. Chris couldn’t see her expression, but he hoped it was a little less troubled.

Christopher looked up at the ceiling. What he was about to say was probably a mood killer, but he meant it from the bottom of his heart, with every fiber of his being. In this sentence was contained all his thoughts on Sally, everything he knew about her.

“You’re an idiot Sally, not a monster.”

“Thanks!” Sally laughed. Despite her laughter, it sounded like she meant it. She finally released the emergency stop and they came to Chris’s floor. Sally walked with him a little ways.

“I meant it Chris. Thank you.”

Christopher shrugged. “I’ll call you an idiot whenever you want, just ask.”

Sally smiled. “Ass.” She sighed. “But now we’re back at square one. The passport’s a warning. The car’s in the junkyard. And that was the only clue we had. Where are we supposed to go from here?”

“We’re not where we started.” Christopher countered. “We have a big clue. We know one of Desolator’s victims. A Russian victim.”

“I’m not following.”

“To my knowledge Desolator’s only been killing Yakuza inside Japan. A Russian though? That’s a different pattern. It might help us narrow down who Desolator’s working for.”

Sally nodded. She followed his reasoning. “And if we figure out who Desolator’s working for…”

“We can find him.”