The Nakamura File I
Once upon a time
Once upon a time:
I held the grip tight, so the gun wouldn’t shake in my hands.
Chang said something. There was no making it out between the uplink chatter, the radios and the swelling crowd. Didn’t help that things were just as noisy inside. I looked at him and shook my head.
“You’ll put a hole in someone’s foot, squeezing it like that.” he yelled, nodding towards the gun.
A Xaracen-Hale .886. Mage Hunter special. Compact body, nulled rounds. Captain only broke them out for us once before, according to Chang anyway.
“Just keep breathing, kid.”
It’s a damned thing when you’ve got to shout so close.
I don’t really remember much more of it. Not in any real detail. The whole thing went sideways.
Force command was able to isolate the building with some sort of amplifier the feds brought up. They said we had him. Said he wasn’t going anywhere. That sonovabitch fought like a cornered rat.
Nakamura must have ‘ported five, six times. Just kept materializing behind us. Disintegrate, whoosh, disintegrate, repeat. Kyles, Jarmon, Oku, Harris, Shor’el, Wade, Scott, Skelter. There was nothing left to bury.
Darr got him. Blew his ‘jack right out the back of his skull. Found the memory unit, myself. Needed a breath after seeing what was left of him. Big, fat dent in it where the null round landed. Lab said it was worthless. Same thing they said about that freaky necro-whatsit rock he had. Said he must have depleted it, whatever that meant.
By the time I finished contributing to the mess on the floor, Chang had the body secured. Nine dead. Body, singular. It wasn’t right.
Present Day:
“C’mon Shard,” She was pouting again. The kid was mean and green. “Theft’s a weak charge. He’ll be back out there, feeding his buyers again in no time.”
“You ever stop to wonder what these schmucks are supposed to do when you lock up all the bad guys?”
It got me a scowl from the peanut gallery. They kept their traps shut. Perks of seniority.
“I’m serious.”
She was a good kid, but there wasn’t anyone left at Academy that could shave the burrs off of overzealous recruits. Not since Caller retired. The memory of that mean old Orc was enough to give grown men chills. “Just think of how safe everyone will be while he’s not out there.”
“Ogre shit. This is the fourth time we’ve nabbed someone pinching clean silver. You know what that’s used for.”
I did. They called it a lot of things; the Boon, the Trade. My personal favorite was Life Magic. Necromancy just didn’t sell the same.
“Fine.” Dumb kids with mana to spare. “But if you can’t get a solid lead on his buyer, you’ll drop it.”
She had the buyer’s hand-off data in 25 minutes. In ten more we were on the road.
You’d think these kinda deals go down in places like the Sty, Oak Orchard or Bridge Town. Somewhere nobody looks up, somewhere that geeks and pix’ers litter the street in stupid, wide-eyed bliss. Understandable, but wrong. Two months, no, shake that, two weeks on the beat in Oak Orchard and you realize that everyone is watching. Truth is, it’s the folks that want to believe they’re comfortable who keep their heads down.
We pulled up to an older block in lower Westmarket. Newly up-and-coming. Old neighborhood, new realtors. There were still hidey holes, but most had been turned into stuffed-up townhomes and condos, having got flipped for a small fortune by middle class entrepreneurs who spent too much time on the ‘tube. The middlemen to our middlemen.
I tapped the switch marked child lock before she could jump out of the car, and fished the old charm out of my shirt.
“Wards stay in the car.”
“Cute.” She rattled the latch. “Open the door.”
I pulled the chain over my head and gave the charm a kiss before stashing it. Superstitions aside, any mage could tell you rituals have power. You don’t need to be a believer to want an edge.
“Good chance that issued wards will spook your buyer.”
“I’m not going in there without protection.”
“Say you’re right,” I offered, “say this guy’s the key buyer for the last four we nabbed, plus the ones we don’t know about. That’s a lot of material. Just counting what we know.”
She knew the math, Academy reviewers saw to that.
“It’s… a lot.”
“It’s a lot.” I nodded towards the old storefront, a rotten tooth in the pretty townhouse smile. “That look like cheap property?”
She shook her head.
“Whoever it is, good chance they’ve got means.” I tapped the switch to unlock. “That tells me they’re careful. Means we gotta be careful.”
Shitty looks hurt more coming from good kids.
“Tell me you understand.”
“Yeah.” wasn’t any more than a grunt. She opened the console and I cracked the door.
Not that I don’t sympathize. Wouldn’t want to be saddled with me, either.
I never learned to cast. Didn’t have the patience or talent for it. Rookie took to it like a Rhek to the trees. A few quick words with the locked door and we strolled right in.
It had been one of those closet-sized candy shops you used to see small folk running back in the day. Broken glass display cases lined the front, ransacked like it was a jewelry shop. I picked my way through to the back stairs, waving her on.
Thunk. Something hit the floor above. The cussing that came with it was a treat. Whatever was up there was an artist after my own heart.
Rookie hung back, waiting at the employees only door, hesitating before she stepped through.
I wish she hadn’t. Smart kids love learning dumb shit the hard way.
The ward glowed green beneath her shirt. Spellwork, carved into the doorframe, screamed loud enough to make my eyes hurt. Nothing to be done but chase. I pointed up the stairs. Whether she registered any of it or not, we charged the second floor, then the third. The hallway window was open, but there were no signs of life anywhere else.
“Hungry Mother.” Can’t remember what it was, but I kicked at something. Coffee table, maybe.
She just stood there in the hall, staring out the window. At the window.
“Hope you enjoy the view.” Here I am, thinking this damned kid just cost us a catch. I’m steaming.
Rookie didn’t even look up. She was whispering, talking to something. Next thing I know, she’s on her knees in the next room, reaching around in the dark.
“What in the Salt Flats are you doing?” I ask her.
“It’s his.” She said, something shaky in her voice.
When she held up the knife, it was clear that she didn’t know either.
The Nakamura File is something fun I’ve put together mixing a gentle affinity for the ‘buddy cop’ and ‘noir’ genres in a modern high fantasy setting. Maybe something along the lines of Bright and Lethal Weapon.
We should keep an eye out for the Elf Captain who’s “too old for this.” (write that down!)