Serious Inquiries Only Part 2

The Wild Badger appeared exactly as Detective Yamamoto had remembered it. Incidentally, it also appeared as Officer Ishioka remembered it. There had been many instances in which she was called in to handle a brawl that had broken out or to take custody of patrons that had imbibed beyond their ability stay in good social standing.

“We’re here now,” said Ishioka. “Where do we start first, Detective?”

“Well, Assistant, you can start by shutting your fat mouth.”

Damn Satoshi for getting me into this mess, the two women thought simultaneously.

“Follow my lead,” said the detective as she started briskly walking towards the bar. Officer Ishioka had to break into a light jog to keep up. “Don’t say anything, don’t touch anything, and stay close.”

“Yes Detective,” said Ishioka.

It was still technically the morning, and even a bar as dingy as the Wild Badger would have some lingering reservations about serving patrons before noon, but be that as it may, the door was unlocked, permitting Detective Yamamoto to waltz inside as though she owned the place. Officer Ishioka had to fight her instincts. Her gut told her to reprimand the detective, but she had also been ordered not to say anything. Ultimately, she decided that if the detective got herself into trouble, more fool her.

The bartender, just as old and matronly as she had been during the detective’s last visit, spoke up as soon as she heard the tell-tale sound of the bell next to the door chiming.

“We’re not open yet, hun,” she said in a gruff voice.

“That’s okay!” replied the detective. Yamamoto seemed to be putting on a facade of affability that Ishioka found particularly revolting. “I just had a few questions I wanted to ask!” The old woman sighed as though this was a semi-regular occurrence.

“The specials are Chicken Fre-” she started before Officer Ishioka cut her off.

“We’re not here for the specials. Have you found a lost wallet?” she asked impatiently.

“Assistant!” Detective Yamamoto snapped. The two women briefly locked eyes before Ishioka cowed again. Detective Yamamoto turned back to the bar maid. “Have you found a lost wallet?” Officer Ishioka glowered at the detective, who simply pretended not to notice. The bartender gave the pair a look that seemed to communicate that if she had come across a lost wallet, she would simply have pocketed it for herself.

“No, I don’t think so,” she said.

“Well, that’s a shame,” said the detective, shrugging her shoulders. “Let’s go assistant.” Detective Yamamoto made for the door, but Ishioka remained rooted to the spot.

“Surely you’re not giving up so soon,” said the diminutive officer. Detective Yamamoto turned at the waist and favored her with a smug grin.

“Don’t be silly, assistant. Let’s go.” After a moment of hesitation, Officer Ishioka ultimately complied and followed the detective out of the bar, and then followed her over to the mouth of the alley right next door. Detective Yamamoto planted her feet and stood right in the middle of the alley’s entrance. Officer Ishioka cleared her throat questioningly.

“Pop quiz, assistant,” said Detective Yamamoto. “Where did our illustrious client say he was when he noticed his wallet was gone?”

“He said he was in an alleyway,” replied Ishioka.

“Correct!” Detective Yamamoto gestured proudly to the alley. Now that Officer Ishioka turned her attention to it, she noticed that it was a truly filthy place. Along one side of it stood a row of dumpsters, each filled to various levels with trash. The pavement was uneven and marked with potholes and various puddles left by drunken patrons. All told, Ishioka wanted about as little to do with this alley as anything.

“I’ll follow your lead, Detective,” said Officer Ishioka in a transparent attempt to turn the tables on Yamamoto. Detective Yamamoto feigned laughter as though her impromptu assistant had told a joke.

“Don’t be silly, assistant. This is your job. Go on,” Detective Yamamoto punctuated her sentence by giving Ishioka a little push in the small of her back. To retain her balance, she took a step forward, and thus crossed the threshold of the alley. Deciding that perhaps discretion was the better part of valor, Officer Ishioka went along and started walking through the alley.

She paced down the path slowly as she scanned the ground for any sign of a wallet. Between the garbage, assorted trash, and a few puddles of vomit, there was nothing that even remotely resembled a wallet. Officer Ishioka turned to inform the detective of her findings, or lack thereof, when she noticed that Yamamoto was still standing at the mouth of the alley, having not deigned to set foot in the putrid passage.

“I’m not finding the wallet!” Ishioka called, raising her voice a bit.

“I guess it must be in one of the dumpsters!” Detective Yamamoto called back. Officer Ishioka turned and regarded the nearest dumpster. Given her short stature, the lip of it came uncomfortably high up on her body. “Here, I’ll give you a lift!” called the detective, now walking into the alley. Ishioka considered protesting, but found herself caught off guard as Detective Yamamoto wrapped her arms around her waist and hoisted her up.

The sudden increase in altitude startled Ishioka and, in an attempt to regain some form of balance, she flailed her arms. This proved to have the unfortunate side effect of also unbalancing the detective, who dropped her assistant in favor of catching herself. Ishioka, to her great dismay, had been partially raised over the lip of the dumpster, and now that the detective was no longer lifting her, gravity took its course and carried her head first into the contents of the big metal container.

Officer Ishioka landed with a definite squelch where upon she loudly voiced her disgust at the situation and her antipathy for Detective Yamamoto in general. The detective, who had not intended to drop her assistant so unceremoniously, regained her balance and made an attempt to get Ishioka out of the dumpster, but was given pause by the impressive array of slurs and expletives that had been directed at her.

Carefully, Detective Yamamoto peered into the dumpster to find Ishioka in intense disarray.

“Sorry about that, Hitomi,” Detective Yamamoto said sheepishly. “Need a hand?” Detective Yamamoto leaned over the lip and reached out with a hand. Officer Ishioka slapped it away with ill grace and instead writhed in an attempt to right herself and stand up. Detective Yamamoto was keenly aware that if Officer Ishioka had been in a bad mood up until now, she no doubt had a mind for murder. Like a disquiet revenant rising from a shallow grave, Officer Ishioka stood until she was face to face with Detective Yamamoto.

“It’s not in here,” Ishioka said quietly and deliberately, enunciating every word with coldness and precision.

“What’s not?” Detective Yamamoto asked, unable to help herself. In a fit of pique, Ishioka’s hand whipped up and struck Detective Yamamoto across the face with a resounding smack. Detective Yamamoto rode the blow and recoiled. “Hitomi,” she whined, holding a hand to her stinging cheek. “You’re going to get me dirty too.” Officer Ishioka seemed on the verge of losing her composure entirely when she took a deep breath. She extended one hand seemingly in a gesture meant to offer an olive branch.

“Give me a hand, we need to keep looking.” A small smile made its way across the detective’s face as straightened her posture.

~~~

The next few dumpsters had not yielded anything useful. After the first two Detective Yamamoto pitched in as well in hopes that this task would take no longer than strictly necessary. Their progress was hampered somewhat by Officer Ishioka insisting that the detective help her climb in and out, lest she slip and take a nasty tumble to the ground, or worse to what was on the ground.

“Nothing in this one,” called Detective Yamamoto over the side of the dumpster.

“Nothing in this one either,” said Ishioka. “That means there’s just one left.”

“Do you care to do the honors?” the detective asked, offering a hand. Begrudgingly, but less so than before, especially now that they were both rather dirty, Ishioka accepted. Using the detective’s hands as a makeshift foothold, she hoisted herself up to the final dumpster. When she swung her other leg up and planted it onto the lip of the dumpster, she discovered that an erstwhile patron of the bar had vomited here, and had done so with less than sterling precision.

Officer Ishioka’s foot slid right across the metal rim and out into free space. The resulting over-extension unbalanced her, and with a startled shriek she fell, only to have both her fall and exclamation swiftly truncated by contact between the ground and her buttocks.

“Owww,” she groaned as she groped about the region of her tailbone, on which she had landed. Her hand froze in place before she slowly pulled it in front of her face. The fluid which now coated her hand and her posterior looked far too close to puke for her liking.

“Oh my god! Hitomi, are you alright?” The detective asked, crouching next to her. Hitomi merely sniffled in response. Officer Ishioka looked as if she wanted to cry. Not only had she landed in a stray puddle of stale vomit, but she had landed on something firm in addition to the ground. Slowly and painfully, she rolled onto her side, out of the puddle and off of whatever she had landed on.

“I think I’m okay,” she grunted between pained gasps. “Just give me a moment.”

“Hitomi,” the detective said. Hitomi did not respond, as she was still waiting for the throbbing in her tailbone to subside.

“Hitomi,” the detective said again, a little more forcefully. Officer Ishioka continued to ignore her as she slowly gathered her legs under herself and made to stand up.

“Hitomi!” the detective said for the third time, now injecting a tone of annoyance.

“What?!” Officer Ishioka snapped, now looking balefully at the detective. Detective Yamamoto had stooped next to the puddle and retrieved the object that had so aggrieved Officer Ishioka’s rear, despite the liberal coating of vomit that still covered it. With little regard for the biological hazard it represented, Detective Yamamoto wiped away some of the viscous fluid with the hem of her sleeve and unfolded the item. It became readily apparent that the object was a wallet, and the identification card within it had a picture that bore a resemblance to their taciturn client.

“I think you’ve found what we’re looking for,” the detective said with a smile.

~~~

The walk back to the agency was among the most tiring Officer Ishioka had ever embarked upon. She had received a double coating of garbage and vomit, all while playing second fiddle to Detective Hanako Yamamoto, and that infuriating detective had prattled the entire way back. Officer Ishioka had humored her, if only because she now lacked the energy to resist.

“Thanks for your help, Hitomi,” said the detective as they approached the agency. Officer Ishioka was quietly surprised by the apparent sincerity in Detective Yamamoto’s voice.

“Don’t mention it,” replied Officer Ishioka. She didn’t even bother to turn to look at the detective. Truthfully, she just hoped that this nightmare of a day would hurry up and end.

“You can take a shower back at the agency if you want.” This made Officer Ishioka’s head snap up in the detective’s direction. Almost unbidden, she started to tear up. The prospect of a hot shower and cleaning up was worth more than just about anything at the moment.

“Thanks, Hanako,” Officer Ishioka said after a moment of silence.

“Don’t mention it, Hitomi,” replied the detective.

When the pair arrived at the agency, they found that the client was sort of milling about out front, as if he was waiting for the detective and didn’t have anything better to do.

“Hello!” called the detective. “We found your wallet!” The man turned and favored her with an open-mouthed expression that Officer Ishioka was willing to assume indicated gratitude. As the detective began to discuss payment and returned the lost wallet, Officer Ishioka entered the agency and made her way to the shower as per the detective’s directions.

The shower was heavenly. It took a couple passes, but most of the garbage and vomit washed away. It didn’t do anything to help her clothes, but Detective Yamamoto had also seen fit to kindly lay out a change of clothes from her own wardrobe for the time being.

Now refreshed and in an incalculably better mood, Officer Ishioka walked back downstairs and into the detective’s office. Detective Yamamoto was in her usual attire in her usual position behind her desk. When Ishioka entered the room, she looked up.

“Feeling better?” the detective asked.

“Mostly,” the cop replied. “Did you get rid of that moron?”

“Yeah,” the detective replied. “He paid me and left, probably so he can lose his wallet again.”

“Do I get a cut?” Officer Ishioka had sidled up next to the detective’s desk. She had been asking in jest, or so she thought to herself, but compensation would certainly help the miserable events of today end on a more positive note.

“Assistants don’t get paid,” said Detective Yamamoto. Then she appeared to consider her words a little more carefully before adding another sentence “But under the circumstances, I guess I could part with some.” She reached into her desk drawer, pulled out two small bills, each of which appeared to have been partially soaked in something unsavory, and handed them to Ishioka.

“That’s it?” Ishioka asked. She didn’t mean to sound ungrateful, but the temerity of such a paltry payment shocked her. Detective Yamamoto pulled out a couple more similarly stained bills, all of which were also small denominations.

“This is the rest,” said the detective. “That stupid drunk just took out all the cash he had and called it a day.” In spite of herself, Officer Ishioka cracked a smile.

“No good deed goes unpunished, huh?” she said as she took her seat at the side of the detective’s desk.

“I’ll say,” replied the detective. She reached down by her side and produced a can of beer identical to the one she was already drinking. “Care to join me?” she asked. To everyone’s surprise, not least her own, Officer Ishioka shrugged her shoulders.

“Sure,” she said, taking the proffered drink and reclining in her chair. Both the detective and the officer thought to themselves, independent of the other and without the other’s knowledge that maybe today hadn’t been so bad.

Sure, she’s no Satoshi, thought the detective, but she’s not all that bad