My Private Detective My Private Detective Ch 1, an inuyasha fanfic

This fanfic is one that I am most proud of. It was originally meant as an entry for a Sango/Miroku romantic

fanfiction contest, but alas, I failed to meet the deadline. However, I continued to work with it and found that

I was really enjoying myself. The story is set in first person, so it was a little hard to remember to write 'I'

instead of 'he' all the time, but I think it turned out well. I am still working on the story as of Dec. 2004, so who

knows when it might be done. But, the more reviews I get, themore incentive I have to write more, wink wink!

Enjoy!

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My Private Detective Chapter 1

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Well well, was she ever a classy dame.

Striding into my office as if she already owned it, her delicate perfume wafting over my scratched oak desk

and sticking to me like a humid summer night. I quirked an eyebrow at her legs under her beige, knee-length

straight skirt. Set my jaw at the movement under her wispy pink blouse. Studied her perfect hands worrying

over the black clutch purse she carried. Eyed her bottom lip caught under her teeth, eyes darting around

nervously.

A classy, gorgeous, scared to death dame, all right.

"Can I help you?"

My voice broke her out of perusing my bad excuse for an office, and she turned to me slowly, as if afraid

of sudden movement. I felt my throat catch and go dry.

I've always been a sucker for brown eyes.

"Y-yes," she stammered. Her voice seemed to follow the path of her scent, wrapping around my desk and

enveloping me in her presence.

A woman, to be sure.

"I'm afraid for my life... someone's trying to.. to kill me." She fingered a piece of her long dark hair and directed

her statement to my collection of worn murder mysteries on the bookcase.

I sighed; the old cliché yet again.

"Ma'm, I'm not a cop. I don't go chasing after murderers and the like." Not if I want to live to see tomorrow, I

thought ruefully.

I'm a private detective, yes, but I'm also a careful and cautious man. No running around in dark alleys and

sticking your good as dead nose into a murderer's business.

"But, your sign says you're a P.I. Don't you handle things like this?"

I laced my hands together and set my elbows on the desk, stretching my white dress shirt against my back.

Eyes leveled with hers and spoke of no nonsense and weary repetition.

"Yes, I'm a P.I., but I deal mostly in marriage squabbles and disreputable businessmen. I leave murderers where

they belong - to the cops."

How I hated the fright that brightened her coffee colored eyes and stole the color from her cheeks. The office

seemed to suddenly close in on her. I wished I could comfort her.

I also mentally smacked myself. Stupid ass.

The woman's mouth opened and closed, words refusing to surface from her lips.

"Ma'm, I'm sure if you try some other detectives, they'll be glad to help you find your.. uh.. guy."

"I... tried."

Now that startled me. I was sure the other guys would have jumped at the chance to save a pretty maiden in

distress from a terrible fate. Some cocksure young P.I. would want to spend time with this girl.

I had to think about this one. True, I'm pretty cautious about the cases I take on. Angela used to tell me I was

one of those people who had the superman point of view. Probably why she left me, after realizing that a

dedicated P.I. doesn't always save the day.

Private investigation began to look very appealing during that horrible last semester of college, when one

discovers that one doesn't especially like the idea of being stuck as an engineer or doctor for the rest of his

natural born life, and prefers a job that gets one out of bed saying only a few choice words. I changed textbooks,

classmates, and my entire planned out routine to learn the ancient art of snooping. Seemed like fun at the time.

Adventurous and all entrepreneur-like. That was until my girlfriend of the time dumped me for losing all focus and

ambition (though I suspected it was because my yearly pay gross had just dropped 75 percent in her eyes) and I

discovered that being a P.I. was actual work that included digging through garbage and perhaps being shot.

Ah well, I was stuck with it.

Lo and behold, I became a decent P.I. Bought myself office space that was tiny, but affordable and accessible. I

spent loads of money on technical equipment for the well-prepared spy, only to stop using it six months later. I

adjusted to late nights, sleeping at my desk in my dress clothes and jumping from sleep while receiving odd or

threatening phone calls. I even got used to the idea of being a sort of superhero.

I met Angela, dated, and lost her. Went through a few other women, only to be dropped sooner or later for my

lifestyle. Then I had become acquainted with Marisa.

A girl unlike any other, Marisa dropped into my office one day, applied for a secretarial job, and naturally got it.

She was pushy and independent, with a strong mind of her own. Not many knew that she cried during movies,

held herself in her cold, lonely apartment and had a passion for instant ramen. Or that she favored Pepsi over

Coke, adored baby kittens and danced in the park during the rain.

I shifted in my chair, uncomfortable with the way my thoughts were roaming. My collar felt tight like a noose and

I yanked on it impatiently.

"You tried every last one?"

She nodded her glorious head twice, but it didn't fool me. Of course she wasn't telling the whole truth. I knew for

darn sure that Hackner would have accepted the job minute he laid eyes on her.

"And not one would take the job. Seems mighty peculiar to me, no offense."

At least she tried to look indignant, face flushing embarrassingly. The woman took a seat without it being

offered.

"Well, I've tried several, but they told me they were bogged down with other work and didn't have the time or

resources to handle my case."

Ah, so it was money. I would have thought she would be loaded, what with the fancy schmancy duds she had on.

I didn't have a clue about fashion, but I could spot a rich girl's clothes easily.

And that skirt looked ten kinds of wonderful as she crossed her knees in her chair, smoothing out invisible

wrinkles with her hands. No wedding ring.

I needed to get her out of my office and quickly. It had been too long since I'd been with a woman like her.

Walking to the front of my desk, I gave her a no-nonsense look.

"Miss-"

"Sango, please call me Sango."

Lovely name. "Miss Sango, I'd love to help you, but I really don't handle murderers. No bull."

"Please, please at least consider it? I've tried to find someone, but no one will help me! The police won't do

anything until someone gets hurt. I-I don't want to wait until I'm ten feet under to get attention."

Her eyes reminded me of a wild animal caught in a trap, a very dangerous trap. Darting back and forth and

looking everywhere but at me, they tugged unwillingly at my heartstrings.

No, I told myself, I can't help her! It will be exactly like last time!

"I'm very sorry, but-"

P.I.'s pride themselves for always being on the alert, but she took me by complete surprise. The witch who had

already begun casting her spell over me grabbed the starched collar of my shirt and pulled my body to hers,

wrapping her almost bare arms around my sweaty neck and pressing her chest against mine. Awareness shot

through me before a wave of pity followed when she placed her tear soaked face into my chest, shoulders

racking violently with sobs, despair settling around her.

A sudden image of Marisa's fragile, broken body passed over my eyes.

Then the picture became one of this Sango. Meeting the same fate.

"....Ok."

Sango pulled back slowly and stared at me, surprise evident in her red rimmed eyes.

"You'll help me?"

Against my better judgment, I said, "Yes."

And she hugged me yet again, her warm body awakening my own with a sudden violent force.

"Thank you."

I coughed. "You're welcome. When do I start?"

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And so, I had come to know more about the lovely Miss Sango DeVere.

It was out of personal habit and a sense of self protection that I closely examined each of my clients carefully,

learning their moods, their preferences, their sins and everything else that made them who they were. This

proved very helpful when your client turned out to be the one pulling the strings of a crime spree, and not the

innocent person they professed to originally be. Better to get out sooner than end up cold on the floor later.

I had banished all doubts of Sango's innocence early on in the game. She was a tried and true lady, through and

through, all right.

Miss Sango DeVere lived in an upscale apartment complex in the arts district of the city. Her three bedroom,

three bathroom living quarters was expensively furnished, yet cozy, with its family pictures, lit fireplace, various

knick knacks and potted plants. And immaculately clean. I felt like a filthy mongrel in a palace. She had led me

through each room, patiently showing me every available door and window to escape and enter from. An

apartment with thirteen ways to break in. It didn't help that a fire escape began at the first floor and wrapped

itself underneath every window of the place. Good for safety and for malicious wrong-doers. Most of the floors

were of pale marble tile. Easy to hear footsteps on, unless one were to divest themselves of shoes. Carpet in

the bedrooms; way too easy to move about stealthily.

Sango did have a few weapons to work with, thankfully. Plenty of heavy pots and vases, lamps, an umbrella

stand, a metal trashcan, kitchen knives,... she was loaded all right. Only hoped that none would be used

against her.

Sango led me to her bedroom. Soft and decorated in pale shades of pink and neutral tones, it was dominated

by a huge canopied bed that begged to be flopped on, several large armoires that no doubt housed her many

items of clothing, several ancient Japanese prints and a glorious view from no less than four giant floor to ceiling

windows. I would have suggested moving, but was positive she was too strong willed to even consider it.

A long katana sword hung above a dresser and immediately caught my eye. "Ever used that," I asked, nodding

my head in its direction.

"No," she shook her head. "It belonged to my father. He said it was too priceless to ever play with. It was used in

Feudal Japan, so it is quite valuable, which is why I keep it in here."

I nodded my head absently. She may soon be glad of its close proximity.

"Why don't you have any curtains on these windows?"

Her smile was sheepish. "Never really got around to finding window treatments that were big enough for them.

Besides, I enjoy the view at night, so I haven't wanted to obscure it."

I watched her glide over to the windows and with a sigh, look out into the night. The view was beautiful due to

the building's location on a hillside. The rest of the city lay stretched out like a carpet below, thousands of lights

twinkling.

Sango's a view unto herself, I admitted. My eyes looked over her small form, and my hand twitched of its own

accord, aching to touch her. Reflexively, I shifted it behind my back and took my eyes from her long legs.

Of course, we were in her bedroom, of all places.

Without waiting, I exited through the door and went to the kitchen, grabbed all of the kitchen knives and stuffed

them in the back of a cabinet, away from view. Heck, I even removed the blade from her mechanical grater and

let it lie with its sharp cousins in the cabinet. I knelt and gathered all poisonous chemicals from under the sink

and shut them in the pantry, behind a large stack of canned goods.

"You have way too many things in here, you know," I said, knowing Sango was watching me from the counter

bar as I put her matches away.

"I know.."

"And I'm just trying to be extra cautious."

"I know."

I glanced her way and my heart lurched at the sad expression her eyes held as they stared at the counter.

"Hey.." Walking over, I placed my hands on the bar. "It's ok, everything's still here, just put away in a safer place."

"I-I know," She set her jaw in anger but her eyes flickered with fear. "I just hate having to safe-proof my own

home to protect myself. This - it's - just crazy, I've never had to do anything like this before. It's just too surreal."

And I knew it was time for the whole truth to come out.

"Come sit in the living room, I think it's time you told me everything about your.. friend."

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Horrifyingly aware, I was, of the presence of a male in my very feminine apartment. Miroku's scent was every-

where, and it scared and excited me. I was pathetic.

Of course, Miroku was very handsome, at least, in my opinion. His brown slacks and white shirt were wrinkled

from being worn for so long, and his black hair was mussed from the brown hat he wore. I had loved watching

his hands run quickly through it when he had removed his hat at my doorstep. He was so old-fashioned,

and it was adorable.

It seemed to me that Miroku was trying too hard to exude 'Private Investigator'. Unless he really dressed up

every single day for his job the way he was clothed now. In my mind, I had just assumed that P.I.'s wore

whatever they wanted to nowadays, since they did not spend much time in the company of others.

I didn't mind Miroku's choice of clothing. The clothes made the man, and this man was certainly made well.

Hard muscle worked beneath his shirt as he sat himself in my cream colored chair, dwarfing it entirely. He did

not bother to cross his legs, as if he waited to jump up at any second, and his worn hands sat lightly on the arms

of the chair, waiting for sudden action. His tan skin seemed to darken in the shadow, and his midnight blue eyes

glittered, studying me intently and waiting for me to speak. I tried hard not to stare at his full lips that gave

him a boyish quality, but found my eyes drawn to them like a magnet. Would they feel as soft as they looked?

I gave myself a mental shake and my eye caught the silver-framed picture on the fireplace mantle.

Oh, Kohaku, what would you do?

Guess my change of expression caught Miroku's eyes, because he immediately asked, "Who's that?".

"Kohaku," I managed to choke out. "My younger brother."

"Is he away?"

"No.. he's.. dead."

Miroku studied the picture for a moment, then looked at me sympathetically. "You two looked a lot alike. I'm

sorry for your loss."

My hands clenched the blanket lying beside me on the loveseat. "Thank you. It's been several years, but it still

feels like yesterday."

Silence stretched out between us and I could tell that Miroku was lost in thought. He suddenly gazed at me with

those stunning eyes of his, though they had hardened somewhat.

"Could his death have anything to do with...?"

"No!" I shook my head vehemently. "I mean, no, it couldn't possibly have had anything to do with this.. madman.

Kohaku's death was an accident."

"If you don't mind my asking, how did he die?"

"He was in a car accident," I began, staring at the portrait of a grinning sixteen-year-old boy. "Kohaku had just

received his driver's license and our father had left him his dream car. Driving home the first week he had it,

he lost control of the car and he-" I stopped for a second, trying to continue. "-slammed into a brick building at

75 miles per hour."

Tears threatened to spill from my eyes so I quickly turned away, pretending to be interested in the potted palm

beside the coffee table. Without warning, Miroku stood and walked purposefully to the loveseat, folding himself

onto it beside me. One large, warm hand covered my own and I felt like laughing and crying at the same time.

"I'm sorry I brought it up. I tend to be nosy sometimes, and I always end up putting my foot in my mouth." His

smile was infectious.

"It's ok, you are only doing your job," I said, feeling myself smile despite the pain that continued to ache in my

chest.

The comforting hand turned and found my palm, giving it a gentle squeeze of encouragement. I knew what was

coming next.

"I hate to ask, Sango, but I need you to tell me everything you know about this man who's interested in you."

The familiar sensation of fear skittered up my spine, leaving a cold pit of dread in my stomach. My thoughts

changed from a vision of friendly blue eyes to dark eyes full of hatred, from a feeling of safe comfort to one

of naked vulnerability.

From a feeling of being happy and alive, to feeling like an animal being hunted.

I threw myself into verbally recalling the series events from the past few weeks.

"I first noticed the phone calls, which began three weeks back and have continued since. Someone has, and keeps

calling my house every day, whether I'm here or not."

Miroku jumped in. "Could it be a friend or maybe a salesperson?"

I shook my head. "No, I have caller identification, and the calls always come from a payphone in the city, some-

times far from here, and sometimes close by. Whoever it is just breathed into the phone while I talked, which

started to bother me after two days, so I just hung up on them when no one talked to me. That was just the first

week.

The second week, the caller started to laugh at me. The way he laughed.. it was awful, just plain cruel! I started

to get worried, so I called the police and told them about the calls-"

Miroku snorted, his expression showing how he felt towards cops.

"-and they fairly laughed at me too. They said it was probably just a prank caller, and I shouldn't worry about it.

Well, it was too late for that, but then the calls stopped for a few days. So I thought, 'maybe it's over, maybe it

was just a prank call', and started to forget all about it, until just this past weekend.

I had just come inside my apartment with bags of groceries when the phone rang and I picked it up, expecting a

call from my cousin. However, the person on the other end asked me if my father was ok. This startled me, since

my father has been dead for several years-"

"So, when your father left Kohaku his dream car, he had already been dead?" This man was sharp.

"Yes, Kohaku had adored my father's old Alfa Romeo, and when my father died, it went to him."

Miroku nodded, and I could tell he wanted to say more, but held his tongue.

"Anyway," I continued. "I told the caller that my father had passed away sometime ago. There was silence, then

the person asked me how Kohaku was. I remember that I started to shake; not only was he asking me painful

questions, but his voice was strange, it sounded kind of... metallic? Like it was being warped on purpose. I asked,

'Who is this?', and they immediately hung up. The calls have continued this week, and I'm fed up with it."

Miroku uncrossed and recrossed his legs, beginning to look more relaxed in his surroundings. I found that to be

a good sign.

"Are there only phone calls," he asked, staring at me.

I shivered. "Unfortunately, no. I feel like someone has been following me. When I go to work, when I run errands,

everywhere. I get that icy chill up my spine and the urge to run and hide as quickly as possible. And just last night-"

I visibly shuddered, and Miroku frowned. "-someone attacked me as I was walking towards this building.

I had just passed the building next to ours and it was dark outside. I knew I shouldn't have been out, but I had run

out of salt and needed it to cook, so I ran to the store on the corner and was hurrying home when a man grabbed

me from behind and shoved me against the side of the building. He stared at me as if he hated me, his eyes were

so black... and I wanted to throw up because the hand he had over my mouth smelled so horrible. It smelled

rotten. In the back of my mind, I wondered if I was going to be the next random victim of some street psycho,

but the man whispered, 'How's that dear little brother of yours?'. Then he hit me, and the next thing I knew, my

neighbor was helping me up and I had the worst headache of my life."

Leaning over, Miroku slowly tilted me forward, placing his hands gently on the back of my head. Lifting my

hair, he lightly touched the sore spot and the breath hissed out from my closed teeth. It hurt like hell, but his

hands were gentle as they probed the large bump that had surfaced.

He was strangely silent, so I started to babble.

"It's really not as bad as it must look. There was only a tiny bit of blood on it last night and none today, and I have

plenty of aspirin in my medicine cabinet. I took several already this morning .."

Miroku sat back down, his face a mask showing no emotion. I hoped he didn't think I was that much of an idiot.

"So," he began, looking at me intently. "why did you choose me?"

"I already told you that I tried-"

"We both know that's not true, Sango. Do yourself a favor and tell me the truth."

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