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Fun and Thieving in Las Vegas	By : mizducky Category: +G to L > Lupin III Views: 2535 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Lupin III, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
Saturday, approximately 3:30pm: a large cargo truck pulls up to a loading
dock in back of the Las Vegas Convention Center. A crew of roadies armed with
dollies and security laminates shambles out of the truck and begins loading in
The Love Bandits� gear -- plus a few extra crates containing assorted non-Love
Bandits materiel. Among the roadies are three newcomers -- Goemon, Jigen, and
yours truly, masked up and dressed down in black jeans and tee shirts, the
band�s official crew attire for corporate gigs. Jigen makes an awesome-looking
roadie -- I just left his hair and beard natural and gave him a more
dissipated-looking face. Goemon�s martial bearing is always a bit harder to
camouflage, so I took his hair and skintone totally Nordic to compensate. Me, I
couldn�t resist going a little Johnny Depp playing Hunter Thompson -- after
all, I am the pro when the going gets weird.
Me and my little gang do put in some significant effort hauling gear, partly
to get our own toys in place, partly as thanks to the real crew for putting up
with us. Plus toys is toys -- all the music crap does fascinate the hell outta
me. Our identity is evidently an open secret to all the regulars, but their
code of silence would make the Mafia�s omerta look like a children�s
cross-your-heart oath in comparison, so I�m okay with it.
Around 5:00pm I break myself away from playing with all the toys, and give
Jigen the hi-sign, letting him know he�s now on point. And then I slip off to
execute the next phase of this op.
I make my way through service corridors towards the Renaissance Hotel. While
in transit, I find myself a nice quiet spot to change mask and costume; when I
make my entrance into the lobby of the Renaissance, I�m a concierge in hotel
livery.
I discreetly tap a couple of commands into the mini-laptop. Very shortly the
PA system is intoning: �Dr. Rutherford, Dr. David Rutherford, please pick up
the white courtesy phone in the hotel lobby, you have an urgent telephone
call.�
And here comes my favorite scientist-geek, still looking like the tight-ass
mama�s boy that he is, heading for that white courtesy phone at a trot. I
intercept him there, taking his arm with a �Dr. Rutherford, there you are, now
about that urgent message�� While I have hold of his arm, I sink a little
needleful of my favorite fast-acting hypnotic into his inner elbow. I then
proceed to lead the now-docile geek towards the elevators, chatting him up all
the while.
When the elevator doors close, I brightly say, �Oh by the way, Dr.
Rutherford, remind me of your room number, please?�
�Fourteen forty-four,� he drones, staring straight ahead.
�Very good! Let�s go there now.� I thumb the button for the 14th floor.
Once in his room, I relieve him of his suit, his ID, and his all-important
convention member badge. I lay him down in his bed and instruct him to sleep
for the next 12 hours -- hey, it�s the least I can do after zonking the poor
guy twice in as many days. But he looks so cutely helpless all snored out in
bed that I can�t resist pulling a little practical joke on him. Some bright red
lipstick in a key location, and voila! Probably the most attention his lonely
little cock has seen in some years. He should thank me.
Having finished decorating my mark, I set about changing mask and costume
yet again. Add some hand coverings, and I am now Dr. Rutherford right down to
the fingerprints. For my final move I go over to my decoy laptop, wipe out my
virus software, and reload Rutherford�s original data, thereby removing the
last trace of that infiltration.
Now, time to head off in search of Morningstar, and whatever other trouble I
can get into. And trouble may well be the operative word here. Last night�s
revelation that Darkpool is a local player set off a big ol� hunch in my head;
just a little more research and yes, of course, buried behind about a bazillion
security firewalls I found a big fat connection �
It�s going on 6:00pm as I make my way at a brisk walk from the Renaissance
back to the Convention Center. I�ve got a little time to kill before my
rendezvous with my target, so I cruise the main exhibit floor, checking the
layout. Big high-ceilinged multi-story warehouse-like space, with lots of
wrap-around balconies, exposed beams and ductwork -- such structures are always
good for fun and games. And look at all the booths displaying
alternative-energy vehicles! I make note of several electric car prototypes
that appear to be actually juiced up and ready to roll -- you never know when
such things might come in handy.
And who should I spy checking out a particularly hot fireapple red
all-electric concept car but Nessa, resplendent in studded leather jacket,
Daisy Dukes that hug her ass perfectly, and her big bad Doc Martens over
candy-cane striped thigh-highs. I sidle up to her, getting a kick out of the
cold shoulder she gives my uber-geek alter ego.
�Too bad he made you give the hat back,� I murmur in her ear in my natural
voice, �it looked so much better on you.�
She fights hard not to jump out of her skin; I fight hard not to bust out
laughing.
�Shit, dude, you really are a brat,� she murmurs back at me, mouth twitching
into a smile. �But good thing you dropped by. Take a look across the hall.
Right in front of Door N15.�
I glance in that direction. �Aha. Figured Tottsan would be around
here somewhere.�
�Tote-san?�
�Ah. Forgive me. Japanese slang. Roughly translates as something like �Pops�
or �Daddie-O.� A term of endearment, sort of.�
�You�re on such friendly terms with the cop who�s chasing your ass?�
�Of course. He�s a good man, even if he is a bit of a freak.�
�Look who�s talking.�
�And the same to you, gorgeous. Ta for now.�
I choose a path that takes me right by the Old Man. He�s busy blustering
into his cellphone in Japanese: �Damn it all, what do you mean you can�t send
me a backup unit? � I already told you, those Darkpool madmen are no good! �
Why? Because they�re far worse crooks than Lupin, that�s why! They were
shooting to kill with military armament, against my specific orders! � What do
you mean, �diplomatic considerations�? I�m a cop, not a goodwill ambassador! �
What?! Hello? Hello?!? God damn it!�
Poor Pops. For a second it looks like he�s going to smash the phone against
the nearest wall in frustration. But then he spots me. Before I can make a
graceful exit, he�s charging in my direction. I tense up, ready to flee, then
realize he�s not making with the handcuffs and the under-arrest hollerings, so
I force myself to relax and stand my ground.
�Dr. Rutherford,� he says in his heavily-accented English, �I want to talk
to you some more about your encounter with Lupin III.�
Oh great. �I�m sorry, Inspector,� I say in Rutherford�s most condescending
tones, �but as I told you before, I�ve already given you everything I can
possibly remember.�
�But you haven�t given me access to your laptop computer, and as I explained
before, such devices are one of this criminal�s favorite targets.�
Oh, really great. Glad I took care of that, but ... �I must apologize again,
Inspector, but the contents of my computer are strictly confidential.�
�Confidential?!? You�re more worried about having an officer of the law
rifle through your data than a known master thief?!?�
I pull myself up to my full height (augmented with lifts in my shoes, as
Rutherford�s a couple of inches taller than me). �Inspector Zenigata! I�ll
thank you not to take that kind of tone with me! If you persist in this sort of
excessive behavior, I will be forced to contact my lawyer to file a harassment
suit against you and your entire agency. I consider this conversation to be at
an end. Good day, Inspector.� And I turn on my heel and stalk off in high
dudgeon, leaving the Old Man quivering with impotent fury.
Well, the good news is that I got an additional piece of intel out of the
confrontation -- that Zenigata had indeed been working with Darkpool as of last
night, but that he too is now pissed off at them. The not-so-good news is that
�Rutherford� may have just succeeded in getting on Zenigata's piss-list too --
enough so to incite him to bust into Rutherford�s hotel room, with or without a
warrant, in search of that laptop. And when Pops does that, he�ll find the real
Rutherford zonked out in bed with my little calling card painted on his dick,
and the chase will be on.
Nothing to be done about that at this point though, so it�s onward �
to a secluded VIP function room on one of the upper levels of the convention
center. There GeoDynamics is scheduled to be holding a very confidential
reception for potential investors in its hush-hush new product.
I flash my ID, get my fingerprints scanned, and I�m in � and I find myself
in a very interesting crowd of people. A bunch of �em I know from studying
GeoDynamics� org chart; a bunch more I recognize as players in the murky realms
between official governmental agencies and, well, less official ones. Several
are fronts for black market arms suppliers. One guy has all the earmarks of an
operative for the Russian Mafia. And the walls are lined with security types --
your typical big beefy NSA alumni in black suits and mirror shades, radio
headsets jacked into their ears.
And there at last is Morningstar himself. Nasty bit of business he is. I had
already known he was the majority stockholder in GeoDynamics; my latest
research uncovered the fact that he�s a major silent partner in Darkpool as
well. Physically he gives off all sorts of bad vibe. Well over six feet tall,
cadaverously thin, with disturbing sallow grayish-tan skin, a shaved head,
flaring nostrils, and eyes well hidden behind dark glasses. An albino? At any
rate, not a pretty face.
But despite this guy�s repulsiveness, who should be cuddling up at his elbow
doing her best, most sexed-up office lady impersonation but--
Fujiko-chan!
Down boy. We�re working, remember? Not to mention having a hot thing going
with a much more cooperative woman just a few floors away. Though Lola and I
did already have the conversation about the monogamy thing. It was mercifully
brief -- me: �I don�t do it.� Her: �Don�t sweat it baby, I don�t either.� Thank
goodness.
For even though Lola is in fact much nicer to me than Fujiko has ever been
or probably ever will be, even though Fujiko�s whapped me upside the head with
her damnfool betrayal-accessory so many times I�ve got a permanent dent there,
she still has the power to ring my chime as if I were Pavlov�s salivating dog.
There�s just no woman that can turn me on like Fujiko, and she�ll always own a
piece of my heart.
But that doesn�t mean I have any compunctions about messing with her head
every now and again.
I�ve managed to successfully contain my little Fuji-cakes lust spasm, much
to my cock�s chagrin, so she�s still unaware of my identity. Nope, not even
Fujiko can clock me when I�m disguised up. In fact, here she comes now, no
doubt thinking to wring some info out of a GeoDynamics science officer just the
way I did earlier �
�Oh, Dr. Rutherford, there you are!� she coos in my ear; �I wonder if you
could step over here so I can discuss some of the arrangements for this evening�s
presentation �� Dificult as it is, I try to look discomfitted with this
attention. Method Acting, man--just make like I�m Goemon-chan.
I catch the triumphant sparkle in her eye as she takes me by the arm
and--oh, what a riot! There�s the pinprick in my inner elbow; she�s just
slipped me some of the same drug I used on the real Rutherford. Good thing I�m
already chewing on a wad of gum impregnated with the antidote.
I feign somnambulance and let her steer me out of the conference room into
yet another service corridor. There, she props me up against a wall, leans in
close, presses her glorious size double-Ds up against my chest--oh mommy. No
Method Acting is required for me to start fogging up my glasses.
�Okay, Rutherford,� she purrs at me seductively. �The Geo-Core lab. It�s
located in what wing of the Darkpool complex?�
�Shark gruel?� I murmur dazedly. �I don�t know anything about any shark
gruel � sounds disgusting if you ask me � �
Oh, the expression on her face is priceless. I can�t hold the giggles in
anymore � and then WHAP. Once again my face is wearing an imprint of Fujiko�s
hand.
�OW! Careful, Fuji-cakes, you�ll tear the mask.�
�Lupin, you jerk! I just gave you enough Rohypnol to drop a bull moose in
its tracks!�
I blow a bubble with the antidote gum, giggle some more. �I love you too,
sweet cheeks.�
She sighs, shakes her head. The standard reaction I seem to get from all my
associates.
�So you�ve figured out that GeoDynamics and Darkpool are connected, too,
huh?� I say, pulling out a pocket mirror to make sure the mask is still intact.
(It is. I use a special heavy-duty compound.)
�Uh-huh. But I�ve figured out a bunch of other things too.�
�Oh really? And just what would those things be?�
�That info is going to cost you.� She gives me that larcenous smile that
makes me go all wibbly in the knees.
�Hmmm � but I�ve figured out a bunch of things too, from sources I�m pretty
sure you don�t have access to.� I flash back my own thieving smile. �So how
about we pool our resources � as well as the loot?�
�Okay, then--we split the proceeds 50-50.�
�You realize that kind of leaves Jigen and Goemon out of the money.�
�Hey, they�re partnering with you, not me -- you pay them out of your
share.�
�Aw c�mon, Fujiko-chan, you know that�s not fair ��
But I know even before the whine is out of my mouth that it�s useless.
Dickering with the iron-willed Fujiko is an exercise in futility. Maybe it
would help if I weren�t such a pushover for her � naw. If I weren't, I�d
probably get screwed over even more badly.
I swallow hard. �Okay. 50-50. It�s a deal.�
�Oh Lupin! I knew I could count on you!� And she favors me with a kiss that
lights up my switchboard even through the insulation of the mask. I try to
press my advantage--and myself against those fabulously bouyant breasts--but
she�s already pulled away, gone all task-oriented. Ah well. So it always goes
with her.
�So,� she says in her most businesslike tones, �here�s what I know so far.
Morningstar is deep into the mercenary industry--Darkpool is actually his most
legitimate operation, he has black market arms-running deals going all over the
globe. He hooked up with GeoDynamics because he saw the potential for their
experimental product Geo-Core as a weapon of mass destruction. The geeks behind
GeoDynamics are crazy, but it�s more of a mad-scientist craziness. They
designed Geo-Core to harness the Earth�s energies as a power source. But the
technology they�re using is orders of magnitude more powerful than they
realize. And it all centers on the specialized synthetic crystals they�ve
developed--�
�Oh yes. The �crystals,� as you call them. Which happen to be the largest,
most perfect synthetic diamonds ever created in a lab.�
�Right. Each crystal is the size of a soccer ball and takes over a year to
grow. They had two -- but they expended the first one in an experiment in the
Gulf of Mexico--�
�And that�s the one that happened to blow big huge breaches in the levees of
New Orleans during Hurricane Katrina.�
Fujiko�s eyes widen. �Wow. That is totally new info for me. Sounds like
Morningstar was already testing Geo-Core�s potential as a WMD. The crystals
feed off of environmental energies, they amplify and expand them. I knew they
sank that prototype Geo-Core off the coast of Louisiana, using an offshore oil
rig as cover, waiting for hurricane season to see if they could channel that
energy. But I didn�t know they aimed the energy inland � �
�Oh yes. And it looks like Morningstar placed some side bets in terms of
real estate deals--when large sectors of New Orleans and the Louisiana and
Mississippi coasts got leveled, he moved in and made a killing. So to speak.
Plus there�s this.�
I pulled out the mini-notebook, displayed a file and showed it to Fujiko.
�This is a satellite photo of New Orleans during Katrina. Notice that very odd
pattern of lightning flashes.�
�Wow. That looks way too orderly for naturally-occurring lightning. Even
over a hurricane.�
�Indeed. Now compare it to this diagram.� And I pull up one of the veves I
had downloaded from Rutherford�s computer.
�They�re the same! But what is that diagram? It doesn�t look like any
scientific function I�ve ever seen.�
�That�s because it isn�t science. It�s magic, and it�s real. It�s the symbol
for the Voudoun divine being known as Baron Samedi, the lwa of the cemetery and
the dead. And now that I�ve laid eyes on our Mr. Morningstar, I see he�s the
spitting image of the good Baron.�
�The puzzle pieces are all fitting together. Because you know where Michael
Morningstar originally came from?�
�No, that I couldn�t determine.�
�That�s because �Morningstar� isn�t his original name. It�s Sabatier. He was
an escapee from the old Duvalier military dictatorship of Haiti. He started out
as Papa Doc�s personal bodyguard.�
�Wow. And Papa Doc always used to play up his affiliation with Baron Samedi
to keep the peasantry under control. So Morningstar is actually of African
descent?�
�I know, it�s hard to tell--but I�ve gotten close enough to him to find out.
Turns out he was the youngest son of one of Haiti�s old elite mulatto families.
When Papa Doc came to power and started exiling and imprisoning those elites,
Morningstar decided what the hell, I�m out of the line of inheritance anyway,
and switched allegiance to Duvalier. To this day he�s known to have a real chip
on his shoulder about his racial status.�
"Yeah, well, some of us mongrels do develop an attitude, don�t we?� I
grin wolfishly. Fujiko ignores it -- when there�s a treasure involved, there�s
no distracting her.
�But the question is: where is the remaining Geo-Core, and its crystal?� she
ponders. �And what are they planning to do with it?�
I start to respond, but then we both hear footsteps, and an angry voice
demanding: �Miss Mine! Dr. Rutherford! We�re waiting for you!�
I seize upon this moment to sweep Fujiko into my arms and plant a huge
French kiss on her luscious lips. She struggles, of course; but then she
realizes the cover-up value, so when the functionary finds us, we�re deeply
involved in lingual exploration of each others� tonsils. We ignore him for a
few moments, even while he clears his throat noisily, calls our names again,
and turns red as a beet. Finally, we come up for air, do matching double-takes,
and break apart from each other with appropriately guilty expressions on our
faces.
The flushed and sweaty functionary waggles his finger at us. �Now now,
people--let�s remember to stay professional. Just because we�re in Las Vegas��
��means it�ll stay in Las Vegas?� I murmur. And then have to fight not to
yelp out loud; Fujiko has just ground her heel forcefully into my instep.
�I�m so sorry, Mr. Murdock,� she smiles sweetly at the functionary, �I just
have no idea what came over me.�
�I�ll be happy to come over you whenever you want,� I murmur at her as we
follow the functionary back to the conference room. I snicker when I get a
glare in return.
Back in the room, the lights are dimmed and the inevitable Powerpoint
presentation is underway. I take a seat towards the back, fiddle with my
glasses, and flip on the micro-camera I�ve hidden in the bridge. A lot of the presentation
is straight-out marketing fluff; a little bit is stuff Fujiko and I had just
debriefed each other on out in the hall--absent such details as deliberately
blowing out the levees and profiting from the land grab. My attention starts to
wander a bit--hey, I�ll admit it right out: if not for the little problem of
being a wanted criminal I�d make a dandy poster child for the ADHD Society.
But wandering attention can be a very good thing, because my wandering eye
catches one of the security goons suddenly talking with great urgency into his
headset. He then approaches Morningstar and mutters into his ear. Fujiko, who
has perched herself by his elbow again, gives no outward sign of anything amiss
-- except for one of the secret signals my gang uses in such situations: she
casually raises her hand and draws a fingernail languidly across her throat.
Just as casually, I gather myself together, and get ready to jump as soon as I
see from which direction the shit�s about to hit the fan.
But then a new slide comes up on screen and grabs my attention--hard. It�s
an aerial view of a rocky desert plain, with a deep long sinuous gash running
through it from northwest to southeast. I know I�ve seen that image before--in
the news, on the web, somewhere �
The presenter is droning on: �And this is the site of our next test run with
the prototype Geo-Core, in which we hope to demonstrate the enormous potential
for energy generation from tectonic plate activity � �
Aha. Got it. Man, that made it almost too easy!
And then the lights snap on, the door flies open, and in bursts Zenigata,
dragging behind him two goons who are trying in vain to pull him to the ground.
The Old Man in full effect is not to be taken lightly. He may be getting a
little up in years, but whenever he gets wind of his favorite quarry, namely
me, he becomes a man posessed.
Morningstar stands and faces the Old Man down. �What is the meaning of
this?� he barks. �Have I not already told you, Inspector, that you have no
jurisdiction here?� Yikes. He actually sends a little chill down my spine, and
I don�t scare easy.
Pops, though, ain�t got no sense when he�s hot on my tail, so he doesn�t
even blink an eye at this scary living cadaver towering over him. �Look,
Morningstar, I�ve got all the jurisdiction I need from the ICPO, who have
empowered me to go anywhere in the world to arrest Lupin III!� And he makes a
lunge directly at me. Fortunately, though, the goons trying to hold him back
seize this opportunity to tackle him.
�What?!?� Morningstar roars, wheeling to look at the man he thought was his
staff scientist. Goodness, he�s genuinely startled! He had no idea I was in
here! Score! Of course now my cover is blown to shreds. Oh well--so I might as
well blow it even more. Time to make things go boom, baby.
�Hey Pops, I see you�re busy so I�ll save you the trouble!� Quickly
pocketing the camera-laden glasses, I grab my mask by the scalp and yank it
off. The Old Man's face goes purple with rage, and he shakes those two goons
off like they were rag dolls.
But my Zippo is already alight in my other hand. Just set the mask alight,
slap it down on the floor, and whoosh! Lots and lots of nasty dark smoke. Now
with the free hand snatch the grapple gun out of my jacket, aim skyward, punch
right through the dropped ceiling and sink the grapple in a bunch of ductwork,
then pull the rewind trigger and I�m up up and away once again �
I arch backwards and push off from the ceiling grid with my feet; swing
across the room paying out some rope as I go; kick a few goons out of the
doorway as I swing out into the hall; release and retract the grapple; and hit
the ground running. Behind me I hear Zenigata shout Fujiko's name, followed by
gunshots and sounds of bodies colliding; I glance back to see Fujiko right
behind me, and behind her a growing contingent of Morningstar�s goons.
�Damn it, Lupin, it took me months to set up that cover and you blew it away
in thirty seconds flat!�
�Hey, don�t blame me, blame the Old Man!� I make a beeline for a balcony
overlooking the main exhibition hall, grapple gun at the ready. On the way I�ve
thumbed the little button on my watch that signals Jigen that it�s showtime.
�But they were just about to say the location of the next Geo-Core test!�
Fujiko whines. She slides to a halt behind me, turns, pulls her Browning M1910,
and picks off a couple of goons as they round the corner and start firing at
us.
�No worries, Fuji-cakes, I�ve got it all figured out.� I fire the grapple
into the exhibition hall ceiling, hook a nice sturdy weight-bearing beam, and
hop up to stand on the balcony railing.
Fujiko hops up beside me, hooks her arms tight around my neck and shoulder,
wraps her legs around my waist, and presses tight against me. Ooooh I am loving
this!
�That�s my Lupin-chan! So what�s the location of the test, lover?"
As we swing down into the increasingly agitated crowd towards a particularly
peppy-looking little all-electric convertible I�d scoped earlier, I grin and
say, �S.A. in California. Tectonic plate activity. Isn�t it obvious? They�re
gonna plant the Geo-Core in the San Andreas Fault and try to set off the Big
One!�
�Oh Lupin,� she coos, �I knew you�d figure it out.�
We�re about to make a perfect landing into the car when WHAP. Suddenly I�m
splatted face-first on the ground next to the car, she�s in the driver�s seat
revving the engine, and the grapple gun is retracting back up towards the
ceiling and out of reach.
She blows me a kiss. �Bye-bye, sweetie!�
And before I can even gasp out, �Fujiko, that�s seriously not fair!� she
VROOMs and she gone. Par for the course, man.
I jump to my feet. The crowd is mainly running away from me at this point,
but I can see a combination of Morningstar�s goons, the convention�s security
guards, and Las Vegas City Police starting to boil out of several entrances.
Oh, and Pops in the lead, swinging a pair of handcuffs over his head. I look
around for the next nearest candidate for getaway vehicle--
And one drives right on up to me. That bright fireapple red concept car,
with Nessa at the wheel. She doesn�t even slow down, just kicks the shotgun
seat door open; I get a handhold on the doorframe as she whips on by, and haul
myself in beside her.
�Man, you do have a taste for crazy-ass bitches, don�t you?� She grins and
guns it.
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Fun and Thieving in Las Vegas