Bean

Chapter 1: The Thief from Moscow

"I beg your pardon?" the man asked, tipping his head questioningly.

The girl didn't look up. She reached her long fingers into a small snack bag and removed them again holding a pretzel twist. "Any chance you've got some food in that fancy coat of yours?" she asked plainly.

The man looked down at the photograph, then back up at the girl. "Forgive me, but... could I see your face?"

The girl was in no hurry to oblige. She calmly sat, rubbing her index finger and thumb together, the pretzel crunching between her teeth. Then, she turned her head and her eyes met his.

"I'm not that kind of girl," she said bluntly.

The two long stands of hair framed her face becomingly. Her mouth was small, and her lips were a soft shade of rosy pink. But her most striking feature, by a long shot, was her eyes. They were sleek and slender and bluer than a tropical ocean on a sunny day. In fact, the man with the photograph wondered if he had ever seen anything so blue. The outside corners of her eyes lifted ever so slightly under long, curved eyelashes, naturally achieving a look that many in the world of beauty and fashion attempt to fabricate.

"Ah, n-no," the man stammered. "But would you come with me, please? I've been looking for you."

The girl scoffed and reached into the pretzel bag again. "And what would a fancy-pants like you want with a street rat like me?" She popped another pretzel into her mouth and gestured dramatically outward with both arms. "Trust me, there's nothing I can- or am willing- to give you. So... buh bye now." She waved a hand at him dismissively.

But the man didn't back down. "You are Anya Petrova, yes?"

He received a look of uncomfortable surprise. "What's it to you?" she asked, her voice transparently annoyed.

"Look, I represent someone who just wants to talk to you," the man spoke slowly. "You'll get a hot meal out of it, and all you need to do is listen."

Anya's cerulean eyes sparked at the mention of food. She thought for a moment, then swung her legs over the couch to stand. "Alright, sounds easy enough, I guess. Lead the way," she said with a shrug.

The man led her out of the half-constructed building and back through the long, dreary alleyway. At last, they stepped out into the light of the city streetlamps.

Anya was then taken to a small, dimly-lit restaurant. It was the kind of place that served food, but most patrons only went for the bar. A man in a long, black dress coat sat at a table in the corner, and the man with Anya nodded toward him. She stepped forward and approached the mysterious gentleman.

"Hey," she said simply. Her arms hung down by her sides and her fingers fidgeted with the sleeve hems of her sweater.

The man in black lifted a hand toward the chair across from him. He knocked back his drink, then lifted his glass to the waiter, who nodded and left to get another.

Anya took a seat and folded her arms casually on the tabletop. "Who are you?" she asked bluntly.

The waiter came to the table before the man had a chance to answer. A full glass of a strong-smelling alcohol was placed on the table, and the aproned young lad turned to Anya. "What can I get for you?" he asked.

"Do you have stroganoff?" Anya asked, hopefully.

"We do, I'll bring it right out."

The waiter left and Anya turned to the brooding man across from her again. "Okay," she said, shrugging. "Here I am. What do you want with me?"

The man took a long drink of his liquor before answering. When he did, he spoke with a deep voice and a thick Mediterranean accent.

"I believe you will recognize my name," he said smoothly. "You have been an integral part of my homeless network on the streets of Moscow for a few years now."

Instantly, Anya knew who he was, but the man introduced himself anyway.

"Eraldo Coil," he said, extending a hand toward her. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Miss Petrova."

Anya accepted the handshake. "You too," she said. "So... why are you here?"

The waiter arrived with a steaming plate of beef and potato stroganoff. Anya wasted no time digging in. The hot food burned her tongue, but she didn't care. It had been a long time since she'd had a proper meal, and it could very well be a long time before she got another one.

Detective Coil leaned forward with his elbows on the table. "I am here," he said, his voice rich like chocolate, "because I need a thief...a con-girl. And I need the best."

Anya looked up from her plate, her mouth full of meat and potatoes. She used her fork to catch some gravy on her bottom lip. "Keep talking," she said with her mouth full.

The man with the olive skin and black hair continued. "I need... a name," he said slowly.

"A name?" Anya swiped the back of her hand over her mouth before taking another bite.

Eraldo Coil nodded. "Yes. I need the name of the man who ruined me... the man who stole my identity and my life. And I need you to get it for me."

"And if I do?" Anya asked around gravy and potato. "What do I get?"

"An apartment. A job. A life." His words dripped with honey.

Anya paused, her fork halfway to her mouth.

Eraldo Coil spoke directly, never breaking contact with the Russian street girl's icy, blue eyes. "I am prepared to offer you a simple life of comfort and dignity. An apartment here in Moscow has already been procured, and there is a position being held for you at a clothing shop with good wages. Not to mention, there will be a decent sum of money to get you started with a new wardrobe and food to last you until you can pay for your own way. Get me this name... and all of it is yours."

Anya stared as though someone were offering her the moon. "And, uhh..." she spoke hesitantly. "W-what name do I have to get?"

The undone detective leaned in even closer. Fire sparked in his nearly black eyes and he hissed his words with venom.

"Get me the name of the detective known as L."