Bean

Chapter 2: The Detective from London

November 1, 1997
Winchester, England

"Watari," the young detective spoke up, a fork lingering on his tongue. His lips were dotted with chocolate cake crumbs, the slice being leftover from his birthday, as he'd just turned eighteen.  Having just won the Detective Wars, he'd certainly made a name for himself over the past several years.  

The old man looked up from a file folder he held.  "Yes, my boy?"

The powerful entity known as L was a far cry from the tiny orphan boy Wammy had rescued.  But of course, the world did not know that the enigmatic man behind the infamous monogram was just a quirky, awkward boy with an insatiable sweet tooth.

"I believe this case would be much more efficiently solved if I brought in this Anya Petrova I told you about...  Her name is coming up everywhere I look." L tapped the fork against his lips. "I've never worked with anyone else on a case before, but... I suppose there's no harm in it, provided I use an alias, of course."

Thick but trimmed, white eyebrows rose above gold-rimmed spectacles.  He gave a slow nod.  "If you think it's best."

"I do think this is the best option," L said decidedly, his youthfulness prominent in his low voice. "I believe this could increase productivity on the case by nearly sixty percent, as I am so uneducated on the Russian mafia." He turned in his swivel chair to face Watari, his long toes curling over the edge. "I'll need an alias with a full background. A private detective out of London, let's say. She's living there now, so we'll need a suite in the city. I'd prefer if arrangements were made for her to have a room in the suite as well... I'd like to avoid any going back and forth on her part, as it raises the probability of suspicion."

Wammy nodded again.  "I'll see to it."

The young man swiveled back around again. "Thank you, Watari." 

And so an alias was set up with the name Detective Cayde Bennett of London. A backstory was set in place with official papers, and contact was made with Miss Petrova, who agreed to meet at the London hotel suite.

**********

November 4, 1997
London

Anya stepped out of the cab with a sense of excitement filling her. The clothes she wore were nothing like her usual attire of oversized Goodwill sweaters paired with leggings and combat boots... and even that was better than the horrid little dresses she'd had to wear at the Soviet orphanage. 

She remembered it all too well... The cold stone building with the looming cast iron fencing outside and scant furniture inside.  She recalled with perfect clarity the long dining table in a plain room with yellowed walls that had been white a long time ago, her breath visible as she ate her potato soup made with watered-down milk.  To behold the sight, one might set the date in the early twentieth century, assuming war was raging in Europe... but this had been the 80s, and the world wide web had just been invented. Sitcoms aired on televisions, Batman and Indiana Jones were popular films, and Michael Jackson and Whitney Houston were all the rage, as were neon colors, bold patterns, and big hair.

...but not at the overcrowded, underfunded orphanage in Russia where Anya had grown up, where children wore coats and fingerless gloves to supper because the storms all too often shut off the electricity and the heat.

But today, on what she felt like was the first day of the rest of her life, she wore nice, dark jeans with a white button-up shirt that had little blue flowers all over it, courtesy of Mr. Coil, as was everything else in the suitcase she carried.  Her gaze was on the tall hotel now, shamelessly gawking before a smile spread over her whole expression.  Her teeth were mostly straight with one eye tooth just a little crooked.