A/N: Thank you everyone for the favs/follows/reviews. Please enjoy the update!
The art of good business, is being a good middleman.
It's bringing people together, talking them into deals they would have never thought to accept before sitting down on the other side of the table. It's manipulating a situation until there's no doubt that it's beneficial to the leader, it's being a good talker.
Above all else, that's what Kudo Shinichi is: a good middleman.
According to his many… associates… he's the best in the business. He's got the temperament for it – he's calm when he's forced to stare down the barrel of a gun, is apathetic at the sight of dead bodies. He doesn't enjoy it, not the way some of his other members do. His eyes don't reflect the flash of muzzle shots, but they don't contain disgust either.
He's sat in the back of a car, waiting for Hattori to climb in beside him, as soon as he's finished his phone call to the correct authorities. For a police officer – soon to be police inspector, Shinichi believes – he's quite good at ignoring the rules.
Despite his best interests, Shinichi's fond of the Osakan, has come to think of him as his best friend. It's amusing, seeing as business like this isn't focused around friendships, just results, but well – he's known Hattori since he was a teenager playing at being a detective.
The door opens, and Hattori Heiji slumps into the seat beside him, nodding towards the driver in the front, an indication for him to drive. Shinichi thinks it's horribly cliched, sitting in the back when he'd much rather be driving, but well, if any cameras pick the car up at the scene, he doesn't want anyone to zoom in and see his face driving.
"I wasn't expecting that," Shinichi says, as the car rolls into motion, rejoining the main road. He glances over his friend, watches as the man runs a hand through his hair – Hattori's been tired recently, he's almost in half the mind to give the Osakan time off from all of the illegal operations they have to oversee.
"Expectin' what?" Hattori asks, and he rubs the tiredness from his eyes, smothering a yawn. He'd been alert inside the warehouse, has practically had it ingrained into him not to let a single fact go out of his notice, but now that they're sat in the car he's lowered his guard.
Shinichi would scold him for it, if he didn't have trust in Hattori's ability to flip the switch between alert and off-guard at any time. Or maybe it's his fondness that keeps him from treating Hattori like his other underlings, because if it was anyone else letting their guard down for even a second, he'd call them out on it…
"Pisco," Shinichi says, turning to look out of the window. He leans his cheek against the palm of his hand as he stares out at street lamps, the lights burning against his eyes. They'll be dropped around the back of the police station, in the CCTV cameras' blind spots, where they'll then make their way back inside and down to the car park in the basement floor.
Hattori hums, and while he's not openly saying anything about it, Shinichi knows that he's going to spend time thinking about it. Hattori's always been like that, he knows, has been quiet when it comes to thinking about the darker elements of their job and maybe there had been a time when the motion had seemed suspicious, but not any more.
"It was weird tha' an old man like tha' was able to sneak inside…" Hattori says, after a while, and Shinichi resists a small smile. His lips curl upwards anyway, and he tries to smother it, but ultimately, he fails. Each trip to warehouses, removing the lids from weapons, is the same – none of it ever changes.
Pisco's appearance… well, while it hadn't got his blood pumping, while he'd still been as collected as ever, it had been a little interesting. It's not often that Shinichi's work provides him with something out of his expectations, something that doesn't fit within the carefully orchestrated plan he's thrown together, chess pieces set awaiting checkmate, but sometimes…
"It is interesting," Shinichi says, drumming his other hand against his knee. "I wasn't aware that he was actively seeking us out."
Hattori hums again, and he pulls out his mobile from his jacket pocket. Unlike Shinichi, who has two – one for 'work' and the other for his personal life – he's only got the one. Not that it really matters, he doesn't need to hide any phone numbers, not when he's constantly working by Shinichi's side. The light from the screen illuminates his skin as he unlocks the phone. From the way his shoulders relax, uncoiling from the previous tension, it's obvious that the text is from his fiancée, Toyama Kazuha.
"We should probably look into him," Shinichi continues, although his words are fairly empty. They've been looking into Pisco for years, but just hadn't found it necessary to kill him from what he'd known. Maybe they should've, maybe Shinichi has been too lenient because he hadn't thought that Pisco was any closer to moving in on them.
"You want me ta get a guy inside his house to get th' disk Gin was talkin' 'bout?" Hattori asks, turning. The sound of him shifting forces Shinichi to glance over at him as well, offering his 'friendliest smile'. When he's not wearing the mask of neighbourhood police investigator, his expressions always come off as distant, faraway.
"Kuroba's already on it," Shinichi says, and he ignores the way Hattori's nose scrunches at the mention, forces himself not to chastise him on a conversation they've had several times before, "we're done for the night."
Hattori nods, glances back down to his phone and smiles. Shinichi feels almost tempted to ask, but there are some things he can't ask when they're in the company of other organisation members. Not when they already talk about favouritism – God, if Shinichi even hears rumours about playing favourites again, he might just shoot someone.
"Good," Hattori says, "and the weapons, they're headin' to Osaka?"
The expression he receives is nothing short of chilling. Hattori's expression shifts from its usual calm, to sheepish as he rubs the back of his neck. He says, "it's just my father's runnin' a new system on random searches comin' off th' Daini Hanna toll road, Otaki-han told me when he phoned earlier."
Shinichi's lips form a tight line as he turns away. For a moment he has to smother the hot resentment that twists inside his lungs at the mention of Hattori's father.
Hattori Heizo – Shinichi grits his teeth at the thought of the man. When it comes to making sure his transactions with Osakan gangs run smoothly, the superintendent always makes things difficult on Shinichi's end.
First it had been with the placing of undercover police by the pier. Then it had escalated to searches of vehicles in which Shinichi had been forced to persuade three of his men not to tell the police anything when they'd received prison sentences.
All terribly frustrating. And now he's creating another policy that Shinichi's going to have to counteract. If it wasn't so fucking aggravating, Shinichi would thank the man for giving him something to actually think about. It's about as interesting as his job seems to get these days.
(There is a lot Shinichi would do for his job to stop being boring. Criminal activity is about as listless as paperwork when you do it enough. There's no noticeable thrill to it any more, no adrenaline – he's too desensitised to weapon and drug trades.)
"You could have said before we sent them off," Shinichi sighs as the car stops outside the station. "Send me what you know, and I'll talk to the driver about it on my way home."
He steps out of the car, smooths the creases from his suit and suppresses the urge to slam the door behind him. So maybe he's a little angrier than he'd have expected, but he'd spent his shift collecting statements instead of solving murders, and then he'd had to attend an arms trade with complete, utter, morons. And now, now, the entire deal might be for naught.
Hattori trails after him as they make their way across the street, falling into step beside him as they stride toward the precinct car park. He's quiet for a moment, and then, the Osakan opens his mouth, and attempt to explain, "listen I-"
Shinichi turns to him, raises a hand and stops him before he can start. "No, you listen Hattori. You're one of my closest friends, but if you forgetting to tell me about your father costs me 7 million yen, I will have to use you to send a fucking message to everyone else. You understand?"
Hattori doesn't even falter in his walk, keeps moving as if he'd known. Maybe he does know, maybe that's why he's so calm whenever Shinichi has to be stern, act like a boss rather than a friend.
"I get it," Hattori says, when they start down the ramp. "But if you do, just don't make it too noticeable, I don't want Kazuha or Chi to notice."
Shinichi pauses, supposes that it sounds fair enough and offers a nod. He wouldn't want any of his fellow police officers to notice anyway, so it's not like he can really afford to make any injuries noticeable. Plus – the idea of Hattori having to return home to his family and lie about how he'd been injured…
Kazuha, well – she'd understand. Hattori's a police officer, it'd be unrealistic not to expect him to come home completely unbloodied all the time. But their daughter…
He hopes it doesn't show in his expression how uneasy the idea leaves him.
"If you send me the information, then we won't even need to worry about the locality of your wounds now will we," Shinichi says, crossing his arms over his chest. They split off from one another when they reach the middle of the car park, heading towards their separate cars. "If you want to make things up to me either way though, you'll present me with coffee in the morning."
The drive home takes longer than he'd expected.
He hits traffic when he's halfway, and his usual ten minute drive home is almost doubled. Five minutes of his time is stuck on the phone explaining countermeasures to the idiots driving the weapons into Osaka, and Shinichi's pretty certain that they've got a higher chance of getting the firearms into the city unnoticed.
The other fifteen minutes is spent wondering how exactly he's going to deal with the next shipment he's going to oversee. He considers calling one of his better associates to formulate a plan, but since the shipment doesn't arrive for another nine days, he decides he can play it by ear until later.
"Ugh," Shinichi says, as he's forced – again – to stop at a traffic light that's turned red. He retrieves his phone from the dashboard, unlocking it and pressing onto his contacts. Then, he scrolls down, eyes searching for a name. It doesn't take long.
Shinichi presses call, places his phone back on the dashboard, and he waits for the call to connect.
The phone rings four times before he gets an answer.
"Did you know," comes the voice from the other side of his phone, "that most employers leave their workers to do their job, instead of checking in on them every few minutes?"
He clicks his tongue, the sound echoing through his speakers. From anyone else, Shinichi wouldn't take the disrespect, but with the skill set Kuroba Kaito brings to their team, it's almost comes hand-in-hand.
"I realised I hadn't guessed today," Shinichi says after a moment, as if he hasn't been itching to know what's on the disc Gin had asked after. He can hear the rustling of leaves as Kuroba pushes through a hedge, the sound of branches scraping against the side of his phone. "You know, about why you decided to become a member of this organisation?"
Kuroba lets out a short laugh on the other side. It's quiet, but it echoes through the speaker. He says, "I already told you why. It's not my fault you don't believe me."
Shinichi pulls away from the lights, moves the car into gear and groans. He says, "you think I'd believe you joined just because of a gemstone?"
There is a tittering sound from the other side of the phone. Like laughter, but not quite – it's too mocking to be laughter. It's something else, a malformed version of amusement that seems almost akin to a snicker, malevolent but not cruel.
"Not just any gemstone. The gemstone." Kuroba says, and Shinichi bites into his tongue. "Do you really need to ask questions about my motives right now?"
Shinichi flicks his left indicator on, sighs. "I suppose not. How far are you from Pisco's place?"
"About ten metres from his window."
It's probably best not to overthink the fact that he'd never given Kuroba the address belonging to Pisco. It's one of the good things about the man; he's efficient. He works tricks that take time to unravel, and there's nothing impossible that he can't put into practise – well, within reason of course.
"Burn the building down after you're done." Shinichi says, "mechanical failure of one of the plug sockets or something. Faulty electric lead."
He can practically see the grin from the trickster. Kuroba says, "is it my birthday?"
Shinichi rolls his eyes. Turns right into his driveway. Through the light of one of his windows, he can see Ran, moving around in the kitchen – making tea, he realises, as she waits up for him.
"Just get it done." He says, ignoring the light cackle that bursts from the other man's throat. "When you find the disc, mail the contents to me."
"Sure, whatever you say." Kuroba says, hanging up before Shinichi can say anything else.
Pocketing his phone, Shinichi unbuckles his seatbelt. Leans his arm down to unlatch the door. There's an almost uncertain feeling blooming in him, as he wonders what exactly is on the files, and how much Pisco had known.
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