CW: blood, descriptions of violence.

Chapter 2: 'I'll take care of it.' (6/7/17)

Gin panted as he dialed the number. Out in the street it had started to rain. He ignored the bloodstains his fingetips were covering the mobile phone with, promising himself he would clean them later. It wouldn't be the first time. Despite all the care he could take, nearly a decade working as an assassin had taught him that dirt and stains couldn't always be avoided.

'Hello?'

Gin contained a sigh of relief when Sherry's voice greeted him from the other end of the line.

'Good morning, Sherry.' Manners first. His breath still hadn't slowed down. 'I'm sorry to disturb you this early. I didn't know who else to call. I'll make it up for you later, but now I need your help.'

Sherry promptly adopted a serious tone. By her voice, he could judge she had been awake for a while. Maybe an hour or two. An early bird. 'What is it?'

'I just came back home from a mission,' he started. 'I was exhausted – I haven't slept a wink in the last twenty hours.' The rain intensified. A tiny portion of his brain mentally checked whether all windows in his apartment were closed. 'This man was following me. I didn't notice. Not until it was too late.' Gin dragged his right foot away from a pool of blood on the floor. The laundry. He had left it hanging. After all those hours drying, now it would get soaked again. If only he had heard the weather forecast in time. 'I had just walked into my apartment when he pulled out the gun. While I dodged the first bullet, he managed to run into the hall and close the door behind us. I pulled out my gun. I shot him in the right shoulder – the man was right-handed,' he clarified. No surprise. He, Gin, was the odd one out, the one out of ten, not the others. 'But he had stamina. He shot again and I couldn't dodge it that time. He hit my left thigh. I fell. I held my gun upwards, thinking that would be the end…'

'But it wasn't.'

Gin couldn't help nodding at Sherry's solemn tone. It hadn't been the end. Not yet.

'It was, for him,' he continued. 'A bullet through the heart. By the time he touched the floor, he was dead.'

Gin's gaze flew to the corpse between him and his front door. Just a CEO they had been blackmailing for the last few months, the kind of man who liked to keep his business secrets from absolutely everyone. Shorter than Gin, nowhere near the two meters, and discreetly clad in grey dress pants and a simple white shirt – both now covered in blood. Little cloth had been spared by the darkening stains.

'My neighbors will be waking up in an hour, maybe two.' If the gunshots hadn't gotten them out of bed already. 'I need to clean this all up, but I can hardly move. I think the bullet has hit a nerve. I don't think I could drive like this.'

'Okay.' Sherry's voice remained calm and solemn. Gin couldn't be more thankful. 'I'm taking my motorbike. I'll be there as soon as I can. Have you tried to stop the bleeding?'

'Not yet.'

'Do it,' she ordered. 'Then phone Vodka and ask him whether he can take you to the medical facilities of the Organization. If he doesn't answer or can't come, phone me again.' By the rustle he could hear, Gin deduced Sherry was getting ready to leave. 'I'll probably be on the bike, so I won't pick it up. If something's wrong, keep phoning until I answer.'

'So what if Vodka doesn't answer or can't give me the lift?'

'What do you think? We'll take your car. It's high time I drove it again, don't you think?' Gin could hear the grin in Sherry's voice. He pictured her lips turned at one corner.

'But what about the mess here?' he questioned. 'We can't leave it like this…'

'I'll take care of it.'

A door closed with a thud at the other end of the line.

'But the corpse…'

'Mamoru.'

Gin stopped. He had heard his birth name a thousand times in Sherry's voice, but never as gravely authoritative. The rain drummed steadily against the windows. He noticed his breath and pulse had finally slowed down.

'I'll take care of it,' she repeated. 'Trust me. Do you trust me?'

Gin grinned and turned his head away from the corpse lying before him. Past the hall, his quiet apartment remained just as he had left it the previous morning – calm, tidy and clean, knowing knothing of dead CEOs or blood-spattered walls. The wound in his leg stung.

'Of course I do.'