"My big brother got involved with you. He borrowed some money from your group because his house had burnt down, he had no insurance and he couldn't let his pregnant wife and his little daughter live on the streets."
"Oh, is that something you were aware of, Informant-san?" Shiki asked, showing no sliver of sympathy, his face stony and unmoving.
Izaya shook his head. If he had known that the cop didn't even have back up and was in this only because of personal reasons, he would have never relied on him.
"He couldn't pay you back, so some of your dogs came to his new home one day and shot him in front of his wife and kid." Kimura's clenched fists were shaking with fury and Izaya half expected him to get up from his kneeling position and attack Shiki head on.
"That does not sound like the kind of operation I'd be in charge of." Shiki retorted. "I'm not involved in such mindless executions."
"That doesn't make it any less your fault." Kimura insisted heatedly.
"Believe whatever you want." Shiki said with finality in his voice. "I have no intention of apologizing for something I was most likely not responsible for. And even if I was, I don't feel guilty."
Shiki's gaze swept past Izaya and then settled on the quiet informant, promising danger.
"How about we lighten the mood with a little game." Shiki suggested, looking at the younger man apparently causing him to come up with an idea sick enough to put a smile on his face.
The cop was silently killing Shiki with his eyes alone, his fragile psyche unable to make him feel scared and angry all at the same time.
"You see, Orihara-san is very fond of games." The white clad man said almost lovingly as he got up, pulling a dull black gun out of his pocket. "I'm sure he is very bored by now."
With a trained, almost lazy movement, Shiki held the gun, looking so comfortable while carrying an object that could kill, that it looked more like an accessory, like a fancy watch, or a nice ring meant to accentuate his handsome face.
Shiki fell into a lazy stroll, his steps halting when he was right in front of Izaya.
He is going to shoot me.
The informant tensed, body convulsing, as waves of fear and sheer disbelief washed through him, leaving his mind empty.
"Give me your hand." Shiki commanded and Izaya was just so incredibly exhausted, he complied, raising both hands because they were still tied together with his own belt, his mind blank, a deep fatigue spreading through him and making him want to just drop to the floor and sleep.
The feeling of Shiki's fingers brushing his was surpisingly vivid, and his hand curled pathetically in a vain attempt to feel more of the older man's skin as his wrists were freed.
If he was going to die, if Shiki was going to kill him, then the thought of holding his hand while dying was something he welcomed, simply out of the desperation that awoke within him when he thought of dying alone, cold and abandoned.
A cold, smooth object was dropped into his hand, it was heavier than expected and he almost let it glide to the ground, not caring what it was, just vaguely disappointed that Shiki's touch was gone, while he waited in resignation.
Waited for the loud crash, the feeling of a bullet tearing its way through his skin, through his flesh and wrap him in a blanket of coldness, as death claimed him.
