In the usual sense, a mis-delivered package was never a big deal. Sure, the recipients would be angry to not receive their goods, but others were always available, assuming that the price wasn't outrageous and their pockets weren't laden with dust and debris. In the usual sense. That didn't apply to Takasugi. He knew the exact day that his box was supposed to arrive, and had paid far too much to lose the shipment, but the exact day that it was marked as delivered, he received a box of tea. Tea that he didn't fucking order.
Being the cunning man that he was, a handful of empty safe houses were scattered across japan, two being in the Kabuki district. Mist blanketed the streets of the delivery site, and even with the sun on the horizon, he couldn't make out his hand from his shoulder and was all but convinced that his body ended just below his chest.
He thought that his associates were playing a joke. Maybe stepping up security and hiding his real spoils behind a layer of cleverly placed distraction, but after digging deep into the crate, there was nothing but more dried beverages.
A little weed, but nothing that he was supposed to be receiving. His name had been cleverly replaced with another, numerics of the address likewise, and he ended up staring at the box as though it would manifest the artillery he expected. Amanto technology was nothing to toy with.
Still, after hours of watching the box, nothing happened. Kawakami examined it, Matako as well, and all three of them came up empty handed. By the time Takechi volunteered to do the same, Takasugi could only wave him off. There was no point and they had better things to do than rummage through dried plants and pretend that something different would happen if they each took their turns. As if they were special and held the key to decoding the mystery box that looked more and more like it was a mistake, instead of a clever ploy to throw off the law.
Only a wooden box remained, when all was said and searched. The Kihetai was left with seasonal beverages and drugs, and that was far less concerning than the money that Takasugi had invested in his order. He had a deal coming up, and couldn't afford to miss it. How else would he afford his lavish lifestyle?
"It seems we've been duped, Shinsuke."
"They've got a lot of nerve..." Matako added on to Kawakami's statement as she pulled the skin off a tangerine. Something they wouldn't be able to buy if he missed the drop point in three days and blew a business partnership.
"No." Breathing the word between igniting his pipe, Takasugi leaned back on the tatami and cleared his mind. It didn't sit right with him, sure, but he wouldn't go so far as to say that they were intentionally betrayed. This looked like a processing error. "The name and address are wrong." Their cover wasn't Inoue. He flicked his lighter and ignited the fresh bowl of tobacco.
The deaf man nudged the rim of the crate with his foot to peer at the name and leaned back against the paper door.
"So what are we going to do?"
"This address is just down the street."
"What if it's a set up?" Matako had a point, and Takasugi was more than aware that it was a possibility. He'd already considered that, and a trail of smoke escaped his lips as he shrugged.
"You'll be outside. It won't be anything extravagant; we know those dogs don't have the insight to prepare." For the most part, that was. The Shinsengumi could follow along and keep up with the twists and turns of a case, but they weren't gifted in premeditated traps. Not enough to be a threat.
So Takasugi spent a while working out the details of possible scenarios. He wasn't one to turn down a challenge, and would meet them head on if they had the audacity to call him out. Crush them before they got too cocky. If his suspicion was wrong, this would be a relatively pleasant exchange. He'd find his real shipment and take it, plain and simple. If it had been delivered to another person, he would find them. Silence them. Most people could be paid off, but Takasugi didn't want to bother with that.
Negotiations were a strong suit.
On the other side of the aforementioned street, hours after the one eyed man had vowed to get to the bottom of the mystery cargo, another person was carefully prying the face off a crate. She propped the lid up with her crow bar, and the light from the curtained storefront windows was reflected back up at her from the myriad of metal at the tips of her toes. Frowning down at the gleaming artillery, Kinu froze, crowbar limp at her side, just inches over the wooden floor. Processing. She needed to understand what she was looking at, and by some stroke of luck, she was alone and had the time to do so.
Guns. Too many guns to count. Pistols, glocks, she was sure that the longer, diagonal ones were either rifles or shotguns, and boxes of ammunition were stacked in the upper corner, ready for full use. How was she supposed to make tea out of this? Surely, there had been some kind of mistake. She only hoped that it was unintentional, and not a sick prank from the idiots down the street that kept stealing her shipments and advertising them on their sign.
Wouldn't even let her inside.
Nothing could be done with this. She needed to go to the post office.
What were they thinking, giving her something like that with a straight face and not so much as a "how do you do", or "consider a life or crime and petty burglaries"?
She shoved the top back on the box. Couldn't take it with her; what if she ran into the Shinsengumi? They'd know. They'd take one look at her and pronounce her a criminal. Lock her in a cell under their headquarters and forget a toilet bucket and slop until she was a pile of poor innocent bones and dust.
Kinu didn't waste another moment pondering the curious delivery, and didn't allow anybody to see what she's received. Her father didn't need to know. Her mother would probably come up with a terrible scheme to get rid of them and profit, and the only other person that could catch her was just outside of the door. The bell above the entrance rang as the man eased his way into the tea shop and claimed a seat dead center of the counter. Only a few chairs down from the pastry display.
"New teas?"
"Uh..." With one hard shove, the crate fell in line under the counter, next to similar others, and blended in like it belonged. "No." The girl straightened herself and wiped her palms on her dark pants. She turned back to Gintoki, washing her previous alarm away with a cool, even stare.
Disinterested as usual, the man reached over the counter and grabbed a mug. His next move was for a pair of tongs and the pastries. He hadn't even suspected her of crime or foul play. Didn't seem accusatory in the slightest.
His crimson eyes flicked up to the girl for a brief second, then he helped himself to the food inside of the display case. Set multiple jam filled rolls and rice balls onto a plate he'd relieved her of.
"What's with that face?"
Suddenly aware of her raised brows, Kinu urged herself to the counter. With two fumbling steps, she took her usual place and tried to play cool. There was no way for him to know. She was being paranoid. Read too many novels that indicated that this would be the perfect set up.
The girl hummed under her breath, and shifted her gaze to the pastries on his plate. Nothing could pry money from his wallet, but she wouldn't charge him if she wanted to.
"Wrong box..." Her words were enough to satiate Gintoki's mild curiosity, and the silver haired man shoved half a jam roll into his mouth as his cup was filled with warm tea.
"Want me to take it back? You asked Pops to run it down there?"
Shaking her head, Kinu set the teapot back on the stovetop. Not a chance in hell. That old drunk wasn't keen on running errands and she wouldn't let him get his hands on guns if her life depended on it. In the back of her mind, the words "jail" and " eternity" echoed again, but she smothered them with a mug of tea for herself.
Soon as the silver haired samurai left, she'd lock up and head down to the post herself to stare at the owner until he corrected his transgression. Reimbursed her. Something. There was more in that shipment of tea than she wanted to admit and if it went to the wrong place, cops would be all over it. The only hope that remained was that the person that should have gotten the guns had gotten her shipment, and that they could make a cordial trade without a shoot out. Kinu couldn't work a gun.
That or that her tea hadn't been delivered at all and the post office would collect their mess of illegal activities. Whichever worked.
As anticipated, the Yorozuya left without paying his tab. Didn't think twice about handing over his dirty plate and lazily stretching into a sigh as he let himself out of the store. Stupid brother. All he ever did was eat her food, mutter a bit, and maybe read a Manga while they willed the time away. On a good day, they'd have a fresh shipment of tea and both read, though she opted for serious novels. Maybe exchange a few words about her nonexistent social life, or his gambling problem and overdue rent.
This time, it was a bargaining day. Gintoki's apartment was in need of a deep cleaning, and Kagura wasn't helping out any with her empty sukonbu wrappers. Sadaharu had made a mess of his designated area, and Shinpachi was up to his glasses in dog waste and hollow milk cartons.
Later, Kinu had said. Maybe in a few days, when she had a nice, long break.
Gintoki was sweet on his old war buddies, and even more welcoming towards their children. Even if her dad was a dirty, exaggerating dumb ass, Gintoki hadn't hesitated when it came to accepting them and her mother into his good graces. The free stuff probably helped, but since she was a little girl, she only remembered him coming around to play with her. He'd disappeared for a while, but he was back now, full force, and apparently ravenous.
But he brought good humor, and a certain strain of protection that she had yet to slap a label on. His presence calmed the household, and in turn, Kinu didn't mind losing profit over it.
Alone, she turned back to the box under the counter. Maybe there was a clue on it.