AN: Okay, this is the 4th in Reno's series, I wanted to post it before I posted the 5th in Rufus series for a reason, which you'll know when that one comes out. This is also the last Reno one I have written... So you know what that means, if you want me to continue the series beyond this point you have to review and tell me to. However, even if you don't, and I don't continue this series, Reno will show up in some of Rufus' stories. Oh, yeah, I put him at 13 in this one. Thank you, now back to our regularily scheduled program.
"I'll be there, as long as it works for me, I play a game, its called insincerity"-Nine Inch Nails, Starf*ckers Inc.
He looked like a slut, that threw off most people. He was young, that threw off the rest. Until now.
Michael Rhodes was not stupid, and unlike other men he knew that looks did not dictate actions or ability. He had heard rumors, not that he put much stock in those either, about the red haired whore on the other side of the bar. Rumors that he was one of the best thieves around, and quite the killer too.
He sipped a beer, watching the boy thoughtfully, judging his movement, and whether he had sustained any permanent damage from previous battles. He didn't like how the boy was oblivious to his stare, if he was as special as Derek made him out to be, he would have become suspicious. But then a boy didn't dress like that unless he intended to attract attention. Making a decision, Michael set his beer down and made his way over to the boy.
People parted before him as he passed, as usual, the colors of the Turks assured him respect and fear. His prey, however, stayed right where he was.
"Boy," Michael addressed him, not unkindly, "I wish to speak with you."
Reno had the sense not to flirt. "Sure," he said, a bit flippantly.
"Outside."
The boy shrugged and headed for the exit, Michael trailing behind. There were a few daring catcalls, apparently people around here knew Reno.
Reno turned back to him once they were outside, "What do you want?" he asked, "Somehow I doubt you're in need of a whore." He looked him over briefly, as if to prove his point.
"Right." Michael ignored the look, "I've heard things about you, that you can procure items. Some rare."
Reno shrugged, non-committal, "Maybe. It depends." "Depends on what?"
"Why, what you want of course. I've got nothing against you, but I'm kinda hesitant to do business with a Turk." Reno cocked his head to the side.
"I see," and Michael did, the Turk's tools did have a terrible survival rate. "Well, that's all right, I don't want you to get me anything."
"No?" Reno asked, his eyes narrowing in suspicion, he didn't like this.
"No. I want you to kill someone for me."
"Oh, I see, well, that's a whole lot better, isn't it?" He rolled his eyes, "Look, I think you've got the wrong guy, there's a nasty little shit in Wall Market, he's into that kinda thing, not me, I just-"
Michael pulled a roll of bills out of his pocket, Reno noticed that at least three of them were marked '100'.
"For whom does the bell toll?" He asked, eyes bright.
****
It wasn't hard. He even knew the guy, Jacob Dyson, a scum ball from Sector 4, liked kids, especially blonds, but Reno figured he'd do just as well.
He positioned himself on a corner across from the bar where guy spent most of his natural life. He adopted a standoffish pose, eyes lowered; he didn't need anyone propositioning him before his target left. In fact, he thought, cheered suddenly by the feel of the bills tucked in his jeans pocket, I won't need anyone propositioning me for quiet a while. He had received 500 hundred gil, in advance, for the murder, 500 more was waiting for him when he delivered proof. For 500 hundred gil, Reno thought, I'd deliver his heart in a zip-lock baggy. It was easily three times as much as the weasel from Wall Market charged.
He had briefly considered taking the 500 and ditching, just to be able to say he had stolen from the Turks. But common sense had won out, so he stood, wearing his shirt open and his jeans low.
Soon enough the man came out, and Reno smiled and waved shyly from across the street. Dyson, looking interested, crossed, to come to a stop a few feet in front of him.
Reno smiled again, dipping his head slightly and being careful to look up at the older man, "Hey mister," he purred, voice soft and demur, "you lonely?"
Dyson looked him over, as if he were a piece of meat, "yeah," he finally said, "I am." His eyes had a predatory glint in them.
Reno leaned his head to the side, soft smile still on his lips. He didn't mind the way Dyson looked at him, didn't mind the man's filthy clothing or the way he sweat. He was used to those things, used to having another's eyes slide up and down his lightly scarred body, and hands possessively grip his arms, it was part of the business. Still, he felt a rush of pleasure at the knowledge that for once he would be in control, would decide how far everything went, and it helped him to smile. "Come on," he offered, voice still soft, "Let's find somewhere a bit less public."
Dyson nodded and grabbed the boy's shoulder, Reno wrapped his arm around the man's waist, and they walked off the street.
As per usual 'somewhere a bit less public' was an alley. As soon as they were out of view Dyson pushed him up against a wall, kissed his jaw. Reno smiled once again and stretched up to nuzzle Dyson's neck.
He waited for three minutes, until his shirt was on the ground and his pants undone, until Dyson was totally oblivious to everything around him. Only then did he tongue the blade to the front of his mouth, hold it with his teeth, and moving in for the final kiss, drawing it quickly across Dyson's jugular.
Dyson reeled back, hands clutching at his neck, blood spurting through his fingers. Reno backed away from the spray, waiting patiently for the man to fall. It didn't take long, a few more seconds of flailing and the man collapsed to his knees, then sprawled forwards, limp. Reno dropped to the ground next to him and began to cut off his fingers.
***
He met Michael later that night, after cleaning up. Smiling slightly Reno presented him with the bag containing the fingers, his proof, rings included.
Michael looked in the bag closely, as if inspecting diamonds. Then closed it and pressed the money into Reno's hand.
The boy didn't count it, he had half expected not to receive his pay at all, but since he had he would not insult the man before him by counting. He smiled, "Pleasure doing business with you."
Michael nodded, "Likewise," he had watched the hit from a second story roof with binoculars, it had been done quite well, in his opinion. "I would like to ask something else of you as well."
Reno rolled his shoulders, as if they ached, "Oh?"
"Yes. I want you to accept a trial position at Shinra Inc. I want you to train to be a Turk."