Fish Hook

Chapter 1

Junon, night, after three days of rain.

The moon, brilliant and just past full, seemed to pull the city's lights into its own pale aura. A black car, purring like a satisfied brunette beneath the driver's confident touch, sped across the icy bridge to Junon. Below them, hundreds of feet down, the water of the bay glistened; before them, the city rose up to greet them.

Junon was cosmopolitan glass and steel where Midgar was old money and forgotten lower reaches, and the occupants of the car vastly preferred the former's thumping, sleek nightclubs to the latter's elbow-length-glove-and-diamond-tiara-studded state balls.

Not that the occupants of the car were here to actually enjoy said clubs; as usual, there was work to be done. So what if it was the eve of the biggest holiday of the year? Turks didn't know the meaning of a day off.

Tseng glanced at his companions, then back at the road. There was a short spark in the cab, the soft flare of a Zippo and then the red glow of a drag from a cigarette. The puff of smoke that came shortly after was sucked out through the slightly open back window, streaming out into the chilly night air. Like magic, the Zippo reappeared at Tseng's shoulder, dancing toward Reeve in the passenger seat. Reeve accepted it with a nod.

"Thanks, man."

If it had only been Tseng and Reeve, perhaps that might have been the last words spoken for the rest of the drive. Tonight, however, a third joined them.

One who, given the choice, would have preferred to stay home.

"Reeeeeeve?" came the plaintive question from the back seat. "Why ain't Rude with us on this one? And where the hell is Scarlet?" Reeve flinched, and Tseng almost smiled. He had wondered the same thing himself. Not so much about Scarlet—he knew as much as the rest of them that the President had other ideas for her. It was unfortunate; she was a good Turk, and Tseng would have rather had her with them tonight. The fact that Rude wasn't with them, however, meant this mission didn't require Rude's brute strength.

Which in turn meant that finesse was the key word tonight. Tseng knew he was the best in that department, with Reeve a close second. Physical limitations aside, Reeve was a brilliant negotiator.

Tseng was still mystified about Reno's presence. He was about to voice his own question when Reeve finally spoke.

"If she was needed, she'd be here. Now be still for once and listen." Reeve opened the briefcase on his lap with a single click.

Reno sat forward, arms on the backs of their seats, and looked down in curiosity. He and Tseng were both surprised to see weapons instead of the usual briefing papers. A pair of oil-black pistols was handed back to Reno. "I know you have your mag rod, but take these as well."

"Great." The boy let out a low, irritated groan. "I can just see this is gonna be a fun evening."

"What, a night on the town, going to one of the hottest nightclubs in Junon doesn't sound like fun?" Reeve sent a glance his way, hands putting together another deadly-looking gun from the briefcase as if he'd done it without looking a thousand times. He probably had.

Tseng cleared his throat. "Which club?"

Instead of answering, Reeve motioned to an exit off the bridge. "Turn there and pull up to the loading dock."

"Yes, sir."

Gravel crunched under the tires as they followed Reeve's directions. The absence of mission papers and presence of extra weaponry had intrigued the other two into silence. Even Reno refrained from asking his usual "why?", which amused Tseng. Reeve pointed at a particular set of shipping crates, and they parked between it and the water.

"Pop the trunk, Se. Both of you, get out. We have some preparation to do."

They did as they were told, though Reno protested, "Why all the spy stuff? You're—we're—Turks, right? Ain't we gonna go in with guns blazing and all that?"

Avoiding his question again, Reeve limped over to the trunk and pulled out a duffel bag and a long black case. "Reno," he asked nonchalantly, "What are the major gangs you know of in Midgar?"

Reno rattled off the names, irked. "Fallen, Cyanide, Desperadoes…"

"And who else? Think back."

"There were the Pirates, but we—oh fucking hell." He caught the duffel bag that Reeve tossed to him, then threw it to the ground and stalked forward. "You brought me on a mission that involves the goddamn Pirates? Couldn't you just have shot me back in Midgar?"

"Reno," Reeve said quietly. It was enough; the threat of his tone froze even Reno's angry rant. When the boy had calmed down, Reeve relaxed a bit and went on. "I brought you with us because our target doesn't know you. His men will, but we can turn that into an advantage."

Tseng and Reeve watched Reno fume, his hands clenched into fists as he smoked the last of his cigarette down to the filter.

"What?" he snapped, throwing it into the darkness.

Reeve raised a brow. "Aren't you going to ask how or why?"

The reply came with a bit of a dead edge to it. "No." Reno stuffed his hands into the pockets of his ill-fitting suit. "I just do what I'm told. I gave up trying to make sense of any of this."

"Good," Tseng murmured. "You finally understand how this works."

Reeve laughed, once, sharply, then motioned to the bag. "Your clothes are in there. Get changed. Se, this is for you. Start putting it together, and I'll tell you the rest of our mission."

They obeyed; it was all they could do. Tseng's black case turned out to house a Wutaian sniper rifle; Reno looked dubiously at his bag, as if it would bite him. He let out a strangled sound of dismay at the contents. Reeve stifled a chuckle and went on.

"Our target is protected not only by his personal army of former Pirates, but also by a crowd of civilians. This is the biggest party night of the year, but it's the only time we can guarantee a shot at him before he goes back into hiding until next year. Be prepared for anything. He probably won't hesitate to use the civilians as a shield if he must."

"Who is he?" Tseng asked even before Reno could get the sentence formed. "The ultimate target?"

Reeve grimaced. "Sephiroth."

Reno summed it up in one good word. "Fuck." He stomped a few steps away and back. "Just great. I KNEW that whoreson wasn't dead."

Tseng gritted his teeth. "This is asinine! They want us to kill someone who is basically dead to the world anyway? It makes no fucking sense."

Reeve shrugged. "I'm just telling you the mission. I don't know why he's here, or how he managed it. All I know is that Sephiroth—or someone pretending to be him—is becoming a power to be dealt with in Junon. ShinRa wants us to stop him either way. If it's some schmuck who thinks he can bleach his hair and call himself Sephiroth, we get to whack him. If it's the real deal—well, either way, as I said, we're here to put him out of ShinRa's misery."

"If he's the real thing, we are so fucked." Reno kicked off his shoes and pulled on the boots from the bag.

"Our intelligence says that, a year ago, a man calling himself Sephiroth began dealings with the local gangs and Dons in the Junon area." Reeve lit another cigarette with the butt of his old one, inhaled, then exhaled a perfect ring. "He's gained a great deal of power since then. Everyone wants in on his racket. Half of his connections are afraid of him, half of them just want to be associated with his name."

The other two took the information in. At last, Tseng swore. "And what is he supposed to do? Say, 'oh, Reeve, Tseng! Been forever, guys! How ARE you?' He knows us, knows exactly what we look like."

Reeve laughed. "Rufus put this together, guys. Relax a little. Trust me."

Tseng frowned. "Rufus or no, I don't relish the prospect of going toe to toe with Sephiroth."

"We aren't going to fight him at all if I can help it." Reeve smiled. "Besides, you get the easy job. Reno's the one who has to go in among the Pirates; that's why he gets the extra armaments."

Tseng looked a bit baffled at the mention of the gang, so Reeve explained. "Pirates are the major gang here in Junon. They are also directly under Sephiroth's control." He motioned with the cigarette toward Reno. "Fallen, of which our own little Reno was a leader, took out the Midgar Pirates, about a year and a half ago. You remember?"

Gang wars weren't completely beyond his comprehension, but Tseng had never fully understood the politics. Unlike Reno, he had never had to pledge his lifelong loyalty to one. Unlike Reeve, he never had to move within them as a youth. Even so, it was hard not to recall the uproar beneath the Plate when Reno's gang all but destroyed their rivals. "Ahh, and the Pirates of Junon probably haven't forgotten, either. So, if the very Red Wolf himself strolls into the place, he's not walking out without a big fight." Tseng almost felt sorry for Reno at the look on the young man's face.

Reno looked betrayed. "And not only do I get to walk right into the middle of their little hideout, on their turf, I have to do it looking like THIS?"

The clothes were not, as Reno had originally expected, the kinds of things he might have once worn as leader of the Fallen; they were too slick for that. Leather, lots of it—a jacket, tight pants, a mesh shirt, black boots—and all of it was designed to hide a multitude of weapons. Reno felt like an idiot. "I'm gonna stand out in these!" he protested.

Reeve grinned. "No, quite the opposite. You'll blend in—just enough. If you go in there in your Turk blue, you'll cause much more of a stir. Go in like this, however—" He took another drag off the cigarette. "You'll look like a former gang leader, out for a night on the town. You never met Sephiroth, and one tidbit of info we do have is that he doesn't know your face. As far as he's concerned, you're here on gang business, a leader who made good."

Tseng shook his head, piecing the sniper together. "This plan is insane." Then he looked up, grinning to match Reeve. "But at least I'm not the walking target this time."

"Great. Fucking great." Reno pulled the leather coat on over the shirt. "Just tell me I can open fire if anyone so much as breathes wrong around me."

Reeve crushed the cigarette under his heel. "Let's go," he said, getting back into the passenger seat. "We have a party to crash."

The club's name was Masamune; Reno made a rude comment about narcissistic pricks naming places after their private parts. Reeve instructed Tseng to drive by with the traffic before turning down an alley on the other side of the block. He looked sternly back at Reno while they parked. "Calm down," he ordered. "If you aren't calm you WILL get killed."

Reno looked out the window. "What happens if Se misses?"

"I don't miss, Reno." Tseng almost laughed. "If I do, I'll buy you a few rounds, deal?"

The boy—it was hard to remember, sometimes, that he still WAS a boy—was unusually solemn as he pushed the door open and got out. Just before he shut it, he leaned back in. "If you miss, then you can tell Trigg why I'm not coming home." Then, before either Tseng or Reeve could respond, he spun on heel and stalked off down the alley.

The night was downright frigid. Reno slapped his arms a few times and cracked his neck. Faint vibrations from the club came through the grate in the alley where he'd gotten out. He had to give Tseng and Reeve time to get into their own places within the higher floors of the club. It didn't help that the leather jacket was more for show than warmth; his nipples hardened uncomfortably under the mesh shirt and his skin felt the bite of cold steel from one of the pistols tucked beneath his arm.

He couldn't believe this was the assignment. Too much counted on Sephiroth acting in a certain way, on the control he had over the gang that wanted Reno's head on a spike. He cast the glowing butt of his cigarette away, watched the ember trail off into the darkness, then took a deep breath. The others had had plenty of time. He wanted this to be over, one way or another. Preferably with him still alive. He had a little girl who was counting on him, after all. She'd wanted her daddy to bring home a souvenir from Junon; he hoped it wouldn't be a bloodstained jacket and a "sorry, kid."

There was a line outside the club. Girls with heavily painted faces and shiny dresses clamored to be let in, their equally decorated and sparkling men beside them. Many affected an attitude of boredom, as if this wasn't one of THE hottest spots in Junon and they weren't worried they wouldn't make it in past the black velvet ropes. Reno rolled his eyes. This was no way to get into an exclusive club. You had to look like you belonged, like they were expecting you.

He sauntered past the line, looking for the right kind of face. One girl with a perfect pair of breasts looked like she'd match him well, and he caught her elbow. "Come with me. I'll get you in," he murmured. She gasped in disbelief and delight. Without hesitation, she ducked under the cordon and left her erstwhile date behind.

"Let me do the talking, okay?" Reno smiled as he led her to the front of the line. "You don't have to stick around me—in fact, when we get inside, go do your own thing."

"You're my ticket in there," she whispered, "I won't cramp your style. Though if you're interested, later—"

"I'll give it some thought," he promised, silently thankful he'd be either dead or on his way home to Midgar within the next couple of hours. Just went to show how much having a kid changed a man.

He'd chosen well. She followed his lead exactly, putting just the right kind of confidence in her step to match his own as they approached the door and the bouncer. He gave them the once-over—the girl's chest got the twice-over—and nodded to them. Reno smiled and nodded, snapping a hundred-gil piece in the bouncer's direction, exactly as the man expected. Simple bribery would never work, but once someone was allowed inside, it was common courtesy to tip well. The man caught it and pushed the door open, and they were inside.