Author's note: This chapter was either going to be too long or too short. I had too much I wanted to say so I had to sacrifice the original structure a bit. So critique is welcome.
On another note, thanks to all my readers and reviewers! I hope you enjoy the story. And for those wondering, the two timelines will converge soon ;)
Osaka, Japan
Present day
It was late in the evening by the time they had reached Osaka. They're first priority was accommodation and at short notice they had to settle for a cheap hotel for the night. Jirou, who still feared for his life, stayed with them and Moriarty begrudgingly paid for his room.
He couldn't sleep that night. The jetlag and the confines of his dreary hotel room left him too irritable to relax. He decided to stretch his legs and navigate the hotel's fire exit up to the roof.
The view of Osaka was impressive. The stretch of city combined with the cool night air calmed his mind a little. He was reminded of the last time he was on top of a multi story building... He strolled to the edge and peered down at the street below. How would it feel to jump? He imagined free falling, the upward force of wind taking his breath before slamming against the concrete. Would he feel the pain; his skull cracked open and his ribs crushed and puncturing his lungs? Or would he be dead before his mind could register it all? It would only take one small step to find out. One small...
Too easy.
His ego interjected his morbid thoughts as usual. It was probably the only thing keeping him alive these days. Too often he thought about ending it but he wouldn't do it like this, not disgraced. Blaze of glory. That's what he promised himself.
"You going to jump this time?" came Nika's voice from the stairwell.
"Thinking about it," he replied with a grim smirk, his eyes still on the street below.
"You think you could hold off until we solve this thing?"
"I suppose," he sighed drearily. She appeared at his peripheral.
"What's wrong?" she said, more serious now.
His gaze shot to her then as if he had just been snapped out of a daydream. He brought his palms to his face and rubbed his eyes.
"Nothing," he said, "Tired, jetlagged, but other than that I'm fine." His arms dropped to his sides again and he realised that she was peering at him with concern in her expression. She opened her mouth to say something but seemed to change her mind. She took him loosely by the hand and said, "Let's go back inside." As she turned to lead him towards the stairs he gripped her hand and pulled her close so that they met in a kiss. Her concern wasn't entirely unwarranted and right now he sought comfort in physical contact. Though their relationship was mainly professional, they weren't adverse to the occasional romp in a bid to alleviate boredom or frustration. So it was to his surprise that the cold and callous Russian assassin responded with emotion. Her breath hitched in her throat and she clutched his hand tightly. Something was wrong. He reassessed her behaviour from when they left New Zealand. Her constant probing about him, it wasn't out of concern for his well-being, it was for reassurance of her own. She was scared. She had lost faith in his ability to not only maintain her employment but to also keep her alive. And he knew there weren't many places she could run where she wasn't wanted dead. When his most loyal client was starting to doubt him, he knew it meant his reputation had taken a serious blow.
Nika broke away then, paused a moment and said, "Let's go back inside."
"Get up!"
Moriarty woke when something soft hit him in the face. He sat up brusquely and realised that Nika had thrown a pillow at him. It was morning now and Nika was wriggling into her jeans.
"Did you sleep here last night?" he queried, a wry expression on his face, "Did I actually pay for a room you never used?" He could probably count on one hand the number of times he and Nika had sex, but not once did she stick around for very long afterwards.
"Get dressed," she commanded, "We're going to be late." He noted that she had just showered as she twined her wet hair into her trademark French braid. She seemed more herself today compared to last night; cold, efficient, to the point - traits Moriarty had always admired her for. He too felt he had shaken off the depressive state he had been in. The wonders a shag and a decent night's sleep could do for one's disposition.
"Where the fuck are my clothes?" she cried in frustration. Moriarty watched with amusement as she, topless and missing one sock, bustled around the room, pulling furniture and tossing bed sheets in search for her things.
"Is this yours?" he said, yanking a t-shirt that was draped over the headboard. Nika snatched the garment impetuously but not without a brief expression of gratitude. Once she was fully clothed she made her way to the door.
"Get dressed," she said again, "I'll meet you in the lobby."
Shortly after, he found both Nika and Jirou in the hotel lobby. Jirou explained that a meeting had been arranged in a public place as Moriarty had requested, and that a chauffeur was waiting for them outside.
Moriarty brought his face close to Jirou's, his eyes wide, and said, "If you're lying or if this is a trap, I'll use your skin as a rug. Understood?"
The Yakuza cadette nodded fervently.
"Lead the way then," said Moriarty.
As they followed Jirou toward the exit, Nika in Russian said, "I don't know why we're OK with the runt hanging around."
"I was thinking of keeping him," Moriarty replied cheerfully.
"Are you serious?"
"Sure! A strapping young lad like that is full of potential."
Nika gave him a look. "He tried to kill me with a pocket knife," she said deadpan.
"So he's a little inexperienced. He's young, malleable, eager to please. Fill his head with delusions of grandeur and earning his loyalty will be easy. The competency can come later."
"If at all," she muttered.
"He'll have a decent tutor I'm sure," he replied, clapping a hand on her shoulder. She faltered at the implication.
They stopped just outside the hotel where a black car was parked. Holding the back door open was the large man from the plane. Moriarty straightened his tie and slicked back his hair with one hand.
"Right," he said with some enthusiasm, "let's not keep the Yakuza waiting."
Moriarty wasn't sure what he was expecting from a meeting point but doilies, chandeliers and bone China definitely surprised him. The café they were invited to seemed to be... western inspired and heavily featured what appeared to be the car boot sale dregs of Victorian décor.
They were escorted to a six seater table. The chauffeur, who never introduced himself, sat next to two empty seats opposite Moriarty, Nika and Jirou.
"Tatsumi will arrive shortly," was all he said.
Nika leaned towards Moriarty's ear and whispered, "Tatsumi is head of the chapter here. I heard he's really difficult to negotiate with."
So don't fuck this up, was the implication he detected from her.
"I got this," he replied smoothly as he directed his attention to the menu before him. The menu was strange, evidently western inspired, but looked like it was put together by someone who only had a vague idea of what western dishes were supposed to be. His eye was drawn to the Irish breakfast tea. The price was extortionate, but he had been on this side of the planet for so long he had forgotten what a decent cup of tea tasted like and would pay anything for one right now.
He suddenly became very aware of the shift of atmosphere just then. The bustling ambient sounds of chatter and cutlery had silenced. He looked up to see that the rest of the café had emptied. Two people, a woman and a man, approached their table and both sat at the remaining places.
"I would apologise for the delay but I am not entirely sure what I am doing here so let's just make this quick," the woman said removing her black trenchcoat.
Moriarty hesitated and glanced at Nika who just shrugged.
"I'm sorry" he said uncertainly, "We were expecting an audience with Tatsumi."
"Yes," the woman replied, and it then dawned on him that she was actually Tatsumi.
"Forgive me. I just wasn't expecting-"
"A woman?" She snapped.
Moriarty gave a small smile. Ah. A female leader worn down by patriarchal structures. He tucked away that mental note for when he may need it.
"Someone so young," he concluded. She couldn't have been much older than twenty-five.
"Yes well you were probably thinking of my father, Makoto Tatsumi. He is dead" the woman sighed irritably, "I am Rin. I was appointed oyabun in my father's place in accordance to his will. This is my twin, Arata, second in command." She gestured to the young man who arrived with her.
Twins. Moriarty hadn't noticed until she said so. They both had the same wide set eyes, with chocolate irises hooded beneath a smooth curve. They had the same heart-shaped face and full-shaped lips. Rin's hair was gathered tightly from her scalp by a clip at the nape of her neck, the ends tassling up from beneath it. A pair of loose locks cascaded from the front of her hair to just passed her chin, framing her face neatly. Arata had thick hair, cut closely at the back and coiffed stylishly at the front.
"And you are?" Rin asked. She fumbled in her purse for a moment before proceeding to light a cigarette.
"Jim Moriarty," he said with a frown, "And not to sound impetuous but I would have thought the leader of a Yakuza clan would have done her homework before agreeing to a meeting."
"I am giving you the opportunity to convince me that I am not wasting my time right now," she quipped, her expression dark, "You should be grateful. Now, what is all of this about?"
Moriarty sat back in his seat, maintaining eye contact with Rin. She was going to be difficult.
"I understand that my associate, Nika Abramovich, is on your hit list," he began, "I'm willing to pay for the damages she has caused if you remove her name from that list."
"And can she not speak on her own behalf?" Rin addressed Nika.
"I am not much for the talking," she responded.
Rin smiled knowingly as she inhaled from her cigarette.
"Ah," she said in a plume of bluey-grey smoke, "I understand. You are the diplomat..." - she pointed at Moriarty - "and you are the soldier."
Jirou cleared his throat just then.
"Oh, and your boy, Jirou, should be spared in spite of failing his task to assassinate her," Moriarty added.
"Tutututut! Jirou!" Rin scolded. She spoke at him in Japanese, her tone condescending. Moriarty tried to translate. Something along the lines of "I told you so" and "you're not cut out for this". Jirou was looking down at his lap in shame.
"I am sorry about him," she said to Moriarty then, "We went to school together. When he heard about my father's title he insisted on becoming a member."
Moriarty made a noise of feigned interest has he retrieved his cheque book from inside his suit jacket.
"Well I don't want to waste any more of your time," he said, scribbling a figure down, "I'm sure this will more than cover whatever it is we owe you." He ripped the cheque out and slid it across the table towards Rin. She raised an eyebrow and slid the paper back to him without so much as looking at it.
"I do not want this," she said as if offended, "I don't know what it is with men who think they can solve everything with money or violence."
"What would Nika's life be worth for you then?" Moriarty sighed. He briefly glanced at Nika who was glaring intensely at Rin.
"Nothing," Rin replied, "If we really wanted her dead we would not have sent Jirou. You made a mistake coming here, Moriarty-san. You could have killed Jirou and none of us would have pursued you." She took a long drag from her cigarette before continuing. "But I see she is worth a lot you. And you, Moriarty-san, I've heard whispers about you and what you can do. I think you could be of use to us... Now that we have leverage over you."
Moriarty's jaw clenched. A mistake. He made a mistake. God, he really was slipping. He took the cheque back and tore it up.
"Fine," he sighed dramatically, "Exploiting a charitable man. Shame on you. Let's get this over with. What do you want?"
Rin smiled and shared a quip in Japanese to her brother: "I like him."
