Author's Note: So this is probably the longest story I've ever written. It's starting to get hard of keeping track of all the characters and plot lines. How am I doing? Will try to update soon. Thanks for reading =)
Jirou wasn't good with a knife or a gun or with his fists. But he had a way with people and that was how he had gotten by in life. Rin never saw this as having any value but Moriarty did. That was why he bought him a fine suit, stuffed the pockets with Yen and sent him on this very important errand.
Jirou sat in a dark corner of the bar twisting the whiskey tumbler between this thumb and middle finger. His contact approached, hesitating by the table.
"Mr. Moriarty?" The syllables were strained through the thick accent. Jirou glanced up at him. The contact, Pravat Srisati, was a tall Thai man with broad shoulders. He was somewhere in his forties, though his silvery hair made him look older.
"Mr. Moriarty sends his apologies for not being here right now," said Jirou, "He sent me in his place. Call me Jirou. Please take a seat."
"Moriarty didn't say anything about you," Srisati grumbled as he sat on the vacant stool.
"Again, apologies," Jirou said with a grin, "And straight to business: I have been told you have something Mr. Moriarty wants."
Srisati glanced warily around the bar and leaned in.
"The money," he demanded quietly.
Jirou gave a placating smile, reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a wad of Yen, but only enough so that his contact could see the corner of it.
From the sleeve of his forest green coat, Srisati produced a pen drive. Jirou went to take it but it was yanked out of his reach before he could.
"The money," Srisati said again.
Jirou paused, thinking carefully. If Srisati just walked away with the money, leaving Jirou empty handed, then he would probably not be allowed to work with Moriarty anymore. On the other hand, if he didn't put Srisati in good faith he could blow the deal altogether. He took his chances and slid the wad of notes across the table. The Thai man flicked through the notes with his thumb before discretely tucking them into his coat. He then slid the pen drive across to Jirou and before taking his hand from it he said, "Blueprints, names, shift rotations, door codes. This was everything I could get."
"Mr. Moriarty will be pleased," Jirou said politely as he took the drive.
"Tell him I think he's a crazy son of a bitch if he thinks he can get in and out alive."
Jirou smiled down at his glass, circling the rim with one finger.
"You are probably right," he said, "We'll need someone on the inside to pull this off." He looked back up at Srisati whose features shifted with realisation.
"No," he said. "Fuck no. I risked everything getting out of there. I'm not going back."
Jirou slid one hand inside his breast pocket and produced another wad of cash, thicker than the last. He left the cash in the middle of the table as an offering, hoping Srisati would make the right decision.
"Another when the job is done," said Jirou.
Srisati took a deep breath and once again ran a thumb through the cash. He let out a perplexed sigh.
"That's a lot of money," he said.
"Mr. Moriarty looks after his own," Jirou beamed. A truth he found while working with Moriarty. For despite his threats and his often unpleasant demeanor, if one pleased Moriarty, Moriarty gave much in return.
Srisati hesitated, tapping his finger next to the cash as if it were forbidden fruit.
"Ok," he said.
Jirou grinned broadly and pushed the money across the table.
"Welcome aboard, Mr. Srisati." He then downed the rest of his whiskey, trying not to grimace as the liquor burned his throat.
"This doesn't feel weird at all," Samantha said drolly, one arm draped across her face. Nika watched as the old medicine woman began removing the stitches from her abdomen.
"I thought you would have been used to getting patched up by now, considering your medical history," Moriarty said from where he stood, leaning forward on the kitchen counter.
"It will never not feel weird."
Nika scowled at them. They were disgusting. For a whole week she had to put up with their banter and flirting. It was sickening.
From the array of gun parts before her, Nika selected the barrel and began to polish it with a cloth. Since they moved into the safe house she had disassembled, polished and reassembled her gun so many times that it had all the mechanical fluidity of when she had first bought it. There was little else to do these days.
"Someone talk to me so I don't have to think about surgical thread being pulled through my skin," Samantha said.
"Are you so squeamish?" Moriarty goaded.
"I can handle pain if that's what you're implying. This is just…unpleasant."
"Poor dear."
"Shut up."
Nika sighed and slammed the gun part down on the table before her.
"So what is our next move?" she said, unable to tolerate those two any further, "How much longer are we stuck here playing house?"
"Well funny you should mention it," said Samantha, "I just got the green light to interview Saito. I plan on heading to the prison Monday afternoon. Hopefully we'll get what we need to move this investigation forward."
"All well and good," said Moriarty, "but what about your back-alley attacker? You're no good to us bed-bound again. Or dead."
"I'll take extra precautions," Samantha replied, "But maybe I could do with a bodyguard for extra security." She flashed her green eyes towards Nika. Nika smiled bitterly though she would love nothing more than to smash Samantha's pretty face into the coffee table.
Just then, the front door opened and Jirou entered. He was wearing a very expensive looking suit Nika had not seen before, and his loose hair was slicked back with product. He had also shaved that ratty facial hair so that he no longer looked like a teenager trying unsuccessfully to grow a beard.
"What's that?" Samantha asked as Jirou laid a briefcase on the kitchen counter.
"Rin has been busy obtaining police evidence from the Tatsumi crime scene," Moriaty replied, popping open the briefcase, "I'm sure there's something in here the police would have missed."
Nika wasn't sure if she imagined it, but she could have sworn she saw Jirou sneakily pass something to Moriarty's palm. He then whispered something in his ear, to which Moriarty nodded and said something like, "Good work." This worried her. Did Jirou have information that she wasn't being made privy to? Why did Moriarty suddenly place such trust in him?
The medicine woman stood then, her work finished. Samantha bowed and expressed gratitude in Japanese. The woman grumbled, waving a hand. She collected her things and left.
Samantha examined the pink scar that ran across her stomach.
"Another for the collection," said Moriarty.
"Indeed," Samantha replied. She pulled her shirt down and walked over to where Moriarty and Jirou were examining the contents of the briefcase. Nika watched as she began assembling the gun parts.
"What do you think?" said Moriarty sliding, what seemed to be a photograph, across the counter.
Samantha grimaced.
"That's a lot of blood," she replied, "Blunt force trauma. A crime of passion no doubt. Could fit with our existing theory. What else you got?" Moriarty watched her intently as she scanned a couple of more documents. There was not a doubt in Nika's mind what he was thinking at that very moment. This was a problem. Nika swore to herself that when all of this was over she was going to kill that wretched woman.
