An update! Hurrah! Please read and reply, it shows me you care. Unlike dead mice. Not cool Jerry. Not cool.
Hiruma did not like mysteries.
Not in movies or books, and hated them with an undying passion when involved in his personal life.
And Sena Kobayakawa was a mystery.
What motive did the Boss have to demand the brat's arrival in Lima?
While it could just be another test, to shame the two with living failure, or maybe to test their loyalty – but the Boss had dropped that major hint.
Sena's last name.
Of course Sena hadn't seemed to remember his last name, making unveiling his history back to the Stone Age, slightly more difficult. To add, Sena wasn't registered to work at that jewelry store. And odd enough, none of the newspapers Hiruma ran through even offered a tidbit of information about a kidnapped boy.
Yes, children were kidnapped every day, but surely a story about a boy being swept away by thieves who also managed to whisk over thirty million in rare stones would be fucking mentioned somewhere.
It was the type of story that should've been ran millions of times on every newspaper. But it wasn't and Sena's disappearance was quietly fading the farther they got from Maine.
When the Boss revealed the boy's last name, Hiruma wasted no time with causal introductions. There was information, and he needed to find it.
Sena was a Junior in high school – older than Hiruma thought. On the track team at his school, even won the state championship, however he backed down for the chance to compete nationally. Never took any drama classes, and depressingly normal in every way possible.
Hiruma even managed to dig up his high school yearbook picture. A timid boy glanced meekly into a camera, frozen for Hiruma to analyze. From there on, Hiruma decided to check out the brat's parents.
And came to another dead end.
Yes, there was information about Shuma and Mihae Kobayakawa – dating back until Sena's fifth birthday and then; nothing. No marriage license, no green cards, no homes or credit not the slightest fucking gas receipt that proved before Sena was the age of 5 they existed.
Hiruma wasn't foolish enough to even consider that mentioning the brat's last name had been a slip on the Boss's side. No, he wanted Hiruma to learn this, learn that there was something more to the brat.
The important question now – was Agon in with the Boss? It was oddly convenient that they just happened to pick up Sena, who hadn't existed when he should have been getting potty trained.
It seemed unlikely – only because Agon was a horrid actor.
"U-u-uh, Hiruma?"
He grunted and glanced up at the enigma in question. He looked better, now that he wasn't covered in shit and blood. Clothes were fitting for him.
Hiruma raised an eyebrow as his eyes drifted upward. Sena's face was flaming red; he was unconsciously tugging the edge of his shirt. Not which sure what to make of the tell, Hiruma shifted more comfortably on the bed, before motioning for Sena to join him.
After all, with all that blood rushing to his face, the boy was surely doomed to pass out sooner or later. Sena climbed onto the bed, his body stiff and moving robotic. Hiruma hardly noticed; he was busy hacking into all of his phones records to see if there had been any calls he hadn't known about at the day of the robbery.
"So, um, H-Hiruma," Sena stuttered and Hiruma grunted at him. How far back should he check? Agon could've gotten the call long before they even went to Maine. It would take hours, checking the phone records to his calendar, making sure that each call to the Boss had been made under his terms.
Not to count, he would have to determine if the number was actually the boss's and not some shitty sex line or Thai restaurant. That would take time and constant internet access.
Something warm pressed against Hiruma's shoulder. If he hadn't been so entangled in his thoughts, it wouldn't have surprised him. However, Hiruma had completely forgotten about Sena, so he turned to the boy surprised.
He was red faced and instantly his deep bronze eyes fleeted away from Hiruma's own. His hand was shivering against Hiruma's skin and he looked prepared to either barf or explode from so much blood in his face. Hiruma wasn't stupid – he realized what was going on.
This had to be proof then, that the boy really did lose his memory. No normal kid could manage to pull off such a downright serious act.
But, this wasn't a normal kid, Hiruma reminded himself. This was a kid who managed to not exist until the age of five. Hiruma was lightly amused, as the boy's face only brightened faster. It was rare that his first impersonations were ever wrong, as Hiruma had spent many years strengthening the skill. He had been sure, that this wasn't the type of brat destined to remain a virgin.
Even despite the bruises and swollen forehead, the boy was good looking with a fair face, clean complexion, soft hair, and impressive brown eyes.
However, his current reaction was that of a frightened twelve year old at her older sister's orgy. Yes, Hiruma didn't like mysteries but he was a man easily fascinated. Anyway, he could think of this as a test, a test to examine just how well Sena was buying the whole "man love" story.
Hiruma closed his laptop and placed it on the table. With a manically grin, he sat up and dropped a leg on the opposite side of Sena. Not wanting to crush the kid, he held onto the backboard before lowering his head, inches from the brat.
Surely, it wasn't natural for a face to be that red, Hiruma mused to himself. But it blended nicely with the brown in his eyes. "Uh-um-er, I," the kid managed to sputter.
Hiruma almost felt guilty tricking the boy into this. His diagnosis was rapidly changing. This was obviously a brat who was "waiting for marriage" or some utter bullshit like that. If that was a girl or some dick wasn't really the matter. He probably hadn't even kissed before, the depressing pansy.
Of course Hiruma wasn't going to do the deed – just because the boy was 98% obviously a virgin didn't mean that the chance of STDs vanished.
Oh, and there was the Boss to consider.
Whatever excitement Hiruma might have had south of the brain died instantly. He had no idea what the Boss wanted with this brat. As far as he knew, there could be a bullet waiting for the kid as soon as they got to Ohio. Or he could be the eye candy to one of the Boss's "friends". No, there really wasn't much Hiruma could do to this kid without fucking himself completely over.
Pretending not to be as disappointed as he felt, Hiruma leaned back, let go of the board, and swung his leg back over to the other side of the bed.
He wasn't prepared for Sena's gasp. "Wait! I-I'm sorry!" Hiruma turned to tell the brat some B.S when – lips, surprisingly soft – press against his. Sena had grabbed his shoulder and had a handful of Hiruma's shirt entwined in his fist.
This was unexpected.
Hiruma shifted, weighting on his current options. He couldn't just ignore the lies he told Sena, couldn't pretend a false break up, and was rather enjoying himself. So he examined Sena's kissing ability. Poor – but room for improvement. Sena couldn't seem to know what to do with his hands.
He had released Hiruma's shirt, but now they were twitching inches from their faces. Hiruma's own were pressed against the sides of Sena's face. He didn't remember doing that. Oh well, the boy tasted like mint – must've just brushed his teeth.
Bzzz.
The door. Food.
As he pulled away, Hiruma couldn't help but to bite on Sena's bottom lip. It was his thing. He slipped off the bed, scolding himself as blood started to return to his mind, from its preferred location. God – he was acting like Agon, defying logic for physical gain.
After double-checking that the delivery boy was Keith Wong (Hiruma had gone through records earlier to find out the working delivery boys) and that he wasn't obviously wired, Hiruma opened the door just wide enough to feed cash and a tip to the teenager and to bring the food inside without the kid being able to see Sena.
"Sushi," Hiruma said, turning back to the still red faced brat.
Fuck.
Hiruma was going to have to watch himself around the pipsqueak. Yes, Sena was harmless, but his situation wasn't. And it was only a matter of time until his memory returned. The last thing Hiruma needed was his logic being affected.
0000000
"Are you an idiot?" Mamori surprised herself with how angry her tone was.
They were still sitting outside of the Kobayakawa's apartment and she was starting to sweat from the rising heat in the car. She had always liked Maine for the nice chill, but ever since Sena was taken a heat wave seemed to be raging through the east.
"My I.Q is far above average, if that is what you are insinuating," Shin said and Mamori pushed her bangs off her forehead. It had been the utter certainty in Shin's tone that had sent her heart racing. But it was quickly fading, and being replaced with anger; anger at Shin for what he was saying about Sena's family, and anger at herself for not instantly realizing that he was wrong.
"No, I – what do you mean, that Shuma and Mihae aren't Sena's parents?" Mamori asked and Shin turned the ignition on and shifted into drive. He explained as he pulled out of the parking spot and into the street.
"Shuma and Mihae Kobayakawa are not Japanese," he said. And if it weren't for the layers of muscle, Mamori would've attacked him. How could he make such claims with an utterly coherent and simplified nature?
"Shin, I promised myself and to the captain that I would not let my emotions compromise my place in this case. However, if you don't explain I will crash this car," Mamori warned. She attempted to lighten her threat with a smile, but it came out more as a grimace. Shin didn't seem to notice anyway.
"The first thing Mihae Kobayakawa did was hug, not common for Japanese, she didn't make us take our shoes off, another mistake against culture, in the hall leading to the kitchen, there was a picture of a Korean vase, Shuma Kobayakawa's lateral canthus slant downwards – a common Korean trait, the cheekbones were more prominent, Mihae Kobayakawa had already prepared tea, meaning that she was awaiting our arrival, she prepared a traditional Chinese oolong tea which is rare in Maine, since the oolong leaves were wrap-curled which is the more traditional of the two, and a process she would've learned herself. The "family" tattoo on her wrist is covering a smaller tattoo of "love" written in Korean, and in kanji."
"Oh-okay, enough," Mamori said, only to get him to be quiet. There was no way that Shin was telling the truth. And anyway, what he was saying was impossible. Mamori remembered, when Sena first came to the school, all he could speak was Japanese.
Mihae and Shuma spoke it too; they had green cards, and invited her along to a Japanese cuisine place for Mihae's birthday.
Mamori's anger had vanished and instead she felt sick as if someone had dumped acid directly into her stomach and it was eating away at the lining. It was Sena's kidnapping all over again. Getting the call – the call that there had been a robbery at Doburoku's jewelry store.
Shin was quiet as she digested his information.
And then, she was angry all over again. Damn it! Claims, inferences, but not information; saying that Shin had just given her information was to suggest that she believed that Mihae and Shuma weren't Sena's parents.
The next thing she realized, they were back at the station. Just looking at the building made Mamori sick. She wanted to be alone, wanted to get away from Shin, and his theories. How could someone as sweet as Sena stand a creep like him?
Thinking Sena's name made her stomach drop.
And then, calm washed over her. She was going to find Sena. That's all that mattered, she was going to find and save Sena. Nothing else mattered, not Shin's theories or how sexist the men in the station were – she couldn't even eat a sandwich without snarky glances.
Mamori dimly realized that she had her head rested against the hot dashboard and that her bangs were starting to sweat from the heat of the car. She sat up and calmly got out of the car. "Shin, unless your theories have something to do in direct consequence to this case, please keep them to yourself. Now I need to review some of the cases involving the drug boys at the high school. We need to leave by 14 hundred hours, so you should do the same."
He simply nodded and Mamori's stubborn brain couldn't help but to scream, Sena, why are you wasting your time with a strange guy like that?
Later…
It took less than 25 hours for Mamori to accept that Shin's theory was more than a theory. While it helped that he was a genius, having solved a number of crimes, and surely destined someday to get into the Homicide department of any city he wanted.
Not only that, but Mamori learned the unavoidable truth that Shuma and Mihae did not exist. Or at least, not until they moved to America, when Sena was five. However, that lead could wait. She was still sore from not realizing it as fast as Shin, and she still had the drug boys to talk to.
While she hadn't found any coherent ties between the drug bust at the high school and the jewelry kidnapping, something in her gut just knew that it was far too convenient. So, Mamori shoved away thoughts of Mihae and Shuma's true origins and instead worked on what her gut was telling her.
And her gut was telling her that Kazuki Juumonji knew something that he wasn't telling.
Out of the three, he was the only one that gave her the sense that he was holding something back. And Mamori felt that it had something to do with Sena. It wasn't easy getting everything set up though. He was still underage after all.
"Hello, can I call you Kazuki?" Mamori asked as she sat across from the young boy. He sat slouched in the chair, a sour expression covering his body. There was a nasty scar on his cheek, but healed and old. He wore a navy blue jumpsuit, with Juvenile written in stark black letters on the back.
Another cop had already removed his handcuffs at Mamori's request, but to her irritation stayed close to the door. She was a cop – she could manage her own.
But no, she had to keep her head cool, focus on the task at hand.
"No," the boy finally said and Mamori shrugged. "Juumonji then?" She offered, forcing her voice to be light and causal. Even to her it sounded horribly awkward.
"I remember you," Juumonji said, without answering. She wasn't sure if this was a sudden revelation or if he simply wanted to ignore her. Juumonji leaned forwards in his chair, his eyes locked on Mamori, searching for something. "You're not here 'cause of the smack," he said suddenly and Mamori shrugged.
"Maybe," she said but he didn't seem the least fazed. "This is about the Sena kid, right?" He demanded and Mamori managed to surprise herself by keeping the ball of emotion from rising any higher in her throat. For a moment, Mamori felt speechless, but something about Juumonji made her positive that he wasn't the type would listen to condescending police talk. He was smart, a lot more than most adults gave him credit for.
"I think that you know something Juumonji, about Sena, and you're keeping it a secret," she said and he instantly slipped back into his chair. "Why would I know anything about Sena? The kid was weird," he muttered shifting his eyes around the room.
There wasn't much to see. The police station was far too small for an actual interrogation room, so they were using the old staff room, which was hardly the size of a walk-in closet. A basic folding table sat between them, completely blocking Juumonji from Mamori. Not that she felt particularly threatened by the boy.
She knew his type from school. A low cut druggie, smoked pot with Dad's money and would hover around gas stations waiting for someone to buy him a pack of cigarettes.
Earlier that day a camera had been installed in the far corner of the room, where it would get the best shots of Juumonji, so that at Shin could monitor her work. Maybe his strange, genius mind would pick up on something she missed.
"Juumonji, I know you knew Sena, you're in the same grade, J is right before K in the alphabet. You must've sat by him in class, been partnered up – something," Mamori said and laid out the picture she had taken from Sena's desk.
Sena had never been the vain sort, so a picture of just Sena was rather rare. However, in her senior year at high school, between following her father's footsteps as a police officer, Mamori had a short burst where she wanted to be a photographer.
Her model of choice at the time, just happened to be Sena, because he was the only one willing to stand awkwardly still for long hours without complaining while Mamori nagged about lighting. Out of all the pictures she took, the one framed was probably the best. Out of pure accident, Mamori had managed to snap her camera at the same time a dazed expression washed over Sena's face.
The lightening was just right in the photo so that Sena's hair streaked gold and his eyes were full and dark. He had just started to turn her, so his cheek was slightly tilted, away from the camera, while his thick amber eyes started absent mindedly into the distance.
Juumonji swallowed when he saw the picture.
"What help would it be anyway?" He suddenly snapped, crossing his arms tightly. "Sena's still gone – and it's been longer than 48 hours, whoever took him is far gone by now," if he had literally stood up and punched Mamori in the face, it would hurt less than this.
However, she let her emotions fade into the background. She had been right, Juumonji knew something. It was there, brewing under the green in his eyes.
"That's true, and that's why at this point Juumonji, anything could be important, even if you don't feel like it is, it might be the thing that could help bring Sena home." She said forcing her breath to remain calm, forcing her expression to remain passive, without a sliver of malice.
Juumonji stirred uncomfortably in his metal chair and dropped his eyes to the ground. "I don't have anything to tell you," he muttered. Mamori swallowed, forcing her disappointment and anger back. "I don't believe you Kazuki," she said as gently as she could. However, a level of force was staring to swell and she refused to drop her glare.
He gritted his teeth and clammed his hands together. "I told you to call me Juumonji," he muttered but Mamori could sense it, he was ready to tell her something. "At this point Kazuki, you're not really calling the shots here. The only reason you're not headed to prison for possession for the heroin is because you're seventeen. You're birthday is only around the corner, if you think Juvi is tough, you're in for a surprise." She said and he remained hunched over, glaring at her like a snake cornered.
"And, if some evidence comes up that you knew something – anything that would help us find Sena, then that's a crime Juumonji. And you can be in prison for a long time with that added to your record." Mamori said.
Juumonji jerked his head back up and finally stared back into her eyes. "It's not what you think, okay? It's got nothing to do with Sena getting kidnapped, it's…personal." He said before glancing behind himself, at the door he had entered. "And if you don't any other questions, then I think our time is over." He said, and sure enough his guard chose then to open the door.
Feeling drained, Mamori motioned for Juumonji to leave.
Already chain-cuffed, the guard led Juumonji out of the room, giving Mamori a nod as he went. She managed a feeble smile, before slinking into her own chair, and running her hands through her hair. How could this feel so pointless? Boys don't simply disappear, there had to be clues. Just a scrap of some information would do at this point.
She literally had nothing.
The witnesses had all drawn up different descriptions of the jewelry burglars. The only clear description was that one was tall, young, and muscular while the other was old and well-dressed. From there, it seemed to be random.
No one had reported seeing any cars leave and they didn't hear a peep on any shady men stalking the jewelry store at odd hours.
It was as if Sena had been abducted by ghost.
000000
Sena didn't remember hearing Agon return to the motel room.
When he woke up the next morning though, he could clearly see Agon over Hiruma's more narrow frame. Both were still asleep, Agon making strange half-grunts while Hiruma might as well been a corpse. A corpse that hogged all the blankets.
Sena opened his eyes with chilled skin, only the thin white sheet still covering half of back. Hiruma had managed to wrap himself practically in a cocoon of sorts and other than the slightest rise of his chest, he didn't move. He was faced towards Sena though and his expression was mildly serious, familiar to when he crouched over his laptop.
Due to a certain pressure low in his stomach, Sena gently slipped off the bed, not wanting to wake up Hiruma. He didn't even stir as the bed creaked, the springs in it released from Sena's weight.
Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, Sena moved through the dimly lighted room. Enough light was filtering through the tightly shut blinds so he could maneuver through the room without tripping over anything.
After done with the toilet, Sena washed his face with a "facial" bar in the sink which left his skin feeling pleasantly soft before returning to the main room. With the other two still sleeping, Sena positioned himself in the chair in the corner. He was too awake to climb back in the bed and passively attempt to get some blankets back from Hiruma.
His stomach grumbled and thoughts of a warm blueberry muffin settled into Sena's mind. Did the motel have free breakfast? He wasn't sure, Agon had made him carry his heavy duffle bag into the room for him and Sena hadn't been able to see over it.
Spying a couple flyers next to the T.V, Sena leaned over to pick them up.
Truth be told, Sena's appetite had been moderately ruined the night before, since his stomach had still been in knots from basically getting rejected by Hiruma.
Some kinder part of Sena's mind attempted to scorn him for thinking that way, but Sena couldn't help it. That's how it had seemed. Sena's stupidity at what he was supposed to be doing must have been just as blaringly obvious as it had felt. No wonder Hiruma had told him that tidbit on hotels raging with bedbugs.
Even though Sena couldn't remember the first details of a relationship – he was pretty confident that sharing disgusting facts wasn't part of the ritual. And to be honest, Sena felt horrible about how his unprompted advanced ended. Not only that, but a little disappointed to. He wasn't sure why, but Sena had held some shred of hope that if doing something Old Sena would've his memories might return.
A foolish thought, he knew, but that didn't mean Sena wanted it to happen any less.
They did serve breakfast!
Scanning around the room, Sena's eyes landed on the silver card laying on the table between the beds. Headed over, he couldn't help but to glance at Agon. While Hiruma seemed to be a vampire, Agon slept fidgety with his brow twitching and muscles occasionally flexing. His dreads were sprawled across the bed like the reaching tentacles of an octopus.
Agon still confused him, with his Rules from the night before and the immobile anger that seemed to radiate from even behind his glasses. Sena honestly couldn't understand why he agreed with Hiruma to pick up someone hitchhiking who looked like Agon.
Sena slipped the card off the table, before picking up his pair of pants from the night before. He took off the shirt he had slept in, choosing to wear the green one instead, and added deodorant. He stuffed the card in his pocket and slowly opened the door.
Agon groaned and Sena grabbed the frame of the door, leaning back into the room for a last glance just to make sure that he hadn't awoken Agon by accident. He heard a deep sigh and continued on his way downstairs.
He hardly had a chance to see the motel yet, Hiruma had ushered him straight to the room the night before and Sena was starting to go stir crazy, being stuck in the back of the van and then the motel room. Until his memories returned, Sena couldn't even entertain himself with his thoughts.
He wandered down the boring hall of stained carpet and light blue wallpaper to a staircase, covered in more of the carpet. After stumbling down a flight of stairs, he followed his nose to the breakfast room. It was laid out like a cafeteria or an all-you-can-eat buffet, with tables full of food on the left side of the room and small tables to the right.
It looked as if someone had half-hearty attempted to decorate the room, with fake flower placements on each table and a few pastel paintings in bland frames hung onto the walls, after this, they seemed to have called it a day though.
A large window overlooked a parking lot and a boring road. After scanning for a few moments, Sena caught sight of the van parked behind a large tree, not even in a parking spot.
The only two other people in the room, one was a thick burly man wearing a buttoned up red flannel jacket and a hat tugged low over his face. He had a coffee mug next to him and was pounding down on an ancient looking computer duller and vastly thicker than Hiruma's. The other was hidden behind a large newspaper in a plush chair in the corner of the room.
Sena shuffled up to the food and stared blankly at it. His memories were so infuriating, he could name all the foods in front of him, but he had no idea what his preference on any of them was. With a shake of the head, Sena simply piled his plate with as much variety as he could carry.
He sat down a comfortable distance away from the computer guy and newspaper man, before noticing a magazine on the table next to his. He swiped it before sitting down and curiously flipped through it. Finding some moderately interesting about a real life planet similar to something Sena h couldn't pronounce from Star Wars which the only thing his mind could explain, was a movie involving a giant slug beast.
Sena ate and read, deciding that he liked waffles but not scrambled eggs, and that there was something missing that he liked on his toast. A spark lit in Sena's brain, this was what he had been lacking – reading, he liked to read.
"So who do you think is going to win?"
Sena glanced up surprised at the young man standing behind him. Behind a pair of glasses, his eyes were directed to Sena's magazine and Sena flipped over to the cover to see what the man was talking about. American Idol, it said, which his mind came depressingly empty to.
"Um, I don't know," he said and the man nodded as if agreeing. "I haven't been watching either really. Oh, wow, – you're not even on the article," he said with a small smile and Sena responded with a replica. This guy was being nice, nicer than even Hiruma had been so far.
Sena was starting to assume that everyone was just kind of a jerk.
"I'm Sena," he said brightly and the man nodded slipping into a chair next to him. "Takami Ichiro," he said shifting his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose. He was nice looking, with dark hair gelled back and wearing white pants and a white wife beater under a dark blue jacket. Very clean and sharp, but he used soft motions, pretty different from Hiruma or Agon.
"So where are you headed Sena?" He asked and Sena smiled again, putting the magazine down. "California, the other guys are just resting up," he said and Takami leaned back in his chair, giving Sena an encouraging smile.
"You and your brothers are driving all the way to California?" He asked and Sena shook his head. "Oh, Agon and Hiruma aren't my brothers," he chewed down a grape and decided that he was indifferent to the taste. At the other table, the huge hulking man had stopped typing, his hands hovering over the keyboard.
Strange, he actually had very thin hands, Sena mused, tasting orange juice. Good, far superior to coffee in taste. "They may not be your brothers, but they are complete nimrods," Takami said and Sena blinked.
"Excuse me?" He said and turned up. His forehead bumped against something cold and a harsh yet dangerously familiar smell overpowered his senses. Takami's eyes were no longer light but cold and calculating and in his hands was a thick mental handgun.
And it was pressed against Sena's forehead.