Prologue: City
In the darkest of dark nights, after the streetlamps had been lit, just as the time reached witching hour, a tall figure could be seen easily walking the sidewalks, his hands leisurely in his pockets. He was walking with such a relaxed demeanor, that one almost expected him to be humming a cheery tune. Even at this hour, and even with his intimidating physique, this man seemed so harmless that even a lost child would be able to find the nerve to ask him to guide them home.
As he reached the end of the block, he placed one hand upon his fedora, tipping it from his face, and letting the streaky yellow light shine onto his stonily colorless expression. He adjusted his pinstripe suit and looked right and left, even though the streets were as empty as the emotions playing on his face, and continued to stride easily through the dark.
It wasn't until he'd covered five more blocks that he tipped his hat down once more, until the brim was covering his face fully. A second man soon appeared on the scene, coming out from an alleyway between two of the many towering buildings around them. The second man looked nervously at the first, holding his hands up quickly, as if to appease him. When the light reached this man's face, it showed that his eyes were hugely guilty.
The first man didn't say a word. He merely held out his hand, as if demanding something. The second man's hand dropped to his sides. His legs were itching to turn and bolt. The first man cleared his throat and tipped his head, murmuring almost soundlessly. He curled the fingers of his outstretched hand twice. The second man shook his head profusely. The first man sighed and whipped out something shiny, black, metal, and highly lethal. He pressed the opening into the second man's forehead.
And pulled the trigger.
The shot echoed through the silent night as shockingly as the bullet went through the second man's body. It'd all happened in seconds—the man had hardly any time to think about his impending death. As the man fell onto his back, the first man tucked the gun back into his suit and then knelt beside him, rummaging around in his victim's breast pockets. When he straightened, Shizuka Doumeki held up the two small cubes to the dim streetlight. "Knew it," he said tonelessly, voice lilting with an infinitesimal accent. "Loaded dice." He knelt again and this time, pulled out wads of cash that'd been stuffed haphazardly into the pockets of the man's pants. "Yeah. Think this is mine." He looked back down at the corpse. "'Night." And with a tip of his hat, Shizuka Doumeki strolled away. Relaxed, and easily.
A/N: Bonus points and a cookie if you can guess the whole situation with the dice and the money and the proper term for it. Hint: This came to me because our eighth grade play was Guys And Dolls.