No track for this chapter.
In all his life stealing, forging, and smashing precious things, James Smith had never been caught. Wanted in 25 states and Canada, he loped across borders like anybody's business, taking valuable artefacts and family possessions and selling them off to other people until James's hands had touched more gold and antiques than you could hope to see in your lifetime.
Until now.
Because in one fatal phone call, James had been caught. By a kid, on tape, and by the cops ultimately.
You were right about this one, Jerry, he thought to himself. He's got a spy's eyes, 'E does.
"What is wrong with adolescents these days?" Ryo wondered aloud to himself as he paced down the street with a sobbing Benkei in tow and Yuu skipping along ahead of him.
Running off and leaving us all behind, I swear it was that old busker man who put the idea into Tsubasa's head. I know that the true Tsubasa would never just disappear like that.
"Morning", Hadley grunted over her newspaper as Tsubasa came in the next day. "Can you manage the noon shift on Fridy? Ah gotta watch mah friend's kids."
"Sorry, Hadley." He lay his bag down. "I have to go to court."
Hadley slammed her newspaper down. "I knew you was trouble. Yer fired."
"Hold on a second! I caught the criminal, I'm not the criminal himself!"
Hadley almost laughed with relief. "Thank goodness. Ah knew there's somethin' heroic in yer eyes." Hadley studied him for a moment. "Ya know, you look like you been through a awful lot fer someone o' yer age. Like you seen heartache come'n go tenfold."
"That's the story of my life - ups and downs", he answered, glancing back to where Cindy was once again organising the doughnuts. Here, monotony was king. "Hey, you're in a good mood, Hadley! We should celebrate!"
"Heh. Don' celebrate yet. It ain't gonna last." Hadley turned her attention back to the newspaper.
Kyouya opened his eyes to find the wood-panelled interior of the truck still, no sign of motion beneath him.
The sliding door of the truck was open, and he slipped out cautiously. Around him were the sounds of a docking bay. He looked for his red-marked barrel and found it swinging up onto the deck of a ship by way of crane, and being rolled down a ramp into the cargo hold. He followed it and settled opposite the cargo hold from it, bored of travelling already.
There was something tugging on his heartstrings. It had been going on for the past few days; he would have settled in by now, quietly blending in to a little town here in Central America; but something was pulling him continuously west.
He didn't know where he was going or what was leading him; but something was.