Short chapter, I know, but since I have 75% of this story already written down, I think I'm going to keep posting a new chapter every 4 days like I've been doing so far. We'll see! *fingers crossed*
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With the addition of Rangiku Matsumoto to their weekly attractions, Highwell Hall had gone from an up-and-coming establishment to one of the hottest hangouts on the streets. People came from every corner of the city to hear her, but make no mistake: it was still impossible to breach the bar's territory at night. Spare the White House, Highwell Hall was perhaps the most heavily guarded location in the United States, Rukia thought wryly.
To have an audience with Ichigo Kurosaki was an even more impossible task, but if there was anything Rukia Kuchiki could do, it was the impossible.
Besides, she wasn't alone.
"You think he's armed?" asked Renji Abarai, her assistant. More accurately: the assistant…commissioner. In the event that Rukia died or 'mysteriously disappeared,' he would be in charge.
Frankly, Rukia would have it no other way. He was one of the few officers that was honest, if a little loud and eager to please. Rukia would rather have one Renji than a dozen officers under her she couldn't trust. They were far more eager to chase after parking tickets and look the other way anyway, having been heavily bought up by Aizen. If only two people were willing to work, then only two people would work. This was exactly what she had written in her report back to her superior, Ukitake, who had accepted her decision but warned her to be careful.
"I don't think so," Rukia muttered.
On Monday mornings, she knew Ichigo entertained Toshiro Hitsugaya at the so-called game parlor. Her most educated guess was that Rangiku Matsumoto would be on her way to Broadway any day now, and if Ichigo was meeting her manager so frequently, there was the chance he was getting a cut out of her profits. He was, after all, the reason the torch singer had once again returned to fame.
Rukia and Renji swung open the heavy-set doors and entered the parlor. Most cops wouldn't have dared, but it was broad daylight and Rukia was not afraid of men like Ichigo Kurosaki.
Inside, a plush carpet ran all the way up to the bar and then stopped, leaving the rest of the place sleek with polished wood. There were scuff marks on the wood, clear evidence that people danced here — a lot of them, though you wouldn't think it seeing how dead it looked at the moment. A grand piano sat at the very north of the ground floor — supposedly Rangiku Matsumoto's favorite place to sit and serenade a random man in the audience, leading his fool heart on into thinking she was singing for him.
A photograph of her in this very bar had been leaked to the press last week, but whoever had leaked it had very cleverly cropped out anything that could incriminate the place as a place that sold liquor. If anything, Rukia suspected Ichigo Kurosaki had leaked it himself as a marketing technique. If word on the street was true, his liquor business in the east seemed to be doing very well.
Renji rapped his knuckles on the counter, drawing one of the bar girls' attention. "Know where a guy can get a good glass of whiskey around here?"
Her eyes went wide and meek. "I'm sorry, sir, but we don't sell alcohol here."
"Yeah right." Renji chuckled. "Come on now, we're the cool parents, you know. We'll let you have a little sip if you tell us where your boss is."
"You mean Orihime?" The girl asked nervously.
Renji and Rukia exchanged a confused look. Orihime?
"We mean Ichigo Kurosaki," Rukia clarified, "Is he here?"
A door swung open from somewhere within and a woman with short, shoulder-length auburn hair stepped out, dabbing her mouth with a napkin. She was pretty, Rukia thought, but unfamiliar. A civilian?
"Thanks for manning the bar, Michiru!" the woman cheered, then stopped, her eyes falling onto Renji and Rukia. Behind her was the man himself — Ichigo Kurosaki, in the flesh. He was shorter in person, but his eyes were deep set and cautious. Rukia noticed he had a holster tucked in, but there weren't any other men in here who would back him up in a fight. She was relieved, if only slightly. The last thing she wanted was to walk into an ambush with her partner.
"Bar?" Renji asked, shooting Rukia a heavily exaggerated look. "I thought this place didn't have any alcohol."
"Perhaps you won't have to be disappointed after all, then," Rukia replied.
The woman — Orihime — reddened. "Force of habit," she assured, though she looked terribly caught. Ichigo barely moved, but his stance had turned slightly protective as he tried to conceal her from Rukia and Renji's view.
"Can we help you?"
"Rukia Kuchiki." Rukia flashed her badge. "I'm not sure we've had the chance to meet yet, but seeing as we're neighbors, I thought we'd come over and say hi."
"Neighbors is stretching it, isn't it?" Ichigo frowned. "Unless the precinct moved, I always assumed it was a few blocks away."
"And here I was thinking it was such a small world." Renji smirked. He held Ichigo's gaze, though Ichigo didn't back down either.
"Either way, we've got a tight schedule, so if you have any questions for Miss Inoue and me, it'll have to go through my lawyer." Ichigo finally took a card out of his pocket and slid it towards them across the counter.
Renji took it, but Rukia didn't have to see it to know it would have the contact information of Uryu Ishida. Lawyer was what they called him, but really, he was a consigliere, navigating Ichigo smoothly out of legal and illegal messes. Everyone knew what had happened to his grandfather; it didn't take a fool to connect the dots and realize why some of these men were loyal to Ichigo the way they were.
"Funny, I was expecting a little more hospitality than that," Rukai tried anyway. "The way I hear it, this place opens its arms to everyone these days."
"Our business is open to people of all races, genders and sexual persuasions…" Orihime trailed, attempting a friendly smile.
"Just not to cops," Ichigo finished with a small smirk.
Rukia snorted. "Cute." And they were. Together, they presented an image, and the way they spoke collectively implied that she was a trusted confidant — not just arm candy that he killed time with.
Rukia was not interested in exploiting such weaknesses herself, but she knew others who would. Others who knew all about exploiting weaknesses.
"I suppose your establishment is progressive, in that sense," Rukia declared, fishing through her coat to retrieve the rolled-up newspaper she kept there. She tossed it at Ichigo. "I heard others aren't."
Ichigo and Orihime examined the paper and Rukia noticed Orihime's face go pale. Ichigo, on the other hand, tightened his grip on the pages but said nothing.
There was more of that from where it came from. Instances of violence, bullying, harassment — all from Aizen's camp, specifically the pocket that belonged to one Grimmjow Jaegerjacques. Where the local businesses under Ichigo's name refused to say a bad word against him, Grimmjow's protectorate was all too eager to reveal his cruel nature. Rukia knew the saying about the lesser of two evils. She was standing in front of him right now.
"What happens outside my neighborhood is not my responsibility," Ichigo said finally, tossing the paper back.
Rukia laughed, though it was humorless. "Is that what you tell yourself to be able to sleep at night?"
"Officer, if you're so concerned, then I'm sure the power of the law will help you bring justice to the case," he said, his tone harsh, final. "I don't know what you expect me to do. I'm just a salesman trying to make a living."
"It's commissioner," Rukia corrected. "And if you were anything like the virtuous man people claim you are, you would help put an end to this by exposing the men you work with."
Ichigo narrowed his gaze. "This conversation is over."
Rukia glared back.
"Well, since you've been so kind to tell us where to find you, I suppose we should return the favor," Renji said after a beat, sliding out his own card to hand it to Orihime. "I hear Sosuke Aizen has friends in high places these days. It wouldn't hurt for you to suit up, either."
Ichigo said nothing.
"There's a storm coming, Mr Kurosaki," Renji continued. "We'd hate to see it swallow you up."
"If you ever recall something you want to tell us," Rukia said, giving both of them a meaningful look, "you know where to find us."
Later, when they'd gone back to the precinct, Renji asked, "You think they'll take us up on the offer?"
Rukia sighed. "I don't know. These mafia types — they look after their own." Whatever tensions there were between Ichigo and Aizen, Rukia wasn't sure if they were enough to make Ichigo turn on the Trident. Even if Ichigo didn't trust Aizen, she was sure he trusted the police even less.
All she could do was wait.
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At the end of the day, Ichigo slammed his papers shut and decided to head home. Too much thinking had never done him any good, and this wouldn't be any different. Things were fine now (Things were fine now, the pessimist in him made sure to point out and he ignored it). There was nothing ahead of him, no course of action he could take to alleviate this growing anxiety within, so all he would do was go home, take a bath and maybe read those books that were lying on his bedside table, looking sorry and forgotten.
Just as he was shrugging his coat on, a little slip of paper fell out of his pocket. The card, it seemed, that Rukia Kuchiki had given them earlier. Ichigo picked it up and began examining it with a frown.
A muffled chorus in the distance turned clearer when someone suddenly burst his door open.
"It's the distillery," Chad wheezed, looking gaunt and sweaty and tense with both hands on his knees. "It's on fire. Arson, we think, but it's too early to tell."
Ichigo felt a headache coming on.
He suspected it was going to be a long night.