[Log] Gin, Toushirou
Title: Bloody First Impressions
Characters: Gin Ichimaru (lcpdragonslayer), Toushirou Hitsugaya (kellenanne)
Timeline: November 25, 1949
Rating: PG-13 - flying bullets and some inappropriate language.
Summary: NYPD busts a drug deal - Gin and Hitsugaya meet for the first time, facing off in what would definitely be considered starting off on the wrong foot.
Snow, pure and white, gently rained down from the dark sky. A sigh was released into the chilly night air, and it materialised as vapour for a brief moment before dissipating into the air. It was only November - albeit late November - but already it was cold enough for the group of them to be wearing thick, dark knee-length jackets.
Nimble fingers as pale as the snow itself fished out a small packet from his pocket. Rolling himself a small filterless cigarette, he flicked the lighter lid open and lit the end of the cigarette. He took in a good puff, looking around as he slipped his lighter back into his pocket. Shaking his wrist a little, he glanced down at his watch.
It was about time to go in.
Gin straightened up from leaning back against the car. Jerking his head towards the ominous building, the group of them started to make their way towards the old, red warehouse. He usually went on these drug trades alone - but this time the deal was happening quite a distance away from home. His trading partner was also notorious for killing and running with both the money and the dope, and Aizen only let him go on the condition that he went with some company.
So here they were - two cars worth of Cosa Nostra - standing up against probably fifteen to twenty men, with two cases of money ready to trade for one case of top grade heroin.
Hopefully that was the biggest of their troubles.
Pulling the cigarette away from his lips, Gin cast one last look over his shoulder into the darkness as he blew smoke into the air. He was always wary of these large-scale operations and the increased risks that came with it. He had Shinsou, two other Brownings, five spare magazines and a couple of switchblades.
If he felt worried, being the least-armed man on his side, his casual, lazy smile certainly didn't show it.
Spitting out the last bit of his cigarette, Gin crushed it under the sole of his shoe, swivelling his foot over it. Blowing a trail of smoke into the night, Gin looked back over to the dimly-lit entrance, guarded by two men with Swedish Ks.
"A'ight. Let's go, boys."
It was cold, dark. The snow that drifted down caught what little light there was and seemed to glow in the darkened sky. It really was very pretty and on any other night, Toushirou might have taken the time to appreciate the sight. Tonight, though, was a bit of a different story. Tonight, he was participating in a drug raid. As a captain in the Homicide division, it really wasn't his job, but experience was experience and there was a bug going around that had a few officers home in bed instead of on the streets.
He almost suspected they planned it that way. There was a good chance metal would fly tonight; there always was, in a raid like this. He wasn't in charge - he'd make a few changes in the set up if he was, but that was neither here nor there - but he was high enough in the ranks he felt a little better about it all. He could start shouting orders and some people might listen to him.
Then again, they might decide to ignore the short captain and make some excuse about not seeing him in the fray.
It had happened before. If it happened here, Toushirou could not be held responsible for any "stray" bullets. Then again, he was saving those for the bad guys.
His hand strayed underneath his coat, brushing the butt of his weapon. He'd checked the .38 a hundred times before crouching out here in the snow, but his nerves had him continually making sure it was in easy reach. His back-up was a comforting weight at his ankle, and he knew he had a hell of a lot of extra bullets.
One could never be too careful.
Now it was just a waiting game and that was always the hardest part of his job. He glanced from side to side, checking on the people with him. Everyone seemed to be in place, in hiding, and God did he hope they remembered their instructions and training. Even he was having a little trouble waiting for the right moment; he could see what was going to happen and barely saw the sense in waiting for the deal to go down. (Momo would have his head for thinking that way.)
But when it happened... Well, when it happened, they'd have a few morons behind bars.
That was the plan anyway.
Gin and his crew made it past the two guards without any hassle - the guards even gave him what could be considered a deferent nod as they made their way into the large warehouse via the small side door.
Inside was immediately much more illuminated and warmer than the outside. The warehouse was very vacant inside, with empty containers and crates stacked off to one side, and old, large, rusty chains with hooks hanging from the ceilings, probably used to lift and move batches of containers or crates around.
There was a small setup in the middle - a nice wooden table with a briefcase in the middle, four money counters to the sides; two on each end, and two weighing scales; one on each end. Numerous light stands and spotlights shone down on the table. There was a man sitting on one of the couches - a relatively infamous man named Alfonso - and numerous other men standing around and behind him.
Gin's smile widened at the man smiling back at him as he took his time strolling over to the couch. So far so good - no one had shot at them yet.
A small sigh escaped the Capo Bastone's lips as he sat down in the one-seater couch opposite from Alfonso's. It was a nice sentiment, really - relaxing before getting shot in the head.
As disarming as Alfonso's smile may be, Gin could discern smiles better than anyone else, and he knew how fake that smile painfully was.
"Been a while, Alfonso."
"Spare the bullshit, Gin. Where's my rhino?"
"Pfuh. Someone's impatient."
The two briefcases his men were carrying were laid on the table. A few clicks later, and the briefcases were opened and presented to a maniacally-grinning Alfonso. The man popped his briefcase open as well, presenting Gin with nicely packed blocks of brown paper.
Getting to his feet, Gin approached the table and examined the contents. Pulling out a block, he laid it on the weighing scale.
Exactly 500 grams, just like a block of butter. Two rows of ten, two layers - that made exactly 20 kilos of presumably 95% pure heroin.
“Oh and here,” Alfonso said, chucking an oblong item in a brown envelope onto the table. Picking it up, Gin unraveled it and examined the contents. One block.
“Yer too kind, Alfie. Picked up a spare tire?”
“Just for you, Gin.”
“Oh my. I’m honoured. I just hope I live long enough ta shoot mahself up wit’ this.”
Laughter filled the warehouse as Gin bundled the package up again and slipped it into his pocket. As his men set out to weigh each block and Alfonso’s men started putting money through the counters, Gin rolled himself another cigarette and took a few steps away from the central area, lighting it and letting his gaze wander.
Alfonso’s men were too busy counting money to want to shoot any of them. The hardest part was walking out with this briefcase of dope once the money counting and block weighing was done.
Toushirou waited, though it was difficult. In his opinion, waiting until some sort of deal went down when he knew good and well what was going to happen was nothing short of idiotic. He didn't really see the sense in waiting. Pick them up going in, then go in and get the rest of the morons. He supposed one could make the argument that all the evidence possible was needed or waiting until all the parties involved had their attention on each other made things safer for the police involved, but really, it all rubbed him wrong. He wanted in there and he wanted it done. In fact, had it been up to him, he would have picked up the men going in long before he went through the door.
'Specially that light-haired one in front. Toushirou could spot the leader of the pack from a mile away. It was damned obvious who was in charge of that group.
Toushirou sighed softly, somehow resisting the urge to check on his gun again, and caught the kid's eye next to him. Gilliam, he thought his name was. Just a uniform, dark-haired and anxious fear in his eyes. Toushirou nodded toward the door; he had to trust the rest of the crew to be in place, and he had to trust this Gilliam kid had his back. God, but did he hope that anxiety he saw in Gilliam's eyes translated to awareness. He didn't want the guy he was trusting to watch his back to freeze at the most inopportune time. If he got shot, Momo would kill him. So would Matsumoto. In fact, it'd be a bit of a race between them as to who would kill him first.
He crept forward at Gilliam's nod, drawing his weapon and holding it in a two-handed grip. Closer to the door, out of sight of the guards: it was a tricky line to walk and he hoped Gilliam stayed well in the shadows. He stopped, behind a corner, and stilled. He was tempted to hold his breath; it was cold enough he could see it.
He wished they'd hurry up and get the drugs changing hands; the waiting game wore on him. He was in place, Gilliam was ready - he hoped - and the rest of his compatriots had to be ready.
They'd had plenty of time.
Finally, the last block of heroin was weighed and the last batch of notes put through the bill counter. Everything added up, said one of Gin's men, and Alfonso seemed to be happy with the money.
Gin made his way back over to the table and snapped the briefcase shut, clicking the locks into place. He was hyper-aware of his surroundings his gaze moving around the warehouse constantly for any nasty surprises. He was the one with the briefcase, after all. He would be the main target.
"Thanks Gin. I know I can always rely on the Concavos when it comes to offloading my dope."
Pulling the briefcase off the desk, it slipped off the surface and fell to his side. He gave Alfonso a beaming grin as he slipped his free hand into his pocket.
"Pleasure doin' business wit' ya," Gin said.
The silver-haired fox turned to go, but he didn't quite manage to make the full turn when the click of a hammer on a gun resonated through the entire building.
Everything went completely still.
"I also know I can rely on you Americans to be so fucking stupid, thinking you can walk in here, get your goods and just walk out. You think it was gonna be that easy?"
That smile on Gin's face faltered for just a brief moment, and he looked over his shoulder at Alfonso and the man standing next to him pointing a pistol at the Capo Bastone.
He had hoped it would not come down to this.
"Realleh now?" Gin said, turning ever so slowly with that vulpine smile on his face. The atmosphere was tense - so tense, he could feel his own breaths becoming laboured, could feel all eyes on him, could feel everyone just waiting for the right moment to reach for their guns and fire on each other.
Alfonso held out his upturned hand, a menacing grin on his face.
"Walk over to me and hand me the briefcase."
Gin curled his fingers around the switchblade in his pocket. If Alfonso wanted it to be a bloody night, Gin would grant his wish.
Slowly - just as instructed - Gin walked over to Alfonso one step at a time. He ran his thumb over the trigger on his switchblade, showing no signs of being tense.
He stepped into Alfonso's personal space and held the briefcase up, his gaze shifting across the area, positioning all of Alfonso's men, drawing up the best plan of action instantly as the handle of the briefcase changed over from his hand to Alfonso's.
A blink of an eye - and a gasp escaped Alfonso's lips. Horrified eyes dropped down to where the handle of Gin's switchblade stuck out of a patch of red on his abdomen. Gin's smile never faltered as he stood close to Alfonso. None of Alfonso's men could see what had happened, and it was not until the limp body slumped to the ground that Gin ripped the serrated blade out of Alfonso's body and ducked for the briefcase that bullets started flying all around him.
Toushirou watched the goings-on with a keen eye. It wasn't only his job, but his life - and the lives of others - on the line. He had to know all the details, and if some little thing otherwise missed saved them, then he wasn't apologizing for his hyper-alertness. He watched the deal start to go down, hand tightening around his pistol's grip. A second before the gun was drawn, he saw it coming; the man moved ever so slightly. The gun came up and Toushirou grit his teeth.
Maybe they'd all kill each other. God, he could hope, couldn't he?
The silver-haired man walked forward slowly, not a hint of the tension that filled the room with him. Then, a few moments later, he saw why; he'd pulled a snife, stabbed the man with the drugs, and brought hell down on them.
Damned man; that alone was enough for Toushirou to drag him in in bracelets. As it was now, Toushirou wasn't quite sure whether he should lay low and let them kill each other or start sniping bad guys. He was leaning toward laying low when Gilliam cursed and decided to dive in. Headfirst, apparently. Into the deep end.
Gilliam stepped out of his cover, weapon firing, and taking out the guards by the door.
Or, well, trying to anyway. How did this kid get into the field when he couldn't hit a target? Hell, Toushirou didn't think he'd hit the wall behind the guards. And since he didn't kill the guards, they did what they were hired to do: shoot back and call attention to the cops out there. Suddenly, it seemed like those bullets that once were flying at bad guys were raining down on them. Luckily it was the wooden crate behind - and above Toushirou's head and thank God he was short - that took the brunt of the first hail of bullets.
He ducked, not returning fire just yet. (Why would he when he would be firing blindly?) "Goddamn it!" Where was that Gilliam kid? Toushirou would shoot him himself. He scrambled to the side, weapon up, and ready to shoot whatever he saw first: Gilliam or one of the dealers.
One of the dealers, though, made the decision for him. Gilliam didn't make much sound when he went down, a spray of blood arcing through the falling snow. Toushirou didn't watch him fall; he knew what would be there and it was no use looking down to see vacant eyes.
Instead he found the guard with the smoking gun. His cover was blown anyway; might as well join the fray.
And, damn it, but was he glad for the extra time he'd spent on the target range.
Gin took cover behind one of the couches as bullets tore the furniture apart, cleaning off his switchblade before flicking it close and sliding it back into its pouch. He pulled one of his spare Brownings out and flicked the safety switch off, his grip tightening around the handle of the briefcase.
This was troublesome. He had hoped that this scenario would not happen. Already two of his men were down, and there were no signs of a ceasefire yet. He was going to get an earful from Aizen when he returned home…
With the briefcase, of course. Regardless of what Aizen said, Gin’s job tonight was to bring the drugs home. If he had to crawl home to deliver it, then so be it.
He looked up above just in time to see a bullet fly past over his head, messing up a bit of his hair. If the bullet was flying at the kind of trajectory, and it hit the container, making that sized hole…
Gin turned and poked his head up from behind the torn-up couch, aiming the Browning and pulling the trigger straight at one of Alfonso’s men. He ducked again just as a bullet flew through where his head had been moments before, this time at a different angle.
Even though there was all this ruckus going on inside, Gin could not help but notice a different set of sounds… coming from outside? His suspicions were confirmed when the shadows shifted from where the guards at the door had been, and a pool of blood slowly leaked in.
Shit. Renegades trying to steal the drugs and money as well, or the cops? Alfonso called the cops? What was that stupid Italian thinking?
He gritted his teeth and got to his feet, still crouched behind the couch, and when the noise died down a little, Gin made a run for it to join a couple of his men behind a container. It would be easier if he did not have to carry a twenty kilogram briefcase around, but it was too risky to let it go and leave it somewhere.
“Sounds like there’s a third party - ‘nother gang ‘er the cops ‘er sommin’ outside. I don’t care what happens - if even one of us is alive after this shit, this keister gets delivered to Mista Aizen, savvy?”
Goddamn, goddamn, goddamn.
Goddamn it.
Toushirou had held no delusions that this thing would have been easy when he'd been volunteered to join this party. But, damn it if he hadn't hoped to be paired with someone who knew what they were doing.
Now - and he didn't dare cast a glance back toward what was left of Gilliam - he was... Well, not quite alone but hell if anyone was watching his back. Goddamned moronic boob of a rookie cop getting himself offed like that.
Gunfire was almost nonstop now, as the rest of the cops decided to take Gilliam's lead. (At least, Toushirou hoped they took Gilliam's lead in only the shooting at the bad guys and not the subsequent dying.) Briefly, he wondered if any of them had lost a partner and needed to pair up again. It might save both their asses if he could get in the company of another officer.
Unfortunately, though, that wasn't what Toushirou was there for. He was not retreating.
Especially when he was pretty damned sure that someone would see him if he retreated and shoot him in the back. He was not going to go out shot in the back.
A shot rang out closer than was strictly comfortable - or even tolerable - and Toushirou reacted, spinning around the corner he'd planted himself behind and popping off a couple shots. Satisfied, he watched the remained guard on this side go down.
He slunk forward toward the door. Not far now; he came to arrest some birds. A bit of metal flying around wasn't going to deter him.
There was ubiquitous noise, death and blood. If Gin had been in a different setting, he would have rather liked what was going on around him. But for now, there were bullets flying past him too close for comfort, and he didn't find any of this amusing.
It was unfortunate that he had to run around with a heavy briefcase, but at the same time he was fortunate it was not a really heavy briefcase, or two or more briefcases.
He had no choice but to stick his arm out and fire arbitrarily in the direction of where the bullets were coming from, hoping that his calculations of where people were standing using the trajectories of the bullets flying towards them would pay off.
A groan and an unpleasant cry, and Gin's grin widened. The magazine was empty now, and he placed the briefcase on the ground temporarily as he reloaded his gun, glancing down at the number of spare magazines he had. If the people on his side didn't die, they should manage.
The couch was a much better place to fire from, but Gin couldn't risk taking cover behind the couch and having the third party come out from outside and shoot him in the back. But being sandwiched between two containers was not exactly a good place to be, either.
This would be a whole lot easier if they were on the other side of the warehouse. They would have to take care of Alfonso's men first before they had any chance of getting there.
"How many?" Gin asked. The man closest to the edge of the container poked his head out a few times, withdrawing swiftly as bullets flew past only to stick his head back out again.
"'Bout nine..."
That man fired a few shots.
"Eight now."
Eight... He had two people with him here, two or three were down... So that meant five or six of them left.
As that man paused to reload his gun, Gin replaced him, poking his head out to fire a few rounds at the enemy. Five bullets hit three people.
Seven, six, five...
If he could get into the door, Toushirou felt sure he could at least feel like he was making some headway in this mess. The whole point of the matter was to go in, catch some crooks, and grab a drink to wind down after it was all done. Hell, Toushirou'd even be social at this point, if it meant getting that drink.
But that was for after the deed was done. It was supposed to be a celebratory drink, full of satisfaction for a job well done. Now? Now, Toushirou didn't see much sense in celebrating much at all.
Unless he got out alive and unharmed. Then he'd drink a toast to himself for being a damn good shot.
No guards left on this side, at that door he and Gilliam had been covering. Didn't mean his path to the door was safe, however. He wasn't that stupid. Metal was flying through air; hell if he was standing up straight. Whether it was coincidence or what, he didn't know, but he crossed to the door without incident. (Not that there weren't other things happening; he still heard shouts and bullets and things were nowhere near calming.) He pressed against the wall, checking his weapon. Half-full cylinder. He looked around, made damn sure he was in the clear for the few moments this would take, and reloaded. Might not be quite procedure or whatnot, but Toushirou had his own reasons.
He liked his head right where it was, thank you very much, and he was not walking into a firefight with half the bullets he could have.
He crouched beside the door, spinning just enough to peer inside, but not firing just yet. He wasn't stupid enough to start firing blindly. 'Friendly fire' wasn't a term he ever wanted connected to him.
A couch, a couple long tables, and a roomful of crates. Didn't look good for the coppers; Toushirou winced. Too many places for the other guys to hide and shoot from.
Goddamn. He blew air through his teeth and took a bead on a dark-haired bird who didn't seem to understand the meaning of cover. It took two shots to take him down and Toushirou snorted; he needed to log more time on the range.
With all the chaos going around him, it had been difficult to keep track of exactly what was going on. But now there were less people still alive and shooting, and that meant less people to take care of. Gin could keep up now; could keep track of the people he saw, could distinguish between the different sounds the bullets made depending on the type of gun and the distance they were away from him.
Which was why he found someone on his side toppling down strange, and when he took the way the man fell and the blood spatter into account, he could only guess that the shots had come from behind. The fool didn’t notice the people outside, probably, and only bothered to cover his front.
Gin clenched his teeth a little. With the way the bullets were arbitrarily flying towards them, it would be wise for whoever it was at the door to stay out of range and duck for the nearest cover when possible. He could not count on the person being smart - although whoever it was seemed like a good shot, downing someone with what looked and sounded like two bullets - but they were in the worst possible position, sandwiched between two opposing forces.
“Where’s Santiago?” Gin asked. The man had something he could really use right now.
“Over there,” one of his men said, gesturing over to the other side of the warehouse, where a couple of men were stationed.
Damn. So far away...
“Cover me,” Gin said, his grip tightening around the briefcase handle. It really was becoming a burden. One of his men nodded, and when the shots at them lessened by a fraction, Gin made a dash to duck behind the couch, making sure that there was no one standing by the door to fire at him from the other direction.
His movements caught the attention of all his men, including Santiago, and the fox mouthed something to Santiago. The man nodded, fiddled around with the holsters for a bit before waiting for an opportune moment to toss Gin the undetonated grenade.
Gin placed the gun and the briefcase on the floor for a brief second as he caught the grenade. He could see the shadow of the figure crouched down behind the wall cast onto the door, and he waited until that silhouette moved, the shadow darkening as if the person were to emerge and fire a few more shots.
He pulled the pin out of the flashbang grenade and threw it towards the doorway, smirking as he picked up his gun and briefcase, making his way over to Santiago’s side. There was an incredibly loud, explosive noise, a brief flash of blinding white light, and a bit of smoke began to settle by the doorway. He would have liked to use an explosive grenade except a stun grenade, but he was even lucky to have a stun grenade at hand considering this was only meant to be a friendly exchange.
Confident and content with having bought a bit of time from the fire behind them, Gin focused on taking down the other trouble boys, hanging by the edge of the container as he poked his head out to the side and fired at the two men left standing. Once they were both taken care of, Gin and his crew could focus on the commotion outside.
Toushirou had just gotten a bead on someone else when movement caught his eye and he just barely caught a glimpse of a someone...
...damn it, was that someone throwing something toward him? Toushirou scrambled backward and only hit the deck when the stun grenade went off only a few feet from him. Ducking had been the plan; he was rather hoping he'd manage it before the grenade went off. At any rate, he was lucky it was a stun grenade and nothing actually explosive. Never mind it was bright and loud and his ears hurt and he wasn't sure if he'd fallen because of the grenade going off or the sudden dizziness that had him square in its grip.
He couldn't see anything; the flash had been so bright he was almost certain he'd be seeing this too-bright afterimage for years to come. His fingers tightened around his .38's grip; hell if he was losing this one now.
Move. He had to move. Even if he couldn't quite see - and dear God but it was starting clear and that was good at least - he could still find cover. He soon discovered that not seeing wasn't the real problem here; the real problem was dizziness and he wasn't even sure how a bright flash and a loud bang had caused that one.
But goddamn it if he wasn't going to shoot the person responsible. Squinting - and leaning a shoulder against the wall - he could just make out... something. Movement. Movement from the direction the grenade had come from. Taking a breath, he decided that shooting was the best option, even if he wasn't seeing completely straight. There was little chance he was shooting toward any friendlies.
Three shots. Just three toward the shadow moving there.
Gin’s first mistake was assuming that the flashbang would incapacitate the person at the door long enough for him to get rid of all of Alfonso’s men. The second mistake was leaving himself open to being fired upon in case the person was not incapacitated long enough. The first bullet fired from behind hit the container wall dangerously close to his ribs, and Gin whipped his head around at the door which was meant to be clear.
A soft cry of pain, and Gin’s grip on his gun tightened as he withdrew back, ducking towards the other side of the container as his men took over, shooting both at Alfonso’s men and at the door where the shots were fired from.
There was a bullet buried in the back of Gin’s upper arm, and blood was trickling down from the wound. He gripped onto the injured section of his arm, gritting his teeth a little. That really, really hurt.
He rested the back of his head against the cool container wall, sighing.
“Fuckin’… Ngh.” Whoever shot his arm was going to die really slowly, really painfully.
He banged the back of his head against the container wall again.
“Alfonso’s men are dead,” one of Gin’s men said to him, and the firing all but ceased.
“There’s sommin’ at the door. Move to the other side of the warehouse.”
“You coming then, boss?”
“Yeah… but take the briefcase.” Gin would have to shoot his gun using his other hand, which was something he had never really got used to before. It would probably not be as accurate, but there was little he could do.
Everything went quiet save for their moving over to the other side of the warehouse, establishing good posts and strongholds to hide behind.
It took all of another thirty seconds or so - much too long, in Toushirou's opinion, during anything resembling a gunfight - before his vision cleared enough to honestly say he could see again. Not clearly, no, but enough to figure out who were the good guys and who weren't. Unfortunately, he really didn't see many people at all.
Apparently, though, someone knew where he was - and with any luck he'd pegged them on those last shots - so he couldn't sit at the door and pick anyone off. Not a good plan anymore. Just inside the door, though, there was cover and Toushirou knew good and well he wasn't getting out of this unless he pushed forward.
Besides, he had to kill whoever dared throw a damned grenade at him.
Ever mindful of the fact he didn't really have many bullets left - save for the secondary he had in an ankle holster and some spare bullets that needed loaded; who had time for that anyway? - he crept through the doorway and sidled up next to the nearest crate.
He had killing to do. (Not arresting. Killing. Someone had thrown a grenade at him. Killed Gilliam. And thrown a grenade. Those were offenses that a mere arrest would not deal with.)
Fuck. There was blood dripping everywhere and his arm was hurting like it had never experienced pain before. His grip on the wound was weakening, and his men were more focused on trying to make sure he was still alive than the threat from outside the door.
He was inwardly wishing that the grenade he threw had been an explosive kind. He would make sure to kill whoever shot him nice and slow; maybe stab a few holes through that damned body and watch the blood leak out. Make it beg for its life and then snap its fucking neck.
Fuck. This was not part of the plan. Gin certainly did not expect Alfonso to call copper or have other trouble boys jumping them. His crew did not bring enough ammunition for something of this scale.
They were shooting at people coming through the door, but there were… quite a lot of people coming through the door. Hammer and saws, apparently, seeing as they were all wearing what looked like standard issue flak jackets.
Made no difference seeing as Gin’s crew were aiming for the heads. It was obvious that some of them had absolutely no idea what they were doing, just throwing their lives away and adding to the body count.
He ducked just as a bullet whizzed over his head. His grip tightened over his arm as he clenched his teeth a little. The possibility that he might not make it out alive was starting to sink in, and although like everyone else he should really have felt afraid, he was actually feeling rather… buzzed about it.
Nothing like blood and dead bodies and bullets flying everywhere. It was akin to the thrills he had as a child, running through the dangerous streets, running away from the baker he stole from, running away from bullies, running away from cops.
At least he wasn’t losing any more men - Gin took the briefcase from the one holding on to it while he reloaded the gun. There was little he could do with his handguns at this range, especially when everyone was using AK-47s and Thompson submachine guns. He would just have to wait until the gunfire lightened up a bit and the enemies came in closer range.
Good God, but that was a lot of metal flying through the air. Toushirou hated the fact that the men they were trying to arrest were better armed than the cops going in. All he had was a handgun; whose idiot idea was it to give the cops handguns and the suspects machine guns? It just didn't seem balanced, that was sure.
Toushirou didn't squeeze off any more shots as he crept forward. It wouldn't have done him any good; he had a limited stash of bullets and not enough time to reload. He could see people moving here and there but had no clean shot. At one point he even thought he saw the silver-haired bastard he'd pegged as the leader of all this mess.
Closer than he'd thought he'd be. Still not a good shot, but Toushirou could fix that in a few minutes.
Slits that were Gin’s eyes poked out from the side of the container he was crouched around behind, scanning the scene. The cops had definitely made some progress, inching forward, some of them gaining cover behind containers that Gin and his crew was hiding behind previously. The buttons were not doing too badly even though a whole lot of them were needlessly dying.
Gin could ping a smart one or three choosing to crawl forward as opposed to firing blindly at them. One of them that he caught a glimpse of had stark white hair - much like his own, except the hair was rather… anti-gravitational. It was also odd in the sense that the person that hair belonged to… seemed to be of incredibly small build.
No matter - coppers were coppers regardless of their size. Gin would rather take down the stupid targets than be foolish enough to confront of these more experienced cops, but all of them would have to die if Gin was to have any chance of getting out of here alive.
He had a chance to take a clean shot at the little white-haired one, but he winced and retreated back behind the container wall as his shot barely missed. Having to lug a briefcase around with one hand and having a wounded other arm was really putting him at a disadvantage. The only choice he really had if he wanted to kill anyone tonight would be a one-on-one confrontation. He would have to seize the right opportunity with all these bullets whizzing everywhere.
He advanced forward when the bullet exchange lightened up a little, ducking around behind another container. He fired two shots at two of the advancing officers, killing one and pinging the other in the shin. Another bullet, and the groaning officer was put to sleep.
Closer… He needed to get just a little bit closer.
He wasn't even quite aware he'd gotten himself into immediate line of fire until the bullet impacted the crate beside his head. He wasn't an idiot; he knew he was walking - creeping, really - into a dangerous situation. (Who wouldn't know that?) He just hadn't quite known he'd stuck his neck out that far.
He ducked, gun coming up in that instant, and moved. Couldn't stay there, obviously; not when someone had nearly taken him out with one shot.
He blew air through his teeth and peered forward, just catching a glimpse of white hair and very nearly squeezed of a couple bullets toward that damned head in sheer frustration. Then almost did it again when the white-headed bastard took out two of his men. He couldn't get a clear shot, though. Wasn't worth the waste of bullets it would be.
Better to get closer. Didn't want to chance the bastard walking away. Just needed an opening. That's all.
Damn. The guy wasn’t just any ordinary dumb cop who ran around shooting at everything that moved. Gin couldn’t gauge where the guy was and he couldn’t hear any footsteps with all the bullets flying around. And there was no way he was going to die here, after having got this far.
He fired a few more shots at three more advancing officers, taking them down. Relinquishing his hold on the briefcase momentarily, he reloaded his gun and threw the empty magazine away, slipping the new one in and loading the gun.
He ducked around the next container forward, firing at the officers only when necessary. He didn’t want ten guns firing on him after all, even if his men were doing a good job at taking the police down.
His vision was going a little blurry with the pain and blood loss that was becoming increasingly hard to ignore. His heart was pounding - he could hear it above all the cacophony in the warehouse. With each step he took, he was getting closer, and closer, and ever so much closer to that white-haired… goon… until-
Gin took his chances, and he trusted in his men to take care of everyone else around him right now as he darted over to take cover behind the tattered couch - the couch Alfonso had been sitting on before.
He would have been more excited, finally managing to have that little white-haired guy at the other end of his gun - except, of course, said little white-haired guy was pointing his gun straight back at Gin.
“Wow,” Gin said, raising his voice a little so he could be heard as he ducked a bit, dodging a bullet whizzing over the couch. The barrel of his Browning was still pointed straight at the kid’s forehead in case he wanted to try anything funny.
“The elephant ears musta been real shorthanded huh, giving a little kid heat and sending ‘im off to a drug bust. I thought they had a minimum age requirement down at the clubhouse. Ya must be a reaaal good gunsel, huh? The police chief must surely like ya.”
That couch there in the middle of the warehouse look like a good place to stop, regroup, and kill the bastard. It was as close as he was likely to get without getting a hole in his head, and that would have just been a hell of a topper on a bad night.
He hated bad nights. Would love to leave this place without extra holes in his head - or anywhere else.
He was very very glad he already had his .38 up and ready when he ducked behind the couch.
That was a hell of a lot closer than he'd thought he'd be to the bastard. The gun went up, unwavering, and straight to the man's head. Might have shot already if it weren't for the Browning that came up and took a bead on his own forehead.
Well... shit.
Toushirou honestly expected gunfire and was already trying to run through plots and plans that might get him out of this one alive. (Most of them failed as soon as he thought of them. He just didn't see much of a way out of this one without dying and hell if that was going to work.) He, however, never planned on the bastard talking.
Toushirou blinked, half-forgetting he was in the middle of a gunfight, much less had a Browning trained on his forehead. Age requirement? Little kid? Gunsel?
The chief... and gunsel? His brow twitched. God, when he said the chief breathed down his neck, that was not what he meant.
Goddamn it, even drug runners questioned his credentials. And his age. And... and... that.
"You're under arrest."
Goddamned bastard. He should shoot him now.
Gin had to almost bite his bottom lip to keep himself from laughing. As much as he was thoroughly enjoying himself with the banter, he knew the time he could spend with this midget was limited. The blood would probably not stop leaking out of his arm until he bled to death, and there was a briefcase that needed delivering.
If he fired his gun now, he might be lucky and get out of it alive. But he did not know about this boy’s reaction time, and he didn’t want to die out here right now since the cops were closer to the briefcase than his crew. It was all a very… aggravating situation, and one that he could do without right now with all the commotion about.
He inched backwards, ever so slowly, towards the edge of the couch. He was still in a crouched position, and not for one moment did the gun pointed at the kid's head waver. He was not willing to take any more chances, but the further away he was from this guy, the better chances he had of escaping.
“Ya think ya got what it takes? Shoot me then - cause tonight, one of us will be walkin’ out of here with this briefcase, and while I’m alive, it sure ain’t gonna be a little cocksuckin’ cowboy.”
Toushirou didn't inch forward as the bastard inched back; he merely kept the .38 trained right on the man's forehead and decidedly not flinching. He honestly didn't see much of a way out of this one, unless pure dumb luck fell on his side.
He had never put much stock in pure dumb luck.
Nor had he ever put much stock in bastards who spent their time crafting insults at his expense. If he was depending on pure dumb luck anyway, he might as well shoot the man in the balls and see what happened.
He was sorely tempted.
"Don't move," he snapped. Professional. He had to stay professional.
Gin continued inching back, little by little, hoping he would not be shot in the back by some random cop looking to take advantage of the situation. Even with the little boy’s threat, there was nothing he could do if Gin had his gun fixed on his forehead.
It wasn’t fun to tease the kid anymore - he didn’t have any fun comebacks Gin could work with, and he came here for the briefcase, not to taunt little children.
Getting caught in a standoff like this was not part of the plan either. Gin was at the disadvantage, but that didn’t mean that he wouldn’t get out alive with this one. His smile never faltered as he weighed out his options - which was not entirely easy, seeing as his gaze had to remain focused on the threat in front of him.
What to do, what to do…
Didn't he tell the bastard not to move? He told the bastard not to move and what did he do but keep inching backward. Toushirou's lip curled - he couldn't help it - and he inched forward, despite the gun trained on his head.
"Goddamn it, if you keep moving I will shoot you in the balls," he snapped, "and then we'll see who the damned gunsel is. So stop moving. Now."
There was professional and then there was getting the job done.
And then there was just snapping and shooting because he was damn tired of the bastard's smile.
The threat would have been a lot more effective if they both did not know that as soon as the kid moved that gun by even half an inch, Gin would just pull the trigger and blow his little brain out.
“Hate ta disappoint ya, kid, but I have a bit of a track record fer not followin’ orders, ‘specially not from lil prepubescent boys.”
Would they both die? There was little Gin could do, unless-
Bang.
That gunshot came from somewhere outside of their little standoff, drilling a hole through the couch inbetween the two white-haired boys. Gin certainly did not see that coming, although it was dangerously closer to the cop than it was to him.
Seizing the opportunity while the law was still occupied, Gin disappeared from the cop’s gaze in a flash, jumping over some bodies and ducking around behind one of the containers. It was a bit cheap, really, having outside assistance - it was one of his men, judging from the bullet’s trajectory - but it was a rather grim situation.
What few cops were alive and shooting at his men were gathered to the other side of the warehouse. It gave them an advantage over Gin’s men, but it left the other side wide open.
Gin’s grin at the little white-haired cop widened as he made his way towards the door the cops had entered from. If he could get out of the warehouse, he could get to the cars - if they were still there. If not, it was not too long of a hike home anyway. Hopefully he would remain conscious the whole way.
It only took under five minutes before Gin managed to slip through the doorway, the bitter cold of the night squeezing the air out of him. It was still snowing - in fact, the snow had gotten heavier. He made his way into the darkness, blending in with the shadows. There was a trail of blood dripping from his arm, tainting the white snow a crimson red, but in the darkness it all looked the same.
As expected, there were cops all over the cars. He would have to walk - and while usually he didn’t mind the hike, collapsing halfway with 20 kilos of heroin was not ideal.
Perhaps the cold would help keep him conscious and alert.
Toushirou didn't have a chance to retort - and truthfully his retort was more along the lines of pulling the trigger and saying to hell with the risks than speaking - before a shot rang out entirely too close to him. Toushirou had no choice - unless he wanted to sit there like a boob in the line of fire - but to duck back and look for alternate cover. In that moment - those short few seconds - the silver-haired bastard was gone from his sight.
Toushirou cursed, not quite under his breath, revolver up and ready to shoot from behind his new cover, a crate near the couch.
The bastard was getting away and Toushirou would risk more than he was willing to follow. After a few minutes, he found the bastard again, at the other doorway, smiling - no, grinning - back in his direction.
Grinning.
Toushirou snarled, wanting dearly to find a way to wipe that damned smile right off that bastard's face, and unable to do a thing about it. He got out of this - and it seemed he would, since this raid had gone awry enough that the buttons were letting the dealers get away - and he was tackling his files.
He was going to find that damned grinning man, figure out who the hell he was, and have him dropped in the cooler fast enough his head'd spin.
And there'd be no damned grinning involved.
Characters: Gin Ichimaru (lcpdragonslayer), Toushirou Hitsugaya (kellenanne)
Timeline: November 25, 1949
Rating: PG-13 - flying bullets and some inappropriate language.
Summary: NYPD busts a drug deal - Gin and Hitsugaya meet for the first time, facing off in what would definitely be considered starting off on the wrong foot.
Snow, pure and white, gently rained down from the dark sky. A sigh was released into the chilly night air, and it materialised as vapour for a brief moment before dissipating into the air. It was only November - albeit late November - but already it was cold enough for the group of them to be wearing thick, dark knee-length jackets.
Nimble fingers as pale as the snow itself fished out a small packet from his pocket. Rolling himself a small filterless cigarette, he flicked the lighter lid open and lit the end of the cigarette. He took in a good puff, looking around as he slipped his lighter back into his pocket. Shaking his wrist a little, he glanced down at his watch.
It was about time to go in.
Gin straightened up from leaning back against the car. Jerking his head towards the ominous building, the group of them started to make their way towards the old, red warehouse. He usually went on these drug trades alone - but this time the deal was happening quite a distance away from home. His trading partner was also notorious for killing and running with both the money and the dope, and Aizen only let him go on the condition that he went with some company.
So here they were - two cars worth of Cosa Nostra - standing up against probably fifteen to twenty men, with two cases of money ready to trade for one case of top grade heroin.
Hopefully that was the biggest of their troubles.
Pulling the cigarette away from his lips, Gin cast one last look over his shoulder into the darkness as he blew smoke into the air. He was always wary of these large-scale operations and the increased risks that came with it. He had Shinsou, two other Brownings, five spare magazines and a couple of switchblades.
If he felt worried, being the least-armed man on his side, his casual, lazy smile certainly didn't show it.
Spitting out the last bit of his cigarette, Gin crushed it under the sole of his shoe, swivelling his foot over it. Blowing a trail of smoke into the night, Gin looked back over to the dimly-lit entrance, guarded by two men with Swedish Ks.
"A'ight. Let's go, boys."
It was cold, dark. The snow that drifted down caught what little light there was and seemed to glow in the darkened sky. It really was very pretty and on any other night, Toushirou might have taken the time to appreciate the sight. Tonight, though, was a bit of a different story. Tonight, he was participating in a drug raid. As a captain in the Homicide division, it really wasn't his job, but experience was experience and there was a bug going around that had a few officers home in bed instead of on the streets.
He almost suspected they planned it that way. There was a good chance metal would fly tonight; there always was, in a raid like this. He wasn't in charge - he'd make a few changes in the set up if he was, but that was neither here nor there - but he was high enough in the ranks he felt a little better about it all. He could start shouting orders and some people might listen to him.
Then again, they might decide to ignore the short captain and make some excuse about not seeing him in the fray.
It had happened before. If it happened here, Toushirou could not be held responsible for any "stray" bullets. Then again, he was saving those for the bad guys.
His hand strayed underneath his coat, brushing the butt of his weapon. He'd checked the .38 a hundred times before crouching out here in the snow, but his nerves had him continually making sure it was in easy reach. His back-up was a comforting weight at his ankle, and he knew he had a hell of a lot of extra bullets.
One could never be too careful.
Now it was just a waiting game and that was always the hardest part of his job. He glanced from side to side, checking on the people with him. Everyone seemed to be in place, in hiding, and God did he hope they remembered their instructions and training. Even he was having a little trouble waiting for the right moment; he could see what was going to happen and barely saw the sense in waiting for the deal to go down. (Momo would have his head for thinking that way.)
But when it happened... Well, when it happened, they'd have a few morons behind bars.
That was the plan anyway.
Gin and his crew made it past the two guards without any hassle - the guards even gave him what could be considered a deferent nod as they made their way into the large warehouse via the small side door.
Inside was immediately much more illuminated and warmer than the outside. The warehouse was very vacant inside, with empty containers and crates stacked off to one side, and old, large, rusty chains with hooks hanging from the ceilings, probably used to lift and move batches of containers or crates around.
There was a small setup in the middle - a nice wooden table with a briefcase in the middle, four money counters to the sides; two on each end, and two weighing scales; one on each end. Numerous light stands and spotlights shone down on the table. There was a man sitting on one of the couches - a relatively infamous man named Alfonso - and numerous other men standing around and behind him.
Gin's smile widened at the man smiling back at him as he took his time strolling over to the couch. So far so good - no one had shot at them yet.
A small sigh escaped the Capo Bastone's lips as he sat down in the one-seater couch opposite from Alfonso's. It was a nice sentiment, really - relaxing before getting shot in the head.
As disarming as Alfonso's smile may be, Gin could discern smiles better than anyone else, and he knew how fake that smile painfully was.
"Been a while, Alfonso."
"Spare the bullshit, Gin. Where's my rhino?"
"Pfuh. Someone's impatient."
The two briefcases his men were carrying were laid on the table. A few clicks later, and the briefcases were opened and presented to a maniacally-grinning Alfonso. The man popped his briefcase open as well, presenting Gin with nicely packed blocks of brown paper.
Getting to his feet, Gin approached the table and examined the contents. Pulling out a block, he laid it on the weighing scale.
Exactly 500 grams, just like a block of butter. Two rows of ten, two layers - that made exactly 20 kilos of presumably 95% pure heroin.
“Oh and here,” Alfonso said, chucking an oblong item in a brown envelope onto the table. Picking it up, Gin unraveled it and examined the contents. One block.
“Yer too kind, Alfie. Picked up a spare tire?”
“Just for you, Gin.”
“Oh my. I’m honoured. I just hope I live long enough ta shoot mahself up wit’ this.”
Laughter filled the warehouse as Gin bundled the package up again and slipped it into his pocket. As his men set out to weigh each block and Alfonso’s men started putting money through the counters, Gin rolled himself another cigarette and took a few steps away from the central area, lighting it and letting his gaze wander.
Alfonso’s men were too busy counting money to want to shoot any of them. The hardest part was walking out with this briefcase of dope once the money counting and block weighing was done.
Toushirou waited, though it was difficult. In his opinion, waiting until some sort of deal went down when he knew good and well what was going to happen was nothing short of idiotic. He didn't really see the sense in waiting. Pick them up going in, then go in and get the rest of the morons. He supposed one could make the argument that all the evidence possible was needed or waiting until all the parties involved had their attention on each other made things safer for the police involved, but really, it all rubbed him wrong. He wanted in there and he wanted it done. In fact, had it been up to him, he would have picked up the men going in long before he went through the door.
'Specially that light-haired one in front. Toushirou could spot the leader of the pack from a mile away. It was damned obvious who was in charge of that group.
Toushirou sighed softly, somehow resisting the urge to check on his gun again, and caught the kid's eye next to him. Gilliam, he thought his name was. Just a uniform, dark-haired and anxious fear in his eyes. Toushirou nodded toward the door; he had to trust the rest of the crew to be in place, and he had to trust this Gilliam kid had his back. God, but did he hope that anxiety he saw in Gilliam's eyes translated to awareness. He didn't want the guy he was trusting to watch his back to freeze at the most inopportune time. If he got shot, Momo would kill him. So would Matsumoto. In fact, it'd be a bit of a race between them as to who would kill him first.
He crept forward at Gilliam's nod, drawing his weapon and holding it in a two-handed grip. Closer to the door, out of sight of the guards: it was a tricky line to walk and he hoped Gilliam stayed well in the shadows. He stopped, behind a corner, and stilled. He was tempted to hold his breath; it was cold enough he could see it.
He wished they'd hurry up and get the drugs changing hands; the waiting game wore on him. He was in place, Gilliam was ready - he hoped - and the rest of his compatriots had to be ready.
They'd had plenty of time.
Finally, the last block of heroin was weighed and the last batch of notes put through the bill counter. Everything added up, said one of Gin's men, and Alfonso seemed to be happy with the money.
Gin made his way back over to the table and snapped the briefcase shut, clicking the locks into place. He was hyper-aware of his surroundings his gaze moving around the warehouse constantly for any nasty surprises. He was the one with the briefcase, after all. He would be the main target.
"Thanks Gin. I know I can always rely on the Concavos when it comes to offloading my dope."
Pulling the briefcase off the desk, it slipped off the surface and fell to his side. He gave Alfonso a beaming grin as he slipped his free hand into his pocket.
"Pleasure doin' business wit' ya," Gin said.
The silver-haired fox turned to go, but he didn't quite manage to make the full turn when the click of a hammer on a gun resonated through the entire building.
Everything went completely still.
"I also know I can rely on you Americans to be so fucking stupid, thinking you can walk in here, get your goods and just walk out. You think it was gonna be that easy?"
That smile on Gin's face faltered for just a brief moment, and he looked over his shoulder at Alfonso and the man standing next to him pointing a pistol at the Capo Bastone.
He had hoped it would not come down to this.
"Realleh now?" Gin said, turning ever so slowly with that vulpine smile on his face. The atmosphere was tense - so tense, he could feel his own breaths becoming laboured, could feel all eyes on him, could feel everyone just waiting for the right moment to reach for their guns and fire on each other.
Alfonso held out his upturned hand, a menacing grin on his face.
"Walk over to me and hand me the briefcase."
Gin curled his fingers around the switchblade in his pocket. If Alfonso wanted it to be a bloody night, Gin would grant his wish.
Slowly - just as instructed - Gin walked over to Alfonso one step at a time. He ran his thumb over the trigger on his switchblade, showing no signs of being tense.
He stepped into Alfonso's personal space and held the briefcase up, his gaze shifting across the area, positioning all of Alfonso's men, drawing up the best plan of action instantly as the handle of the briefcase changed over from his hand to Alfonso's.
A blink of an eye - and a gasp escaped Alfonso's lips. Horrified eyes dropped down to where the handle of Gin's switchblade stuck out of a patch of red on his abdomen. Gin's smile never faltered as he stood close to Alfonso. None of Alfonso's men could see what had happened, and it was not until the limp body slumped to the ground that Gin ripped the serrated blade out of Alfonso's body and ducked for the briefcase that bullets started flying all around him.
Toushirou watched the goings-on with a keen eye. It wasn't only his job, but his life - and the lives of others - on the line. He had to know all the details, and if some little thing otherwise missed saved them, then he wasn't apologizing for his hyper-alertness. He watched the deal start to go down, hand tightening around his pistol's grip. A second before the gun was drawn, he saw it coming; the man moved ever so slightly. The gun came up and Toushirou grit his teeth.
Maybe they'd all kill each other. God, he could hope, couldn't he?
The silver-haired man walked forward slowly, not a hint of the tension that filled the room with him. Then, a few moments later, he saw why; he'd pulled a snife, stabbed the man with the drugs, and brought hell down on them.
Damned man; that alone was enough for Toushirou to drag him in in bracelets. As it was now, Toushirou wasn't quite sure whether he should lay low and let them kill each other or start sniping bad guys. He was leaning toward laying low when Gilliam cursed and decided to dive in. Headfirst, apparently. Into the deep end.
Gilliam stepped out of his cover, weapon firing, and taking out the guards by the door.
Or, well, trying to anyway. How did this kid get into the field when he couldn't hit a target? Hell, Toushirou didn't think he'd hit the wall behind the guards. And since he didn't kill the guards, they did what they were hired to do: shoot back and call attention to the cops out there. Suddenly, it seemed like those bullets that once were flying at bad guys were raining down on them. Luckily it was the wooden crate behind - and above Toushirou's head and thank God he was short - that took the brunt of the first hail of bullets.
He ducked, not returning fire just yet. (Why would he when he would be firing blindly?) "Goddamn it!" Where was that Gilliam kid? Toushirou would shoot him himself. He scrambled to the side, weapon up, and ready to shoot whatever he saw first: Gilliam or one of the dealers.
One of the dealers, though, made the decision for him. Gilliam didn't make much sound when he went down, a spray of blood arcing through the falling snow. Toushirou didn't watch him fall; he knew what would be there and it was no use looking down to see vacant eyes.
Instead he found the guard with the smoking gun. His cover was blown anyway; might as well join the fray.
And, damn it, but was he glad for the extra time he'd spent on the target range.
Gin took cover behind one of the couches as bullets tore the furniture apart, cleaning off his switchblade before flicking it close and sliding it back into its pouch. He pulled one of his spare Brownings out and flicked the safety switch off, his grip tightening around the handle of the briefcase.
This was troublesome. He had hoped that this scenario would not happen. Already two of his men were down, and there were no signs of a ceasefire yet. He was going to get an earful from Aizen when he returned home…
With the briefcase, of course. Regardless of what Aizen said, Gin’s job tonight was to bring the drugs home. If he had to crawl home to deliver it, then so be it.
He looked up above just in time to see a bullet fly past over his head, messing up a bit of his hair. If the bullet was flying at the kind of trajectory, and it hit the container, making that sized hole…
Gin turned and poked his head up from behind the torn-up couch, aiming the Browning and pulling the trigger straight at one of Alfonso’s men. He ducked again just as a bullet flew through where his head had been moments before, this time at a different angle.
Even though there was all this ruckus going on inside, Gin could not help but notice a different set of sounds… coming from outside? His suspicions were confirmed when the shadows shifted from where the guards at the door had been, and a pool of blood slowly leaked in.
Shit. Renegades trying to steal the drugs and money as well, or the cops? Alfonso called the cops? What was that stupid Italian thinking?
He gritted his teeth and got to his feet, still crouched behind the couch, and when the noise died down a little, Gin made a run for it to join a couple of his men behind a container. It would be easier if he did not have to carry a twenty kilogram briefcase around, but it was too risky to let it go and leave it somewhere.
“Sounds like there’s a third party - ‘nother gang ‘er the cops ‘er sommin’ outside. I don’t care what happens - if even one of us is alive after this shit, this keister gets delivered to Mista Aizen, savvy?”
Goddamn, goddamn, goddamn.
Goddamn it.
Toushirou had held no delusions that this thing would have been easy when he'd been volunteered to join this party. But, damn it if he hadn't hoped to be paired with someone who knew what they were doing.
Now - and he didn't dare cast a glance back toward what was left of Gilliam - he was... Well, not quite alone but hell if anyone was watching his back. Goddamned moronic boob of a rookie cop getting himself offed like that.
Gunfire was almost nonstop now, as the rest of the cops decided to take Gilliam's lead. (At least, Toushirou hoped they took Gilliam's lead in only the shooting at the bad guys and not the subsequent dying.) Briefly, he wondered if any of them had lost a partner and needed to pair up again. It might save both their asses if he could get in the company of another officer.
Unfortunately, though, that wasn't what Toushirou was there for. He was not retreating.
Especially when he was pretty damned sure that someone would see him if he retreated and shoot him in the back. He was not going to go out shot in the back.
A shot rang out closer than was strictly comfortable - or even tolerable - and Toushirou reacted, spinning around the corner he'd planted himself behind and popping off a couple shots. Satisfied, he watched the remained guard on this side go down.
He slunk forward toward the door. Not far now; he came to arrest some birds. A bit of metal flying around wasn't going to deter him.
There was ubiquitous noise, death and blood. If Gin had been in a different setting, he would have rather liked what was going on around him. But for now, there were bullets flying past him too close for comfort, and he didn't find any of this amusing.
It was unfortunate that he had to run around with a heavy briefcase, but at the same time he was fortunate it was not a really heavy briefcase, or two or more briefcases.
He had no choice but to stick his arm out and fire arbitrarily in the direction of where the bullets were coming from, hoping that his calculations of where people were standing using the trajectories of the bullets flying towards them would pay off.
A groan and an unpleasant cry, and Gin's grin widened. The magazine was empty now, and he placed the briefcase on the ground temporarily as he reloaded his gun, glancing down at the number of spare magazines he had. If the people on his side didn't die, they should manage.
The couch was a much better place to fire from, but Gin couldn't risk taking cover behind the couch and having the third party come out from outside and shoot him in the back. But being sandwiched between two containers was not exactly a good place to be, either.
This would be a whole lot easier if they were on the other side of the warehouse. They would have to take care of Alfonso's men first before they had any chance of getting there.
"How many?" Gin asked. The man closest to the edge of the container poked his head out a few times, withdrawing swiftly as bullets flew past only to stick his head back out again.
"'Bout nine..."
That man fired a few shots.
"Eight now."
Eight... He had two people with him here, two or three were down... So that meant five or six of them left.
As that man paused to reload his gun, Gin replaced him, poking his head out to fire a few rounds at the enemy. Five bullets hit three people.
Seven, six, five...
If he could get into the door, Toushirou felt sure he could at least feel like he was making some headway in this mess. The whole point of the matter was to go in, catch some crooks, and grab a drink to wind down after it was all done. Hell, Toushirou'd even be social at this point, if it meant getting that drink.
But that was for after the deed was done. It was supposed to be a celebratory drink, full of satisfaction for a job well done. Now? Now, Toushirou didn't see much sense in celebrating much at all.
Unless he got out alive and unharmed. Then he'd drink a toast to himself for being a damn good shot.
No guards left on this side, at that door he and Gilliam had been covering. Didn't mean his path to the door was safe, however. He wasn't that stupid. Metal was flying through air; hell if he was standing up straight. Whether it was coincidence or what, he didn't know, but he crossed to the door without incident. (Not that there weren't other things happening; he still heard shouts and bullets and things were nowhere near calming.) He pressed against the wall, checking his weapon. Half-full cylinder. He looked around, made damn sure he was in the clear for the few moments this would take, and reloaded. Might not be quite procedure or whatnot, but Toushirou had his own reasons.
He liked his head right where it was, thank you very much, and he was not walking into a firefight with half the bullets he could have.
He crouched beside the door, spinning just enough to peer inside, but not firing just yet. He wasn't stupid enough to start firing blindly. 'Friendly fire' wasn't a term he ever wanted connected to him.
A couch, a couple long tables, and a roomful of crates. Didn't look good for the coppers; Toushirou winced. Too many places for the other guys to hide and shoot from.
Goddamn. He blew air through his teeth and took a bead on a dark-haired bird who didn't seem to understand the meaning of cover. It took two shots to take him down and Toushirou snorted; he needed to log more time on the range.
With all the chaos going around him, it had been difficult to keep track of exactly what was going on. But now there were less people still alive and shooting, and that meant less people to take care of. Gin could keep up now; could keep track of the people he saw, could distinguish between the different sounds the bullets made depending on the type of gun and the distance they were away from him.
Which was why he found someone on his side toppling down strange, and when he took the way the man fell and the blood spatter into account, he could only guess that the shots had come from behind. The fool didn’t notice the people outside, probably, and only bothered to cover his front.
Gin clenched his teeth a little. With the way the bullets were arbitrarily flying towards them, it would be wise for whoever it was at the door to stay out of range and duck for the nearest cover when possible. He could not count on the person being smart - although whoever it was seemed like a good shot, downing someone with what looked and sounded like two bullets - but they were in the worst possible position, sandwiched between two opposing forces.
“Where’s Santiago?” Gin asked. The man had something he could really use right now.
“Over there,” one of his men said, gesturing over to the other side of the warehouse, where a couple of men were stationed.
Damn. So far away...
“Cover me,” Gin said, his grip tightening around the briefcase handle. It really was becoming a burden. One of his men nodded, and when the shots at them lessened by a fraction, Gin made a dash to duck behind the couch, making sure that there was no one standing by the door to fire at him from the other direction.
His movements caught the attention of all his men, including Santiago, and the fox mouthed something to Santiago. The man nodded, fiddled around with the holsters for a bit before waiting for an opportune moment to toss Gin the undetonated grenade.
Gin placed the gun and the briefcase on the floor for a brief second as he caught the grenade. He could see the shadow of the figure crouched down behind the wall cast onto the door, and he waited until that silhouette moved, the shadow darkening as if the person were to emerge and fire a few more shots.
He pulled the pin out of the flashbang grenade and threw it towards the doorway, smirking as he picked up his gun and briefcase, making his way over to Santiago’s side. There was an incredibly loud, explosive noise, a brief flash of blinding white light, and a bit of smoke began to settle by the doorway. He would have liked to use an explosive grenade except a stun grenade, but he was even lucky to have a stun grenade at hand considering this was only meant to be a friendly exchange.
Confident and content with having bought a bit of time from the fire behind them, Gin focused on taking down the other trouble boys, hanging by the edge of the container as he poked his head out to the side and fired at the two men left standing. Once they were both taken care of, Gin and his crew could focus on the commotion outside.
Toushirou had just gotten a bead on someone else when movement caught his eye and he just barely caught a glimpse of a someone...
...damn it, was that someone throwing something toward him? Toushirou scrambled backward and only hit the deck when the stun grenade went off only a few feet from him. Ducking had been the plan; he was rather hoping he'd manage it before the grenade went off. At any rate, he was lucky it was a stun grenade and nothing actually explosive. Never mind it was bright and loud and his ears hurt and he wasn't sure if he'd fallen because of the grenade going off or the sudden dizziness that had him square in its grip.
He couldn't see anything; the flash had been so bright he was almost certain he'd be seeing this too-bright afterimage for years to come. His fingers tightened around his .38's grip; hell if he was losing this one now.
Move. He had to move. Even if he couldn't quite see - and dear God but it was starting clear and that was good at least - he could still find cover. He soon discovered that not seeing wasn't the real problem here; the real problem was dizziness and he wasn't even sure how a bright flash and a loud bang had caused that one.
But goddamn it if he wasn't going to shoot the person responsible. Squinting - and leaning a shoulder against the wall - he could just make out... something. Movement. Movement from the direction the grenade had come from. Taking a breath, he decided that shooting was the best option, even if he wasn't seeing completely straight. There was little chance he was shooting toward any friendlies.
Three shots. Just three toward the shadow moving there.
Gin’s first mistake was assuming that the flashbang would incapacitate the person at the door long enough for him to get rid of all of Alfonso’s men. The second mistake was leaving himself open to being fired upon in case the person was not incapacitated long enough. The first bullet fired from behind hit the container wall dangerously close to his ribs, and Gin whipped his head around at the door which was meant to be clear.
A soft cry of pain, and Gin’s grip on his gun tightened as he withdrew back, ducking towards the other side of the container as his men took over, shooting both at Alfonso’s men and at the door where the shots were fired from.
There was a bullet buried in the back of Gin’s upper arm, and blood was trickling down from the wound. He gripped onto the injured section of his arm, gritting his teeth a little. That really, really hurt.
He rested the back of his head against the cool container wall, sighing.
“Fuckin’… Ngh.” Whoever shot his arm was going to die really slowly, really painfully.
He banged the back of his head against the container wall again.
“Alfonso’s men are dead,” one of Gin’s men said to him, and the firing all but ceased.
“There’s sommin’ at the door. Move to the other side of the warehouse.”
“You coming then, boss?”
“Yeah… but take the briefcase.” Gin would have to shoot his gun using his other hand, which was something he had never really got used to before. It would probably not be as accurate, but there was little he could do.
Everything went quiet save for their moving over to the other side of the warehouse, establishing good posts and strongholds to hide behind.
It took all of another thirty seconds or so - much too long, in Toushirou's opinion, during anything resembling a gunfight - before his vision cleared enough to honestly say he could see again. Not clearly, no, but enough to figure out who were the good guys and who weren't. Unfortunately, he really didn't see many people at all.
Apparently, though, someone knew where he was - and with any luck he'd pegged them on those last shots - so he couldn't sit at the door and pick anyone off. Not a good plan anymore. Just inside the door, though, there was cover and Toushirou knew good and well he wasn't getting out of this unless he pushed forward.
Besides, he had to kill whoever dared throw a damned grenade at him.
Ever mindful of the fact he didn't really have many bullets left - save for the secondary he had in an ankle holster and some spare bullets that needed loaded; who had time for that anyway? - he crept through the doorway and sidled up next to the nearest crate.
He had killing to do. (Not arresting. Killing. Someone had thrown a grenade at him. Killed Gilliam. And thrown a grenade. Those were offenses that a mere arrest would not deal with.)
Fuck. There was blood dripping everywhere and his arm was hurting like it had never experienced pain before. His grip on the wound was weakening, and his men were more focused on trying to make sure he was still alive than the threat from outside the door.
He was inwardly wishing that the grenade he threw had been an explosive kind. He would make sure to kill whoever shot him nice and slow; maybe stab a few holes through that damned body and watch the blood leak out. Make it beg for its life and then snap its fucking neck.
Fuck. This was not part of the plan. Gin certainly did not expect Alfonso to call copper or have other trouble boys jumping them. His crew did not bring enough ammunition for something of this scale.
They were shooting at people coming through the door, but there were… quite a lot of people coming through the door. Hammer and saws, apparently, seeing as they were all wearing what looked like standard issue flak jackets.
Made no difference seeing as Gin’s crew were aiming for the heads. It was obvious that some of them had absolutely no idea what they were doing, just throwing their lives away and adding to the body count.
He ducked just as a bullet whizzed over his head. His grip tightened over his arm as he clenched his teeth a little. The possibility that he might not make it out alive was starting to sink in, and although like everyone else he should really have felt afraid, he was actually feeling rather… buzzed about it.
Nothing like blood and dead bodies and bullets flying everywhere. It was akin to the thrills he had as a child, running through the dangerous streets, running away from the baker he stole from, running away from bullies, running away from cops.
At least he wasn’t losing any more men - Gin took the briefcase from the one holding on to it while he reloaded the gun. There was little he could do with his handguns at this range, especially when everyone was using AK-47s and Thompson submachine guns. He would just have to wait until the gunfire lightened up a bit and the enemies came in closer range.
Good God, but that was a lot of metal flying through the air. Toushirou hated the fact that the men they were trying to arrest were better armed than the cops going in. All he had was a handgun; whose idiot idea was it to give the cops handguns and the suspects machine guns? It just didn't seem balanced, that was sure.
Toushirou didn't squeeze off any more shots as he crept forward. It wouldn't have done him any good; he had a limited stash of bullets and not enough time to reload. He could see people moving here and there but had no clean shot. At one point he even thought he saw the silver-haired bastard he'd pegged as the leader of all this mess.
Closer than he'd thought he'd be. Still not a good shot, but Toushirou could fix that in a few minutes.
Slits that were Gin’s eyes poked out from the side of the container he was crouched around behind, scanning the scene. The cops had definitely made some progress, inching forward, some of them gaining cover behind containers that Gin and his crew was hiding behind previously. The buttons were not doing too badly even though a whole lot of them were needlessly dying.
Gin could ping a smart one or three choosing to crawl forward as opposed to firing blindly at them. One of them that he caught a glimpse of had stark white hair - much like his own, except the hair was rather… anti-gravitational. It was also odd in the sense that the person that hair belonged to… seemed to be of incredibly small build.
No matter - coppers were coppers regardless of their size. Gin would rather take down the stupid targets than be foolish enough to confront of these more experienced cops, but all of them would have to die if Gin was to have any chance of getting out of here alive.
He had a chance to take a clean shot at the little white-haired one, but he winced and retreated back behind the container wall as his shot barely missed. Having to lug a briefcase around with one hand and having a wounded other arm was really putting him at a disadvantage. The only choice he really had if he wanted to kill anyone tonight would be a one-on-one confrontation. He would have to seize the right opportunity with all these bullets whizzing everywhere.
He advanced forward when the bullet exchange lightened up a little, ducking around behind another container. He fired two shots at two of the advancing officers, killing one and pinging the other in the shin. Another bullet, and the groaning officer was put to sleep.
Closer… He needed to get just a little bit closer.
He wasn't even quite aware he'd gotten himself into immediate line of fire until the bullet impacted the crate beside his head. He wasn't an idiot; he knew he was walking - creeping, really - into a dangerous situation. (Who wouldn't know that?) He just hadn't quite known he'd stuck his neck out that far.
He ducked, gun coming up in that instant, and moved. Couldn't stay there, obviously; not when someone had nearly taken him out with one shot.
He blew air through his teeth and peered forward, just catching a glimpse of white hair and very nearly squeezed of a couple bullets toward that damned head in sheer frustration. Then almost did it again when the white-headed bastard took out two of his men. He couldn't get a clear shot, though. Wasn't worth the waste of bullets it would be.
Better to get closer. Didn't want to chance the bastard walking away. Just needed an opening. That's all.
Damn. The guy wasn’t just any ordinary dumb cop who ran around shooting at everything that moved. Gin couldn’t gauge where the guy was and he couldn’t hear any footsteps with all the bullets flying around. And there was no way he was going to die here, after having got this far.
He fired a few more shots at three more advancing officers, taking them down. Relinquishing his hold on the briefcase momentarily, he reloaded his gun and threw the empty magazine away, slipping the new one in and loading the gun.
He ducked around the next container forward, firing at the officers only when necessary. He didn’t want ten guns firing on him after all, even if his men were doing a good job at taking the police down.
His vision was going a little blurry with the pain and blood loss that was becoming increasingly hard to ignore. His heart was pounding - he could hear it above all the cacophony in the warehouse. With each step he took, he was getting closer, and closer, and ever so much closer to that white-haired… goon… until-
Gin took his chances, and he trusted in his men to take care of everyone else around him right now as he darted over to take cover behind the tattered couch - the couch Alfonso had been sitting on before.
He would have been more excited, finally managing to have that little white-haired guy at the other end of his gun - except, of course, said little white-haired guy was pointing his gun straight back at Gin.
“Wow,” Gin said, raising his voice a little so he could be heard as he ducked a bit, dodging a bullet whizzing over the couch. The barrel of his Browning was still pointed straight at the kid’s forehead in case he wanted to try anything funny.
“The elephant ears musta been real shorthanded huh, giving a little kid heat and sending ‘im off to a drug bust. I thought they had a minimum age requirement down at the clubhouse. Ya must be a reaaal good gunsel, huh? The police chief must surely like ya.”
That couch there in the middle of the warehouse look like a good place to stop, regroup, and kill the bastard. It was as close as he was likely to get without getting a hole in his head, and that would have just been a hell of a topper on a bad night.
He hated bad nights. Would love to leave this place without extra holes in his head - or anywhere else.
He was very very glad he already had his .38 up and ready when he ducked behind the couch.
That was a hell of a lot closer than he'd thought he'd be to the bastard. The gun went up, unwavering, and straight to the man's head. Might have shot already if it weren't for the Browning that came up and took a bead on his own forehead.
Well... shit.
Toushirou honestly expected gunfire and was already trying to run through plots and plans that might get him out of this one alive. (Most of them failed as soon as he thought of them. He just didn't see much of a way out of this one without dying and hell if that was going to work.) He, however, never planned on the bastard talking.
Toushirou blinked, half-forgetting he was in the middle of a gunfight, much less had a Browning trained on his forehead. Age requirement? Little kid? Gunsel?
The chief... and gunsel? His brow twitched. God, when he said the chief breathed down his neck, that was not what he meant.
Goddamn it, even drug runners questioned his credentials. And his age. And... and... that.
"You're under arrest."
Goddamned bastard. He should shoot him now.
Gin had to almost bite his bottom lip to keep himself from laughing. As much as he was thoroughly enjoying himself with the banter, he knew the time he could spend with this midget was limited. The blood would probably not stop leaking out of his arm until he bled to death, and there was a briefcase that needed delivering.
If he fired his gun now, he might be lucky and get out of it alive. But he did not know about this boy’s reaction time, and he didn’t want to die out here right now since the cops were closer to the briefcase than his crew. It was all a very… aggravating situation, and one that he could do without right now with all the commotion about.
He inched backwards, ever so slowly, towards the edge of the couch. He was still in a crouched position, and not for one moment did the gun pointed at the kid's head waver. He was not willing to take any more chances, but the further away he was from this guy, the better chances he had of escaping.
“Ya think ya got what it takes? Shoot me then - cause tonight, one of us will be walkin’ out of here with this briefcase, and while I’m alive, it sure ain’t gonna be a little cocksuckin’ cowboy.”
Toushirou didn't inch forward as the bastard inched back; he merely kept the .38 trained right on the man's forehead and decidedly not flinching. He honestly didn't see much of a way out of this one, unless pure dumb luck fell on his side.
He had never put much stock in pure dumb luck.
Nor had he ever put much stock in bastards who spent their time crafting insults at his expense. If he was depending on pure dumb luck anyway, he might as well shoot the man in the balls and see what happened.
He was sorely tempted.
"Don't move," he snapped. Professional. He had to stay professional.
Gin continued inching back, little by little, hoping he would not be shot in the back by some random cop looking to take advantage of the situation. Even with the little boy’s threat, there was nothing he could do if Gin had his gun fixed on his forehead.
It wasn’t fun to tease the kid anymore - he didn’t have any fun comebacks Gin could work with, and he came here for the briefcase, not to taunt little children.
Getting caught in a standoff like this was not part of the plan either. Gin was at the disadvantage, but that didn’t mean that he wouldn’t get out alive with this one. His smile never faltered as he weighed out his options - which was not entirely easy, seeing as his gaze had to remain focused on the threat in front of him.
What to do, what to do…
Didn't he tell the bastard not to move? He told the bastard not to move and what did he do but keep inching backward. Toushirou's lip curled - he couldn't help it - and he inched forward, despite the gun trained on his head.
"Goddamn it, if you keep moving I will shoot you in the balls," he snapped, "and then we'll see who the damned gunsel is. So stop moving. Now."
There was professional and then there was getting the job done.
And then there was just snapping and shooting because he was damn tired of the bastard's smile.
The threat would have been a lot more effective if they both did not know that as soon as the kid moved that gun by even half an inch, Gin would just pull the trigger and blow his little brain out.
“Hate ta disappoint ya, kid, but I have a bit of a track record fer not followin’ orders, ‘specially not from lil prepubescent boys.”
Would they both die? There was little Gin could do, unless-
Bang.
That gunshot came from somewhere outside of their little standoff, drilling a hole through the couch inbetween the two white-haired boys. Gin certainly did not see that coming, although it was dangerously closer to the cop than it was to him.
Seizing the opportunity while the law was still occupied, Gin disappeared from the cop’s gaze in a flash, jumping over some bodies and ducking around behind one of the containers. It was a bit cheap, really, having outside assistance - it was one of his men, judging from the bullet’s trajectory - but it was a rather grim situation.
What few cops were alive and shooting at his men were gathered to the other side of the warehouse. It gave them an advantage over Gin’s men, but it left the other side wide open.
Gin’s grin at the little white-haired cop widened as he made his way towards the door the cops had entered from. If he could get out of the warehouse, he could get to the cars - if they were still there. If not, it was not too long of a hike home anyway. Hopefully he would remain conscious the whole way.
It only took under five minutes before Gin managed to slip through the doorway, the bitter cold of the night squeezing the air out of him. It was still snowing - in fact, the snow had gotten heavier. He made his way into the darkness, blending in with the shadows. There was a trail of blood dripping from his arm, tainting the white snow a crimson red, but in the darkness it all looked the same.
As expected, there were cops all over the cars. He would have to walk - and while usually he didn’t mind the hike, collapsing halfway with 20 kilos of heroin was not ideal.
Perhaps the cold would help keep him conscious and alert.
Toushirou didn't have a chance to retort - and truthfully his retort was more along the lines of pulling the trigger and saying to hell with the risks than speaking - before a shot rang out entirely too close to him. Toushirou had no choice - unless he wanted to sit there like a boob in the line of fire - but to duck back and look for alternate cover. In that moment - those short few seconds - the silver-haired bastard was gone from his sight.
Toushirou cursed, not quite under his breath, revolver up and ready to shoot from behind his new cover, a crate near the couch.
The bastard was getting away and Toushirou would risk more than he was willing to follow. After a few minutes, he found the bastard again, at the other doorway, smiling - no, grinning - back in his direction.
Grinning.
Toushirou snarled, wanting dearly to find a way to wipe that damned smile right off that bastard's face, and unable to do a thing about it. He got out of this - and it seemed he would, since this raid had gone awry enough that the buttons were letting the dealers get away - and he was tackling his files.
He was going to find that damned grinning man, figure out who the hell he was, and have him dropped in the cooler fast enough his head'd spin.
And there'd be no damned grinning involved.