[log] Hiruma, Lisa, Musashi
Title: Suite Curiosity
Characters: Gen "Musashi" Takekura (gogosama ), Lisa Yadomaru (kaphinated ), Youichi Hiruma (gogodgene )
Timeline: April 13, 1950
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Lisa's curiosity gets the better of her. Hiruma and Musashi are not pleased.
With a clenched jaw and taut shoulders, Lisa watched the back of the woman finally, and thankfully, retreat across the Senbonzakura lobby. The front desk manager had been trying to get away from her position for a few hours now, but one thing after another had delayed her until finally this chance had come.
Lisa headed straight for the kitchen - the first step in her plan to check out
the hotel’s newest VIPs. The two men had arrived last night, with Lisa handling their check-in personally. The extravagant entertainer, his stoic bodyguard and, alarmingly, a fierce looking dog had caused something of a scene when they arrived; with many other guests gawking openly at the loud blond and his ferocious creature.
Meanwhile Lisa, ever the epitome of professionalism, had barely reacted; only thin-framed eyes widening almost imperceptively at their entrance.
Now the dapper gents were safely installed in the honeymoon suite, the Yadomaru woman flinched slightly at the thought of explaining that little menagerie to her boss - the highbrow Byakuya Kuchiki no less - at their inevitable update meeting. Still, that was a challenge for another day and she had to keep her wits about her for the one at hand.
The two gents had left a few hours ago, and without their hound in tow, the astute woman noted. This gave her the best opportunity to get the skinny on them and see if they held any further interest for Murder, Inc.
Lisa retrieved the juiciest bone the five star kitchen could provide, and now armed with the means to ensure the beast would not bark - or even worse, bite - she rode the lift to the fancy suite.
Once outside, she pressed her dark-haired head to the grand door, eyes closed and listening for any signs of the inhabitants. Satisfied, she unwrapped the bone and carefully unlocked the door, before quickly opening it a few inches. Lisa caught a fleeting glimpse of the plush room as she lobbed the bone a good few feet into the centre of the room, sharply yanking the door closed again.
The sharp faced woman heard a loud thud and scrabble as beast inside stirred and launched itself at the tasty treat, and once again cursed the entertainer for his eccentric and troublesome pet.
While her interest had been piqued by the reservation itself and her suspicions raised further by their arrival, Lisa sincerely hoped there was at least something in the suite to make all this effort worthwhile.
Silently entering the room on assassin’s feet, she shot the dog a hard but wary glare; her hand still gripping the door handle in case the evil mutt was not totally engrossed in devouring its newly acquired feast. Luckily, it did little more than return the look as its jaw’s crunched away, and Lisa gave it a respectful berth as she crossed the deep pile carpet toward the elegant sideboard.
A few items had been deposited there, and thin fingers made their way briskly through the piled papers. While there was something intriguing about the pair of VIPs she would be the first to admit that her almost fatalistic curiosity had, as always, gotten the better of her. Lisa just hoped that she wouldn’t end up like the proverbial cat.
The note book was small, pocket sized and slim, bound in a rough black fabric, but devoid of any exterior markings. Lisa opened it and began leafing through the seemingly blank pages looking for any clue as to its purpose. She was about to return it to its place on the sideboard until she reached the pages at the rear of the volume, where she found many strange characters. The small fluid scribbles looked Chinese - no, Japanese, given the owner's origin - although they might as well have been from outer space for all the information she could glean from them.
Lisa turned the note book and stalked around the tan dog still eagerly munching in the centre of the room, entering the luxurious bedroom. The room was still dark, sheltered behind thick velvet curtains, but a predator’s eyes could still just see the wide bed, piled with an infeasible number of pillows.
The stealthy woman sank lithely to her knees with a feline grace, tilting her head to look under the immaculately made bed. Close to the headboard, directly under the goose down pillow there was a shadowy shape. Lisa knelt, sharp features of her face pressed against he smooth satin sheets as she reached for it. Feeling cold steel nestle almost automatically between her fingers, she knew it was a pistol in her grasp before she had finished retrieving it from under the bed - a Beretta. A well made gun and the “professional’s” choice; but not necessarily a criminal’s choice. While alarm bells did ring in her streetwise head, Lisa once again reminded herself not to jump to conclusions - still the owner was clearly a man who wanted quality rather a low-end shooter.
After wiping the gun clean and sliding it back under the firm mattress, she stood, brushing the wrinkles from her pencil skirt as she paced toward the wardrobe. Easing the polished hardwood doors open Lisa continued her search. At the back, almost hidden by the various garments that hung there was a case; solid with a rugged handle. The bespectacled woman slid it out on to the Persian rug, surprised by how heavy it was. Once opened, she found the neatly arranged pieces of a high-velocity rifle and scope. While she couldn't instantly recognise it, she was sure Hiyori wouldn’t struggle, but what was instantly clear was that the gun was not needed simply for protection. Her information cat-burglary complete, it was definitely time to leave and she turned swiftly on her heel toward the door.
Any doubt regarding her initial and instinctive conclusions was totally dispelled - these cats were actually dirty dogs.
When Hiruma had a good day, the people around him had a good day. This worked the same way with bad days, just with more bullets and carnage. Well, bullets were in each scenario, but that wasn't the point.
The point was, Hiruma had just had a good time down at the slick-shit Black Cat Lounge, with its equally sly owner, Kisuke Urahara. The card game had played out exactly like he thought it would, and he even managed to weasel his way into the club. Score two for Hiruma Youichi.
It was easy to tell that the blond card shark was in a good mood, either way, seeing as he was constantly running his mouth about...well...anything that came to mind. Of course, he had saved Musashi the jibber-jabber for only half of the car ride back to the hotel, choosing to use the other half of the time to scheme what his next plan was. Although, he wasn't going to decide anything until he wrote down some useful notes in his notebook. Eagerness be damned.
On the way to their room, though, nothing stopped his mouth from spouting off what he thought about the Lounge or its shifty owner. In Japanese, of course, in case there were extra ears.
"Ya know, at first I thought this was some petty ass revenge job. Greaser ran from the 'Family,' took with him all their secrets about grifting, and now is doing better than them, so it's time for someone to take the Big Sleep." A less than meaningful pop of bubblegum broke the silence between the blond's rapid fire thought process. "But this...Urahara guy. He doesn't have connections. He makes connections. There's something big about him..." Another big, pink bubble died with a pop. "Whatever we learn while we're here, I already know most it won't even be going to Mr. Big Shot-whatever-his-name-is. Better start thinking of how we could use this Kisuke guy to our advantage."
Hiruma shot a glance towards his big partner, raising an eyebrow for a moment. It was more of "you agree, right?" than a "what do you think?" eyebrow quirk. But, for all the years the two had been working together, he knew Musashi would agree without saying a word.
Luckily, before Hiruma had a chance to shoot his mouth off any more, they arrived at their room.
"Kekeke, wonder if Cerberus mauled anybody yet? Guess we should'a left 'em something to save their skins." It would've been entirely normal to see a poor bastard hunched in a corner trying to fend off the terror of a dog. However, it was not normal that when Hiruma slipped the room key into the slot, it didn't unlock jack shit. That meant the door was open. Which meant that someone was inside.
Probably some old little lady who was cleaning and/or fending off said nightmare of an animal. Either way, Hiruma gave a quick look to Musashi before he headed in slowly, walking as though he would wake the dead with one little creak.
It was a good thing that Musashi was the patient type. A very good thing. When Hiruma got worked up, Musashi became calmer. Except on those rare occasions where he strongly disagreed with whatever the wily blond was saying, thinking, or planning. Then, the elder Wakashu had no qualms about speaking his mind and asserting his opinion--even going so far as to employ physical means, if, say, a sharp punch to the jaw was the only thing that would get through Hiruma's surprisingly thick head.
Fortunately, such instances were few and far between. For the most part, Musashi seemed to absorb or deflect his younger partner's mischievous energy. Today had been a good day. In fact, the whole trip was going better than he'd expected, and listening to Hiruma "Kekekeke" was much better than the stony silence that sometimes ensued when the blond tactician was disappointed or especially glum. So far, the gods seemed to be favoring this little expedition, this side project, of theirs. That, or their success at Black Cat Lounge had been a mix of pure luck and Hiruma's devilish skill. The solemn, brunet bushi wasn't much of a gambler. Bets, wagers, upping the ante, and risking it all was his lover's bailiwick. But if Musashi had to bet, he'd put his money on the latter. Quick thinking and a bit a' luck had gotten them through more scrapes than the big Bruno cared to remember.
Besides, what did the gods care about greedy men, rival gambling parlours, and a dirty American city?
Musashi kept these thoughts to himself, content to let Hiruma chatter on. As they rounded the corner to their room--the Honeymoon Suite, of all things--he rested one large, tanned hand on his lover's lithe shoulder. To the innocent bystander, the gesture likely appeared more protective than affectionate. Though they were staying in a room normally reserved for traditional, married couples, neither of the Yakuza were given to public displays of affection, or cared to provoke controversy or speculation as to the nature of their relationship. Not that either of them actually gave a shit as to what other people thought, but they were on a job, and needed to lay as low as two rather striking Japanese men staying together in the Honeymoon Suite of a posh hotel possibly could.
Speaking of posh... Musashi was glad to be back at the hotel, and was looking forward to some peace and quiet--well...peace, at least--before it came time to head back out for the evening. He'd been surprised, but certainly pleased, to discover that The Senbonzakura served both hot and cold sake.
As Hiruma was sliding the key into the already-opened lock, Musashi was thinking that a bottle of chilled sake, some hot sex, and a nap would be very nice. The rice wine and a good book would keep him more than occupied while the little devil scribbled away in his notebook of doom.
Then, one pointed look from said devil, and all thoughts of comfort were pushed to the side. The buff Bruno nodded in return, his hand leaving Hiruma's shoulder in order to grip the .357 Magnum still strapped to his back. It was probably nothing; just a housekeeper or some other service staff. The "entertainer" and his "body guard" had been very well attended to since their arrival the preceding day. Still, if living the dangerous life of a Yakuza had taught Musashi anything, it was that one could never be too careful...
The muted scrape-rattle of a key failing to turn-over its tumblers alerted Lisa that she had been interrupted. Between the troubles at reception, that infernal animal, and the mysterious notebook, she had stayed too long, and would now pay the price.
She cursed, biting back obscenities as she looked wildly about the bedroom for a hiding place. She had to think fast, but blood hummed loudly in her ears, deafening, hammering into her concentration.
Lisa overcame the instinct to throw herself back into the wardrobe; who knew how long she would have to wait, trapped, until she was able to escape? Also, what if she was, in fact, discovered? The shrewd woman was loathe to leave herself cornered, pinned in a box, unable to maneuver.
And so the Murder Inc. assassin was left standing in the bedroom doorway, poised, in a ready stance, hoping that her uniform, a self-assured demeanour and a bit of fast-talking would help her brazen-out her presence in the suite.
She watched the door swing slowly open and the rightful inhabitants of the suite stalk in, looking wary and decidedly prepared for action, and had the lamentably sinking realisation that there would be no wheedling her way out of this one.
Alas no, as her earlier investigations had already uncovered; these guys were professionals and she was really in trouble.
Nothing out of place. No sounds, no hidden attackers. Just Cerberus, chewing on a large bone, and generally ignoring everything around him.
That bone had definitely not been there before. Maybe one of the cleaning ladies had given him one, but that would've taken a bit of research. Whoever came in here had been on an important mission if it required them to actually try to placate the hellish hound. But what could they have come here for? Snooping? The blond trickster figured it was at least that much. Usually he would've paid no mind to such a thing...
But Hiruma was all about trusting his instincts, as well as his calculative nature. It had certainly saved his ass in the past.
So, suffice to say that when the two of them rounded the corner into the bedroom, Hiruma was not surprised to see a young woman standing there. Well, he was, just not as much as he would've been if this chick-a-dee knew what the fuck she was doing. At least he hadn't pulled a gun on her (yet). The brunet bim was the girl who had checked them in the other day; he hadn't bothered to catch her name. Had he rushed the room in an uncivilized manner, he was sure there would've been too much heat falling on their heads.
The blond tactician did the only thing he could do: he smiled that smarmy little grin, like he knew everything in the world. And sometimes, it certainly seemed as though he did.
"Lookit what we got here..." From the look on her face, it was like they had caught her red-handed. Which they had. "I hope whatever you were lookin' for was damn worth it, dollface, cause I really fuckin' hate snoopers."
That made two of them. Hating snoopers, that is. So, that girl who'd been oh-so-helpful the day before was now helping herself to their very private possessions. Well, the four-eyed fool of a broad obviously had no clue who she was dealing with. And if she did, chances were that the Sebonzakura's check-in girl was gonna be checking out--permanently.
Musashi said nothing. He didn't need to. His demeanor, coupled with the look of stone-cold malice on his face, said it all. The hulking brunet eased his hand away from the Magnum strapped to his back, looking for all the world as if he were about to fold brawny arms across his massive chest. Quick fingers, well seasoned to dirty fights and spur-of-the-moment combat, snuck under the sleeve of his jacket, freeing the fighting knife that now served as his favorite weapon.
The dark-haired, dark-eyed gangster cocked his head, waiting for the girl to speak. ...Waiting for something to happen. He'd let Hiruma handle most of the talking, as usual. Hopefully, the dumb bird would squawk out an excuse that was decent enough to keep his trigger-happy partner from squirtin' lead into her nosy noodle. Explosive gunfire was not conducive to layin' low, especially when they still had a job to do. Much better to let her leave now...so they could track her down later.
Still...there was something about this bim that didn't sit right. Somethin' about the look in her eyes... Musashi didn't trust her. Not one bit. The bushido in him told him to wait. Wait and see. Wait and learn.
...Then strike.
One false move, and the last thing four-eyes would see was the shining, silver tip of his deadly knife blade.
First the sharp-faced blond - “the entertainer”- and then his heavily muscled “body guard” entered the bedroom.
From the former's question it was clear that they had already guessed what she was doing, and there was no point in trying to deny it.
Lisa knew that whatever she said next would determine if she made it out the suite alive. Once again, she steeled herself against the impulse to give into the screaming in her mind that told her to run.
Lisa stood still, her arms held away from her body, clearly showing she was unarmed, trying not to do anything to provoke the most-likely armed gangsters. Not that the Murder Inc. assassin needed a weapon to kill a man, but these two were likely experienced killers. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Lisa recalled the old adage about bringing a knife to a gun fight, and was painfully aware that she hadn’t even brought a nail file.
Even in the immediate chaos of her mind there was always a part of her that stayed coolly detached, something that seemed to watch her actions with a wry amusement and narrate them in her own derisive tone. It was this part that now chuckled, mocking her, knowing that for all her meticulous planning she had no exit strategy for this.
“Now before anyone does anything rash - let me say this,” Lisa started, having little idea of what she was going to say next. It didn't matter; she would be ready for anything.
“I know who you are - Yazuka- but you don’t know who we are,” she paused to let it sink in. She looked at the pair of the of them seriously, carefully balancing her voice between reasoned explanation and veiled threat.
“So kill me now and you won't even know who is coming for you…"
We?
We.
Hiruma's face lit up like he had just found a treasure map where X marks the spot. This girl was a squealer; any mobster, grifter, fighter, whatever that had a shred of honor and loyalty toward their own people would never mention them so off-handedly. Hell, even Hiruma wouldn't rat out his comrades, nor would he mention them to just anyone, no matter how often they got on his nerves. But this broad, she had loose lips.
And loose morals, from the smell of her. The blond Yakuza had a keen sense of everything, and not even all that perfume could cover up the lingering smell of sex.
"KEKEKEKE, we? You must think your life is pretty damn important if you're so willing to tell your enemy that you have friends. And I'm sure if we were to show up on their fucking doorstep with your dead ass in tow, they wouldn't think twice about you."
Hiruma shook his head in pity at the brunet.
"Me and my friend here, we could care fucking less what you know about us. Believe me, we know more about you than you could find out by poking around in our hotel room. Not only do you belong to a "we", and a very illegal "we" I'm sure, but you reek of fucking come and ball sweat. What else do you have going on behind Mr. Boss' back, huh?"
Lisa stared flatly at the blond yakuza. While relieved that they hadn’t attacked her, she couldn’t stop the withering glare from coming to her face.
It wouldn’t be the first time she had been insulted for her chosen lifestyle. So many people hid their sordid fantasies, deflected their desires and chastised those who didn’t. They would tell themselves this made them “above” or “better” than that and treat those who offered those services with scorn. Lisa had always been unapologetic and unabashed, she has now qualms about her work, in fact she enjoyed it, finding that she satisfied herself as often as her customers.
“Oh please! You don’t know me and you don’t know my friends. Yes, I’m a whore, but unless you want me to send up one of my girls, my business is none of yours,” the madam dismissed in a disparaging tone.
The woman placed her hands lightly on her hips before continuing. “Look, I could stand here and trade insults with you all day, but I have better things to do - so why don’t we get straight to the point: you don’t want to kill me in my own hotel, and I certainly don’t want anything more to do with you. So why don’t I leave and we do our best to stay out of each others' way 'til you leave town?”
Lisa wished she was as confident as she sounded; once again she was selling her body, and praying that the Yakuza bought it.
Musashi sighed.
This was unexpected, not to mention unpleasant. And their day had started off rather well... Perhaps this was just balance; the bad (more like the annoying) to even out the good.
So the hotel hussy was either dangerously nosy or had read one too many spy novels. She'd snuck in, snooped around for heaven only knows what, found more than she'd bargained for, and was fool enough to get caught red handed.
Stupid dame.
Still, it could be worse--a lot worse.
So little miss I-Spy had uncovered their identity. Big deal. They were powerful gangsters with powerful connections, who hadn't done anything illegal or condemnable in the borough of Manhattan, in the state of New York (aside from what occurred between them as sexual partners).
And were she to furnish lurid photos of those private moments, well...mob lawyers were a special breed. One didn't call them bloodthirsty for nothing...
Though, it wasn't like this bird seemed likely to sing to the cops, or the Feds. Hell, even if she failed at sneaking and spying, the dirty birdy had to realize she'd be the one to get locked in a cage, not them. When push came to shove, it'd be a lot easier to throw a self-confessed whore and "her girls" in the slammer than two wealthy, well-connected men. After all, pushing and shoving--whether literal or metaphorical--was what the yakuza did best.
Musashi just wanted to get this ridiculous confrontation over with. The four-eyed chickie had some kind of chip on her shoulder and was, frankly, the type of babe who gave the big Bruno one helluva headache. She was wrong about one thing: killing her was still a viable option. It would be inconvenient. Not impossible, or implausible. Just...inconvenient. Though it wouldn't be the first time they'd disposed of a body inside a hotel.
But the bitch of bim was right about one thing, she probably had better things to do today than die. And the gods knew that the two Yakuza had better things to do than deal with killing her.
Though if that's what Hiruma chose to do...
Musashi sighed again and tightened the grip on his knife.
"No girls," he growled at four-eyes. "Don't want to see hair nor hide of you again. You and your whore spies best stay out of our sight, and out of our way."
To Hiruma he said in heavily accepted Japanese, "So. What's the plan? Does she live or die? It's your call. I could honestly care less..."
Musashi--considering how long he'd known Hiruma--should've remembered that the blond devil always had a contingency plan. Sure, everyone and their dirty secrets were out in the open, but Youichi was always the one with the upper hand. One never challenged the aggro-Yakuza to a little Truth or Dare without getting ready to open the biggest closet of skeletons this side of the Hudson River.
Never the less, Hiruma retorted back in his native tongue.
"Honestly, she's of more use to us alive than dead, as sad as that is. If she's part of some group of killers, I wanna know about them. The moment she dies is the same minute I lose their trail, and you know how I hate to not know things."
The trigger-happy Wakashu looked back to the brunet bim, smile all daggers of malevolent intent.
"We know who you are, what you do, and who you work for," he said in English. "Snitch us out to anyone, chickie, and you can count your goose cooked. Now get the fuck outta here. The only pussy I like has fur, a tail, and four paws, and I don't see you meowin'."
The bespectacled woman watched anxiously as the Yazuka pair conversed in Japanese, trying by sight alone to understand what was being said. When the blond finally asked--no, ordered--her to go, she let out the breath she hadn’t realised she'd been holding. Still, she reminded herself, there was a ways to go before she was safely out of Dodge and plenty of time for things to go south.
Lisa strode regally to the door, alert for any sudden movement from the gangsters who stood like prison guards between her and freedom. Only once her hand found the handle, and pulled it open, did the dark-haired head turn back.
“Well I would like to say ‘it was a pleasure seeing you again’,” she drawled, “but then I would be lying.” She shot them a sweet smile that didn’t come anywhere near reaching her blue-gray eyes.
As she made her way down the corridor to the lift, she felt a strange mix of emotions: relief at her safe escape, irritation at needing to escape in the first place, excitement at what she had discovered, and an all-too-familiar, indignant rage at the way they had spoken to her. There were very few who could take a tone like that with her and get away with it, but she had to admit that today she had been the lucky one.
Musashi took a half-step back as the brunette trounced past, all-too-ready to bury his knife in her throat should she make any sudden movements or threatening gestures toward him or Hiruma.
He shook his head as she slipped out the door, quickly bolting it behind her and shoving one of the elegant chairs under the knob for good measure. Wasn't like the lock was enough to ensure their privacy.
The big Bruno mumbled something about how it might have been better had they'd laid low, posing as foreign tourists (but not Japanese), rather making a scene as VIPs. It was hardly worth the mumble, since they both knew that "laying low" wasn't Hiruma's style.
Musashi turned, ire simmering below the surface of his calm exterior. "Cerberus," he said, deep voice rumbling in his massive chest. "Bad. Bad. Very bad dog."
Cerberus did the canine equivalent of an eyebrow quirk and quickly dropped the bone. The dog was no dummy, even if he was a glutton. He could feel the tension and knew he was in trouble, though it would be the pooch's blond master who doled out the punishment.
A terrifying thought for man or beast.
The elder Wakashu trudged back into the bedroom, a hard set to his jaw and dour look in his dark eyes. "At the rate we're going, you'll have that 'threat book' filled before we leave New York," he growled in Japanese to his smirking companion.
He held up a large hand. "Information is money. And power. And leverage. I know. No need to say it." He slid the curtains completely shut before placing his treasured knife on the bedside table.
Likewise, it went without saying that Musashi was glad not to spend the rest of his afternoon dismembering and disposing of a dead body.
Stupid dame.
Characters: Gen "Musashi" Takekura (gogosama ), Lisa Yadomaru (kaphinated ), Youichi Hiruma (gogodgene )
Timeline: April 13, 1950
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Lisa's curiosity gets the better of her. Hiruma and Musashi are not pleased.
With a clenched jaw and taut shoulders, Lisa watched the back of the woman finally, and thankfully, retreat across the Senbonzakura lobby. The front desk manager had been trying to get away from her position for a few hours now, but one thing after another had delayed her until finally this chance had come.
Lisa headed straight for the kitchen - the first step in her plan to check out
the hotel’s newest VIPs. The two men had arrived last night, with Lisa handling their check-in personally. The extravagant entertainer, his stoic bodyguard and, alarmingly, a fierce looking dog had caused something of a scene when they arrived; with many other guests gawking openly at the loud blond and his ferocious creature.
Meanwhile Lisa, ever the epitome of professionalism, had barely reacted; only thin-framed eyes widening almost imperceptively at their entrance.
Now the dapper gents were safely installed in the honeymoon suite, the Yadomaru woman flinched slightly at the thought of explaining that little menagerie to her boss - the highbrow Byakuya Kuchiki no less - at their inevitable update meeting. Still, that was a challenge for another day and she had to keep her wits about her for the one at hand.
The two gents had left a few hours ago, and without their hound in tow, the astute woman noted. This gave her the best opportunity to get the skinny on them and see if they held any further interest for Murder, Inc.
Lisa retrieved the juiciest bone the five star kitchen could provide, and now armed with the means to ensure the beast would not bark - or even worse, bite - she rode the lift to the fancy suite.
Once outside, she pressed her dark-haired head to the grand door, eyes closed and listening for any signs of the inhabitants. Satisfied, she unwrapped the bone and carefully unlocked the door, before quickly opening it a few inches. Lisa caught a fleeting glimpse of the plush room as she lobbed the bone a good few feet into the centre of the room, sharply yanking the door closed again.
The sharp faced woman heard a loud thud and scrabble as beast inside stirred and launched itself at the tasty treat, and once again cursed the entertainer for his eccentric and troublesome pet.
While her interest had been piqued by the reservation itself and her suspicions raised further by their arrival, Lisa sincerely hoped there was at least something in the suite to make all this effort worthwhile.
Silently entering the room on assassin’s feet, she shot the dog a hard but wary glare; her hand still gripping the door handle in case the evil mutt was not totally engrossed in devouring its newly acquired feast. Luckily, it did little more than return the look as its jaw’s crunched away, and Lisa gave it a respectful berth as she crossed the deep pile carpet toward the elegant sideboard.
A few items had been deposited there, and thin fingers made their way briskly through the piled papers. While there was something intriguing about the pair of VIPs she would be the first to admit that her almost fatalistic curiosity had, as always, gotten the better of her. Lisa just hoped that she wouldn’t end up like the proverbial cat.
The note book was small, pocket sized and slim, bound in a rough black fabric, but devoid of any exterior markings. Lisa opened it and began leafing through the seemingly blank pages looking for any clue as to its purpose. She was about to return it to its place on the sideboard until she reached the pages at the rear of the volume, where she found many strange characters. The small fluid scribbles looked Chinese - no, Japanese, given the owner's origin - although they might as well have been from outer space for all the information she could glean from them.
Lisa turned the note book and stalked around the tan dog still eagerly munching in the centre of the room, entering the luxurious bedroom. The room was still dark, sheltered behind thick velvet curtains, but a predator’s eyes could still just see the wide bed, piled with an infeasible number of pillows.
The stealthy woman sank lithely to her knees with a feline grace, tilting her head to look under the immaculately made bed. Close to the headboard, directly under the goose down pillow there was a shadowy shape. Lisa knelt, sharp features of her face pressed against he smooth satin sheets as she reached for it. Feeling cold steel nestle almost automatically between her fingers, she knew it was a pistol in her grasp before she had finished retrieving it from under the bed - a Beretta. A well made gun and the “professional’s” choice; but not necessarily a criminal’s choice. While alarm bells did ring in her streetwise head, Lisa once again reminded herself not to jump to conclusions - still the owner was clearly a man who wanted quality rather a low-end shooter.
After wiping the gun clean and sliding it back under the firm mattress, she stood, brushing the wrinkles from her pencil skirt as she paced toward the wardrobe. Easing the polished hardwood doors open Lisa continued her search. At the back, almost hidden by the various garments that hung there was a case; solid with a rugged handle. The bespectacled woman slid it out on to the Persian rug, surprised by how heavy it was. Once opened, she found the neatly arranged pieces of a high-velocity rifle and scope. While she couldn't instantly recognise it, she was sure Hiyori wouldn’t struggle, but what was instantly clear was that the gun was not needed simply for protection. Her information cat-burglary complete, it was definitely time to leave and she turned swiftly on her heel toward the door.
Any doubt regarding her initial and instinctive conclusions was totally dispelled - these cats were actually dirty dogs.
When Hiruma had a good day, the people around him had a good day. This worked the same way with bad days, just with more bullets and carnage. Well, bullets were in each scenario, but that wasn't the point.
The point was, Hiruma had just had a good time down at the slick-shit Black Cat Lounge, with its equally sly owner, Kisuke Urahara. The card game had played out exactly like he thought it would, and he even managed to weasel his way into the club. Score two for Hiruma Youichi.
It was easy to tell that the blond card shark was in a good mood, either way, seeing as he was constantly running his mouth about...well...anything that came to mind. Of course, he had saved Musashi the jibber-jabber for only half of the car ride back to the hotel, choosing to use the other half of the time to scheme what his next plan was. Although, he wasn't going to decide anything until he wrote down some useful notes in his notebook. Eagerness be damned.
On the way to their room, though, nothing stopped his mouth from spouting off what he thought about the Lounge or its shifty owner. In Japanese, of course, in case there were extra ears.
"Ya know, at first I thought this was some petty ass revenge job. Greaser ran from the 'Family,' took with him all their secrets about grifting, and now is doing better than them, so it's time for someone to take the Big Sleep." A less than meaningful pop of bubblegum broke the silence between the blond's rapid fire thought process. "But this...Urahara guy. He doesn't have connections. He makes connections. There's something big about him..." Another big, pink bubble died with a pop. "Whatever we learn while we're here, I already know most it won't even be going to Mr. Big Shot-whatever-his-name-is. Better start thinking of how we could use this Kisuke guy to our advantage."
Hiruma shot a glance towards his big partner, raising an eyebrow for a moment. It was more of "you agree, right?" than a "what do you think?" eyebrow quirk. But, for all the years the two had been working together, he knew Musashi would agree without saying a word.
Luckily, before Hiruma had a chance to shoot his mouth off any more, they arrived at their room.
"Kekeke, wonder if Cerberus mauled anybody yet? Guess we should'a left 'em something to save their skins." It would've been entirely normal to see a poor bastard hunched in a corner trying to fend off the terror of a dog. However, it was not normal that when Hiruma slipped the room key into the slot, it didn't unlock jack shit. That meant the door was open. Which meant that someone was inside.
Probably some old little lady who was cleaning and/or fending off said nightmare of an animal. Either way, Hiruma gave a quick look to Musashi before he headed in slowly, walking as though he would wake the dead with one little creak.
It was a good thing that Musashi was the patient type. A very good thing. When Hiruma got worked up, Musashi became calmer. Except on those rare occasions where he strongly disagreed with whatever the wily blond was saying, thinking, or planning. Then, the elder Wakashu had no qualms about speaking his mind and asserting his opinion--even going so far as to employ physical means, if, say, a sharp punch to the jaw was the only thing that would get through Hiruma's surprisingly thick head.
Fortunately, such instances were few and far between. For the most part, Musashi seemed to absorb or deflect his younger partner's mischievous energy. Today had been a good day. In fact, the whole trip was going better than he'd expected, and listening to Hiruma "Kekekeke" was much better than the stony silence that sometimes ensued when the blond tactician was disappointed or especially glum. So far, the gods seemed to be favoring this little expedition, this side project, of theirs. That, or their success at Black Cat Lounge had been a mix of pure luck and Hiruma's devilish skill. The solemn, brunet bushi wasn't much of a gambler. Bets, wagers, upping the ante, and risking it all was his lover's bailiwick. But if Musashi had to bet, he'd put his money on the latter. Quick thinking and a bit a' luck had gotten them through more scrapes than the big Bruno cared to remember.
Besides, what did the gods care about greedy men, rival gambling parlours, and a dirty American city?
Musashi kept these thoughts to himself, content to let Hiruma chatter on. As they rounded the corner to their room--the Honeymoon Suite, of all things--he rested one large, tanned hand on his lover's lithe shoulder. To the innocent bystander, the gesture likely appeared more protective than affectionate. Though they were staying in a room normally reserved for traditional, married couples, neither of the Yakuza were given to public displays of affection, or cared to provoke controversy or speculation as to the nature of their relationship. Not that either of them actually gave a shit as to what other people thought, but they were on a job, and needed to lay as low as two rather striking Japanese men staying together in the Honeymoon Suite of a posh hotel possibly could.
Speaking of posh... Musashi was glad to be back at the hotel, and was looking forward to some peace and quiet--well...peace, at least--before it came time to head back out for the evening. He'd been surprised, but certainly pleased, to discover that The Senbonzakura served both hot and cold sake.
As Hiruma was sliding the key into the already-opened lock, Musashi was thinking that a bottle of chilled sake, some hot sex, and a nap would be very nice. The rice wine and a good book would keep him more than occupied while the little devil scribbled away in his notebook of doom.
Then, one pointed look from said devil, and all thoughts of comfort were pushed to the side. The buff Bruno nodded in return, his hand leaving Hiruma's shoulder in order to grip the .357 Magnum still strapped to his back. It was probably nothing; just a housekeeper or some other service staff. The "entertainer" and his "body guard" had been very well attended to since their arrival the preceding day. Still, if living the dangerous life of a Yakuza had taught Musashi anything, it was that one could never be too careful...
The muted scrape-rattle of a key failing to turn-over its tumblers alerted Lisa that she had been interrupted. Between the troubles at reception, that infernal animal, and the mysterious notebook, she had stayed too long, and would now pay the price.
She cursed, biting back obscenities as she looked wildly about the bedroom for a hiding place. She had to think fast, but blood hummed loudly in her ears, deafening, hammering into her concentration.
Lisa overcame the instinct to throw herself back into the wardrobe; who knew how long she would have to wait, trapped, until she was able to escape? Also, what if she was, in fact, discovered? The shrewd woman was loathe to leave herself cornered, pinned in a box, unable to maneuver.
And so the Murder Inc. assassin was left standing in the bedroom doorway, poised, in a ready stance, hoping that her uniform, a self-assured demeanour and a bit of fast-talking would help her brazen-out her presence in the suite.
She watched the door swing slowly open and the rightful inhabitants of the suite stalk in, looking wary and decidedly prepared for action, and had the lamentably sinking realisation that there would be no wheedling her way out of this one.
Alas no, as her earlier investigations had already uncovered; these guys were professionals and she was really in trouble.
Nothing out of place. No sounds, no hidden attackers. Just Cerberus, chewing on a large bone, and generally ignoring everything around him.
That bone had definitely not been there before. Maybe one of the cleaning ladies had given him one, but that would've taken a bit of research. Whoever came in here had been on an important mission if it required them to actually try to placate the hellish hound. But what could they have come here for? Snooping? The blond trickster figured it was at least that much. Usually he would've paid no mind to such a thing...
But Hiruma was all about trusting his instincts, as well as his calculative nature. It had certainly saved his ass in the past.
So, suffice to say that when the two of them rounded the corner into the bedroom, Hiruma was not surprised to see a young woman standing there. Well, he was, just not as much as he would've been if this chick-a-dee knew what the fuck she was doing. At least he hadn't pulled a gun on her (yet). The brunet bim was the girl who had checked them in the other day; he hadn't bothered to catch her name. Had he rushed the room in an uncivilized manner, he was sure there would've been too much heat falling on their heads.
The blond tactician did the only thing he could do: he smiled that smarmy little grin, like he knew everything in the world. And sometimes, it certainly seemed as though he did.
"Lookit what we got here..." From the look on her face, it was like they had caught her red-handed. Which they had. "I hope whatever you were lookin' for was damn worth it, dollface, cause I really fuckin' hate snoopers."
That made two of them. Hating snoopers, that is. So, that girl who'd been oh-so-helpful the day before was now helping herself to their very private possessions. Well, the four-eyed fool of a broad obviously had no clue who she was dealing with. And if she did, chances were that the Sebonzakura's check-in girl was gonna be checking out--permanently.
Musashi said nothing. He didn't need to. His demeanor, coupled with the look of stone-cold malice on his face, said it all. The hulking brunet eased his hand away from the Magnum strapped to his back, looking for all the world as if he were about to fold brawny arms across his massive chest. Quick fingers, well seasoned to dirty fights and spur-of-the-moment combat, snuck under the sleeve of his jacket, freeing the fighting knife that now served as his favorite weapon.
The dark-haired, dark-eyed gangster cocked his head, waiting for the girl to speak. ...Waiting for something to happen. He'd let Hiruma handle most of the talking, as usual. Hopefully, the dumb bird would squawk out an excuse that was decent enough to keep his trigger-happy partner from squirtin' lead into her nosy noodle. Explosive gunfire was not conducive to layin' low, especially when they still had a job to do. Much better to let her leave now...so they could track her down later.
Still...there was something about this bim that didn't sit right. Somethin' about the look in her eyes... Musashi didn't trust her. Not one bit. The bushido in him told him to wait. Wait and see. Wait and learn.
...Then strike.
One false move, and the last thing four-eyes would see was the shining, silver tip of his deadly knife blade.
First the sharp-faced blond - “the entertainer”- and then his heavily muscled “body guard” entered the bedroom.
From the former's question it was clear that they had already guessed what she was doing, and there was no point in trying to deny it.
Lisa knew that whatever she said next would determine if she made it out the suite alive. Once again, she steeled herself against the impulse to give into the screaming in her mind that told her to run.
Lisa stood still, her arms held away from her body, clearly showing she was unarmed, trying not to do anything to provoke the most-likely armed gangsters. Not that the Murder Inc. assassin needed a weapon to kill a man, but these two were likely experienced killers. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Lisa recalled the old adage about bringing a knife to a gun fight, and was painfully aware that she hadn’t even brought a nail file.
Even in the immediate chaos of her mind there was always a part of her that stayed coolly detached, something that seemed to watch her actions with a wry amusement and narrate them in her own derisive tone. It was this part that now chuckled, mocking her, knowing that for all her meticulous planning she had no exit strategy for this.
“Now before anyone does anything rash - let me say this,” Lisa started, having little idea of what she was going to say next. It didn't matter; she would be ready for anything.
“I know who you are - Yazuka- but you don’t know who we are,” she paused to let it sink in. She looked at the pair of the of them seriously, carefully balancing her voice between reasoned explanation and veiled threat.
“So kill me now and you won't even know who is coming for you…"
We?
We.
Hiruma's face lit up like he had just found a treasure map where X marks the spot. This girl was a squealer; any mobster, grifter, fighter, whatever that had a shred of honor and loyalty toward their own people would never mention them so off-handedly. Hell, even Hiruma wouldn't rat out his comrades, nor would he mention them to just anyone, no matter how often they got on his nerves. But this broad, she had loose lips.
And loose morals, from the smell of her. The blond Yakuza had a keen sense of everything, and not even all that perfume could cover up the lingering smell of sex.
"KEKEKEKE, we? You must think your life is pretty damn important if you're so willing to tell your enemy that you have friends. And I'm sure if we were to show up on their fucking doorstep with your dead ass in tow, they wouldn't think twice about you."
Hiruma shook his head in pity at the brunet.
"Me and my friend here, we could care fucking less what you know about us. Believe me, we know more about you than you could find out by poking around in our hotel room. Not only do you belong to a "we", and a very illegal "we" I'm sure, but you reek of fucking come and ball sweat. What else do you have going on behind Mr. Boss' back, huh?"
Lisa stared flatly at the blond yakuza. While relieved that they hadn’t attacked her, she couldn’t stop the withering glare from coming to her face.
It wouldn’t be the first time she had been insulted for her chosen lifestyle. So many people hid their sordid fantasies, deflected their desires and chastised those who didn’t. They would tell themselves this made them “above” or “better” than that and treat those who offered those services with scorn. Lisa had always been unapologetic and unabashed, she has now qualms about her work, in fact she enjoyed it, finding that she satisfied herself as often as her customers.
“Oh please! You don’t know me and you don’t know my friends. Yes, I’m a whore, but unless you want me to send up one of my girls, my business is none of yours,” the madam dismissed in a disparaging tone.
The woman placed her hands lightly on her hips before continuing. “Look, I could stand here and trade insults with you all day, but I have better things to do - so why don’t we get straight to the point: you don’t want to kill me in my own hotel, and I certainly don’t want anything more to do with you. So why don’t I leave and we do our best to stay out of each others' way 'til you leave town?”
Lisa wished she was as confident as she sounded; once again she was selling her body, and praying that the Yakuza bought it.
Musashi sighed.
This was unexpected, not to mention unpleasant. And their day had started off rather well... Perhaps this was just balance; the bad (more like the annoying) to even out the good.
So the hotel hussy was either dangerously nosy or had read one too many spy novels. She'd snuck in, snooped around for heaven only knows what, found more than she'd bargained for, and was fool enough to get caught red handed.
Stupid dame.
Still, it could be worse--a lot worse.
So little miss I-Spy had uncovered their identity. Big deal. They were powerful gangsters with powerful connections, who hadn't done anything illegal or condemnable in the borough of Manhattan, in the state of New York (aside from what occurred between them as sexual partners).
And were she to furnish lurid photos of those private moments, well...mob lawyers were a special breed. One didn't call them bloodthirsty for nothing...
Though, it wasn't like this bird seemed likely to sing to the cops, or the Feds. Hell, even if she failed at sneaking and spying, the dirty birdy had to realize she'd be the one to get locked in a cage, not them. When push came to shove, it'd be a lot easier to throw a self-confessed whore and "her girls" in the slammer than two wealthy, well-connected men. After all, pushing and shoving--whether literal or metaphorical--was what the yakuza did best.
Musashi just wanted to get this ridiculous confrontation over with. The four-eyed chickie had some kind of chip on her shoulder and was, frankly, the type of babe who gave the big Bruno one helluva headache. She was wrong about one thing: killing her was still a viable option. It would be inconvenient. Not impossible, or implausible. Just...inconvenient. Though it wouldn't be the first time they'd disposed of a body inside a hotel.
But the bitch of bim was right about one thing, she probably had better things to do today than die. And the gods knew that the two Yakuza had better things to do than deal with killing her.
Though if that's what Hiruma chose to do...
Musashi sighed again and tightened the grip on his knife.
"No girls," he growled at four-eyes. "Don't want to see hair nor hide of you again. You and your whore spies best stay out of our sight, and out of our way."
To Hiruma he said in heavily accepted Japanese, "So. What's the plan? Does she live or die? It's your call. I could honestly care less..."
Musashi--considering how long he'd known Hiruma--should've remembered that the blond devil always had a contingency plan. Sure, everyone and their dirty secrets were out in the open, but Youichi was always the one with the upper hand. One never challenged the aggro-Yakuza to a little Truth or Dare without getting ready to open the biggest closet of skeletons this side of the Hudson River.
Never the less, Hiruma retorted back in his native tongue.
"Honestly, she's of more use to us alive than dead, as sad as that is. If she's part of some group of killers, I wanna know about them. The moment she dies is the same minute I lose their trail, and you know how I hate to not know things."
The trigger-happy Wakashu looked back to the brunet bim, smile all daggers of malevolent intent.
"We know who you are, what you do, and who you work for," he said in English. "Snitch us out to anyone, chickie, and you can count your goose cooked. Now get the fuck outta here. The only pussy I like has fur, a tail, and four paws, and I don't see you meowin'."
The bespectacled woman watched anxiously as the Yazuka pair conversed in Japanese, trying by sight alone to understand what was being said. When the blond finally asked--no, ordered--her to go, she let out the breath she hadn’t realised she'd been holding. Still, she reminded herself, there was a ways to go before she was safely out of Dodge and plenty of time for things to go south.
Lisa strode regally to the door, alert for any sudden movement from the gangsters who stood like prison guards between her and freedom. Only once her hand found the handle, and pulled it open, did the dark-haired head turn back.
“Well I would like to say ‘it was a pleasure seeing you again’,” she drawled, “but then I would be lying.” She shot them a sweet smile that didn’t come anywhere near reaching her blue-gray eyes.
As she made her way down the corridor to the lift, she felt a strange mix of emotions: relief at her safe escape, irritation at needing to escape in the first place, excitement at what she had discovered, and an all-too-familiar, indignant rage at the way they had spoken to her. There were very few who could take a tone like that with her and get away with it, but she had to admit that today she had been the lucky one.
Musashi took a half-step back as the brunette trounced past, all-too-ready to bury his knife in her throat should she make any sudden movements or threatening gestures toward him or Hiruma.
He shook his head as she slipped out the door, quickly bolting it behind her and shoving one of the elegant chairs under the knob for good measure. Wasn't like the lock was enough to ensure their privacy.
The big Bruno mumbled something about how it might have been better had they'd laid low, posing as foreign tourists (but not Japanese), rather making a scene as VIPs. It was hardly worth the mumble, since they both knew that "laying low" wasn't Hiruma's style.
Musashi turned, ire simmering below the surface of his calm exterior. "Cerberus," he said, deep voice rumbling in his massive chest. "Bad. Bad. Very bad dog."
Cerberus did the canine equivalent of an eyebrow quirk and quickly dropped the bone. The dog was no dummy, even if he was a glutton. He could feel the tension and knew he was in trouble, though it would be the pooch's blond master who doled out the punishment.
A terrifying thought for man or beast.
The elder Wakashu trudged back into the bedroom, a hard set to his jaw and dour look in his dark eyes. "At the rate we're going, you'll have that 'threat book' filled before we leave New York," he growled in Japanese to his smirking companion.
He held up a large hand. "Information is money. And power. And leverage. I know. No need to say it." He slid the curtains completely shut before placing his treasured knife on the bedside table.
Likewise, it went without saying that Musashi was glad not to spend the rest of his afternoon dismembering and disposing of a dead body.
Stupid dame.