You Can See (Hitman AU) - Hina/Maru - Part 3/?
Wah, it's soooo late! But, I was so close to finishing another section... XD
Since Shingo is not a taxi driver, he does not feel the need to make small talk with the man in the backseat of his car. He just takes the familiar route to his employer's residence, taking note of the cars behind him, making sure none of them are following for too long.
"What's your name?" the guy asks, completely destroying what Shingo had decided would be a quiet ride.
"Murakami," he says. No reason to give an alias, this guy knows the man behind the voice that Shingo only hears over the phone. He's not an enemy, not a friend, but he's of a higher status than Shingo in some way.
"Ah," he says. "I'm Yokoyama."
Shingo wonders if that's a real name or not. A little strange for him to just volunteer the information like that. Looking back at him in the rearview mirror, the man is much younger than Shingo thought he was. Watching him from far away he seemed so stiff and adult-like, but up close he looks like he could be even younger than Shingo. Or at least close to the same age.
Yokoyama sighs loudly. He rolls down the window, then rolls it back up again. Then, he pulls out a handheld and starts playing a videogame. Maybe he is a little younger than he appears, Shingo thinks. But, he does look put-together in that dark suit. And, he supposes a briefcase sometimes adds years onto a man's life unintentionally.
When they arrive, Shingo doesn't get out of the car, but two large men come to retrieve Yokoyama. They walk on either side of him all the way up to the door where one goes in before him and the other one scans the outside of the house just before they all disappear behind the door.
Then, Shingo's phone goes off. As if on cue.
---
Maru turns his apartment upside down looking for the business card. At the time, he didn't even know why he kept it. It's not like he would have planned on hanging out with Shingo when they got back to Japan. He was an interesting guy, no doubt, but Maru is too guarded, too cautious for something like that. It was an in-between feeling where he thought of the possibility of contacting him, but didn't know if he'd need to. In hindsight, he should have kept the card in a place he'd remember.
He empties the contents of his closet, turns his bedding inside out, dumps his bag out on floor, then finally finds it under a sofa cushion - where all important things inevitably end up.
He's so rushed, he misdials twice, then when he finally does get it right, the number leads him nowhere. Not even a place to leave a message, just dead air. He hangs up, and goes over all of his options in his head. Shingo took off with his hit, meaning Maru is well and fucked if he can't produce a good reason for letting him get away.
Any excuse he can make is only going to make him seem incompetent. And men like him are so expendable, they can, and often do, just disappear.
He gave Shingo his card, too, but Shingo must have done a better job of holding onto it. He obviously recognizes Maru's number because he sends a text message saying he'll be at the Western restaurant near Nijo Castle in half an hour. Maru supposes that's an invitation to join him. He brings a gun and a silencer. Just in case.
---
Shingo orders what could generously be called a mountain of pasta. It's been a very, very long day. He also orders a tall glass of beer and asks for a table in the corner of the restaurant so he can see Maru come in the door, if he does show up. And, anyway, he's always most comforted with his back to the wall and the ability to see most of the room.
Maru does show up, finally, after more than thirty minutes pass. He strides up to Shingo's table, looking much more cautious than he needs to. But, Shingo supposes he has the upper hand here. He saw the look in Maru's eyes while he was in the car. He doesn't know exactly what Maru's story is, but when you see that level of distress on a man's face, he's hiding much more than that under the surface.
Maru sits down across from Shingo, lays his hands on the table, like an offering. He's only here to talk.
"So how'd you make out in Vegas?" Shingo asks.
"I'm better at poker than I am at Blackjack," Maru says. "But, I did okay."
"I didn't think you would!" Shingo laughs.
Maru laughs a little, too. And the atmosphere feels much more relaxed for just a moment. Then quickly plummets back into uncertainty.
"That guy you picked up..." Maru starts.
"I don't talk about these things over dinner, okay?" Shingo says.
That's part of why he asked Maru here in particular. He can't talk about that with him. Definitely not about that guy. Whoever he is, he's not someone Shingo needs to be too involved with. He tries to read Maru's face, wonders what his business with Yokoyama is. Obviously Shingo threw a wrench in his plan, no matter how unwittingly. He doesn't like this dancing around the point, and wonders what it would be like if he could just ask outright. What a novel idea, he thinks.
Maru orders a sandwich, even though the menu has much more to offer. He also orders a slice of cake with his sandwich. An odd one, this guy.
"You didn't tell me how you made out in Vegas," Maru said.
"Just like you," Shingo says, twisting spaghetti around his fork. "I did okay."
Shingo's phone goes off in his pocket. His work phone. He hasn't even been doing this job very long, but he wonders every day if he's expected to be on call even more than a surgeon. It seems that way. At least he's almost finished with dinner.
There is a text message on the screen with the names of two streets - an intersection - and a time. It's marked urgent.
"Hey, I hate to cut it short, but I have to go," Shingo says. "You don't mind eating alone, do you?"
"Wait," Maru says, and Shingo thinks he sees a small hint of desperation. Maru removes one hand from the table, places it in his lap instead.
"Don't do that," Shingo says, calmly as he can. "I can't talk about this here."
"You can talk about it somewhere." Maru's face becomes so serious, that Shingo almost doesn't recognize him as being the same man who walked in the restaurant, or the same man he drank and laughed with in Vegas just a few weeks before.
"I have to go," Shingo says. "You understand that, right? I have to go now."
Maru holds his hand steady, doesn't move it back to the table. Shingo doesn't panic, exactly, but it's strange feeling the immediacy of the fact that Maru's finger is probably on a trigger and the old couple at the table next to them are sprinkling Parmesan cheese and talking about spending a weekend by the sea.
"Call me when you're done," Maru says. "And if you don't, just know that I can find you." He lays both hands on the table again.
Shingo nods. Then, he leaves.
Since Shingo is not a taxi driver, he does not feel the need to make small talk with the man in the backseat of his car. He just takes the familiar route to his employer's residence, taking note of the cars behind him, making sure none of them are following for too long.
"What's your name?" the guy asks, completely destroying what Shingo had decided would be a quiet ride.
"Murakami," he says. No reason to give an alias, this guy knows the man behind the voice that Shingo only hears over the phone. He's not an enemy, not a friend, but he's of a higher status than Shingo in some way.
"Ah," he says. "I'm Yokoyama."
Shingo wonders if that's a real name or not. A little strange for him to just volunteer the information like that. Looking back at him in the rearview mirror, the man is much younger than Shingo thought he was. Watching him from far away he seemed so stiff and adult-like, but up close he looks like he could be even younger than Shingo. Or at least close to the same age.
Yokoyama sighs loudly. He rolls down the window, then rolls it back up again. Then, he pulls out a handheld and starts playing a videogame. Maybe he is a little younger than he appears, Shingo thinks. But, he does look put-together in that dark suit. And, he supposes a briefcase sometimes adds years onto a man's life unintentionally.
When they arrive, Shingo doesn't get out of the car, but two large men come to retrieve Yokoyama. They walk on either side of him all the way up to the door where one goes in before him and the other one scans the outside of the house just before they all disappear behind the door.
Then, Shingo's phone goes off. As if on cue.
---
Maru turns his apartment upside down looking for the business card. At the time, he didn't even know why he kept it. It's not like he would have planned on hanging out with Shingo when they got back to Japan. He was an interesting guy, no doubt, but Maru is too guarded, too cautious for something like that. It was an in-between feeling where he thought of the possibility of contacting him, but didn't know if he'd need to. In hindsight, he should have kept the card in a place he'd remember.
He empties the contents of his closet, turns his bedding inside out, dumps his bag out on floor, then finally finds it under a sofa cushion - where all important things inevitably end up.
He's so rushed, he misdials twice, then when he finally does get it right, the number leads him nowhere. Not even a place to leave a message, just dead air. He hangs up, and goes over all of his options in his head. Shingo took off with his hit, meaning Maru is well and fucked if he can't produce a good reason for letting him get away.
Any excuse he can make is only going to make him seem incompetent. And men like him are so expendable, they can, and often do, just disappear.
He gave Shingo his card, too, but Shingo must have done a better job of holding onto it. He obviously recognizes Maru's number because he sends a text message saying he'll be at the Western restaurant near Nijo Castle in half an hour. Maru supposes that's an invitation to join him. He brings a gun and a silencer. Just in case.
---
Shingo orders what could generously be called a mountain of pasta. It's been a very, very long day. He also orders a tall glass of beer and asks for a table in the corner of the restaurant so he can see Maru come in the door, if he does show up. And, anyway, he's always most comforted with his back to the wall and the ability to see most of the room.
Maru does show up, finally, after more than thirty minutes pass. He strides up to Shingo's table, looking much more cautious than he needs to. But, Shingo supposes he has the upper hand here. He saw the look in Maru's eyes while he was in the car. He doesn't know exactly what Maru's story is, but when you see that level of distress on a man's face, he's hiding much more than that under the surface.
Maru sits down across from Shingo, lays his hands on the table, like an offering. He's only here to talk.
"So how'd you make out in Vegas?" Shingo asks.
"I'm better at poker than I am at Blackjack," Maru says. "But, I did okay."
"I didn't think you would!" Shingo laughs.
Maru laughs a little, too. And the atmosphere feels much more relaxed for just a moment. Then quickly plummets back into uncertainty.
"That guy you picked up..." Maru starts.
"I don't talk about these things over dinner, okay?" Shingo says.
That's part of why he asked Maru here in particular. He can't talk about that with him. Definitely not about that guy. Whoever he is, he's not someone Shingo needs to be too involved with. He tries to read Maru's face, wonders what his business with Yokoyama is. Obviously Shingo threw a wrench in his plan, no matter how unwittingly. He doesn't like this dancing around the point, and wonders what it would be like if he could just ask outright. What a novel idea, he thinks.
Maru orders a sandwich, even though the menu has much more to offer. He also orders a slice of cake with his sandwich. An odd one, this guy.
"You didn't tell me how you made out in Vegas," Maru said.
"Just like you," Shingo says, twisting spaghetti around his fork. "I did okay."
Shingo's phone goes off in his pocket. His work phone. He hasn't even been doing this job very long, but he wonders every day if he's expected to be on call even more than a surgeon. It seems that way. At least he's almost finished with dinner.
There is a text message on the screen with the names of two streets - an intersection - and a time. It's marked urgent.
"Hey, I hate to cut it short, but I have to go," Shingo says. "You don't mind eating alone, do you?"
"Wait," Maru says, and Shingo thinks he sees a small hint of desperation. Maru removes one hand from the table, places it in his lap instead.
"Don't do that," Shingo says, calmly as he can. "I can't talk about this here."
"You can talk about it somewhere." Maru's face becomes so serious, that Shingo almost doesn't recognize him as being the same man who walked in the restaurant, or the same man he drank and laughed with in Vegas just a few weeks before.
"I have to go," Shingo says. "You understand that, right? I have to go now."
Maru holds his hand steady, doesn't move it back to the table. Shingo doesn't panic, exactly, but it's strange feeling the immediacy of the fact that Maru's finger is probably on a trigger and the old couple at the table next to them are sprinkling Parmesan cheese and talking about spending a weekend by the sea.
"Call me when you're done," Maru says. "And if you don't, just know that I can find you." He lays both hands on the table again.
Shingo nods. Then, he leaves.