Naruto- Steal and Ride [Ita/Shi]
So, the bitter_nakano exchange is DONE. The writers have been announced, surprises revealed, and this means I can share it on the f-list now. I know some of you are going to be gasping in SHOCK that I wrote something, whether you care to read it or not :P If you do, enjoy it~!
Recipient: hwister
Title: Steal and Ride
Summary: Itachi finds Shisui living an interesting life in exile. Shisui asks his help to rob a bank.
Rating: G to PG
Disclaimer: All Naruto characters herein are the property of Kishimoto Masashi. No copyright infringement is intended.
Warning(s): Mild swearing if that offends anyone
Word Count: 3,416
Author's Notes: I saw your first prompt and automatically fell in love with it and the visions that were dancing in my head. I can only hope it makes you happy as I was writing it. It provided a VERY MUCH NEEDED distraction in the wake of some terribleness
Shisui apparently had a knack for making most kind of ales, beers, and whatnot but he supposed part of that had to do with the rice wine he made his family back in Japan. Shame that it had to be an illegal trade when his father decided he’d had enough of Japan and the Uchiha Way, packed up his gambling debts and what few bits spare change he had in his pocket before heading off to the West and freedom.
Trailing a large wardrobe full of costumes and a false bottom full of what Shisui called the “Spinning Fan Special,” he has to wonder if following his dad was one of the dumber ideas he’d ever had or just the dumbest. Honestly, there were too many and most seemed to involve in cleaning up after his dad.
He filed the decision under the overflowing “just plain dumb” file in his brain before opening the door to his favorite dive, grunting in a manly Uchiha way before announcing, “Special delivery for Bill Hardy.” A resounding thump of the wardrobe and a barely audible clink of glass against glass echo his presence to the not yet opened nightclub.
Steps upon staircase nearly mimicked the Tell Tale Heart, as if their owner had a word or two to have with the brewmaster. He did. “Shisui!” he called once he reached the landing. “I thought you were taking the week off. I sent Mike out to get the emergency bottles.”
Everything said was dutifully ignored, like a good Uchiha should, especially when it involved “emergency bottles” and questions of how long the aforementioned drinks had been sitting God only knew where. “I’m meeting a cousin here for arrangements.” An arm sprawled over the very special Bill Hardy’s delivery; if he thought now was a good time to take some time off, he clearly didn’t know how deep his dad was in, aside from the added six feet known as death.
“A cousin, huh?” Eyes looked him up and down in a suspicious manner. “He speak easy?”
A miniature twitch itched at Shisui’s eyebrow. He hated that word so much. “Barely speaks at all, actually.” Now was a good time for a change in subject. “You know, I never got why they called these places ‘speakeasies.’ You can’t exactly talk about alcohol in public.”
Bill shushed him in a loud, theatrical way, looking around at the empty club as if a cop would pop up at any moment to arrest the both of them on the spot. “Speaking easy is about speaking quietly, son. It’s about knowing the code to get what you need.”
Shisui rolled his eyes. God help anyone who asked Itachi where they could see a blind tiger. He’d probably think it a request to blind one for them instead of asking where to get booze. “Well, I’ve filled Itachi in, so there shouldn’t be any problems.” He gives the wardrobe a good pat. “Girls’ costumes should be neat and clean. Special Fans are at the bottom. When Itachi gets in, guide him my way, will you?”
*
When Itachi does show up, it’s probably a slap in the face to the both of them at how utterly different New York could make a man. Shisui had forgotten how well Itachi could and would blend into a crowd if he felt it was needed and apparently, this occasion warranted assimilation. Anyone who didn’t know Itachi had flown halfway around the world would see a weary Asian businessman, what with the black and red striped suit hanging off his lanky frame like had been born to wear it. Most would assume him to be one of the few Wall Street men who either hadn’t offed himself yet or drowned himself in poorly mixed alcohol. The lines about his eyes and the weariness of the flight could be mistaken as this being the first steps away from any sort of hope he’d held onto of the Market bouncing back and on the road to alcoholism.
And Shisui, well, Shisui was the embodiment of entertainment and provider of the liquid that tried its best to fill the holes in their hearts and souls. A string quartet-esque uniform went easily with lewd remarks he threw out randomly at the men he served as scantily clad women recited the lines of the burlesque Hardy loved so much. There were roars of approval, offers to the women and general drunken hoopla. None of which had a place anywhere within the confines of the strict Uchiha clan.
When a bartender points out to Itachi in the doorway, Shisui can’t help but wonder what his cousin would think of him. Shifts are exchanged with a promise that Mr. Jack of All Trades Uchiha covered the front. That was easily agreed; it would be easier to sneak Itachi into the back of the building that way.
Then the two cousins are standing face to face for the first time in a year and fingers Shisui doesn’t remember being so long or elegant are removing the fedora from Itachi’s head. “It’s been a long time,” is the short phrase uttered in their native tongue.
“It’s been a long time,” Shisui returns, gesturing with a well practiced hand and a bow toward the back door normally reserved only for employees. “We have a lot to discuss.”
A curt nod is all the answer that’s needed before Shisui leads Itachi into the inner workings of Bill’s Gay 90s and the secret stash hidden where none of the cops would look. He takes a few well disguised bottles off the shelf before broaching the subject, “So what’d Fugaku have to say about Dad going back home?”
“He refused.”
As expected, he thinks, both the answer and Itachi’s curt delivery of the message, with a nod of his head. “Well, that’s a good thing. I already buried him.” Shisui pretends not to notice Itachi raised eyebrow as he motions to the door with his head in an indication of taking the conversation back to the front of the store.
“You were expecting this.”
“Yep.”
Two sets of feet march together in a rhythmic silence. Itachi digests this tidbit of information and Shisui takes the time to inspect the bottles in assurance that they were, indeed, alcohol and not the rat poison Mark attempted to pass off as booze. It could be hard to tell which was which once the false labels were put on.
They’re near the bar when Itachi speaks again, “You specifically requested that I relay the decision personally. Father assumed it was to collect the debt he owed.”
“I’ve already sent the debt he owed in Japan it in the mail,” is the easy, relaxed reply. He pops open a bottle to let it breathe, giving Itachi a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Uncle should be quite surprised by oh… Wednesday?”
Another silent moment occurs in which Shisui uses the time to mix non-alcoholic drinks with alcohol, as per ordered by Mike, the wannabe ale master. The question is there right on the tip of Itachi’s lips. Shisui can feel it through the stare that sends slight shivers down his spine.
Japan’s debt had been paid off. “A compulsive gambler doesn’t stop gambling just because he’s been exiled and disowned by his own family, you know. “ And what the hell, he’ll add one of those little umbrellas just to make Mike glare because he’s in that sort of competitive mood and this conversation is going to take a lot of the fight out of him.
“He had an American debt.”
Shisui shrugs it off as Mike shifts his eyes from one Uchiha to the other before giving Shisui a slightly longer stare. The umbrella is chucked in his direction with a few choice words and he can’t help but smile. “Sure did; but it was manageable since we had those fucking stocks. They promised the world, you know. Richest of the rich could gamble and game all they wanted as long as they had the stocks to sit on.”
He bites his lower lip hard enough that he can taste blood and he doesn’t quite care. He doesn’t bother to look in Itachi’s direction either. “Then they crashed and took half the damn world with them. Dad’s dead on the floor with a note saying he owes the Mafia- the Mafia, Itachi- a whole thirty grand.”
Itachi wisely stays silent, because that’s what he does and it’s what Shisui needs. He listens, categorizes possible outcomes, and prepares to weigh his options of how and when he can lend support. “You remember the time we used to pretend to be Yakuza?" Shisui shakes his head. “They’ve got nothing on the mafia here. They grab you by the balls and they hold you until they don’t need you anymore and then they kill you.”
Mike is back with an empty tray. Shisui fills it on autopilot and thinks about the stupidity he’s about to utter to the most rational and loyal man in their family. It’s his last shot- the all or nothing gamble, as his dad would say- before the End. It’s only when Mike is gone that the conversation continues.
“You don’t make enough here to handle the debt.” It’s not a question, not a statement, but a certainty.
“Barely pays the rent,” Shisui agrees easily. “See, I figure I’m already breaking the law here- have been since we came, Dad and me- so what’s another step up in that? The banks are starting to foreclose, so…”
“You want to steal what they have and close them sooner.”
Another shrug. “That’s about it, yeah.” He couldn’t do it alone, he knew that much and Itachi… Itachi was the only one in the family he still trusted. Fugaku could go die in a fire for all he cared. Mikoto was too neutral in just a bout anything concerning family or politics for him to care one way or another. The rest backed Fugaku’s every word, so that fire could be a bon fire. Itachi, though…
He leaned against the bar and rubbed the back of his neck, staring at the floor. “I trust you, you know? I’ll understand if you say no but you’ve been the only one to watch my back. You’re the only one I trust to watch my back.”
The silence is pregnant with a heavy weight of anxiousness. Itachi nods slowly, looking toward the door. “We can discuss the plans when you get off work.”
A smile graces Shisui’s face as he tosses his keys to Itachi. He rattles off the address and says, “Make sure you lock the doors. I’ll use our old knock so you’ll know it’s me. “
Another raised eyebrow in question. A shrug and a grin that reaches ear to ear is the response. “Hey, it’s New York.”
*
Shisui is just about ready to call it quits late in the night. They had narrowed down potential banks by five, gone through at least as many different tactics for a seamless sneak attack so as not to draw attention toward either of them after the deal is done. If all goes well -and it should be damn near flawless since Itachi never does anything by halves- Shisui would be the proud owner of $30,000 in unmarked bills by the next night and the banks wouldn’t know a thing about it until accounting for bankruptcy; if they were any good, they would realize the error within a week at the earliest.
Itachi is scribing notes on a pad he procured from Shisui’s desk drawer, a sight Shisui never thought he’d see again. They had done stuff like this before when they were younger, only that usually involved in trying to get a bite of Mikoto’s to-die-for cookies when they were hot out of the oven, soft and warm and at their most deliciousness, instead of only mildly warm and starting to harden when given to Shisui just before he left for his own house; or like when Fugaku had chores ready for Itachi for some festival or clan meeting when Itachi really just wanted to study or help little Sasuke with his homework so Mikoto wouldn’t have to.
They had made one of the best two-man teams in the clan. Shisui, who could make just about anyone believe what he wanted them to and Itachi, who could make them see it though how, Shisui never figured out. Rarely caught, hardly scorned, and even when they were, it didn’t mean a thing because they had gone through it together and for each other and sometimes for Sasuke, but mostly for each other.
“What are you expecting after this?” Itachi asked, never once letting his eyes move away from the notepad in his hand.
“Hmm?” He expected to be debt free and ready to live his own life instead of his father’s. Itachi should know at least that much. He was a bright guy.
The scribing, because there really is no other word for how Itachi wrote with its neatness and calligraphic elegancy, pauses just for a moment as Itachi inspects a sentence. “Will you stay in New York as a wanted fugitive? Come back to Japan once all your father’s dealings are done with?” He peers at Shisui through ridiculously long, beautiful lashes, “Or perhaps you haven’t decided?”
A blink is the only immediate answer Shisui can give. He hadn’t given it much thought. Getting the plan together, Itachi’s willingness to become a criminal for his sake, and all the other things going on in the last day alone had kept him from thinking much of the future. That’s what Itachi was for, he guessed with a scratch of his head.
“Well I know I’m not staying in New York after this- not with the Mob. Thought I might head west. It used to be all the rage around here, you know- heading west." He frowns, crosses his arms, and thinks of some of the short plays put on at Bill’s. “Come to think of it, there was a lot of looting and robbing back then too.”
The scribing stops again as Itachi gives him a look, one that said “Please don’t tell me you’re going to make a career out of this.”
Shisui waves his hand in front of his face, “Nothing, nothing. It’s just something I remember hearing around here; Wild West, desperados, and cowboys. They like to reenact that sort of thing on stage.”
Itachi wearily goes back to his work, “I understand the Imperial Army is looking for recruits around Tsushima. If you wished to come back to Japan without notice of the clan that may be one way to go about returning.”
Another blink, this time in astonishment. “Is that what you’re going to do?”
A nonchalant shrug rolls itself slowly from Itachi’s shoulder. “I have thought about it.”
“I thought you lived for the clan.”
“Maybe they did something I can’t agree with." He tears off a sheet of paper and hands it to Shisui. “That should work with a ninety percent probability of succeeding without becoming wanted fugitives.”
Shisui takes the paper with a blank, unseeing stare. His thoughts are still with Itachi, the Army and what must be a horrible rip in the fabric of their family. When he looked up, Itachi was already in the guest room and ready for bed. “…Oh.”
*
A man with scraggily, wavy hair stumbles into the small New York bank looking the exact picture of terror and agony. Onlookers sneak peeks and murmurs behind their envelopes and wallets that are either filled with money or soon to be filled to the owner’s content. They watch with rapt attention as he staggers, searching… searching for something. A line, an open window, something!
A guard approaches the frantic man with full height just in case he was the lunatic he looked, “Can I help you, sir?”
Shisui peers left, then right, spotting Itachi’s completely unnoticed entrance before grabbing at the guards arm with shaking hands. “W-withdraw. My friend, he needs his money. He said it was in this bank. He needs it bad.” He groans in anguish, thinking of the torture his non-existent friend must be going through. Really, he’s thinking about the time Itachi tried to make his mother’s cookies all on his own and the memory itself is more than enough to illicit the reaction from within himself.
Itachi, meanwhile, clips a fake name tag to his suit jacket and walks straight to the desk beside the vault. He sorts and straightens what’s on the long desk in a way that seems logical to him, though he guesses it will leave the tellers clueless as to what’s where later on. He’s there when the vault opens, he’s there when it closes, and he already has the number sequence memorized and procedures for a proper close in his head.
It’s when the teller leaves and he’s about to open the vault that he hears, “WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE HAS TO DO IT HIMSELF? HE COULD BE DYING RIGHT NOW, MAN.”
He allows the smirk to leave his face since no one was watching and grabs the money cautiously, confidently. Once every bit is accounted for and he can hear the harshness in Shisui’s throat from yelling, he tucks the bills in an unsupervised and empty suitcase before closing the vault.
By now, everyone in the building is either watching or trying to calm the insane junkie down from whatever paranoid high he’s gotten himself into. No one sees him trash the fake name tag, no one sees or seems to hear the bell of the door ring except Shisui himself.
Even through the glass, Itachi can hear the final bellows of Shisui’s grand and final act, “FINE, BUT THE MOB’S OUT THERE. THEY’LL END UP COMING FOR YOU. MARK MY WORDS. NO ONE’S SAFE.”
The door swings open in the most dramatic fashion it will ever have in its lifetime and misses Itachi by inches as Shisui storms out. He continues the crazy act until he’s a safe distance away from onlookers to return to his proper self and Itachi gives to the count of three to follow him.
Shisui is attempting to tame his perpetually unruly hair and breathing out in pants. “Did’ya get it?”
“Of course.”
“Good. Now to find the mafia idio-“
There’s a screech of tires, a slamming of a door and suddenly shrieks fill the air. Shisui and Itachi are out of the alley and looking at the bank they just robbed in confusion. They get a look at what’s supposedly the getaway driver of an actual heist and the briefcase is gone from Itachi’s hands and moving toward the car.
Shisui tosses it in the back seat and tells the driver, “The Uchiha debt is officially paid.”
He’s laughing by the time he gets back to Itachi. “I guess the Mafia really was out to get them.”
*
They’re back in Shisui’s apartment and both of them are packing. The notice had been given to Bill, who had actually wept and pleaded for Shisui not to go while Mike just leaned against the wall and smirked, the bastard. He wasn’t worried about the lease on the apartment because, really, when you’ve sold bootleg booze and robbed a freaking bank, breaking something like a contractual lease was small time.
“Have you decided where you’re going to go?” Itachi asks as he folds his socks.
“Yeah,” he answers with a definitive nod of his head. “I think I’ll see what the west has in store for me. I mean, it’s a lot of land and I’ve only seen such a small part of it. Figure I’ll see some more of it before things really start going down hill, you know?”
There’s a grunt of understanding and a clack as the one suitcase Itachi has closes. “That is something most Japanese don’t get to see.”
Eyebrow raising was becoming all the rage between the two. “Do you want to come along?”
There’s a quirk of a smile on Itachi’s lips. How easy it was to understand each other. “I believe I do.”
Shisui closes his own suitcase and together, they lift their things simultaneously and head toward the door. “The clan really pissed you off, didn’t they?”
“Yes,” Itachi says as he closes the door behind them. “They really did.”
Recipient: hwister
Title: Steal and Ride
Summary: Itachi finds Shisui living an interesting life in exile. Shisui asks his help to rob a bank.
Rating: G to PG
Disclaimer: All Naruto characters herein are the property of Kishimoto Masashi. No copyright infringement is intended.
Warning(s): Mild swearing if that offends anyone
Word Count: 3,416
Author's Notes: I saw your first prompt and automatically fell in love with it and the visions that were dancing in my head. I can only hope it makes you happy as I was writing it. It provided a VERY MUCH NEEDED distraction in the wake of some terribleness
Shisui apparently had a knack for making most kind of ales, beers, and whatnot but he supposed part of that had to do with the rice wine he made his family back in Japan. Shame that it had to be an illegal trade when his father decided he’d had enough of Japan and the Uchiha Way, packed up his gambling debts and what few bits spare change he had in his pocket before heading off to the West and freedom.
Trailing a large wardrobe full of costumes and a false bottom full of what Shisui called the “Spinning Fan Special,” he has to wonder if following his dad was one of the dumber ideas he’d ever had or just the dumbest. Honestly, there were too many and most seemed to involve in cleaning up after his dad.
He filed the decision under the overflowing “just plain dumb” file in his brain before opening the door to his favorite dive, grunting in a manly Uchiha way before announcing, “Special delivery for Bill Hardy.” A resounding thump of the wardrobe and a barely audible clink of glass against glass echo his presence to the not yet opened nightclub.
Steps upon staircase nearly mimicked the Tell Tale Heart, as if their owner had a word or two to have with the brewmaster. He did. “Shisui!” he called once he reached the landing. “I thought you were taking the week off. I sent Mike out to get the emergency bottles.”
Everything said was dutifully ignored, like a good Uchiha should, especially when it involved “emergency bottles” and questions of how long the aforementioned drinks had been sitting God only knew where. “I’m meeting a cousin here for arrangements.” An arm sprawled over the very special Bill Hardy’s delivery; if he thought now was a good time to take some time off, he clearly didn’t know how deep his dad was in, aside from the added six feet known as death.
“A cousin, huh?” Eyes looked him up and down in a suspicious manner. “He speak easy?”
A miniature twitch itched at Shisui’s eyebrow. He hated that word so much. “Barely speaks at all, actually.” Now was a good time for a change in subject. “You know, I never got why they called these places ‘speakeasies.’ You can’t exactly talk about alcohol in public.”
Bill shushed him in a loud, theatrical way, looking around at the empty club as if a cop would pop up at any moment to arrest the both of them on the spot. “Speaking easy is about speaking quietly, son. It’s about knowing the code to get what you need.”
Shisui rolled his eyes. God help anyone who asked Itachi where they could see a blind tiger. He’d probably think it a request to blind one for them instead of asking where to get booze. “Well, I’ve filled Itachi in, so there shouldn’t be any problems.” He gives the wardrobe a good pat. “Girls’ costumes should be neat and clean. Special Fans are at the bottom. When Itachi gets in, guide him my way, will you?”
*
When Itachi does show up, it’s probably a slap in the face to the both of them at how utterly different New York could make a man. Shisui had forgotten how well Itachi could and would blend into a crowd if he felt it was needed and apparently, this occasion warranted assimilation. Anyone who didn’t know Itachi had flown halfway around the world would see a weary Asian businessman, what with the black and red striped suit hanging off his lanky frame like had been born to wear it. Most would assume him to be one of the few Wall Street men who either hadn’t offed himself yet or drowned himself in poorly mixed alcohol. The lines about his eyes and the weariness of the flight could be mistaken as this being the first steps away from any sort of hope he’d held onto of the Market bouncing back and on the road to alcoholism.
And Shisui, well, Shisui was the embodiment of entertainment and provider of the liquid that tried its best to fill the holes in their hearts and souls. A string quartet-esque uniform went easily with lewd remarks he threw out randomly at the men he served as scantily clad women recited the lines of the burlesque Hardy loved so much. There were roars of approval, offers to the women and general drunken hoopla. None of which had a place anywhere within the confines of the strict Uchiha clan.
When a bartender points out to Itachi in the doorway, Shisui can’t help but wonder what his cousin would think of him. Shifts are exchanged with a promise that Mr. Jack of All Trades Uchiha covered the front. That was easily agreed; it would be easier to sneak Itachi into the back of the building that way.
Then the two cousins are standing face to face for the first time in a year and fingers Shisui doesn’t remember being so long or elegant are removing the fedora from Itachi’s head. “It’s been a long time,” is the short phrase uttered in their native tongue.
“It’s been a long time,” Shisui returns, gesturing with a well practiced hand and a bow toward the back door normally reserved only for employees. “We have a lot to discuss.”
A curt nod is all the answer that’s needed before Shisui leads Itachi into the inner workings of Bill’s Gay 90s and the secret stash hidden where none of the cops would look. He takes a few well disguised bottles off the shelf before broaching the subject, “So what’d Fugaku have to say about Dad going back home?”
“He refused.”
As expected, he thinks, both the answer and Itachi’s curt delivery of the message, with a nod of his head. “Well, that’s a good thing. I already buried him.” Shisui pretends not to notice Itachi raised eyebrow as he motions to the door with his head in an indication of taking the conversation back to the front of the store.
“You were expecting this.”
“Yep.”
Two sets of feet march together in a rhythmic silence. Itachi digests this tidbit of information and Shisui takes the time to inspect the bottles in assurance that they were, indeed, alcohol and not the rat poison Mark attempted to pass off as booze. It could be hard to tell which was which once the false labels were put on.
They’re near the bar when Itachi speaks again, “You specifically requested that I relay the decision personally. Father assumed it was to collect the debt he owed.”
“I’ve already sent the debt he owed in Japan it in the mail,” is the easy, relaxed reply. He pops open a bottle to let it breathe, giving Itachi a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Uncle should be quite surprised by oh… Wednesday?”
Another silent moment occurs in which Shisui uses the time to mix non-alcoholic drinks with alcohol, as per ordered by Mike, the wannabe ale master. The question is there right on the tip of Itachi’s lips. Shisui can feel it through the stare that sends slight shivers down his spine.
Japan’s debt had been paid off. “A compulsive gambler doesn’t stop gambling just because he’s been exiled and disowned by his own family, you know. “ And what the hell, he’ll add one of those little umbrellas just to make Mike glare because he’s in that sort of competitive mood and this conversation is going to take a lot of the fight out of him.
“He had an American debt.”
Shisui shrugs it off as Mike shifts his eyes from one Uchiha to the other before giving Shisui a slightly longer stare. The umbrella is chucked in his direction with a few choice words and he can’t help but smile. “Sure did; but it was manageable since we had those fucking stocks. They promised the world, you know. Richest of the rich could gamble and game all they wanted as long as they had the stocks to sit on.”
He bites his lower lip hard enough that he can taste blood and he doesn’t quite care. He doesn’t bother to look in Itachi’s direction either. “Then they crashed and took half the damn world with them. Dad’s dead on the floor with a note saying he owes the Mafia- the Mafia, Itachi- a whole thirty grand.”
Itachi wisely stays silent, because that’s what he does and it’s what Shisui needs. He listens, categorizes possible outcomes, and prepares to weigh his options of how and when he can lend support. “You remember the time we used to pretend to be Yakuza?" Shisui shakes his head. “They’ve got nothing on the mafia here. They grab you by the balls and they hold you until they don’t need you anymore and then they kill you.”
Mike is back with an empty tray. Shisui fills it on autopilot and thinks about the stupidity he’s about to utter to the most rational and loyal man in their family. It’s his last shot- the all or nothing gamble, as his dad would say- before the End. It’s only when Mike is gone that the conversation continues.
“You don’t make enough here to handle the debt.” It’s not a question, not a statement, but a certainty.
“Barely pays the rent,” Shisui agrees easily. “See, I figure I’m already breaking the law here- have been since we came, Dad and me- so what’s another step up in that? The banks are starting to foreclose, so…”
“You want to steal what they have and close them sooner.”
Another shrug. “That’s about it, yeah.” He couldn’t do it alone, he knew that much and Itachi… Itachi was the only one in the family he still trusted. Fugaku could go die in a fire for all he cared. Mikoto was too neutral in just a bout anything concerning family or politics for him to care one way or another. The rest backed Fugaku’s every word, so that fire could be a bon fire. Itachi, though…
He leaned against the bar and rubbed the back of his neck, staring at the floor. “I trust you, you know? I’ll understand if you say no but you’ve been the only one to watch my back. You’re the only one I trust to watch my back.”
The silence is pregnant with a heavy weight of anxiousness. Itachi nods slowly, looking toward the door. “We can discuss the plans when you get off work.”
A smile graces Shisui’s face as he tosses his keys to Itachi. He rattles off the address and says, “Make sure you lock the doors. I’ll use our old knock so you’ll know it’s me. “
Another raised eyebrow in question. A shrug and a grin that reaches ear to ear is the response. “Hey, it’s New York.”
*
Shisui is just about ready to call it quits late in the night. They had narrowed down potential banks by five, gone through at least as many different tactics for a seamless sneak attack so as not to draw attention toward either of them after the deal is done. If all goes well -and it should be damn near flawless since Itachi never does anything by halves- Shisui would be the proud owner of $30,000 in unmarked bills by the next night and the banks wouldn’t know a thing about it until accounting for bankruptcy; if they were any good, they would realize the error within a week at the earliest.
Itachi is scribing notes on a pad he procured from Shisui’s desk drawer, a sight Shisui never thought he’d see again. They had done stuff like this before when they were younger, only that usually involved in trying to get a bite of Mikoto’s to-die-for cookies when they were hot out of the oven, soft and warm and at their most deliciousness, instead of only mildly warm and starting to harden when given to Shisui just before he left for his own house; or like when Fugaku had chores ready for Itachi for some festival or clan meeting when Itachi really just wanted to study or help little Sasuke with his homework so Mikoto wouldn’t have to.
They had made one of the best two-man teams in the clan. Shisui, who could make just about anyone believe what he wanted them to and Itachi, who could make them see it though how, Shisui never figured out. Rarely caught, hardly scorned, and even when they were, it didn’t mean a thing because they had gone through it together and for each other and sometimes for Sasuke, but mostly for each other.
“What are you expecting after this?” Itachi asked, never once letting his eyes move away from the notepad in his hand.
“Hmm?” He expected to be debt free and ready to live his own life instead of his father’s. Itachi should know at least that much. He was a bright guy.
The scribing, because there really is no other word for how Itachi wrote with its neatness and calligraphic elegancy, pauses just for a moment as Itachi inspects a sentence. “Will you stay in New York as a wanted fugitive? Come back to Japan once all your father’s dealings are done with?” He peers at Shisui through ridiculously long, beautiful lashes, “Or perhaps you haven’t decided?”
A blink is the only immediate answer Shisui can give. He hadn’t given it much thought. Getting the plan together, Itachi’s willingness to become a criminal for his sake, and all the other things going on in the last day alone had kept him from thinking much of the future. That’s what Itachi was for, he guessed with a scratch of his head.
“Well I know I’m not staying in New York after this- not with the Mob. Thought I might head west. It used to be all the rage around here, you know- heading west." He frowns, crosses his arms, and thinks of some of the short plays put on at Bill’s. “Come to think of it, there was a lot of looting and robbing back then too.”
The scribing stops again as Itachi gives him a look, one that said “Please don’t tell me you’re going to make a career out of this.”
Shisui waves his hand in front of his face, “Nothing, nothing. It’s just something I remember hearing around here; Wild West, desperados, and cowboys. They like to reenact that sort of thing on stage.”
Itachi wearily goes back to his work, “I understand the Imperial Army is looking for recruits around Tsushima. If you wished to come back to Japan without notice of the clan that may be one way to go about returning.”
Another blink, this time in astonishment. “Is that what you’re going to do?”
A nonchalant shrug rolls itself slowly from Itachi’s shoulder. “I have thought about it.”
“I thought you lived for the clan.”
“Maybe they did something I can’t agree with." He tears off a sheet of paper and hands it to Shisui. “That should work with a ninety percent probability of succeeding without becoming wanted fugitives.”
Shisui takes the paper with a blank, unseeing stare. His thoughts are still with Itachi, the Army and what must be a horrible rip in the fabric of their family. When he looked up, Itachi was already in the guest room and ready for bed. “…Oh.”
*
A man with scraggily, wavy hair stumbles into the small New York bank looking the exact picture of terror and agony. Onlookers sneak peeks and murmurs behind their envelopes and wallets that are either filled with money or soon to be filled to the owner’s content. They watch with rapt attention as he staggers, searching… searching for something. A line, an open window, something!
A guard approaches the frantic man with full height just in case he was the lunatic he looked, “Can I help you, sir?”
Shisui peers left, then right, spotting Itachi’s completely unnoticed entrance before grabbing at the guards arm with shaking hands. “W-withdraw. My friend, he needs his money. He said it was in this bank. He needs it bad.” He groans in anguish, thinking of the torture his non-existent friend must be going through. Really, he’s thinking about the time Itachi tried to make his mother’s cookies all on his own and the memory itself is more than enough to illicit the reaction from within himself.
Itachi, meanwhile, clips a fake name tag to his suit jacket and walks straight to the desk beside the vault. He sorts and straightens what’s on the long desk in a way that seems logical to him, though he guesses it will leave the tellers clueless as to what’s where later on. He’s there when the vault opens, he’s there when it closes, and he already has the number sequence memorized and procedures for a proper close in his head.
It’s when the teller leaves and he’s about to open the vault that he hears, “WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE HAS TO DO IT HIMSELF? HE COULD BE DYING RIGHT NOW, MAN.”
He allows the smirk to leave his face since no one was watching and grabs the money cautiously, confidently. Once every bit is accounted for and he can hear the harshness in Shisui’s throat from yelling, he tucks the bills in an unsupervised and empty suitcase before closing the vault.
By now, everyone in the building is either watching or trying to calm the insane junkie down from whatever paranoid high he’s gotten himself into. No one sees him trash the fake name tag, no one sees or seems to hear the bell of the door ring except Shisui himself.
Even through the glass, Itachi can hear the final bellows of Shisui’s grand and final act, “FINE, BUT THE MOB’S OUT THERE. THEY’LL END UP COMING FOR YOU. MARK MY WORDS. NO ONE’S SAFE.”
The door swings open in the most dramatic fashion it will ever have in its lifetime and misses Itachi by inches as Shisui storms out. He continues the crazy act until he’s a safe distance away from onlookers to return to his proper self and Itachi gives to the count of three to follow him.
Shisui is attempting to tame his perpetually unruly hair and breathing out in pants. “Did’ya get it?”
“Of course.”
“Good. Now to find the mafia idio-“
There’s a screech of tires, a slamming of a door and suddenly shrieks fill the air. Shisui and Itachi are out of the alley and looking at the bank they just robbed in confusion. They get a look at what’s supposedly the getaway driver of an actual heist and the briefcase is gone from Itachi’s hands and moving toward the car.
Shisui tosses it in the back seat and tells the driver, “The Uchiha debt is officially paid.”
He’s laughing by the time he gets back to Itachi. “I guess the Mafia really was out to get them.”
*
They’re back in Shisui’s apartment and both of them are packing. The notice had been given to Bill, who had actually wept and pleaded for Shisui not to go while Mike just leaned against the wall and smirked, the bastard. He wasn’t worried about the lease on the apartment because, really, when you’ve sold bootleg booze and robbed a freaking bank, breaking something like a contractual lease was small time.
“Have you decided where you’re going to go?” Itachi asks as he folds his socks.
“Yeah,” he answers with a definitive nod of his head. “I think I’ll see what the west has in store for me. I mean, it’s a lot of land and I’ve only seen such a small part of it. Figure I’ll see some more of it before things really start going down hill, you know?”
There’s a grunt of understanding and a clack as the one suitcase Itachi has closes. “That is something most Japanese don’t get to see.”
Eyebrow raising was becoming all the rage between the two. “Do you want to come along?”
There’s a quirk of a smile on Itachi’s lips. How easy it was to understand each other. “I believe I do.”
Shisui closes his own suitcase and together, they lift their things simultaneously and head toward the door. “The clan really pissed you off, didn’t they?”
“Yes,” Itachi says as he closes the door behind them. “They really did.”