Kenichi blew smoke into the
air, fingers securely holding the cigarette as he gazed out at the sky, arms
folded over his chest. Behind him, Matt was simply watching, smoking his own
cigarette. “Sansa was finally able to pay back their debt,” he finally said,
not looking at Matt as he sucked on the tip of the cigarette lightly.
“Does it matter as much?”
“God. I don’t know,” he tossed
the cigarette into the ashtray and poured himself a drink, “I don’t fucking
know. On one hand, our finances are going to be stable again. On another hand,
it came at a price.”
“Would you give the money in
exchange?” Matt asked, quirking a brow as he fished for his lighter. “What
would you do in exchange?”
“If it meant not having Taro
killed, then I would gladly write off the debt and rip the check into pieces.”
Kenichi took a drink, “What more can I do? I sent his wife flowers and fruits,
attended the funeral and tried to avoid the other members cursing my name –
what more does Taro want?”
“Stop it,” Matt said sharply. “Taro
is dead.”
“Dead and extracting his
revenge,” Kenichi inhaled deeply and stormed back inside, Matt frowning and
following his superior into the massive living room, “I understand that I pressured
the man too much. Fuck. I just did
what I had to for my own company. Sansa got from me, I needed it back. It
repaid. So why do I feel indebted to him?”
The ginger leaned against the
wall, taking in the sight of Kenichi pacing back and forth with a puzzled and
frustrated look on his face.
“You feel guilty.”
“Guilty.” Kenichi repeated. It tasted
odd in his mouth. Like it didn’t belong there. “I feel guilty for a death that
I didn’t cause.”
“Not that, dope.” Matt exhaled,
“Guilty for prompting his obsession with gambling. Guilty for pressuring the
man until the night of his death. You’re thinking that if you didn’t remind as
much, he’d have put off his gambling and might be alive until now. But he isn’t.
And you have to accept that.”
Kenichi stayed silent, still
pacing. Matt noticed that he had set his glass of brandy down and had run his
hands through his hair in a distant sort of panic.
“They’ll just come for
interviewing.”
Kenichi gave a bark of
laughter, “Interviewing! What harm can that do?” his mouth turned up to a
sneer, “Matt, don’t you understand? They’ll go for Sansa. Sansa will tell about
us. Police will investigate on us. They want the dirty or else it’s going to be
useless to them.”
The Englisman felt his blood
chill. “What do you want me to do about it?”
“I hope you covered your tracks
well, Matt. I’ll be stuck if I ever have to bail you out.”
“You’ve never bailed me out,”
the other hissed, but Kenichi merely waved him off. Matt stared in shock and
disbelief, Kenichi turning away from him and preparing to depart from his own
room. “And what? I just need to cover my tracks?”
“Damn it all if I even care
about all of this anymore, Matt. This might be the one crime that makes or
breaks me, and to think I’ve been going clean for months.”
This time, Matt gave a harsh
laugh himself. “What is it now, Kenichi? Afraid you’ll turn up like your dad?”
Kenichi stopped.
“I am nothing like my father,”
he said slowly. “Now get the fuck out.”
* * * * *
He chewed on the cigarette as
he stepped into the house, blowing out smoke and hanging his coat on the door. In
the living room, the telly was on and he could smell cooking from the kitchen. “Are
you here?”
“I smell smoke,” A announced,
stepping into the hall with a bowl in her hand. She blinked upon seeing him,
staring at the disheveled look of his attire and of him in general. “Oh for
heaven’s sake,” she muttered, taking the cigarette from his mouth with her free
hand, glaring at it and then looking at him. “Where did you go?”
“Matsumoto.” He brushed off the
topic and kissed her cheek. “What are you making?”
“I’m making salad, but you have
pasta in the kitchen.” She wrinkled her nose
a bit and pushed him playfully, “Eat, you silly man, and I’ll continue
with this.”
Matt flashed her a small grin
before walking to the dining area, sitting down and taking the plate while she assembled
the salad and threw away the cigarette. “Did you make any progress with the
others?”
“A bit,” she admitted, sitting
down eventually and eating as well, “But I’m exhausted and don’t want to talk
about it. What happened to you?”
“Matsumoto was being a prick, I
smoked and drank a bit…” she sent him a look, and he smiled good naturedly. “A
beer and cig or two can’t hurt, darling.”
“Drinking on the job,” she
scolded lightly, taking another bite of salad. “No wonder he got angry at you.
Breaking protocol has its own punishment.”
“But he was the one being a
prick,” Matt protested. “He’s giving me a headache. Sometimes I want to quit
the job, to be honest.”
“But this is Kenichi.” A
referred to him with the first name this time, “He needs you. Even if he seems
terrible and cranky. Besides,” she smiled a bit, “I’m cranky and you still put
up with me.”
“You’re a different case,
kitten. He’s just…” he sighed, “I don’t know anymore what’s wrong with him.”
“Business deals getting tough?”
He bit his lip.
“Sort of.”
“He can deal with that. He’s
Kenichi, after all.” she took a few more bites of salad and watched as he
fiddled with his food, “…are you full?” A asked, quirking a brow at his
half-eaten dinner.
“Sorry, A. Not too hungry
tonight.” He sent her an apologetic look and rose, carrying his plate. “I’ll
eat this tomorrow morning. Did you cook this?”
She gave a halfhearted shrug, “It
was a nice try at making dinner.”
“I’ll eat more tomorrow,” he
promised.
She managed a smile at that. “If
you say so.”
* * * * *
“I’ve helped you, Taro. I’m not one against helping out
those in need,” Kenichi told the taller man. “But this time, I’m getting
impatient. I need the money I lent Sansa back.”
“You’ll get it eventually,” Taro promised. “I just need to
get us back up. Advertising is terrible this month and I just fired a few at
work today.” He sighed deeply, “Please, Kenichi. Just give me time.”
“I’m giving you time,” Kenichi said in a much gentler tone. “But
I’m impatient.”
Kenichi was getting paranoid –
totally paranoid.
The fact that he nearly melted
down in front of Matt was a clear indicator that he was starting to become
wary. Police sirens made him jump. Stories of Matt’s girlfriend made him break
into a sweat – all for a different reason.
“You’re being a fucking idiot,”
he told his own reflection, which was dripping wet from the water he had
splashed onto his face. “Taro is dead. He is dead.”
Dead and haunting, a
voice in his head mocked.
“Dead,” he repeated softly. “Gods.
Taro is dead.”
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