Vices: A Race **Chapter 010**

“This is Matt. I might be busy or driving, so call back later.”

Voicemail.

A tried again, dialing his number and hearing the same message, which further spiked her worry and fueled her irritation. “…Matsumoto.”

The woman dialed the Japanese’s number, Kenichi picking up after the fourth ring. “Good evening, A – anything I can do for you on this night?”

“I was wondering where Matt was,” she told him, walking to the window and gazing out, “He isn’t home yet and I thought he’d be having overtime tonight.”

“Overtime? He isn’t. I’m at home, in fact. He left the same time I did; we spoke to each other a bit before leaving work.” She heard him pause and ask for some alcohol, and he went back to the conversation, “There must be traffic, my dear. Don’t worry.”

“I’m his girlfriend,” she told the Japanese with a slight smile on her lips, “Of course I’m going to worry.” Kenichi let loose a loud laugh at that, reassuring her that Matt was alright before bidding her goodnight. The call ended and she heaved a sigh, facing away from the window and sitting down on the bed glumly.

The sound of footsteps coming towards the room made her eyes widen, and she reached for the inside of her side table in haste.

A nearly had her gun out when Matt entered the bedroom, eyes half-open with exhaustion and dropping his bag on the floor.

The blue eyes had eyed her arm and he gave a forced chuckle.

“Damn it, darling. Hear footsteps and reach for your bloody gun.”

“I can never be too careful,” she defended and then stood, rushing to him with a concerned look on her face as she looked him up and down. “What happened to you? I come home to find the house empty, so I cook dinner for us and you haven’t arrived even after the news started, so I went on and left the food in the fridge.”

“I’m sorry, A. Traffic was everywhere. It plagued the roads. And Matsumoto was such a goddamn prick. A fucking stick must have lodged itself up his ass,” he grumbled, throwing the rumpled shirt into the laundry hamper in the corner of the room.

Her brows knotted, “What did he do this time?”

“It’s not a matter of him doing anything.” He sighed exasperatedly and went to the bathroom, “Bathe with me?”

“I already bathed before you came. But I can watch,” she offered, smirking, and he laughed once more before nodding, she following and closing the door. “Tell me what happened, love. You must be tired,” she said, softer this time, watching as he stripped down and turned on the water, letting it fill the tub.

“He’s been paranoid about things,” he said slowly, sinking into the tub and closing his eyes at the sensation of the hot water. “Paranoid about work ever since you came to interview him. It’s not your fault,” he assured her, “It’s Matsumoto being Matsumoto.”

“I never thought he got paranoid.”

“He does.”  Matt, having closed his eyes once more, stifled a groan when he felt her hands on his shoulders. “Darling, you don’t have to do this…”

The woman planted a kiss on his neck. “I want to. Just tell me what’s been happening around work.”

“Alright. He hasn’t been okay ever since you came to interview. After that, he hasn’t been the same. He keeps to himself almost all the time, locks the door to his office, had security tightened even more even though his guards are prowling there every time he steps foot into the building. The last time I saw him like this…” he trailed off.

“The last time,” she continued, “He had you leave for months.”

Matt smiled sadly. “I assure you that it won’t happen again. I made him swear it. The next time it should, we should have a week’s allowance of letting each other go.”

 “We can talk about that later,” she told him. “But…the last time he was like that, he feared for his safety, wasn’t he? His safety and your safety?”

“He was,” he eventually admitted.

There was a terse silence between them.

“Why?”

Matt found himself quiet. She noticed but didn’t speak, patiently waiting for him to start talking again, as long as it took. Her hands moved down his shoulders and she found herself with her arms around him, robe sleeves rolled up and arms getting wet due to the warm bathwater. He nestled into her, she glancing at him and planting a kiss on his cheek as she waited.

Finally, he spoke again.

“You know why we were on the run, love. Partially on the run,” he said carefully, “And I’m not who I used to be for him. I’m merely a lookout, a watcher this time.”

“I’m not accusing Kenichi of anything,” she said after hearing his words, “I just have to know why he’s so afraid.”

“He’s afraid of people catching on.”

And that was all she needed to hear before she nodded, taking her arms away and saying that she’d merely be in the bedroom. Matt climbed out of the tub later on, dressing up and finding her about to head to sleep, body under the covers and eyes on their way to closing.

When she spotted him, she moved slightly. He climbed into bed as well, he taking her close and the two of them staying quiet before she spoke up.

“I don’t think Kenichi did anything,” she told him slowly, “I believe in Kenichi. I know that he’s changed and won’t resort to anything worse.” Matt nodded.

“He would gladly write off the debt if it brought his friend back.”

“So he…”

“He regrets pressuring him so much.”

A closed her eyes this time.

“Okay.”

“A drink, love?”

“No, no. I don’t want a drink. I don’t want alcohol. I want to wake up sober and comfortable than with the taste of vodka in my mouth and a headache ready to split my head open.” She shifted to face him, and he welcomed her with a gentle smile on his handsome face. “I wish I could do more to you than a simple massage. But the investigation is getting nowhere and it’s draining me.”

“You don’t have to do more.” He kissed her gently, “This is all I need.”

“Should I make it up to you?”

“Sleep for me, A. That’s all I want you to do for me.”

Hours passed and eventually Peters had entered the office, smelling faintly of cigarettes as he set down the paper bag containing a large cup of coffee that lacked in sugar and cream.

“You look terrible,” he commented. A looked up at him with a glare, scowling.

“I usually give a shit, but today I don’t.” surprised at her swearing, he rose a brow. “We have two days, Peters. Two days. A bit more than forty-eight hours until someone dies at the hand of the murderer.”

“A fucking – a week?”

“Seven days between each life taken.”

“Late night to early morning.”

Touta entered the room at that point, tsking at where the conversation had gone. “Don’t talk about that, for God’s sake. Look at me, both of you.” Touta sat down on a chair, facing his squad mates and taking a coffee from the paper bag, “The next sin to be represented can’t be pride.”

“Why not?” A interjected, “He’s going at this at a random order. There are four more to be done; it has a twenty-five percent chance of being picked to be represented next.”

Peters looked at both before clearing his throat. “I might have to agree.” The Japanese and the half-German turned to Peters, the brunette merely shrugging. “I was born and raised Catholic. My parents were slightly devoted to religion, and I was – and still am – devoted to work. But I know the basics.”

“Go on.”

“Pride is said to be the mother root of all sins,” the man explained. “That’s what I had learned. Be too arrogant, too full of yourself, and you’ll find yourself further inch by inch into the rest of the sins. Take me, for example. Arrogant as fuck, now I smoke, occasionally drink and was previously known as a womanizer who liked to enjoy my nights with a beautiful lady by my side. Bam – I’ve got three out of seven.”

“That doesn’t really prove it,” A muttered. “Those are just things that happened while your personality developed.”

“But he has a point,” Touta said with a slight smile. “I see how Peters is thinking.”

“I did my studying,” Peters rolled his eyes. “And I bet Touta did his research.”

“That I did,” the other replied, reaching into his bag and taking out a folder. A took hold of the object and opened it, flipping through the pages with interest. “Forums, questions, research…majority of people, of those who are Christians and Catholics consider pride to be the deadliest of them all.”

She stayed quiet and merely read. Peters took the chance to speak.

“So he might save pride for last. That’s the thing.”

“Like some sort of road leading to the final sin,” Touta continued. “And when he does it, it’s over. He’ll most likely be on the run from that point on, or live normally while we frustrate ourselves over him.”

A bit her lip. “Let’s hope he manages to screw up down the road.”

“I wouldn’t hope for that. Our guy’s been careful all this time.”

“There goes our small source of hope,” A said dryly.

“Come on, A.” Peters sat on her table, arms folded across his chest, “This isn’t a hoping game. This is logic. A puzzle. I thought you liked puzzles?”

“I like them when all the pieces are in place.”

“Don’t we all,” Touta murmured. At that, Peters cleared his throat.

“I was thinking about this last night. What if the victims weren’t to be used as symbolisms? What if they were used as direct representations instead?”

“Direct representations?” the other man questioned.

“Isn’t it obvious? Gambling. Indulgence. Sex. Those three represented the vices directly.”

“So what’s the difference between the direct representation versus a simple symbolism?”

“It means that we can identify possible victims this early on and won’t need to think deeply into the details.”

The rest of their time in the office was spent analyzing, discussing, debating.  A stayed silent until halfway through, contributing as well until it had reached early in the evening.

The office was filled with papers and pens astray, with cups of coffee and containers of food that came from the bistro nearby. Touta had just stood to stretch his legs and regain feeling, while the other two were still seated, having gone quiet this time.

Peters spoke. “Do you think it can benefit us?”

“Benefit?” A questioned. “What?”

“If we let the next murder take place.”

The results were instantaneous. Touta and A voiced out a single answer: no.

“We don’t solve cases that way,” the Japanese said firmly. “Definitely not, Peters. We’re not endangering a single life in exchange for more information. We ourselves should be gathering that information we need without putting anyone else in danger.”

A closed her eyes. “Three people have died so far…the next person’s blood could stain our hands and not just the killer’s. I’m not letting anyone die for progress.” She opened them and looked at Peters, who looked abashed yet guilty for suggesting it. “What would your father do?”

It took him a bit to compose himself before replying in a plucked voice.

“He wouldn’t let his co-workers do that.” The bite in his tone was showing, and the two remaining exchanged a look before Touta spoke up.

“You’re not Nathan Peters. We know that, Samuel.” Peters’ expression turned confused at the usage of his first name, “But we have to think of what others would do. Just because this place is run by him, doesn’t mean we have to think and do things how he does.” Arianne rose from her seat, standing to the window and merely watching what was going on outside. “We are not L just as you are not your father.”

She met the gazes of her squad mates through the window’s reflection.

“We are Squad A. And we’re going to do things our way.”