The kill was complete, but the work was not.
The moment the gunshot faded and the target fell, Vodka had already unbuckled his seatbelt and flung open his door. He moved with practiced efficiency, circling to the passenger side and crouching by the body. His hands were a blur as he rifled through the man's pockets. His grin was sharp and momentary when he flipped open the retrieved phone and found it intact.
"Got the phone, Big Brother."
"Move."
Gin's reply was ice.
Vodka slid back behind the wheel, restarted the car, and they drove away, leaving the cooling body in the alley's gloom.
They hadn't gone far—just a few blocks—when Vodka pulled over again, this time in front of another unlit alleyway. He turned to look into the backseat. "Lin. The bag behind you, please."
His tone was unexpectedly polite. Haruki recalled their first meeting, where Vodka's demeanor had been far more dismissive. A faint smile touched his lips as he handed over the briefcase.
Inside was a sleek, compact laptop. Vodka retrieved the dead man's phone, connected it via a cable, and his fingers began flying across the keyboard. A cascade of green code scrolled down the screen, its glow reflected in the dark lenses of his sunglasses.
"Big Brother, found it. This guy wiped a lot of chat logs and texts."
"Retrieve them."
"Already on it."
Haruki watched, a flicker of internal surprise passing through him. The Organization's technological capabilities always seemed to be a generation ahead. In an era of bulky desktops, Vodka's portable setup was cutting-edge.
"Got it. He's been dealing with these two numbers. I'll have someone trace them immediately." Vodka typed out a quick message and sent it.
While they waited for the reply, Haruki glanced at his watch. Five seconds to 10:09 PM.
Vodka, having finished his digital purge, packed up the computer and started the car again.
They had just rolled forward about ten meters, beginning to accelerate, when Haruki caught the blinding glare of high beams rapidly closing in from behind in the side mirror.
"This guy…"
Vodka noticed it too, initially dismissing it. But then the motorcycle swerved past them and cut sharply in front, forcing Vodka to slam on the brakes.
"Hey, you looking to die?!" Vodka roared, rolling down his window.
The motorcycle rider dismounted, his movements unsteady. He staggered directly toward the passenger side, one hand digging inside his trench coat. He pulled out a knife.
Gin's window was already rolling down. Haruki saw his hand slide into his own coat, undoubtedly gripping cold steel.
"Hey, pretty boy! Hand over everything valuable!" Tsukida Taku was a rough-looking man, his eyes bloodshot and wild. He jabbed the knife through the window, the point aimed at Gin's face, his words slurred and spittle flying.
Haruki noted the man's shallow, rapid breathing and his unnaturally dilated pupils. Under the influence.
Gin's response was devoid of emotion. His hand came up in a blur—even Haruki, who was expecting it, barely tracked the motion. The silenced pistol spat. The bullet tore through the skin of Tsukida Taku's forehead, leaving a neat, dark hole.
"Ugh… ah…"
Tsukida Taku's pupils contracted. His gaze went vacant. His grip on the knife faltered, the blade tilting as if to fall into the car.
But Gin's other hand shot out, snatching the falling knife mid-air. In one fluid, brutal motion, he reversed the grip and drove the blade deep into the man's neck, then shoved the body aside with contemptuous force.
Not a single drop of blood marred the car's interior.
Vodka put the car back in gear and drove on.
From the back seat, Haruki cast a single, dispassionate glance at Tsukida Taku's now-still form crumpled on the asphalt. He felt nothing.
Two bodies in under five minutes. The papers would have a field day tomorrow or the day after. Tsukida Taku's death and his robbery spree would make the news. The exact amount stolen—23,601 yen—would be confirmed then.
Vodka navigated back into the neon heartbeat of the city. As soon as his phone chimed with an incoming message, he found an inconspicuous spot to park, reopened his laptop, and logged into an encrypted email client.
"They're here. Hah… two more damned rats."
The email contained two files. Opening them revealed photos and detailed dossiers on two men, complete with logs of their recent movements and known haunts.
"Haruki."
Gin stared at the files on the laptop screen, not bothering to turn his head. "Prove your usefulness again. Dispose of these two."
"…Peripheral associates with some ties to the Organization, I take it."
Haruki studied the two faces on the screen with detached interest.
"Yeah. Lately, there's been a lot of restless lowlifes, even some small-time gangsters thinking they can play games with us," Vodka sneered. "Guys like these are fools. They don't understand the Organization's reach, willing to sell us out for pocket change."
"Understood." Haruki idly spun his phone in his hand. "What's the timeframe for 'as soon as possible'?"
"The sooner, the better. But no later than five days."
Given Haruki's… unique methodology, Gin's deadline was generous.
"Two days, then. Any specific requirements for cause of death?"
"The method is irrelevant. I only care about the result."
Killing was killing. Aesthetics were pointless noise.
Gin didn't dwell on it. Yet, a thought crystallized in his mind: (A killer who treats murder as an art form?)
He glanced sideways at Haruki. The young man had accepted the assignment with that same, unflappable smile, showing no trace of pressure. His previous aquarium operation had been a clockwork sequence of calculated steps. He'd achieved the objective flawlessly, yet his mood had visibly soured simply because the target's final posture wasn't to his liking…
In other words, he couldn't tolerate any flaw in his own meticulously crafted "scenario."
(A tedious perfectionist. Or perhaps just obsessive.)
Gin internally scoffed. He had no interest in the quirks of his subordinates. Competence and loyalty were the only currencies that mattered.
And if Haruki proved his capability once more, Gin saw no reason not to grant him certain… conveniences.
"I'll handle it my way, then. Send me copies of those files. Also," Haruki added, his tone casual, "if there's nothing else, could you drop me off near Motoazabu Apartments?"
Vodka glanced at Gin for confirmation.
"Take him."
The car slid back into the flow of traffic.
Haruki mused that the Organization was surprisingly easy to work with. Demonstrate sufficient skill, and even Gin would provide a lift.
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