Chapter Four

Crawford leaned up against the window, eyes watching Tokyo as the sun melted sluggishly below the skyline. Soft bangs of black hair obscured his vision, a pair of glasses had been pushed down to the end of his nose.

He wore Black Jeans cologne by Versace, and adorned his body in Gucci this, Armani that, and Prada everything. His glasses were an expensive Fendi he had recently bought three days ago, a hefty price to pay for ones that he’ll probably break on his trip back to the States.

He stood against the window sill, mumbling complaints through his head as the dusty, gray sky of inner-city Tokyo deepened. His new job had been too easy to score, his new position too easy to land. He had been working with Reiji less than a week and he already had the old man listening to his every suggestion. Unfortunately, this was not the path to supremacy Crawford had been taught to follow as a child. Where was the hard work? Where was the backbreaking labor? Was this simply a reward for his striking intelligence and bold ambition? Lord knew he deserved a break.

Although unexceptional, Crawford’s motivations were airtight, his predictions always ruling in his favor. It was sad really; Reiji Takatori had been such a proud man before his son’s death. Now, the eldest Takatori was being bled dry of his influence and authority by another man half his age.

Crawford dropped his arms from the cross they made over his chest and peered into the dimly lit office behind him. Even squinting, he could barely make out a woman’s silhouette in the corner, silently seated against the back of a couch, unmoving only for the glint of a silver chain around her neck.

I…have a proposition for you, Elise. His conversation with the woman earlier that day replayed in his mind. One you may actually like.

Crawford’s “proposition” was set. Ingenious, really. It played upon the Reiji’s thirst for wealth, tickled the old man’s lust for power and possession. Crawford saw no possible way for his plan to fail him. He would have what he wanted, yet come out clean and innocent. Unfortunately, she would have what she wanted also, just with the satisfying crimson stain of revenge on her hands.

Crawford reached down to unlatch the window. A pleasant updraft of wind flooded into the cramped apartment, the tips of his hair brushing against the strong edge of his jaw. The breeze smelled of cold rain and smoke, a lingering aroma that he had come to enjoy.

In the background, the setting sun scanned the third building of Takatori's empire, inching lazily down the edges of metal and glass. Light that had reflected from an adjacent tower started to creep into the office. The rays were bright and long enough to sweep into the back of the room, splashing color onto whatever object it was able to touch. The sun crept up two ebony legs, highlighting Vittadini heels and a black, Dior business skirt.

The crest of a woman’s thigh was illuminated, the shallow of her waist lit up, the brown of her hands warmed at the touch of light. Nested snugly in a tangle of fingers lay a .45 colt pistol that smelled of gunpowder.

A cedar colored neck, the soft curves of a chin, lips a tarnished bronze brightened.

We’re both fed up with him, you know…

The sun brushed against a lock of hair tipped in golden ambers and browns, up past a delicately bronzed nose. The sun kissed her eyes, both an abyss of black. They caught the light and glistened.

In the small, silent office, an alarm suddenly chirped.

“It’s time.” Crawford said as he looked down at his wrist. There was an uncharacteristically eager quality to his voice. “Let’s go.”

She drove, as all of them did, a silver Bentley Continental. The leather interior had been a gift from Estelle years back, as was the matching chrome rims and framework. The Bentley boasted a moon roof, a disregarded stereo system, and a GPS tracking unit used perhaps twice in it’s lifetime. Autumn had ingeniously parked in a wooded area behind the bank, shielded from unwanted attention by a pendulous overhang of dry leaves and shrubs. Turning off the engine, she silently leaned back in her seat and looked down at her hands.

“Autumn, it’ll only take a second.” Rhia said, trying to use her most reassuring tone possible. “We’ll go in, do a bit of snooping, and be out before anyone even notices we’re gone.”

“Let’s just hurry this up.” Autumn answered forcefully. “The only fucking reason I’m here is to prove you wrong.”

“Hopefully you will.” The blond responded quickly, sharply. She wasn’t content with the snide tone Autumn had chosen, wasn’t exactly thrilled with how rude the older woman had become.

“I’m going to miss a rerun of 21 Jump Street if we don’t hurry.” Marie’s melodic voice sounded, her tone light and easy. She reached out from the darkness of the car, her two silver eyes became visible before her face. She abruptly felt a vile repulsion deep within her gut; an uncomfortable lump ascended in her throat.

“This disloyalty thing isn’t settling well with me.” She whispered.

“This has nothing to do with disloyalty. Our job is to sniff out traitors.” Rhiannon said, sighing heavily as she reached over for the door handle. “All we’re doing is making sure that everything and everyone is kept in check.”

“Traitors?” Autumn looked up, her eyes glowing. “We never said anything about Sofia being a fucking traitor.”

“Look,” Rhiannon’s long fingers brushed against the bridge of her forehead, lightly pushing a few blond locks away from her eyes. “I didn’t specifically mean Sofia. I just meant that, in general, our job is to rat out any potential moles that are working with Kritiker.”

“Sofia wouldn’t just abandon Kritiker for something as trivial as a promotion in her father's business.” Marie said as she leaned forward. She rested her chin on the shoulder of Rhia’s seat, blowing pieces of crimson-tipped hair away from her lips. “She loves us too much.”

“Marie, would you fucking shut up for a minute so Rhia and I can talk?” Autumn suddenly snapped as she swiveled around in her seat.

“I’m just making a point.”

“You’re not helping.” Autumn continued to bark, holding her hand out to quiet Rhiannon’s opposition.

Marie searched Rhia’s eyes for help, sighing loudly when she was unable to find any. Defeated, she uttered something in English and pushed open her door. A fresh breath of air filled the car, the smell of earth and trees mixed with the sophisticated scent of leather. Now alone, the two of them watched Marie move in front of the car, purposely hitting hard against Autumn’s door as she walked past.

“She was right.” Rhia finally spoke, her voice sounding tense. “She was just making a point. A good point, in my opinion.”

“I know.” The redhead moaned softly as she followed Marie with her eyes. “I just…”

Rhia watched as Autumn paused, brows folded and anxious. Outside, Marie had taken a seat on the ground, Indian-style, with arms crossed in front of her chest as she stared into space.

“I haven’t had very many people in my life to trust.” Autumn finally said, hardly a whisper. “And I think of you and Sofia and Marie as my sanity. If you fuck this up, Rhiannon, if somehow we’re wrong and Sofia finds out about what we're doing, I’ll never forgive you.”

“Understood.” Rhia said gently. “I just want to know if Kritiker thinks Sofia has anything to do with the murder.”

“Ok...” Autumn motioned towards the end of the parking lot, towards a building illuminated by spot lights. “So why the fuck are we here?”

Further on, past Marie’s head, adorned with poorly kept ivy vines and dying morning glory, sat an office complex. It was short and boxy, laden with windows and overcompensated for by the sheer magnitude of its entranceway. Cattycornered to the road, it was surrounded on two sides by disheveled parking lots, and on one by the start of Tokyo city. The lots lay slightly askew to the foyer, a handful of cars still parked on its cracked surface. Looking up against its metal sides, a few random dots of light shown from windows, the evening’s stragglers. There was a stout sign, the same color and architectural design as the building, that read “Manufacturers Union Bank”. The public knew it as a workplace dedicated to the fair and loyal act of loan distribution and currency maintenance.

Rhiannon, Autumn, and Marie knew it as Kritiker HQ.

“We enter.” Rhia answered, heading out of the car. “We find out if Kritiker has any suspicions of Sofia, whether or not she’s working more for her father then for us. Then we leave.”

“And what if they do find something that’s suspicious?” Autumn asked as she stepped onto the dirt covered ground.

“Then we take into consideration that Sofia may be a mole sent to spy on us by Reiji.”

“And if everything is fine?”

“We pretend like this never happened.”

There was a familiar hum of crickets outside; the sporadic chirps of frogs and insects nestled in the thick undergrowth of dogwood and oak were loud and prominent. The sun, which had set a while ago, was replaced by the milky, white light of the moon. The night was uncharacteristically still, no breeze, just the faint lull of grasshoppers and cicadas.

“Wouldn’t they tell us if they thought Sofia was a spy for Reiji?” Autumn asked quickly as she spotted the blonde’s anxious eyes over the arch of the hood. “I mean, we really don’t have to go sneaking around to find this stuff out, do we?”

“They would probably think we were working with her as well. Besides, does Kritiker ever tell us anything?” Rhia shut her door and started towards Marie; the brunette’s head turned as she watched them approach. “For example, we know nothing of Weiß other than the fact that they’re exact replicas of Tödliche Künste in male form. We know nothing of Estelle other than her last name, nor do we have any clue who Persia is.”

“Actually,” Marie said as she stood and brushed herself off. “We know that Persia is the leader of Weiß. Other then that, we know zilch.”

“Well, I guess that will change in a short while.” Autumn replied as she inched her hands into her back pockets.

“Exactly.” Rhia said as the three of them looked up at Kritiker. “Like she always says ‘Ignorance, in our profession, is lethal’.”

For a moment, the three of them stood there, silent, their breath hallowing into small, inaudible drafts. They paused before a Maintenance door hidden from the eyes of the road, far behind Kritiker. A silence fell upon them; an unsettling dread drifted around their bodies. They had gotten this far, yes, they had built up the nerve to suggest horrendous ideas about their loyal leader. Likewise, they had become so superficial and skeptical that the drive to Kritiker had almost been easy. But, now, they stood unmoving, hesitant, frightened of what they could, and possibly would, find. Courage and strength had fled; logic and reason had been obstructed by uncertainty. Suddenly, in their minds, ignorance seemed easier to comprehend then the cold, disheartened truth.

“We’re cracking Persia’s computer right?” Marie whispered as she leaned down in front of the knob, one hand clutching a metal spike, the other slowly moving the handle. “How long will hacking into the system take you?”

“Not long.” Rhia replied quietly, “I know where Persia’s office is. All I need is the two of you to keep watch.”

A metallic click filled the air; Marie straightened up from her crouched position and stepped away from the door, the long metal spike sliding back into her pocket.

“Knock yourselves out.” She said plainly.

Rhia was the first to move, her arm reaching out to grasp the door handle. The three knew that if she opened it, that if they walked inside, they would have committed the ultimate act of treachery not only to Sofia, but to themselves. If the three of them could think up this suspicion, what kept them from materializing other, more ghastly accusations towards Kritiker itself? What kept them from doubting Estelle? What kept them from deceiving each other?

Betrayal is dealt with strongly in this business, Estelle once said, it’s neither humored or tolerated.

Ironically, they pushed on because they were frightened of betrayal, because their thirst was, above everything else, for truth and knowledge.

Besides, wasn’t it Sofia that once told them, ‘Ignorance, in our profession, is lethal’?