Set a policeman to catch a policeman ( 1/2 )

The oldster took his day off to go to Solister, a town neighbouring Asperia. He took a walk across the town, quite thoughtful. On his way, he stopped by a pub offering quality bottles. Leaving soon with some acquisitions, he continued his progression through the streets until reaching a place on the margin of Solister. This was the graveyard.

     Rambling through the graves, the strapping fellow with a greying beard came to seat on the edge of one of them. Remaining silent, he unpinned two bottles of beer and placed one of them next to him, on the cold stone. Holding the other between his thick fingers, he toasted with the one on the grave before lifting it up to the sky.

“Cheers, Shiro. I've got you a red beer from Chez Gaston, as you love them.”

     And the awesome old-timer took a sip of his bottle.

     Reisig kept company to this departed, remembering stories from the past. Solister had been the scene of numerous lives, and he rewound the print he left there himself each time he visited this place.

     He took another sip.

“Dude, I must confess one thing to you. Kazuya's son, it's for soon that we're gonna sort out his case. War is declared, 'know it?”

     Nothing but silence answered him when Reisig glanced at the headstone.

“…Yeah. That gonna be something. My little finger tells me you'll soon have new small comrades up there. Who ever knows? Maybe I'd be part of them.”

     Afterwards he didn't add anything more, drinking his beer without any sound troubling him. While flowing down his throat, each sip heated him up as pleasantly as fireplace during winter. Thus he profited from his bottle to the very last drop.

“Ok. Time to go back for me.”

     The oldster gave himself a strong pat on his thighs to motivate himself and quickly stood up, taking away the empty bottle. He took a last glance at his old friend, his eyes on the tombstone. Then he left the graveyard.

     Whereas he was about to take the way back to Asperia, the old-timer made a detour on his walk. He came to a halt at a street corner. His eyes were upon a house, from underneath of his hat. Reisig didn't move an inch, his hands in his pockets.

“That's his house…”

     For a long while, he hesitated to go and knock at the door as he so often did over time. What had he imagined? That they would patch things up sipping a glass of gin and moaning about the past? That he would obtain answers to his questions?

     It was not until after a time that he resumed movement, walking past the building. At the moment he stepped right in front of the door the oldster stopped again, taking a glance at it. Fumbling around in his pocket, he pulled a photo out and got to the threshold, slipping it down into the letter box.

     Thereafter, Reisig took a step back and already turned around to part from this town, displaying a stern expression.

***

“Of course. My secretary will send you the plans of our newest model. Take a look at it before our upcoming meeting. Yes. I'm also looking forward to work with you. Have a fruitful week too, M. Dansh.”

     Taking off his headset, a forty-six-years-old bent over his deck to straighten his golden name plate. Kazuya Idonosoko was the name lettered upon it.

     As he expected no additional professional call for the rest of the day, he went off the room and took a fresh drink. While passing in front of the hallway, he beheld a paper on the wooden floor near the door.

     Soon bending down to grasp it, he stood up observing the back of a picture. A quite old picture with even some brown spots, dated 24 years back in time.

     The photography represented two young men sitting side by side, handing pistols pointed up towards the ceiling, looking playful. A third fellow obviously older stood behind them, an arm wrapped around each of them. He had a goatee at each side of his chin and a striped hat. One of the young men was anyone but Kazuya.

     Catching sight of it, the latter looked tense and his face became gloomy. Only one person could let it there, and he knew what it meant. A note of caution…

***

     Well hidden in a van, a squad of policemen was gathered round a listening device. In the middle of them, inspector Idonosoko seemed particularly serious, paying attention to every single word he overheard.

“I hope for you that you have the amount we agreed of.” a deep pure male voice formulated.

“Count it as many times as it pleases you.” a confident feminine voice answered, with a touch of defiance.

     Out of the vehicle, night had fallen for a long while. Near of their location was a disused warehouse. Seemingly not that forsaken tonight. A few men in black suits were patrolling, armed to the teeth with their machine guns. If the police van got unnoticed, it was thanks to a hologram spread all around, dissimulating it into a container.

“Stand ready to intervene.” Kiseki ordered.

     At the same time, inside the warehouse, five men similar to the ones patrolling outside were standing still behind a powerfully built man in a white suit and black gloves. The latter was sitting at a round wooden table on which the person facing him dropped neglectfully a heavy bag. The man appearing to be the leader of the minions snapped his fingers so that one of them approached to open the bag and count the bills. Through his sunglasses, he stared at the woman sitting in front of him.

     On the opposite side of the table a woman in short red dress, cross-legged. She spread her arms all along the armrests. With long black hair, her golden eyes were fixed back on the man.

     Nothing came disturbing that silent “exchange” until the minion in charge of counting confirmed the amount of money in the bag. Following that, the boss did a slow hand gesture and another man in black suit brought to the table a silver box. He opened and put it in front of the woman.

     The latter leaned forward, her long sleek hair slithering in her back, and grabbed in between two fingers one of the translucent gems, bringing it close to her eyes.

“A beautiful diamond, indeed. A pure reflect…” commented Ling. “Sufficiently pure to allow me proposing it to a picky goldsmith, couldn't I?”