Noir Fan Fiction ❯ Red and Black ❯ The Calm Before A Storm ( Chapter 3 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Red And Black - By Kirika
******

The third chapter. No action yet….

- Kirika

******

Chapter 3 - The Calm Before A Storm


Mireille released a tired sigh and leaned back in her chair, rubbing her eyes. She was seated at the billiard table that doubled as a desk in her apartment, going over all the data Breffort's folder had contained on their new enemies, and in turn doing some research of her own via the Internet, gathering what accessible information on the three individuals she could… which, incidentally, hadn't been very much at all, especially on the topics of Ryosuke and Vincent. She had been staring at her PC's glowing monitor and reading a host of documents and newspaper clippings until late last night before she had resumed again early this morning. The time now was edging towards afternoon. Mireille felt worn-out. She had become too out of practice at inspecting assignment details and then verifying their credibility, as well as doing her own limited investigation of the targets. But the chores were necessary pains--it wasn't just because her and Kirika's 'employer' was Soldats; a professional assassin who trusted their employer implicitly should not claim to be a professional at all.

The contents of Breffort's dossier were spread out all over the billiard table's green felt surface, lying in amongst numbered pool balls painted in a variety of colours related to the game. Mireille sometimes brought the balls out to idly amuse herself with while she performed the preliminary tasks required before an assignment could be undertaken. Already most of the corner pockets of the table were filled to capacity with the polished spheres; the blonde woman had been working for some time, after all.

Newspaper articles both photocopied and original, and all printed in Japanese, littered the table, along with innumerable pages of typed documents which gave detailed background assessments on Kaede and her two cohorts, Ryosuke and Vincent, and additionally recounted the history of their activities in the world, ranging from early in their lives when they were but children, until the present date. Mireille hadn't been able to read the newspaper clippings and facsimiles, but she could usually get the gist of most of the articles by looking at their accompanying pictures, if the story in question had one. Nearly all were on Kaede Ishinomori or her departed mother, Hikaru Ishinomori, and either about their family business, Ishinomori Pharmaceuticals; the murder of Hikaru; or dated more recently, Kaede's upcoming court case. Of course Mireille couldn't understand a word of any news report, which was mildly frustrating to say the least, even with pictures to look at. She would have to get Kirika to help her in that respect later.

Mireille placed her arms on the armrests of her chair and skimmed her eyes over the dozens of papers arranged haphazardly before her on the billiard table. Her gaze eventually fell on one of the photos of Ryosuke Ishinomori--the man, like in all of his pictures, decked out in a long black overcoat. The enclosed report on Ryosuke--thankfully penned in French--stated that he was twenty-six years old, and was born in Yokohama, Japan, to the prosperous Ishinomori family--a family that held strong ties to the covert group, Soldats, and had done so over a decade. But despite being the first born of a rich lineage, it was written that shortly after his father's--Shinichi Ishinomori's--demise under suspicious circumstances, a teenage Ryosuke cut all connections to his family--with the sole exception of his sister--abandoning private schools and sizable wealth alike for unknown reasons. He then disappeared totally from the Soldats radar for several months--a feat that was notable in itself--before popping up again in the ranks of the Kanagawa Kotetsu yakuza, a moderately sized organised crime group based in his home city of Yokohama. It was within that criminal syndicate he remained for a number of years, gradually rising higher in the clan's hierarchy, gaining respect and power, until his sister, Kaede, recalled him to the Ishinomori family's embrace after their mother's passing and Kaede's subsequent inheritance of the empire. Strangely, Ryosuke did so immediately, deserting his yakuza brothers without looking back. And stranger still, the Kanagawa Koutetsu let him without any reprisals whatsoever. The report went on to say Ryosuke was still looked upon in a favourable light by the yakuza clan, and as a result it was suspected the group had been swallowed into Kaede's pseudo Soldats fold. Indeed, it was recently rumoured that the Kanagawa Koutetsu had been disbanded.

Mireille ran the fingers of one hand through her blonde locks and then transferred her eyes to a photograph of Ryosuke's partner. The document on Vincent Hsu, or rather, Wen-Sung Hsu, reported that he was twenty-four years of age, and born in Hong Kong. Raised in obscurity in a Catholic boarding school as an orphan and given a Christian name, Vincent purportedly fell into the Luen Kung Lok triad at a young age, engaging in disreputable but petty misdeeds on the streets spanning from assault and battery to extortion and burglary, a few of which he spent some time in jail for during his youth. However, in spite of his early setbacks, he soon achieved the rank of 'Straw Sandal' in the triad, becoming the liaison between the Luen Kung Lok and more than a few yakuza clans overseas in Japan. Soldats presumed that was how Vincent and Ryosuke had met; during one of the meetings between members of the Luen Kung Lok triad and the Kanagawa Koutetsu yakuza, arranged and mediated by the fine-looking man. After several such meetings, Vincent eventually stayed in Japan with Ryosuke and the Kanagawa Koutetsu, posing as the resident contact between the yakuza clan and the triad he belonged to. When Kaede summoned her older brother to her side, Vincent was said to have joined him with almost the same fervour.

The final thorough report included in Breffort's folder was on twenty-five year old Yokohama-born Kaede Ishinomori herself, which Mireille had studied very carefully like the other two before it. Following her brother's vanishing act after their father's death, Kaede remained with her mother for a time, but soon left her side to unite with Ryosuke as a member of the Kanagawa Koutetsu yakuza clan, serving with them as a truly brutal enforcer. It wasn't until Hikaru Ishinomori's murder that Kaede left the clan to take the reins of her family's empire, bringing her brother and his partner with her shortly afterwards. Before long she started aggressively expanding her newly reaped domain and consequently aggravating Soldats with her brazen conquests.

Oddly, Hikaru Ishinomori left the entire family's fortune to her daughter in her Will rather than to her son, the oldest and presumed rightful heir. Mireille wasn't quite sure what to make of it. But, considering that Hikaru Ishinomori had been a follower of Altena's, perhaps a matriarchal mentality had been adopted in the family.

Mireille bent forwards in her chair and picked up a slightly crinkled photo of Hikaru Ishinomori taken a few months before her death, the only one of the woman that had been contained in the intelligence folder. Dressed in an elegant dark blue business suit and with long flowing white hair that reached well past her shoulders, it was plain where Kaede and Ryosuke had gotten their looks. There was a newspaper clipping attached to the photo, and even with her nonexistent abilities in reading Japanese script, Mireille could tell it was about Hikaru Ishinomori's assassination. If the bullet hole ridden car in the black and white picture with the article was any indication, Kaede and Ryosuke's late mother had had a fatal encounter with a hail of lead. The Corsican wondered just how 'legitimate' Ishinomori Pharmaceuticals had been in the past if its majority owner and CEO back then had been shot to death by alleged 'business rivals'.

Mireille tossed the photo back with the others on the billiard table and turned her attention to her humming computer monitor. She had been having little luck discovering any further information on her and Kirika's new adversaries. Bar the online reports of Kaede's looming trial and Ishinomori Pharmaceuticals stock price trends or its research breakthroughs, there was absolutely nothing on the woman or her pair of 'Black Hands'. For the most part it seemed they were good at staying out of the limelight. But it wasn't surprising; generally people who lived in the darkness of the world were fairly adept at avoiding unwanted publicity. Usually such attention only came about when one was caught by the authorities, as in Kaede's case. Normally that would spell the end of one's career in the underworld even if they escaped prison or execution, although it was relative to their profession. For example, a contract killer would never be able to function efficiently again if her or his true identity, along with what they were accused of, was exposed to the entire globe, but a small time crook could suffer the same hardships yet continue to operate without too much difficultly.

Mireille closed her Web browser and relaxed back in her chair, her head inclined directly towards the ceiling, leaving her blonde tresses draped down the back of her chair. She shook out her mane of hair, before combing her fingers through the silky locks several times to make sure there were no tangles, and then placed her hands behind her head. She figured she had studied the contents of Breffort's intelligence dossier meticulously enough now. While virtually all of the newspaper articles remained unread because of the Japanese language barrier, Mireille felt she was familiar with the lion's share of the material that had been presented to her; she doubted the clippings would reveal any more insight into her and Kirika's enemies. It was time to start tracking down Ryosuke Ishinomori and Vincent Hsu.

Breffort's folder had included the whereabouts of Ryosuke and Vincent's last known accommodations in Paris, as well as the aliases they were using while within France's borders. However, after a quick inquiring phone call to the provided location, Mireille had learned that the two men were long gone from the luxury hotel they had previously been staying at… as she had suspected. Mireille hadn't believed Ryosuke and Vincent would have not relocated elsewhere after finding out a two man team of Soldats agents had been watching them… and after sending them to their graves, too.

While this would make hunting down the would-be Noir trickier, all was not lost. Ryosuke and Vincent's aliases would be the same--they would have to be to coincide with their forged passports… unless they were both equipped with more than one, but Mireille didn't what to think about that possibility. With their aliases more or less static, it would be a… relatively… simple matter of checking through every hotel and motel's guest database; as a rule the more lavish lodgings in the city had them, and the blonde believed her and Kirika's quarry would not lower their standards when moving accommodations--the hotel they had been staying at beforehand had certainly been upscale.

While Mireille's computer skills were adequate for the casual investigation of targets, sometimes one needed someone with a little more… flair, as in this particular circumstance. The Corsican assassin doubted she could break into and search through an untold number of hotel intranets without being caught or even successful for that matter, but luckily she knew someone just for this specific sort of task. And *only* for that reason.

Mireille was acquainted with a so-called hacker who lived and worked out of a basement below an old computer store in a somewhat rundown part of Paris. Lamentably, the hacker was amateurish in his business practices, and instead of accepting payment for his assistance electronically like Mireille would have preferred--thus permitting her to escape all contact with the hormonal teenage boy--he always desired cash upfront in a face-to-face exchange. But his services were cheap and reliable, and she occasionally took advantage of his abilities when it was required… that is, when she could tolerate the pimply-faced adolescent's crude come-ons and nauseating leers.

Mireille sighed up at the white painted ceiling above her. She and Kirika would have to visit Simon at some point today. There was no avoiding it. They needed to know where to find Ryosuke and Vincent as soon as possible. The earlier the two men were dead the earlier Mireille and Kirika could forget about this whole deviation from their happy lives and return to how it had been before.

As her thoughts turned to her introverted colleague Mireille's eyes softened, and her expression became rather sad. She hadn't heard so much as a peep from Kirika this morning after getting up early to continue her study of Breffort's material. The darkhaired girl had made only the briefest of appearances to water their pot plant by the window, though it hadn't even been her turn. That part of Mireille's usual morning ritual had slipped her mind. With the upheaval that had suddenly ripped its way into their lives all that had dominated the Corsican's thoughts of late was dealing with the threat to their peace.

Mireille turned her head lethargically towards the bedroom, gazing intently at the black adjoining wall as if her sight could somehow burrow its way through it to see the girl lying on the bed beyond. Mireille worried about Kirika. She wondered if she had made the right decision in rearming her with a gun. But it had been a necessary and ultimately inevitable evil. At least, it was what Mireille tried to believe. With her and Kirika travelling down the black path of murder once again, the girl would need a weapon to defend herself with. It was as simple as that. Neither Mireille nor Kirika had to like the fact; it was just the way it had to be. Nevertheless, that conviction didn't make Mireille feel any less disgusted with herself. She had willingly placed a gun in Kirika's hands, a tool which sole purpose was to kill, and as a result had banished any pretence that her partner was or could ever be an average girl who led a normal life, one free from violence and death.

Why did it have to be this way? Mireille was someone Kirika trusted, the *only* person Kirika trusted; the Corsican felt like she had betrayed that trust. She wondered if Kirika saw her in a different light now. Mireille wasn't sure if she could cope if the girl's feelings for her changed. She knew Kirika looked up to her to a degree, and had done so even before the events at the Manor. The sense of responsibility in maintaining that respected image of herself for Kirika's benefit was uncomfortable. In the past Mireille wouldn't have cared less about what her partner thought of her, but of course it was an entirely different story nowadays. The woman feared that one day she would inadvertently say or do something that would cause Kirika's impression of her to be shattered beyond repair.

Mireille hugged herself tightly, averting her eyes from the bedroom wall. But perhaps that day had already occurred when she had given Kirika a firearm, with all intention that the quiet girl used it. Mireille prayed that wasn't the case. She never wanted to let Kirika down. While she was the only person who mattered in Kirika's life, conversely the girl was the only person who mattered in her life also. If there came a time when Kirika no longer needed her, or worse, no longer felt the same way about her… Mireille didn't even want to contemplate what she would do. She had become dependent on Kirika for her happiness and more, no matter what she said or thought; a reality that scared her, if truth were told. But she supposed that was what it was to be in love. Still, it was quite a disconcerting feeling.

Mireille sat up straight and then pushed her chair away from the billiard table on its wheels, deciding to look in on the object of her affection, regardless of how unsettled that affection made her feel. She stood up from her chair and walked as quietly as she could towards the bedroom's stepped black wall, each footfall of her high heeled boots a soft, muted click on the hardwood floor. Mireille peeked over the top of the lowest section of the ebony partition and was rewarded with the sight of her partner lying flat on top of the covers of their bed, spreadeagled. Kirika gazed listlessly up at the ceiling, her mind seemingly far, far away from their apartment in Paris.

Instead of disturbing the taciturn girl's quiet introspection and revealing her presence, Mireille simply looked upon Kirika's frail form. Clad in khaki shorts and in the t-shirt emblazoned with France's national flag that Mireille had bought for her when the girl had first came to the country, Kirika looked positively adorable sprawled on the bed. But then, in Mireille's eyes, she practically always looked adorable. Truly, the woman was becoming a full-blown softy.

Mireille wondered what Kirika was reflecting on this time. Yesterday's undesirable events at Breffort's office and then the significant one that had subsequently occurred at home, no doubt. Suddenly Mireille's marginally lightening mood took a swan dive. She ruminated whether Kirika agreed with her decision to take Breffort's folder and consequently accept a dangerous assignment from Soldats, a group who were once their bitter foes... and really still were. In consenting to carry out the mission to deal with Kaede Ishinomori's Black Hands that were roaming about the city of Paris, Mireille had instantly doomed her and Kirika's peaceful lifestyle. She wondered if Kirika resented her for that, and not to mention handing her a gun as well.

No. Kirika would never feel that way towards Mireille despite any decision the blonde made, regardless of how bad or misguided it had been. It just wasn't in the girl's nature. At least, Mireille believed so. But then she could also hardly believe the naïve slip of a girl on the bed before her harboured a vicious and cold-blooded killer inside of her, the embodiment of an unforgiving and unfeeling murderer.

Yet Kirika had insisted they remain to listen to what Breffort had to say to begin with when Mireille herself was ready to leave the Soldats official's office. Maybe she was somewhat amiable to the idea of following a black path once again.

Mireille smiled derisively at the notion. Somehow she doubted that Kirika would jump at the chance to reside with violence and dice with death again.

Suddenly, Kirika's head shifted backwards on the pillow, and brown eyes encountered blue. Mireille put on a fond smile now that the girl was aware of her scrutiny, and then walked from behind the black bedroom wall, up the stairs, and then into the room itself. She approached the bed and stood by it as Kirika's immersed gaze travelled with her, the reticent girl impassively yet attentively watching her every move.

"We have to take a trip and visit someone today," Mireille informed Kirika in a mildly cheerful tone, as if they were going to see a favourite relative rather than an immature teenage computer enthusiast. "But before that I thought we should get in a little…." The blonde assassin turned her head pointedly in the direction of Kirika's parka, where the garment lay draped over the blue couch close by with its deadly contents hidden in one of its pockets. "…Practice…" she finished as the flicked her eyes back to the girl on the bed to determine if she understood or not.

Kirika looked to where Mireille had motioned with her head and upon seeing her parka, returned her eyes to the woman. She nodded from where she lay, giving a small sound of acceptance.

Mireille's smile grew a little, becoming a touch warmer at the positive response. Perhaps there wouldn't be any problems related to Kirika and the prospect of a fresh new wave of violence in her life. Nonetheless, Mireille wouldn't have minded knowing exactly what thoughts were running through her partner's pretty little head… and how they would affect the future.

******

Kirika traipsed a pace behind Mireille as she followed the woman deeper into the dim sewer tunnels that ran below the streets of Paris. In secret, crumbling places the sewer system joined with the old latticework of catacombs that were developed to house the dead during Roman times--or so Mireille had told her--and you could become easily lost in the murk, stumbling around aimlessly with the bones of the ancient departed. However, the path Kirika and Mireille currently walked was a familiar and well-worn one, and even though the darkhaired girl herself had not traversed it in quite some time, she still knew the way. And evidently so did her partner leading her.

The tunnels were almost completely silent, with the hustle and bustle of the city above barely audible; a low buzz on the edge of Kirika's hearing. An occasional drip of water plopping into the sewer canal punctured the otherwise noiseless environment, along with the rhythmic click of Mireille's high heels that echoed off the curved tunnel's dark grey walls. The only source of illumination was from the fiery red sconces mounted periodically on each side of the sewer passage, the feeble but many lights beating back the darkness to a mere gloom instead, allowing the two travellers footing to be sure and their course ahead relatively clear to their eyes.

Kirika's head was lowered, her soft reddish-brown eyes fastened to the stone paving in front of her. The backs of Mireille's black boots broke into the top of her vision, giving her a guide to follow while she wallowed in the thoughts swimming around in her mind… and on the deaden weight pulling down heavily on her parka from inside one of its pockets.

The sewer system a short distance away from their apartment--accessed by means of a manhole located in an isolated alleyway--was Kirika and Mireille's 'practice' spot. It was more like a place to refresh their shooting expertise in seclusion and security before an assignment was to be carried out. Since Mireille was taking Kirika to the site of their makeshift shooting range, it meant that the prospect of the slight girl having to wield her gun with deadly intent crept ever closer. It meant soon she would have to kill again.

Mireille's stride quickened somewhat as she and Kirika rounded a corner, their chalk drawn circular target now just visible off in the distance about twenty metres or so away. As Kirika and her partner came closer, the girl saw that the target had seen a little more use than she previously remembered. The large white circle with a smaller one scrawled within looked much the same as several months earlier, but with the exception of a noticeable increase in the depth of the divot inside the centre ring. Countless bullets had burrowed their way into the concrete segment of wall surrounded by the chalk loop during Kirika and Mireille's time as Noir, each of their fired slugs chipping off a fragment of stone until a deep gouge had been left behind. However, Kirika could see Mireille must have spent additional time down in their dank, private shooting range during her… absence from her blonde partner's side. She wondered why. Maybe it had been in preparation for the woman's advent to the Manor to save Kirika from herself. Although she doubted a single clip's worth of 9mm Parabellum rounds could have created such a marked growth in the scribbled target's aperture.

"Hmm, this has seen a lot of use," Mireille commented, also taking note of the large crater in the sewer wall. She walked over to the flashlight lying on the ground nearby--left from their previous visits--and switched it on, illuminating the wall ahead in a halo of white light and in turn making it clearer to see. "Perhaps we should find ourselves a new spot?" she proposed, looking back over her shoulder to Kirika who was standing demurely to her rear.

Kirika shook her head at the suggestion, uttering a diminutive mumble in the negative. While the rudimentary shooting range was in bad repair; it was *their* shooting range, their special little spot. It didn't matter the purpose of the chalk drawn target was for exercising her and Mireille's accuracy with their respective firearms, an exercise that would sooner or later be put into practice against real, flesh and blood targets. It was a spot that Kirika and Mireille came to alone to perform a joint activity undisturbed; a private, exclusive spot just for the two of them. Even if the nature of that activity possessed foreboding undertones, it didn't alter the fact that it and the place they had adopted to carry it out solely belonged to Kirika and Mireille. *Anything* that Kirika shared with her partner was something she treasured deeply.

Mireille smiled at Kirika warmly. "I don't think so either," she said softly, agreeing with the girl. But as she spoke the like-minded words Mireille's smile faltered a bit and her eyes shifted over and past her short partner's shoulders, back to the where they had just treaded only several moments earlier. She looked at the point where the sewer tunnel's path rounded the corner to the right with a rather wary gaze, as if half-expecting someone to appear from behind it. Kirika didn't believe anyone would, though. She was certain she would have detected the reverberations of an interloper's footsteps bouncing off the tunnel's walls long before they ever came within view; the faintest of noises were amplified tenfold in the old sewers. They could be utilised as effective early warning signals, which Kirika frequently made use of.

Tearing her eyes away from the corner, Mireille turned around fully to face Kirika, her smile returning to its former radiance. "I'll go first, okay?" she said, reaching casually into the handbag she had brought with her and pulling out her loaded Walther P99.

Kirika nodded in acquiesce and obediently took the white and pink striped handbag offered to her by Mireille to hold while the woman herself brushed up on her shooting skills. The docile girl retreated a couple of steps to give her partner some space to move, and then simply stood, mutely observing the blonde.

Mireille spread her legs a fraction and raised her gun in her right hand towards the chalk target on the sewer wall a dozen or so metres opposite. Bringing up her left hand underneath her right to steady her aim, she exhaled slowly and then squeezed the trigger of her firearm, sending a round at the small circle scrawled inside the larger on the wall.

A puff of grey dust near the centre of the target accompanied by the crack of a bullet ricocheting off stone proved that Mireille's commencing shot was on track, and it was swiftly followed by another puff and crack, and then another and another; sixteen in total, and all originating from within the middle chalk circle's boundary. It was evident to Kirika that her partner's accuracy with a gun had not diminished very much, if it had at all.

Having emptied her Walther's magazine completely into the tunnel wall, Mireille gave a pleased smile at her flawless performance and nodded to herself in satisfaction. "Your turn," she then said to Kirika as she turned to the girl, ejecting the expended clip from her gun as she did so.

Kirika returned Mireille's handbag to the woman and then wordlessly swapped places with her, being careful not to slip on any of the spent casings that littered the ground. However, as she stared at the two chalk circles ahead of her, Kirika hesitated. She would have to fire her gun--her instrument of murder. It may have been against an insignificant target drawn on a lifeless wall, but she feared that her simple willingness to pull the trigger of her weapon at anything--inanimate or otherwise--would be enough to entice the darkness inside of herself to rise further, and thus weaken her struggle against it. Purely taking the Beretta from Mireille had been the first step in her journey towards darkness; firing it here and now would be the second. A second step closer to her other self.

But it was unavoidable, wasn't it? Kirika had to use her gun--if not now, then most definitely later. It would be better in fact if she tempered the effect of firing it on an inert target rather than a live one. Maybe it would make it easier to use in the future like before, when she had first met Mireille… but that was exactly what she was afraid of. The easier it became to wield a weapon, the less her resistance to the darkness would consequently be.

With a virtually imperceptible sigh, Kirika reached inside her parka's right pocket and retrieved her Beretta. Already it felt lighter in her grasp than the last time she had held it. Warmer, too--it no longer numbed the flesh and chilled the bones of her hand.

Kirika was acutely aware of Mireille watching her; her partner's face expressionless, almost cold even. It conjured up the memories of the first few weeks she had spent with the blonde, when Mireille was considerably less than affectionate towards her. Kirika didn't like it when Mireille looked at her in that fashion, especially these days.

Knowing what Mireille was waiting for--what she wanted from her--Kirika slowly levelled her Beretta at the chalk target on the stone tunnel wall. But then she hesitated once more, her finger resting on the trigger of the firearm. Under the impassive gaze of Mireille, Kirika summoned her courage and squashed the icy tendrils of dread that were nesting in the depths of both her stomach and heart into a tiny ball, burying them away deep inside of herself. Then she flicked off the safety on her gun… and fired.

The first bullet struck dead centre inside the white circle, a perfect hit--a kill shot. Mireille inclined her head slightly, perhaps approving of Kirika's decision to shoot or her precision with her weapon. Most likely the former, if not both. Kirika's aptitude in the killing stemmed from her extensive training by Soldats best under Altena's supervision, which had created a fearsome assassin, one born and bred for murder. Even if Kirika managed to abstain from utilising her combat abilities for the rest of her life, they would never dull, not totally. They were a part of who she was, engrained in her every thought and every action.

Before Kirika knew it, the slide of her Beretta had clicked backwards, signifying that her gun was out of ammunition. A single wisp of smoke rose from the end of the barrel.

"As good as always," Mireille remarked, smiling faintly as she looked at the chalk target, her arms folded. She appeared pleased. "I suppose I should have expected you wouldn't have any need of practice," she added a little teasingly, turning her head back to Kirika.

Mireille's comment did not do much to alleviate the sense of defeat in Kirika's heart. Her partner's accolades concerning Kirika's aptitude as an assassin never invoked much pride in her to begin with.

Kirika popped the depleted clip from her Beretta and slipped it into the left rear pocket of her shorts, before fishing a fresh one from the right pocket. She reloaded her weapon, snapping the slide of the gun back into place with a flick of her wrist, chambering a round. The taciturn girl then exchanged hands with her Beretta M1934, now wielding it in her left. Kirika once again raised the gun and aimed it at the target drawn on the wall, ignoring the minor twinge of pain that suddenly wracked her left side from her movement. Her old bullet wound she had sustained below the Manor still gave her some trouble now and then. But Mireille had assured her it would be completely healed soon.

A single, slightly bemused blonde eyebrow climbed on Mireille's forehead at Kirika's actions, but she remained silent. It wasn't the first time the woman had seen her do such a thing. After Kirika had essentially lost the use of her right hand during the incident with Intoccabile, she had sworn to herself to never be dependant on one hand alone again. As a result, she had practiced shooting with her left hand at length, until she had become as adept and accurate with it as her right. Being able to wield a gun in either of her hands had already paid off in the past--once Kirika had simultaneously handled two firearms against a powerful Taiwanese triad, the added firepower of an extra weapon having been very beneficial in allowing Mireille to flee from the group's grasp. Although, she'd had some help from Chloe too.

Kirika paused for a moment, and then fired her Beretta at the wall, a second separating each pull of the trigger. She had decided that she may as well practice with her left hand while she was here at the shooting range--she had doubted refraining from doing so would have made much difference regarding her fight against the darkness inside of herself at this point. What were seven more bullets fired, after all? Besides, if Kirika were to be thrown into a life of sin again, it would be better to be totally prepared. Her own wouldn't be the only life being put on the line.

After emptying the magazine of her Beretta as perfectly as before when it was held in her opposite hand, Kirika lowered her weapon to her side. She took a breath, and then released it slowly. It was all right. The darkness hadn't overwhelmed her like she feared it could have--she hadn't even been aware of it at all, let alone of it stirring. And she didn't feel very different, either. Kirika was relieved. She was in control. She would remain as herself, as the girl who loved and cared for Mireille, and not change into the one who was apathetic to all life, including the woman she was supposed to cherish dearly.

"Are you ready?" Mireille asked, bringing Kirika out of her reverie. "We have somewhere else to be." She took a step forward and started kicking the expended bullet casings into the sewer water bordering the path, hiding some of the evidence of their unlawful activity in preparation for their departure.

Kirika nodded, putting her gun back into her parka's right pocket, before joining Mireille in her prudent task. All would be well.

******

Mireille looked up distastefully at the grimy sign posted above the equally dirty but unmarked door situated a short distance from the entrance of the deserted alleyway. The plaque was so caked with filth that only a very small handful of partially smudged letters could be made out, leaving the actual name of the business a mystery. Not that it mattered. The people who found themselves here already knew what goods and services the place offered; the storefront was just a cover, after all. But if by chance they didn't, then they would either move on none the wiser, or satisfy their curiosity by venturing inside. Of course, all that would greet those particular inquisitive few would be a normal--albeit rundown--shop. It was *below* the store where the real business was conducted.

With its entrance located within a narrow, seldom traversed cobblestone alley in a rather disreputable part of Paris, the setting of Simon 'Phayzed' Pierpont's base of operations catered agreeably to its normally secretive clientele, most of whom preferring to be discreet in their dealings. But Mireille seriously doubted if any of Simon's other customers were as high profile as herself and Kirika. She suspected most people who crossed the self-proclaimed hacking guru's threshold were unimportant nobodies simply searching for illegal digital products and/or computer hardware. Or, if seeking Simon's services, then for frivolous reasons, such as altering a college exam mark or defaming a website. Simon Pierpont was merely a minor criminal--a sociopathic delinquent more like--in relation to the big fish who operated in the underworld, but that was one of the primary reasons Mireille availed herself of his skills, rather than employing a more notable computer expert with relaxed morals. With Simon's name and vocation having little repute among those who led shady lives, it meant that Mireille by the same token was granted obscurity in her transactions with the boy. And a professional assassin could never have too much obscurity.

Mireille looked away from the sign to Kirika next to her. The girl hadn't spoken so much as a whisper after leaving the sewer tunnels, but for some reason the blonde felt that her partner's mood had improved some. While Kirika's disposition was normally quite melancholy, Mireille had detected a slight increase in the depressive air surrounding her of late. The Corsican had hoped it hadn't been her doing. But after Kirika's more than adequate performance in their shooting practice session, Mireille wasn't so concerned about how she was handling their slowly changing lifestyle as much anymore. The stoic girl seemed to be dealing suitably with it by herself. The fact made Mireille's heart rest easier in her chest. Kirika was a strong young woman--she had to have been to survive all she had been through with her sanity reasonably intact. Mireille was sure she would be fine.

Kirika wordlessly met the Corsican's blue eyes, silently signalling her readiness with her own brown orbs. Mireille pushed the grubby door to Simon's abode open, and then entered, Kirika close on her heels.

The interior of Simon's computer store façade was dreary and musty, the only source of illumination from several shafts of sunlight that streaked though the thin, grimy windows positioned up near to the ceiling on the russet walls, and dust motes could be made out swirling in the beams. Rickety shelves lined the peeling plaster walls and tables with rust clinging to their metal legs like mould were congregated in the centre of the shop. Most of the shelves and tables were bare, but a few carried items presumably for sale. Old, outdated computer parts that looked to be from the dawn of the technological era sat decaying on the furnishings, covered by a thick layer of dust. In the very slim likelihood that they were purchased and used, Mireille doubted they would even function.

At the far end of the shop was a desk with an old-fashioned register sitting on top, and behind it was apparently the cashier; a young man in his late teens with long, shoulder length oily black hair and slovenly clothed who was busy reading a comic book, paying absolutely no notice to his two potential customers.

All things considered it wasn't the most compelling of computer shops.

Mireille approached the counter while Kirika wandered aimlessly around the store, the girl peering closely at the filth encrusted motherboards and tiny monitors curiously, a cute expression of interest painted on her face. Rather than watch her partner's endearing antics, as she would have liked to do, Mireille instead tried to get the greasy cashier's attention.

"Excuse me," she ventured, "I--"

"All prices are labelled on the merchandise," the youth intoned apathetically in a drawn out sigh, not moving his eyes so much as even a fraction away from the pages of his comic.

"We are not here for your merchandise," Mireille replied, giving the uninterested cashier a flat stare. "Rather, we are here for your services. Particular services Simon offers."

The unkempt teen looked up over the edge of his comic at the assassin's words, and then his eyes widened slightly through his bangs at the sight of the sophisticated and attractive woman standing in front of his desk, clearly surprised that such a classy person had entered the store.

"Ah, uh…" he stammered dumbly, fumbling with his comic book for a moment and nearly dropping it, before deciding to wring it in his hands, "j-just go through the door behind me." He motioned weakly with his head to his rear, while keeping his gaze firmly glued to Mireille, unblinking. The boy acted like he had never seen a woman before.

"Thank you," Mireille said, and then looked over her shoulder to where Kirika was enthralled with tentatively prodding a stack of five and a half inch floppy disks. "Kirika," she beckoned, summoning the girl devotedly to her side.

Mireille opened the door the cashier had indicated, and then preceded down the flight of ratty wooden steps that descended ahead of her with Kirika in tow, heading into the building's basement where she knew Simon reclusively dwelled.

Once Mireille reached the bottom of the stairs along with Kirika, the sight that greeted her and her colleague was wholly different from the one that had on the floor above. It was as if she and Kirika had been propelled forward in time, technologically speaking. At least a dozen monitors of various sizes were arranged on a huge, black L-shaped desk fitted with two rows of shelves in the sizable square basement, along with a myriad of PC towers in a range of shades; some with psychedelic lighting fixtures decorating the outside of their casings that stood out brightly in the dimness of the room, while others had completely see-through panes like glass, allowing one to view the computer's inner workings. Countless cables ran from the desk like dangling spaghetti, before joining one another in a tangled mess carpeting the floor, almost hiding the grey concrete surface from sight. A number of the cables exited the mass of wiring and extended to one of many power point adapters connected to several surge-protected wall sockets on Mireille's left. It was quite the fire hazard in the woman's estimation, electrical surge protectors or no.

Sitting in front of the desk in a heavily cushioned black leather computer chair, typing furiously away on one of the half-dozen or so keyboards laid out before him, was the boy Mireille had come to meet. Simon Pierpont, better known by the inane alias 'Phayzed', was a skinny seventeen year old high school dropout with acne-ravaged features and a shock of faded dyed green hair mixed with his gnarled natural light brown locks. While the young man was not much to look at--certainly, Mireille did not find his shabby, frayed clothes and less-than-appealing looks easy on her eyes--he did possess an almost frightening level of knowledge and expertise regarding all things computer orientated, specifically networks… and their security. Unfortunately, Simon was still much the immature adolescent male, which made him… irksome to deal with.

"Software's on the left, music CDs on the right," Simon recited mechanically while he stared intensely at one of the monitor's screens, referring to the two tables a few feet behind him where rows and rows of pirate CDs were arranged in trays. "Ten Euros a pop. If some app' takes more than one CD, too bad--it's ten per CD, not per program, got it? Pay Ezza upstairs. And *no* swiping--" he absently tapped a finger on a monochrome screened monitor on his desk's highest shelf to his left which displayed the room's interior--there must have been a security camera positioned somewhere in the upper right hand corner of the basement, "--I can see all." Mireille questioned his declaration's validity; he hadn't even turned around to regard his two new arrivals yet, let alone shift his gaze away from the monitor he was seemingly enraptured with.

"While purchasing a copy of 'Strip Poker V: Bunny Girls Edition' does have its charms," Mireille said dryly, selecting the title of the first CD that came to her eye from the scores available on the pair of tables, "we're here on other matters."

"Dude, you have the worst tas--" Simon began, but then abruptly cut off and instead swivelled rapidly around in his chair to face Mireille and Kirika, clumsily knocking over a stack of CDs piled on his desk in the process. "Waa!" he wailed, making a feeble attempt to catch the flying discs while his green eyes remained affixed to his two visitors.

Mireille sighed. Simon hadn't changed much at all. She hoped that he had at least grown a little more mature… but that may be asking for a miracle.

"M-Mireille!" Simon exclaimed nervously, giving up on salvaging his strewn CDs. "It's been ages! Where have you been for so long?!"

"I've… been busy," Mireille explained enigmatically, sparing a glance at Kirika for a split second. Simon didn't know of her profession. In fact, he didn't know much about her at all, beyond the fact that she was a wealthy and good-looking woman. But in Simon's opinion, that was probably all he really needed to know. All the better, however; the less he knew about Mireille, the safer the assassin would be. And Simon too by association.

"Yeah, I bet," Simon remarked suggestively, a leer coming to his pimply features as his eyes raked over the Corsican's gorgeous figure. "Busy doing *what* exactly…?" He had certainly gotten over his nervousness fast. A pity. Rather than becoming intimidated by Mireille's elegant presence, it normally seemed to goad him into becoming a childish lecher, at least after the first few seconds of their initial meeting.

Pointedly ignoring the insinuation that her secret vocation was that of a high-class prostitute--all but for a slight twitch of one eyebrow--Mireille decided to get down to business as quickly as possible and with any luck forgo further distasteful comments on the teen's part. "Nothing that concerns you. We're here for--"

"Hey, who's your little friend?" Simon asked, interrupting Mireille, whose temper took a sharp rise in a dangerous direction as a result. "She a tourist you're showing around or something?" The boy gestured to Kirika's t-shirt with the French flag imprinted on it.

Mireille made an irritated 'tsk' sound with her tongue. "No, she's--"

"Oh, then is she your cousin or something? A relative? Your sister?" Simon relentlessly inquired, talking over the blonde.

Mireille looked at Kirika the same time the quiet girl did likewise at her. Sister indeed! Staring at computer screens all day and all night must have damaged Simon's eyesight, or frazzled his brains… if he'd had any to begin with.

"Hey, I'm just curious," Simon said defensively while he made a placating motion with his hands, finally picking up on Mireille's cold and annoyed disposition. "Every time you've ever came down here you've been alone. But this time you actually brought someone with you. It's just a little weird, you know?" The self-proclaimed expert hacker turned his head to look at Kirika, sizing her petite form up. "I guess she must be pretty important then, right?"

Mireille didn't react in the slightest to the remark, schooling her face to an aloof countenance. She was certain if she revealed just how important Kirika was to her and consequently exactly how unattainable she herself was to Simon, it would not decrease his obnoxious comments and crude innuendoes but rather increase them.

Simon frowned a bit, but not because of the blonde's lack of response. "Doesn't talk much though, does she?" he said, still gawking at a mute Kirika, who stoically endured his scrutiny. "That's okay; I've never liked talkative girls that much anyway. They should be doing something more fun with their mouths instead of yapping." He leaned forward in his seat towards Kirika a little, grinning broadly. The pervert. Thank goodness the naïve girl was oblivious about such things… or so Mireille fervently hoped.

"Enough of this," Mireille snapped impatiently, and quite angrily. She fought back the urge to take a step closer to Kirika and drape a possessive arm around the girl's shoulders. "We have come to this decrepit hole for a specific purpose--which is not to waste time on meaningless chit-chat!" She should have left Kirika back at the apartment.

"Aw, come on," Simon whined, returning his attention to an irate Mireille. "I don't even know her name yet!"

"Let's keep it that way," Mireille said sharply, aware of the puzzled looks she was getting from a confused Kirika.

"What, you're not jealous, are you?" Simon unwisely kept up, a smirk coming to his face that made the assassin feel nauseous. "You know you're the only woman for me!" Perhaps Mireille should be flattered; for all his talk she sincerely doubted the lanky teen had ever been with a woman yet. No, on second thought not flattered--just revolted.

Kirika shifted her feet beside Mireille, eliciting a glance from the blonde woman. But upon looking, the girl appeared as sedate as ever to her gaze.

"Look!" Mireille said with cold fury as she returned her attention to Simon, her voice full of ice. "We have business to conduct. *Now*." She reached into her handbag and pulled out a folded piece of paper, holding it across the two CD display tables to Simon.

The teenager sighed in resignation. "Fine, fine," he relented, snatching the piece of paper out of Mireille's hand. "What sort of oh-so-boring-yet-incredibly-simple-for-my-mad-skills job do you want me to do?"

Mireille's temper cooled somewhat at Simon's compliance. At last they were making some progress. "We're searching for two men," she said, before quickly continuing as she noticed the perverted look that suddenly gleamed in the juvenile's eyes, "two men who arrived in Paris in the last week or so. We need you to find out the location of their accommodations as soon as possible--the building's address, their room number--everything. All the details you will need are on that note. There is a high likelihood that they will be staying at one of the more comfortable hotels in the city--you might want to start searching through the five-star ones first."

Simon unfolded the piece of paper and studied it with a contemplative expression. "Hmm… that's good. Not all hotels and motels and stuff have their intranets connected to the Internet; some don't even have their own network. But the classy ones usually do. It won't be easy though; their firewalls are normally total fortresses--bitches to bypass." He looked up at Mireille, his countenance becoming quite sly. "It's gonna cost extra…."

Mireille was prepared for this little eventuality. There was only one thing that interested Simon more than women and bragging, and that was money. "I'm willing to offer you a bonus of two hundred Euros on top of your standard one hundred Euro fee," the Corsican said. "For each day that passes, fifty will be subtracted from it. The faster you get us the information, the more money you will receive."

Simon bobbed his head repeatedly in acceptance as Mireille spoke, but then smiled in such a way that the blonde knew did not bode well for her mood.

"That's all good, but the 'extra' cost I was thinking of was more along the lines of a date. With you," Simon said, his grin turning downright cheeky. "You can bring your pal there too, if you want," he added impudently.

"I think not," Mireille scowled. Perhaps it would be to her benefit if the uncouth boy knew that she was a contract killer. Maybe then he wouldn't be so quick to rankle her nerves.

"Ah, it was worth a shot," Simon grinned unrepentantly. "'Kay, I'll get on this ASAP." He held out one hand, the palm facing upwards. "Payment upfront; you know the drill," the youth demanded.

Mireille took out a pair of fifty Euro notes from an ornate silver money clip she had retrieved from her handbag and placed them in Simon's eager little grasp. In a flash the computer buff shoved the cash into his jeans' right pocket, moving swiftly enough to rival many a martial artist. Greedy little boy.

"Mireille, you babe, a pleasure as always," Simon said in a sickeningly sweet voice.

Mireille simply turned around and started to walk up the basement's stairs, motioning with a quick and discreet hand gesture for Kirika to follow. "Email me when you have the information," she said in parting.

"Yep…." Simon replied in an absentminded manner that told the assassin he was more occupied with ogling her departing rear end. Yes, Mireille would definitely inform him of her occupation the next time they met. Or at the very least brandish her gun.

******

Mireille took a deep breath of fresh air as she and Kirika left the computer store, glad to have escaped its stifling confines and Simon's undressing eyes. If she never had to go down to the teen's basement again it would still be too soon.

"I don't like him."

Mireille turned to look at Kirika as the girl spoke for the first time since leaving the sewers. And then blinked at what she had actually said.

Kirika raised her head from the cobblestone street she seemed to be glowering--glowering!--at to look at the blonde woman beside her. "I don't like him," she repeated in the same soft tone.

Mireille simply stared at Kirika for a moment with a surprised and bemused expression wracking her features, before she smiled indulgently at the normally reticent girl. Was Kirika actually *jealous* at the attention Simon had unwelcomely bestowed upon Mireille? No, she couldn't be. It was ludicrous. But, she had to admit, it was very, very sweet.

Before she had even realised that her arm was moving, Mireille had placed a gentle hand on one of Kirika's slim shoulders. She shook her head slightly, dismissing her partner's rather startling statement and whatever motive was behind it, the gesture also, however, serving as a temporary distraction to that well-known uneasy sensation that was creeping into her offending limb. But despite it, Mireille still gave the darkhaired girl's shoulder a fond if restrained squeeze, her smile turning tender, although all the while the Corsican secretly discomforted by the familiarity with Kirika she was demonstrating.

"It's almost lunch time; why don't we go to that quaint bistro in St. Germain you like so much?" Mireille proposed warmly. "Afterwards, we can have ice-cream at that Italian place, hmm?"

Kirika's face lit up at the suggestion and she beamed a bright--yet small--smile at Mireille, before nodding eagerly and emitting her customary chirp of agreement.

Mireille's smile widened at the cute reaction. "Okay then," she said quietly.

Today might be the last day Mireille and Kirika could spend a genuinely peaceful afternoon together, and the blonde was determined to take advantage of the dwindling time to its fullest for her partner's sake. Once Simon tracked down Ryosuke and Vincent, 'Noir' would be instantly thrust down the black path whether they were ready or not. Or whether they liked it or not. Pleasant, enjoyable times such as having a quiet lunch together would become a thing of the past. Mireille had truly wanted these times to last, but it was not meant to be. So now all she could do was cling on to their lingering remnants, squeeze them for all they were worth, and then savour them, for they would be but memories when her and her partner's hands were stained with blood once again.

As Mireille walked out of the alleyway with Kirika, posing the idea of perhaps going out for dinner later tonight also, the woman found it strange she would be so attached to the quiet, normal life. She had always taken pleasure in her peaceful moments with Kirika, but she had never thought she would personally lament their impending disappearance so much. She had resigned herself to her lot in life after all, the one that dictated her eventual return to the black path of murder as a hired killer. But right now she did feel as though she would miss the good times. Yes, it was strange indeed.

******

To be continued….


Author's ramblings:

And there is the third chapter. A bit more character introduction in this one. Oh, the triads... it brings back memories... LOL. Just kidding. ^_^