Dis Aliter Visum - Chapter 82 - 3,010 words
Note: Why is it that the boys always want to banter and have fun and then when the action happen they're like, meh, whatever? So a lot of banter and action squeezed at the end. Oh well.
Beta-reader: Lea Summers. (ItachiTenshi, where are youuuuuuuu?)
Chapter summary: A Day Off
Chapter 82
Kuroro heard a shuffling noise and immediately came awake. All senses on alert, he remained immobile on his bed, feigning sleep. After a second or two, he relaxed. It was simply Kurapica going to the bathroom. A few minutes later, the blond came back into the room and fiddled with something - most likely the coffee machine - then padded over to his bed. He stood there for a few minutes, and Kuroro would have given his right hand just to know what was going on in the younger man's head. The smell of coffee started filling the room and Kurapica turned his back on his former enemy and made his way for the machine.
“Oh, is that cup for me?” Kuroro asked, eyes closed and lips pulling into a teasing smile. “How kind of you! Thank you!”
He heard the young Hunter pause, then take the two steps that still separated him from the dresser.
“If you were awake, you should have said something,” he grumbled.
He didn't sound angry but rather embarrassed, no doubt because he'd been caught staring.
“I was waiting to see if you would wake me up with a good morning kiss,” Kuroro lied.
“Right,” Kurapica deadpanned, “so if I want the first cup of coffee, I have to kiss you first, is that it? That's rather inconvenient.”
“Well, I guess since I claimed it, I should be the one kissing you.”
“That will be unnecessary,” the blond fired back.
Kuroro chuckled. “What if I insist?”
“Then I'll have to insist that you get your first cup of coffee poured on your head,” Kurapica replied, and the Spider Head could have sworn that there was a teasing undertone in his voice.
“All right,” he said as his companion returned to the bedside, small cup in hand, “I guess I can let it slide for today.”
“And tomorrow and the day after,” Kurapica insisted. He set down Kuroro's coffee on the nightstand and was about to leave when the older man snagged his hand and pulled at it to get him to stay. Kurapica hesitated, but eventually sat down on the edge of the bed.
They looked at each other for some time, Kurapica's gaze heavy with unspoken questions, Kuroro's showing nothing. Finally, the blond couldn't take it the silence.
“What?” he asked, slightly hesitant.
“We should take the day off, today,” Kuroro said. “We've been on the road for months and hardly took time to rest. We should stay in. I'll still have to show my face around town so that I don't look too suspicious, but I intend to spend most of the day right here.”
“In bed?” Kurapica asked, looking far too innocent for what that question might have implied, coming from anyone else.
Kuroro laughed softly. The blond looked confusedly at him for a moment before a deep blush climbed up the sides of his neck, all the way up to his cheeks.
“Ah,” he said, looking more and more flustered, “I didn't mean - I wasn't implying - this wasn't -”
“In bed,” Kuroro replied, “with a good book or three. What do you think?”
Kurapica made a soft, dismayed noise and hid his face behind his hand. “Sounds good,” he mumbled from behind his shield.
“Good,” Kuroro said, “then it's decided.” He finally sat up. “Thank you for the coffee. I think yours is waiting for you in the machine.”
Kurapica parted his fingers a bit to look at him. “Sometimes, I really, really hate you.”
Ah, this felt wonderful. This wasn't the hatred he'd been used to from the younger man. Not the rage sort of hatred, but the annoyance that someone would feel when teased by a close friend or relative. His plans were all coming together much better than he'd expected. He wasn't about to point this out to his companion, however. Kurapica would be quick to recant if he realized just what he was implying. Better not to point it out to him.
“I'm sure you do,” Kuroro replied smoothly.
He reached out for the small cup of coffee and brought it to his lips, still looking at the younger man. Finally, Kurapica heaved a much put upon sigh and went to retrieve his own mug. They didn't really speak much after this. Kuroro took his shower while the blond had a second cup of coffee - there wasn't enough provided with the room, but they'd bought some instant grounds and could use the machine to heat up the water - then the blond went in after him. Kuroro took a few books out of his luggage, some for him, some for the blond. When Kurapica came out of the shower, he picked up the book that he had been reading and settled on his bed.
The morning passed slowly, quietly, the only sound in the room was the noise of paper shuffling as they turned pages. When Kurapica finished his book, he went to investigate the ones that the Spider Head had left on the desk. After he'd selected one, he returned to his bed. Kuroro got up around noon and excused himself. Since Kurapica couldn't leave the room, They'd eaten some of the food they had brought with them for breakfast. Now Kuroro needed the exposure, so he went to one of the hotel restaurants to have lunch. He chatted a bit with the server, asking about collectors in the area and presenting himself as an art dealer. He got a lot of information on their mark from the young woman, who happened to be related to the matron of the man's household.
The afternoon went by much like the morning had, both young men reading quietly, and Kuroro for one was glad to have decided to take the day off. Months of being cooped up in hotel rooms and various cars had started driving him a little stir-crazy. He didn't doubt that it was the same for Kurapica. Technically, they were still stuck in a room, but at least it wasn't in the car. It felt good to just kick back and enjoy the day.
He ate dinner at the same restaurant, hoping to get the same waiter, but he couldn't see her anywhere and assumed her shift was over. He ordered a decent meal, neither the cheapest nor the most expensive. Perfection was in the details, and everything about this theft had to be perfect. After he was done eating, he went to an upscale bar, hoping for another in with their mark. He met a few people that would round up his plans perfectly. He stayed there until about ten o'clock, building up his alias, fleshing out the part he was to play for the old mafioso he meant to steal from in the coming week.
He returned to the hotel room later than he'd meant to and opened the door quietly. The light was off and he didn't want to wake up the blond if it turned out that Kurapica was sleeping. His eyes quickly adjusted to the deeper gloom inside the small space, and he found that the beds were empty and the covers were missing on one of them. Frowning softly, he scanned the room for anything amiss, but everything was pretty much just as he had left it, save for the absent young man. He surrounded himself with en, but since the bind he'd had put on Kurapica had forced him into zetsu, he couldn't find him this way. It did ascertain that no one else was in the room either, so he walked in and quietly closed the door before turning the lights on.
He heard a shuffling sound from the bathroom, and he turned towards the door, eyes quickly catching something moving from underneath the door and a thin ray of light peered out as whatever had been set on the other side was moved away. Then the knob turned and Kurapica peeked out. Seeing Kuroro, he relaxed visibly and set something down on the counter before opening the door wider.
“You're late,” he commented rather than accused. “I didn't want people to see the light so I was reading in here.”
Kuroro peered into the small bathroom and found a small nest of blankets and pillows that the blond had clearly pilfered from his bed. Set beside it was a small pile of books.
“That looks cozy,” he remarked. “Maybe I should join you.”
“We'd need more blankets,” Kurapica said, retreating back into the bathroom. “The floor was hard and cold, even with the pillows and bed-covers.”
Kuroro took a step in and glanced at the counter-top to see what Kurapica had set down there. He wasn't surprised to see the knife he'd bought the blond, but he was at realizing that he felt glad to see it there. Not sure what to make of it, he ignored it, filing it away to analyze later.
“Someone I met after dinner offered to introduce me to Rizzoli,” he told the blond. “Tomorrow afternoon, I'm going to his summer mansion. I can still count on you to answer the calls?”
“Of course,” Kurapica replied automatically, picking up his pillows and shaking them even though they had been on a blanket and not the floor itself. “I just have to try and disguise my voice, right?”
“Yep,” Kuroro answered cheerfully. He walked over and picked up the blankets, giving them a good shake, too. “And, you know, just tell them how amazing a person I am and how I know my art and could really help sell or buy some pieces for Rizzoli's collection.”
“That should be easy,” the blond said. “You do know art and ancient artifacts, so I wouldn't be lying.”
“And I'm amazing,” Kuroro piped up. “Don't forget amazing.”
Kurapica snorted. “Well, get your amazing self out of the way. You're blocking the door.”
Kuroro grinned, slung the blankets over his shoulder and put both hands on his hips, making sure that the blond couldn't get through the door at all. Kurapica huffed, pursed his lips and canted his head to the side, a clear 'Are you done being an idiot?' expression on his face.
“You didn't say please,” the Spider Head teased.
“Please get out of the way before I punch you in your smug, annoying, amazing face.”
“So you admit my face is amazing?” Kuroro couldn't help asking. He was having so much fun.
“I'll admit nothing, just get out of the way. Or do you want us to stand around like idiots all night?”
“Oh, I can think of other things I'd rather be doing all night,” Kuroro commented. A tad crude, maybe, but the intense shade of red that suffused Kurapica's face was totally worth it.
“Idiot,” the blond grumbled.
Thoroughly entertained, Kuroro finally backed out of the small room and walked over to Kurapica's bed, where he unceremoniously dumped the blankets. Then he went to his bags for a change of clothes and got into his nightwear before sitting on his bed, a book in his hands. Despite his earlier teasing, he actually just wanted to read and relax. He'd done more social networking than he'd planned, and he missed the solitude that he had enjoyed before capturing the alluring Kuruta. Kurapica wasn't bad company, but sometimes, the older man just wanted to be alone and he didn't doubt that the blond felt the same. They settled in for the night, sharing the room maybe, but each in their own, personal little bubble. Kuroro was the first to turn off his light and go to bed.
He awoke the next morning to the smell of coffee, and found a cup waiting on the bedside next to him. Kurapica was at the machine, no doubt making one for himself. That was a nice surprise. Another thing that he could absolutely get used to. He sat up and reached for the small disposable cup.
“Thank you,” he said.
Kurapica glanced at him. “Don't mention it,” he replied. He pressed the button that would start the coffeemaker. “Good morning.”
“Morning.”
Kuroro took another sip and reached for his book again. He quickly found where he'd left off. Kurapica grabbed his own coffee as soon as the machine clicked off and returned to his bed where he too got immersed in his reading.
Sometime mid-morning, the Spider Head finally got up, showered and grabbed a small melon bun to serve as his breakfast. More coffee followed. Kurapica showered and ate as well. It felt nice not to be rushing somewhere else, for once. Around noon, Kuroro went out to eat lunch, then met with the businessman that had offered to introduce him to their mark. Everything was good. Everything was under control.
Rizzoli was an old, grizzled man with a face that looked like a small, shrivelled up, sour apple. He walked with a cane and had four helpers, who no doubt doubled as his bodyguards. His small stature didn't fool Kuroro, however. This man was powerful, not so much in terms of nen, but in his political and criminal connections. He'd lived a long, hard life, and Kuroro had no doubt that he'd be hard to fool. Still, if Kurapica played his part right, they should be able to make it.
They talked through the entire afternoon, discussing pieces that had been sold and bought at recent auctions throughout the entire world. York Shin wasn't the only event that his type gathered for. Kuroro was well prepared and discussed the value and price paid for various artifacts, until he could see that he'd set Rizzoli at ease. Now came the tricky part.
“I've heard that you've quite the collection yourself, Mister Rizzoli,” he said, just after dinner, which his host had invited him to join him for. “I'm very curious about the Rimbault painting and the Thundro vase, particularly. You've acquired both around twelve years ago and no one's seen them since. Do you still own them?”
“They're not for sale,” Rizzoli told him.
“Oh, I know,” Kuroro assured the old man. “I just want to see them. I'm not rich enough to collect such grand pieces myself, but I'm a lover of the arts at heart, and I would be absolutely ecstatic if you were willing to show them to me. I just want a glance. I'm sure you understand the feeling.”
“Ah,” the mafioso leaned back in his seat and lit up a thick, aromatic cigar. The sweet smell of quality tobacco filled the room. “Yes, I do know how it feels to want to be near a masterpiece, even if I cannot own it myself. I sometimes travel vast distances just to sit in a museum and admire a painting or sculpture.”
He took another drag of his cigar, his hooded, careful eyes searching Kuroro's face. Someone walked into the room, apologized before leaning in close to Rizzoli and murmured something in his ear. Kuroro mentally crossed his fingers. If Kurapica had done his part, he'd be taken to Rizzoli's most secure room, where the old man kept his more valuable treasures. The mafioso nodded three times slowly, listened for a moment longer, then waved the young man away. A nod to his closest attendant-bodyguard, and he turned back towards the Spider Head.
“Very well,” he said. “I'll take you to my vault. Understand that I cannot leave you alone in the room, however.”
“Of course,” Kuroro said with a nod. “I'm extremely grateful.”
Another nod and the attendant helped Rizzoli to his feet. They guided Kuroro through a lavish hallway and into a large elevator worthy of the most expensive hotels. They went down a few floors, then through another large hall before finally reaching a sort of show room where the proud collector had amassed his most precious possessions.
And this was where the bodyguards were joined a small battalion of tough looking men who encircled Kuroro. He stood in the middle of this little posse and looked at the men, their hard expressions, their mean-looking weapons, and mentally sighed. Ah well. It would have been nice if the plan had worked, but no one here seemed to be strong enough to pose any danger to him.
Rizzoli started chuckling, his back turned to Kuroro. It was a soft, dry sound that didn't bode well. He turned around and looked up at the Spider Head.
“You're younger than I thought you would be,” he commented.
Kuroro flicked his eyes to him briefly but kept his attention on his goons. They might have him surrounded, but the only reason they weren't cold and dead already was the fact that Kurapica would be able to smell the blood on him and he didn't want to upset him when he was just starting to let Kuroro have all of him. Some looked tough, but there were only two minor nen users in their midst. Easy.
“I don't understand what you mean, Mister Rizzoli,” he began, staying in character.
The old man hit his cane onto the wooden floor, clearly disapproving Kuroro playing dumb. “Young or not, though, you're trespassing. I'll have to teach you a lesson for trying to steal from me.”
He was cut short in the middle of his tirade when his phone rang. He grunted in annoyance and took it out of his pocked and glanced at the screen. A swipe of his thumb and he placed it against his ear. “What is it?” He listened for a moment.
Kuroro scanned the room again. The Scarlet Eyes were there, against the far wall. Around him, fourteen grunts, some of whom were packing heat. They could all be dead in the blink of an eye, if only he didn't have to cater to Kurapica's silly wishes to keep their hands as clean as possible. He did have some defensive skills that he could use until he managed to knock every single man out. Then it was just a matter of throwing the fun fun cloth over the pair of Eyes and seeing himself out.
“Huh,” Rizzoli finally said, focusing his gaze on Kuroro once more. “Hey, that blond kid,” he asked, “is he important to you?”
Kuroro's blood ran cold, then burning hot. His dark, midnight eyes narrowed as he fixed his gaze firmly onto the mafioso.
Rizzoli's lips pulled in a not-smile that was positively toothy. “He is, huh.” He spoke into his phone next. “Do it,” and he hung up.
He never had a chance to put his phone away.
Beta-reader: Lea Summers. (ItachiTenshi, where are youuuuuuuu?)
Chapter summary: A Day Off
Chapter 82
Kuroro heard a shuffling noise and immediately came awake. All senses on alert, he remained immobile on his bed, feigning sleep. After a second or two, he relaxed. It was simply Kurapica going to the bathroom. A few minutes later, the blond came back into the room and fiddled with something - most likely the coffee machine - then padded over to his bed. He stood there for a few minutes, and Kuroro would have given his right hand just to know what was going on in the younger man's head. The smell of coffee started filling the room and Kurapica turned his back on his former enemy and made his way for the machine.
“Oh, is that cup for me?” Kuroro asked, eyes closed and lips pulling into a teasing smile. “How kind of you! Thank you!”
He heard the young Hunter pause, then take the two steps that still separated him from the dresser.
“If you were awake, you should have said something,” he grumbled.
He didn't sound angry but rather embarrassed, no doubt because he'd been caught staring.
“I was waiting to see if you would wake me up with a good morning kiss,” Kuroro lied.
“Right,” Kurapica deadpanned, “so if I want the first cup of coffee, I have to kiss you first, is that it? That's rather inconvenient.”
“Well, I guess since I claimed it, I should be the one kissing you.”
“That will be unnecessary,” the blond fired back.
Kuroro chuckled. “What if I insist?”
“Then I'll have to insist that you get your first cup of coffee poured on your head,” Kurapica replied, and the Spider Head could have sworn that there was a teasing undertone in his voice.
“All right,” he said as his companion returned to the bedside, small cup in hand, “I guess I can let it slide for today.”
“And tomorrow and the day after,” Kurapica insisted. He set down Kuroro's coffee on the nightstand and was about to leave when the older man snagged his hand and pulled at it to get him to stay. Kurapica hesitated, but eventually sat down on the edge of the bed.
They looked at each other for some time, Kurapica's gaze heavy with unspoken questions, Kuroro's showing nothing. Finally, the blond couldn't take it the silence.
“What?” he asked, slightly hesitant.
“We should take the day off, today,” Kuroro said. “We've been on the road for months and hardly took time to rest. We should stay in. I'll still have to show my face around town so that I don't look too suspicious, but I intend to spend most of the day right here.”
“In bed?” Kurapica asked, looking far too innocent for what that question might have implied, coming from anyone else.
Kuroro laughed softly. The blond looked confusedly at him for a moment before a deep blush climbed up the sides of his neck, all the way up to his cheeks.
“Ah,” he said, looking more and more flustered, “I didn't mean - I wasn't implying - this wasn't -”
“In bed,” Kuroro replied, “with a good book or three. What do you think?”
Kurapica made a soft, dismayed noise and hid his face behind his hand. “Sounds good,” he mumbled from behind his shield.
“Good,” Kuroro said, “then it's decided.” He finally sat up. “Thank you for the coffee. I think yours is waiting for you in the machine.”
Kurapica parted his fingers a bit to look at him. “Sometimes, I really, really hate you.”
Ah, this felt wonderful. This wasn't the hatred he'd been used to from the younger man. Not the rage sort of hatred, but the annoyance that someone would feel when teased by a close friend or relative. His plans were all coming together much better than he'd expected. He wasn't about to point this out to his companion, however. Kurapica would be quick to recant if he realized just what he was implying. Better not to point it out to him.
“I'm sure you do,” Kuroro replied smoothly.
He reached out for the small cup of coffee and brought it to his lips, still looking at the younger man. Finally, Kurapica heaved a much put upon sigh and went to retrieve his own mug. They didn't really speak much after this. Kuroro took his shower while the blond had a second cup of coffee - there wasn't enough provided with the room, but they'd bought some instant grounds and could use the machine to heat up the water - then the blond went in after him. Kuroro took a few books out of his luggage, some for him, some for the blond. When Kurapica came out of the shower, he picked up the book that he had been reading and settled on his bed.
The morning passed slowly, quietly, the only sound in the room was the noise of paper shuffling as they turned pages. When Kurapica finished his book, he went to investigate the ones that the Spider Head had left on the desk. After he'd selected one, he returned to his bed. Kuroro got up around noon and excused himself. Since Kurapica couldn't leave the room, They'd eaten some of the food they had brought with them for breakfast. Now Kuroro needed the exposure, so he went to one of the hotel restaurants to have lunch. He chatted a bit with the server, asking about collectors in the area and presenting himself as an art dealer. He got a lot of information on their mark from the young woman, who happened to be related to the matron of the man's household.
The afternoon went by much like the morning had, both young men reading quietly, and Kuroro for one was glad to have decided to take the day off. Months of being cooped up in hotel rooms and various cars had started driving him a little stir-crazy. He didn't doubt that it was the same for Kurapica. Technically, they were still stuck in a room, but at least it wasn't in the car. It felt good to just kick back and enjoy the day.
He ate dinner at the same restaurant, hoping to get the same waiter, but he couldn't see her anywhere and assumed her shift was over. He ordered a decent meal, neither the cheapest nor the most expensive. Perfection was in the details, and everything about this theft had to be perfect. After he was done eating, he went to an upscale bar, hoping for another in with their mark. He met a few people that would round up his plans perfectly. He stayed there until about ten o'clock, building up his alias, fleshing out the part he was to play for the old mafioso he meant to steal from in the coming week.
He returned to the hotel room later than he'd meant to and opened the door quietly. The light was off and he didn't want to wake up the blond if it turned out that Kurapica was sleeping. His eyes quickly adjusted to the deeper gloom inside the small space, and he found that the beds were empty and the covers were missing on one of them. Frowning softly, he scanned the room for anything amiss, but everything was pretty much just as he had left it, save for the absent young man. He surrounded himself with en, but since the bind he'd had put on Kurapica had forced him into zetsu, he couldn't find him this way. It did ascertain that no one else was in the room either, so he walked in and quietly closed the door before turning the lights on.
He heard a shuffling sound from the bathroom, and he turned towards the door, eyes quickly catching something moving from underneath the door and a thin ray of light peered out as whatever had been set on the other side was moved away. Then the knob turned and Kurapica peeked out. Seeing Kuroro, he relaxed visibly and set something down on the counter before opening the door wider.
“You're late,” he commented rather than accused. “I didn't want people to see the light so I was reading in here.”
Kuroro peered into the small bathroom and found a small nest of blankets and pillows that the blond had clearly pilfered from his bed. Set beside it was a small pile of books.
“That looks cozy,” he remarked. “Maybe I should join you.”
“We'd need more blankets,” Kurapica said, retreating back into the bathroom. “The floor was hard and cold, even with the pillows and bed-covers.”
Kuroro took a step in and glanced at the counter-top to see what Kurapica had set down there. He wasn't surprised to see the knife he'd bought the blond, but he was at realizing that he felt glad to see it there. Not sure what to make of it, he ignored it, filing it away to analyze later.
“Someone I met after dinner offered to introduce me to Rizzoli,” he told the blond. “Tomorrow afternoon, I'm going to his summer mansion. I can still count on you to answer the calls?”
“Of course,” Kurapica replied automatically, picking up his pillows and shaking them even though they had been on a blanket and not the floor itself. “I just have to try and disguise my voice, right?”
“Yep,” Kuroro answered cheerfully. He walked over and picked up the blankets, giving them a good shake, too. “And, you know, just tell them how amazing a person I am and how I know my art and could really help sell or buy some pieces for Rizzoli's collection.”
“That should be easy,” the blond said. “You do know art and ancient artifacts, so I wouldn't be lying.”
“And I'm amazing,” Kuroro piped up. “Don't forget amazing.”
Kurapica snorted. “Well, get your amazing self out of the way. You're blocking the door.”
Kuroro grinned, slung the blankets over his shoulder and put both hands on his hips, making sure that the blond couldn't get through the door at all. Kurapica huffed, pursed his lips and canted his head to the side, a clear 'Are you done being an idiot?' expression on his face.
“You didn't say please,” the Spider Head teased.
“Please get out of the way before I punch you in your smug, annoying, amazing face.”
“So you admit my face is amazing?” Kuroro couldn't help asking. He was having so much fun.
“I'll admit nothing, just get out of the way. Or do you want us to stand around like idiots all night?”
“Oh, I can think of other things I'd rather be doing all night,” Kuroro commented. A tad crude, maybe, but the intense shade of red that suffused Kurapica's face was totally worth it.
“Idiot,” the blond grumbled.
Thoroughly entertained, Kuroro finally backed out of the small room and walked over to Kurapica's bed, where he unceremoniously dumped the blankets. Then he went to his bags for a change of clothes and got into his nightwear before sitting on his bed, a book in his hands. Despite his earlier teasing, he actually just wanted to read and relax. He'd done more social networking than he'd planned, and he missed the solitude that he had enjoyed before capturing the alluring Kuruta. Kurapica wasn't bad company, but sometimes, the older man just wanted to be alone and he didn't doubt that the blond felt the same. They settled in for the night, sharing the room maybe, but each in their own, personal little bubble. Kuroro was the first to turn off his light and go to bed.
He awoke the next morning to the smell of coffee, and found a cup waiting on the bedside next to him. Kurapica was at the machine, no doubt making one for himself. That was a nice surprise. Another thing that he could absolutely get used to. He sat up and reached for the small disposable cup.
“Thank you,” he said.
Kurapica glanced at him. “Don't mention it,” he replied. He pressed the button that would start the coffeemaker. “Good morning.”
“Morning.”
Kuroro took another sip and reached for his book again. He quickly found where he'd left off. Kurapica grabbed his own coffee as soon as the machine clicked off and returned to his bed where he too got immersed in his reading.
Sometime mid-morning, the Spider Head finally got up, showered and grabbed a small melon bun to serve as his breakfast. More coffee followed. Kurapica showered and ate as well. It felt nice not to be rushing somewhere else, for once. Around noon, Kuroro went out to eat lunch, then met with the businessman that had offered to introduce him to their mark. Everything was good. Everything was under control.
Rizzoli was an old, grizzled man with a face that looked like a small, shrivelled up, sour apple. He walked with a cane and had four helpers, who no doubt doubled as his bodyguards. His small stature didn't fool Kuroro, however. This man was powerful, not so much in terms of nen, but in his political and criminal connections. He'd lived a long, hard life, and Kuroro had no doubt that he'd be hard to fool. Still, if Kurapica played his part right, they should be able to make it.
They talked through the entire afternoon, discussing pieces that had been sold and bought at recent auctions throughout the entire world. York Shin wasn't the only event that his type gathered for. Kuroro was well prepared and discussed the value and price paid for various artifacts, until he could see that he'd set Rizzoli at ease. Now came the tricky part.
“I've heard that you've quite the collection yourself, Mister Rizzoli,” he said, just after dinner, which his host had invited him to join him for. “I'm very curious about the Rimbault painting and the Thundro vase, particularly. You've acquired both around twelve years ago and no one's seen them since. Do you still own them?”
“They're not for sale,” Rizzoli told him.
“Oh, I know,” Kuroro assured the old man. “I just want to see them. I'm not rich enough to collect such grand pieces myself, but I'm a lover of the arts at heart, and I would be absolutely ecstatic if you were willing to show them to me. I just want a glance. I'm sure you understand the feeling.”
“Ah,” the mafioso leaned back in his seat and lit up a thick, aromatic cigar. The sweet smell of quality tobacco filled the room. “Yes, I do know how it feels to want to be near a masterpiece, even if I cannot own it myself. I sometimes travel vast distances just to sit in a museum and admire a painting or sculpture.”
He took another drag of his cigar, his hooded, careful eyes searching Kuroro's face. Someone walked into the room, apologized before leaning in close to Rizzoli and murmured something in his ear. Kuroro mentally crossed his fingers. If Kurapica had done his part, he'd be taken to Rizzoli's most secure room, where the old man kept his more valuable treasures. The mafioso nodded three times slowly, listened for a moment longer, then waved the young man away. A nod to his closest attendant-bodyguard, and he turned back towards the Spider Head.
“Very well,” he said. “I'll take you to my vault. Understand that I cannot leave you alone in the room, however.”
“Of course,” Kuroro said with a nod. “I'm extremely grateful.”
Another nod and the attendant helped Rizzoli to his feet. They guided Kuroro through a lavish hallway and into a large elevator worthy of the most expensive hotels. They went down a few floors, then through another large hall before finally reaching a sort of show room where the proud collector had amassed his most precious possessions.
And this was where the bodyguards were joined a small battalion of tough looking men who encircled Kuroro. He stood in the middle of this little posse and looked at the men, their hard expressions, their mean-looking weapons, and mentally sighed. Ah well. It would have been nice if the plan had worked, but no one here seemed to be strong enough to pose any danger to him.
Rizzoli started chuckling, his back turned to Kuroro. It was a soft, dry sound that didn't bode well. He turned around and looked up at the Spider Head.
“You're younger than I thought you would be,” he commented.
Kuroro flicked his eyes to him briefly but kept his attention on his goons. They might have him surrounded, but the only reason they weren't cold and dead already was the fact that Kurapica would be able to smell the blood on him and he didn't want to upset him when he was just starting to let Kuroro have all of him. Some looked tough, but there were only two minor nen users in their midst. Easy.
“I don't understand what you mean, Mister Rizzoli,” he began, staying in character.
The old man hit his cane onto the wooden floor, clearly disapproving Kuroro playing dumb. “Young or not, though, you're trespassing. I'll have to teach you a lesson for trying to steal from me.”
He was cut short in the middle of his tirade when his phone rang. He grunted in annoyance and took it out of his pocked and glanced at the screen. A swipe of his thumb and he placed it against his ear. “What is it?” He listened for a moment.
Kuroro scanned the room again. The Scarlet Eyes were there, against the far wall. Around him, fourteen grunts, some of whom were packing heat. They could all be dead in the blink of an eye, if only he didn't have to cater to Kurapica's silly wishes to keep their hands as clean as possible. He did have some defensive skills that he could use until he managed to knock every single man out. Then it was just a matter of throwing the fun fun cloth over the pair of Eyes and seeing himself out.
“Huh,” Rizzoli finally said, focusing his gaze on Kuroro once more. “Hey, that blond kid,” he asked, “is he important to you?”
Kuroro's blood ran cold, then burning hot. His dark, midnight eyes narrowed as he fixed his gaze firmly onto the mafioso.
Rizzoli's lips pulled in a not-smile that was positively toothy. “He is, huh.” He spoke into his phone next. “Do it,” and he hung up.
He never had a chance to put his phone away.