theblackcross | Wednesday 1.20 - Tripping the Unexpected

Crawford threaded on his holster, sliding his Walther snugly against his side. He always missed the weight of it, the feel of the cold metal as it warmed against his body. It may have been the closest thing to a creature comfort Crawford allowed himself and he acutely felt its absence if he was ever caught without it. Even a quick trip to pick up breakfast warranted its companionship. He slid into a black Armani jacket as he headed out the door.

There was no need to take the car for a short four block walk to the small family run restaurant that was quickly becoming a favorite. They opened for breakfast unlike most of the eateries in the upscale neighborhood which only catered to lunch and dinner. The streets were bustling with commuting traffic, lots of salarymen in generic suits heading into work. Even with his height it was easy enough to get lost in the bustle. It would give him some time to think this mission over.

One simple fact was the root of his discomfort. Johnson, and his company, were aware that Weiss was going to strike - what they were targeting, and, most likely, when it would happen. Weiss was walking into an ambush but Johnson already knew that they would most likely be successful anyway and be in need of their own retrieval team to recover the stolen disks. The disks could simply be a plant and not important at all. If they had been, Johnson had plenty of opportunity to put sensitive information out of harm’s way…

Yes, he had the facts straight but what of the implications. Someone was playing Weiss. Now Johnson, (perhaps the same someone) was attempting to play Schwarz. But to what ends? There were enough small fractured cells of Esset still secreted around the globe. Eventually, some crazy bastard might come looking for them. There were countless individuals that had reason to hold a grudge but it was highly unlikely any of them would have the resources necessary to track down Schwarz more or less know how to engage them. Weiss weren’t just killers for hire. They only worked with some twisted notion of morality. And now that Schwarz was working independently, no one really knew WHAT premise they operated under. Only someone with inside knowledge would know to use Weiss as bait. And that narrowed the suspects considerably.

Three blocks down, Crawford made a quick stop at Starbucks. An extra large mocha latte, no whipped cream. Chocolate was another creature comfort but one he would never exercise at home. He sipped at it as he dodged around the crowd at the counter, returning to his train of thought.

Considering his lack of information, he was fairly satisfied with his conclusions. Caution was a given but he knew it had been prudent putting Farfarello on alert. Too much didn’t quite add up just yet and all those missing pieces would be ferreted out by Nagi in short order. Nothing short of a vision could possibly put his suspicions to rest.

Crawford sipped at his coffee as he rounded the corner and headed down the alleyway that housed the restaurant. This cramped alleyway had become a favorite shopping spot among the high rise employees. The small shops featured the work of craftsmen in a wide variety of trades - woodturning, metalworking, glass blowing, weaving, ceramics, ichibana - it was a small, yet-to-be- discovered pocket of commerce with a distinctive hip Bohemian flair. And strangely enough, it suited Crawford just fine as did everything about the small eatery - Kuro Inu.

He entered through the hand carved wooden door, the moody dark interior vaguely feeling like an ancient German brauhaus with it’s heavy wooden fixtures. But those similarities ended there. The cuisine was pure Japanese, heavily traditional and the proprietors were, more than a little, culturally biased. Crawford didn’t let his first experience taint his taste for the excellent cuisine. He did not win the couple over with his patronage but with his flawless Japanese, both the spoken and in demeanor. Any foreigner stumbling over the language or asking for help in translating the kanji only menus was asking for trouble. And asking for descriptions of what was on their plate would, most likely, get them thrown out altogether. Perhaps half the tables were occupied and the proprietress rushed over to greet him with a small smile, noting how unusual it was to see him before lunchtime. His order pleased her though - two traditional breakfasts to go although his substitution of Kobe beef and tamago for the fish selection earned him a look of displeasure. The request wasn’t unheard of. She wouldn’t have batted an eye if a Nippon had placed the order but the tall American was obviously letting his true colors slip. She gave a grunt of disappointment and turned to walked his order to the kitchen.

While he waited, Crawford absently rubbed at the back of his neck, registering the sudden feeling of pressure with a long hard blink. He realized a bit late that it was nothing but a vision as the images barged into his thoughts, fast, hard and crystal clear. An older, graying Japanese man, in a very nice suit, shedding said suit with a lecherous grin plastered to his face. Wrinkled hands reaching to fondle huge breasts with an accompanying giggle. Crawford squeezed his eyes tight trying to will the images away. He knew those breasts and where the rest of this was heading. He did not need this first thing in the morning.

His order was delivered and he paid quickly all the while trying to ignore perfectly painted fingernails sliding the old man out of his clothes. He left a sizeable tip in apology for his die hard American ways, grabbed the food in one hand, his coffee in the other and tried to escape. There was only one reason he would be having such a clear vision.

As he stepped out onto the street, he nearly walked into that same set of huge breasts currently being unveiled and unceremoniously groped in his minds eye.

“I don’t believe it… oh my god… BRAD!”

The near shriek of his name nearly had Crawford dropping the food and pulling his Walther despite the witnesses. He silently damned his own negligence.

“Haruka…” He responded flatly, assessing the woman in front of him and her companions. He tried taking a step back to put himself out of range but he was too late. She grabbed him in a hug, nuzzling her cheek against his chest despite his full hands. And the vision intensified. There was no doubt now that she would be ‘entertaining’ her new boss the same as she did her last one, as wrinkly old skin slid along her own, pale and soft and scented like flowers.

“I haven’t seen you since…” her voice trailed off as she eyed her companions and, with a perky smile, redirected her sentiments. “It‘s terrible what happened to Takatori-san, isn‘t it…I thought you might have been dead too but you’re here… oh my god… what are you doing here? Oh,, we have to get together…”

She began pulling her cell phone from her purse. “…you have to give me your number…” She flipped it open and began setting up the new contact.

Haruka Saito, an unfortunate and entirely forgotten loose end from the not too distant past, one Crawford would never have thought of again if not for this chance meeting. She was a decent lay but only because she was convenient and vaguely useful. As Takatori’s secretary, keeping in close contact with her was just an added security measure for Takatori. The old man spent entirely too much time with her and thanks to the visions, Crawford was privy to much more than he really wanted to know. It worked in his favor several times, putting him and his team in the right place at the right time, keeping the fat chipmunk alive and breathing. And, he had to admit, screwing her on Takatori’s desk held a certain appeal as well.

That appeal had long evaporated.

And now, with contact renewed, he was going to be privy to all the details of her pathetic life once again. Like her new old wrinkly boss… That would not do.

“I’ll try to find the time…” He tried to sound somewhat non-committal for the benefit of her friends. He gave her one of the secured mundane numbers they maintained for the team.

“I’m so glad to see you again… “ She hugged him once more as he tried to shy away . He would have to make this meeting with her soon. He would not tolerate more visions of her scrawny grey cat, or her hairdresser appointments and certainly not her late nights with… anyone.

“Oh, and do you still work with Schuldig-san?”

“Hai.”

“Oooo… tell him I say ‘hi’.”

Crawford didn’t realize he was glaring until one of Haruka’s companions dragged her off to work with a nervous smile. Haruka just waved, oblivious.

Crawford knew the girl would screw anyone, and Schuldig attracted girls of that disposition like flies to a corpse. But for some reason, it irked him to think that Schuldig may have been screwing her at the same time. He put the thought out of his head, simply grateful that the vision cut short enough to spare him all the details. He headed back to the apartment, this thoughts vacillating back and forth between issues and settling on the unexpected one.

Schuldig would have gloated if he fucked Haruka. Wouldn’t he…