In fact, Kite wondered if the boy was aware of much anything at all. He didn't seem to notice anything beyond the newspaper he held before him--not the patron who bumped into the back of his chair on her way to an empty table, nor the extra pair of eyes watching the scene from across the street. The only change when the boy finally left the cafe was a shift in his focus from the newspaper to the cobblestones at his feet.
It was almost laughable how easy he was making Kite's job.
Kite took another drag on his cigarette while he waited. The kid clearly wasn't in any sort of hurry, not that Kite would have expected anything else from a spoiled corporate brat. Tension hummed in Kite's veins as the boy drew nearer, but he forced himself to remain casual, leaning against the wall as if he had no interest in anything beyond stealing a smoke in the shadows of a recessed doorway.
He held the illusion until the second the boy passed. Then, in one smooth motion, he grabbed the boy's shoulder and spun him into the corner he had just vacated, pinning him to the wall and clamping a hand over his mouth. He still held his lit cigarette between his fingers. Smoke drifted up from the burning embers into the boy's eyes, stinging and disorienting him further as he struggled to break free or at least turn to see who had assaulted him.
Kite pressed his gun to the boy's lower back, jamming the metal into his target hard enough to be felt even through the thick layers of cloth. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," he warned.
The boy stilled, or at least stilled as much as one could when shaking like a leaf. Kite wouldn't have been surprised at all if the boy had pissed himself. He eased up on the hand covering the boy's mouth.
"You don't want to cause trouble with me," the boy began, wasting no time launching into what was clearly a well-rehearsed litany. "You'll want to release me this instant. Do you have any idea who my father is?"
Kite choked back a laugh. Ah yes, the elder Fuji, head of one of the largest and most successful corporations in the city, and directly responsibly for his son's current circumstances. He was was either arrogant or naive enough to refuse to pay even a single cent of the protection money demanded of him, no matter how dire the consequences of such contempt were said to be. His arrogance was so great in fact that he had also refused to order any sort of protection for his wife and the heir to their fortune.
"If you want there to be anything left for your father to rescue, then you'll follow me, and don't even think of screaming or trying to run, Fuji heir."
The boy started at the unexpected use of his name, but when no further reaction seemed forthcoming, Kite loosened his grip just enough to allow Fuji to move. A quick glance out into the street confirmed no one was watching, so Kite herded Fuji the short distance from the doorway to the neighboring alley.
"Take care of him," Kite ordered his two waiting associates, shoving Fuji in their direction.
The kid began struggling in earnest when one of the men pressed a chloroform-soaked rag to his face while the other held him fast, but to no avail. It wasn't long before Fuji went limp in their arms, and Kite made quick work of binding his wrists and ankles with the strongest knots he knew. He wasn't the sort who would have an entire plan go south due to shoddy knotwork; he wouldn't have made it to where he was now that way.
His associates helped bundle his target into a waiting crate. Emblazoned as it was with the name of the adjacent art gallery, it wouldn't draw more than a passing glance on the street. After all, to a casual observer, they would look like nothing more than a couple of hired hands moving a piece of art under the watchful eye of a curator.
The casual observer wouldn't be that far from the truth, Kite thought absently. There was a certain elegance to the crisp tailored lines of his wardrobe that bled into the smooth curves of his face, a contrast that was heightened by the power of unconsciousness.
Kite brushed a stray hair away from Fuji's face before stuffing a scrap of rag into his mouth. He didn't expect the brat to regain consciousness for some time yet, but he was a firm believer that safe was better than sorry.
He let his gaze linger for just a little longer before he closed the lid. "Lead on, gentlemen," he said to his associates, waving to the mouth of the alley.
The trip to their destination was both short and uneventful, and Kite was ensconced in his favorite chair with his favorite scotch when the corporate heir, now tied securely to a plain, sturdy chair, finally stirred.
Kite could have left one of his associates standing guard. Perhaps that would have been the wiser choice since he had other plans requiring his attention this night, but he had always enjoyed laying out the ground rules in person. Coming to face-to-face with the smooth-talking mob boss himself seemed to strike fear into people's hearts in a way that waking up facing simple muscle did not. Kite knew how powerful a motivator fear could be.
prillalar you're up!