____________Chapter II____________
Ain't No Rest For The Wicked
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"She's late."

"She's always late. Probably still doing her hair," Yasu replied as he stared off into space, fiddling with a small object in his hands.

Katsurou studied his watch for a few more seconds, taking inventory of the time they had already lost. Only a matter of minutes, which to anyone else wouldn't have mattered. However, Katsurou wasn't anyone else. He was a businessman. A businessman who hated nothing more than wasting resources. And what resource is more precious than time?

As he lifted his eyes from his watch, he readjusted the sleeve of his suit. A simple black-on-white three-piece was his preferred choice. He was so rarely seen in anything else that most people who knew him would assume that was all that existed in his wardrobe, along with a few dozen pairs of black sunglasses. Which he also took a moment to adjust as soon as he could.

A sudden gust of wind blew a few strands of his black hair over his eyes, which he promptly brushed aside. His eyes immediately focused upon an intersection a short distance down the street. Cars were packed neatly into their lanes like rows of herded cattle, each one slowly moving where they were being guided. Every now and then, one would shimmy its way into the next lane, changing its path, but still heading in the same direction. However, it was the cyclist that eventually caught Katsurou's attention. A young man was weaving in and out of the traffic, riding alongside the lanes and paying no heed to the starting and stopping that everyone else was forced to accomodate. That is, until he shot out into the intersection just as a bus zoomed by, barely missing the bike and causing him to wobble out of control. In a matter of seconds, he had regained his composure just long enough to pull off onto the sidewalk, where some bystanders quickly surrounded him, no doubt offering unnecessary aid.

A lone man, weaving his way through the patterns and flow of those around him, ignoring the laws as he saw fit. It wasn't until a close enough call came along to scare him back into line. With his mission clear in his mind, Katsurou watched the scene unfold and eventually disperse. "How appropriate," he muttered.

"Wha?" Yasu asked, whipping his head around to meet Katsurou's.

"Nothing," Katsurou said with nothing more than a sidelong glance.

Yasu raised a suspicious eyebrow, but it didn't last more than a second or two before he shrugged and went back to flicking the blade of his knife back and forth in his hand. The handle was worn and it seemed that it was an often-used tool. Not at all fancy nor expensive, but it got the job done, just like Yasu. The Takahashi family was well-known for their ruthless effectiveness. And Yasu was particularly infamous, which was likely the reason why he inherited the family name as patriarch. A powerful ally to be sure, which was why Katsurou bothered keeping him around.

The two were entire opposites of one another. Where Katsurou was calm and collected, Yasu was hot-headed and impulsive. It was often that he would shoot his mouth off and get himself into trouble. Without Katsurou keeping his leash in check, Yasu wouldn't have survived a month as patriarch. Sometimes Katsurou wonders how he still managed to keep himself in one piece. The only real thing the two shared was a sense of style.

"That her?" Yasu asked, snapping his knife shut and nodding his head in the direction of an approaching car. It was an extravagant vehicle, black as the night and shined to a perfect sheen. Chrome was equipped everywhere it could be and the windows were heavily tinted. It was as if it had been bought that afternoon and driven straight from a showroom. Which, knowing Ruma, wasn't entirely out of the question.

Katsurou turned to meet the vehicle as it pulled up to the sidewalk and slowly rolled to a halt. For a moment that felt far longer than it should have, all was still. Yasu and Katsurou shared a glance as they waited until finally the front passenger door popped open. Out climbed a dark-skinned man dressed in clothes that looked as if he had ripped them straight off of a mannequin from the latest fashion trend shop. He wasted no time in going to the back passenger door and quickly tore it open. Three women emerged soon after while a second man, apparently the driver, took his own position behind them with an umbrella. Of the women, two were wrapped in tight, black dresses and wearing matching gloves. They flanked the final member of the group; a tall, long-haired woman in a white blazer and skirt, each with bright red detailing. Covering her eyes was a pair of round sunglasses, much to large for her face, but still seemingly appropriate.

All together, the group took a few steps toward Katsurou and Yasu before stopping and allowing the woman in the middle to take her place in front. Yasu looked them all over and raised an eyebrow. "Is the whole entourage really necessary?"

Ruma shot him a cold glare. Although one couldn't see it through her glasses, there was no denying it was there. Without bothering to answer him, she turned her attention to Katsurou while brushing aside a lock of her almost white-blonde hair.

"You didn't tell me he would be here," she said thick with loathing.

"He is part of the syndicate," Katsurou noted.

"Unfortunately," she added, which was quickly met with a sneer from Yasu. In his hand, his knife was open and for the first time still. However, rather than letting things escalate, a glance from Katsurou proved that it wasn't worth pursuing.

After his knife was snapped shut again, he ran a hand through his maroon-dyed hair. "Can we get on with this? I'd like to enjoy this little vacation as much as I can," he said.

"This isn't a vacation," Katsurou was quick to correct. "You both know why we're here."

"Yeah, yeah. Business." Ruma dismissed the comment with a wave of her hand.

Katsurou's eyes narrowed at the remark, but he kept his mouth shut. Ruma might have been rude and apathetic, but she had the money. That was the one reason why they tolerated her and everyone knew it. Everyone except for Ruma, that is.

"Let's go," was all he said, taking the lead while the others fell into line behind him. Together, they crossed the plaza, catching a lot of eyes from the various bystanders. It was somewhat ironic, given that so few people really knew of their importance. However, judging from the hints he could pluck out from the masses, of the entire city, there would be likely a few that would recnogize them for what they were.

The Quincy had come to Phoenix Town.