𝐍𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐁𝐥𝐮𝐞 𝐒𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐬 | 𝙷.𝚂.

two - the alley ordeal

Nine walked briskly past everyone in the bar, pushing open a set of double doors leading to a muggy stairway leading downwards.

His fists were clenched at his sides, his nostrils slightly flared, and his footsteps heavy as he stomped to his call.

His boss was in the basement of the run-down bar, waiting for him to arrive to give him instructions on their next hit.

And if Nine wasn't benefiting from their agreement more than he cared to admit, he'd still be at home right now, smoking a cigarette and mindlessly listening to the busy street outside.

Essentially doing absolutely nothing-- just as he liked.

"Nine," his tan skinned companion addressed him as he walked past in the narrow space, earning a curt nod from him in return.

His fists clenched harder at the name, but not out of anger.

Another door opened before him as he approached the end of a short hall, a bright room with newspaper articles and red thread on walls purposefully placed.

He'd seen them a thousand times before, but every time sent a sinister shiver down his spine.

"You called?" He asked as he stood before the man in a wooden chair, who was looking down at another possible lead.

His boss looked up at him plainly before seeming to realize who was now in front of him.

"Ah, didn't think you'd be here so soon," he said, standing and tossing a stack of papers onto a nearby table carelessly.

Nine watched him, "This is the first lead in a week, almost the longest we've ever gone."

"I know," his boss started, "and last time I know you went a little wild from being so pent up about it. I really tried with this one."

He crossed his arms in front of Nine, waiting for a response.

"You didn't pull this one out of your ass, did you Damian?" He asked with a raised brow.

Damian chuckled, patting Nine on the shoulder before returning to his firm stance.

"No, and even if I did, you get paid either way. I'm not actually your boss, ya know."

"I don't give a shit about the pay," Nine hissed, growing anxious with the hit.

"I know, I know. I just thought I'd make it clear once again that you aren't employed by me. We're business partners so to speak."

"It's been two years Damian."

"And I say it every few months because you continue to treat me like I'm your boss."

"It's easier to think of you that way," Nine shrugged.

"Why? For your morality?"

Nine glared in return to the unnerving comment. "Can we talk about the fuckin hit or not?"

"God, you Brits sometimes," Damian muttered. "All right, fine. But you need to be there in the next thirty minutes. We've got eyes on him now."

"Who?" Nine asked.

"Parker Oswald."

Nine blinked rapidly. "The son of Uccello's primary business partner?"

Damian grinned. "Precisely."

Nine didn't show it, but he felt his adrenaline suddenly spike with the eagerness that began shifting through his nerves. This was exactly the thing they were looking for— a real break.