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"It is absolutely necessary, for the peace and safety of mankind, that some of earth's dark, dead corners and unplumbed depths be left alone; lest sleeping abnormalities wake to resurgent life, and blasphemously surviving nightmares squirm and splash out of their black lairs to newer and wider conquests."
-H.P. Lovecraft
Arataka sweeps into the gilded, smoky bar with the chill of the outdoors still whipping at his back. Huffing, he nods to the men stationed on either side of the door and strides towards the backroom of the bar, where the smoke thins and the hard clack of pool balls ricochets off the painted walls.A dark-skinned man in a lossened suit stands at the other end, looking up when Arataka enters. He grins, wide enough to almost be rictus, stretching the red tattoos over his cheeks. "From that shit-eating smirk on your face, I'm guessing you have good news?""Mildly," Arataka answers, coming around the table and pausing a few feet away. Ekubo looks less sleazy than he usually does, plopped back into his element and not drooping beneath eye-searing police lights. He's got all his thick, gold piercings back in his ears and mouth. "A million and a half, take it or leave it."Ekubo leans back, scrubbing his fingers over his mouth as he props himself up on his pool stick. "Not bad. That it?""They're willing to go for two million," Arataka extrapolates, taking the glass of whiskey that some scantily clad server plants in his hand. He brings it to his mouth, tipping it back, but doesn't drink. He watches Ekubo mirror him unconsciously with a far more generous sip, waiting a moment before finishing, "But you have to leave the prefecture.""Ha! Shoulda known," Ekubo barks, shaking his head with a smile. He leans back down to line up another shot. "Not a chance. Tell Geishi to shove it up his ass."Arataka sighs, setting his drink down on the lip of the pool table. "I was afraid you'd say that."Ekubo grunts, slamming the eight ball straight down the nearest funnel and ending the game. His win. He shakes his head again, straightening. "You know me, Reigen. I got roots here. And in comparison? Two million? It's piss! I won't take it.""You think I don't know your 'history'?" Arataka replies drily, leaning forward to get close to Ekubo's face. The man is taller than him, but Arataka has decades of experience making himself seem bigger than he is. "I could make a fucking constellation map of all the places you've been arrested in this town. You're lucky I like you, or you'd have been in a cell twenty times over. Taking the settlement means you get more money than you could burn, and the satisfaction of knowing you're taking it out of Geishi's pockets. Staying only puts a bigger target on your back from the force—it makes you look fickle.""I've got people that need me here, Reigen.""So send them checks from the Ryukus!" Arataka huffs, tossing a hand up in exasperation when Ekubo only grins at him.Clapping a hand on Arataka's back, they both begin to make their way back towards the door. A man by the door hands Ekubo his coat. Arataka hadn't given them his, so he merely knots his scarf tighter around his neck. They step out into the cold together, and Ekubo releases Arataka so he can step to the side and light up. Sucking down a lungful of smoke, Arataka holds it for a long moment, closing his eyes. He releases it through his teeth, plumes of gray spinning through the air as he cracks his eyes open again to glance at Ekubo with a wry smile. "You're a real pain in my ass, you know that?""You love me," Ekubo retorts without missing a beat, motioning one of the other suited men outside to bring a car around."Love the money, if nothing else."Ekubo laughs, nasal and raspy. Annoying. It's quiet for a moment as Ekubo waits and Arataka smokes.Then, soft, Ekubo says, "I respect your advice, Reigen, but I can't take it. I'll take the half, but I'm not going."Arataka sighs around his cigarette. "I don't like it, Ekubo.""What are they gonna do? Kill me?" Ekubo scoffs, gesturing to the lingering bruises on his face from Seasoning City police's tender love and care. "They've tried once. How are they gonna kill a man who never sleeps?"Barking out a laugh of his own, Arataka shakes his head and gives Ekubo a look that makes it clear that he thinks he's very stupid. Ekubo sneers back, coming forward to clap Arataka on the shoulder again."Get the money.""You're too much." Arataka sighs.Snickering, Ekubo leans back again just as a woman comes up to his side, placing a box in his hands. Ekubo grunts out his thanks, then takes Arataka's wrist to slap the box in his hand. "That's the shit you said you liked last time you came by. Special cut, just for you.""Ah, I feel so loved," Arataka drawls, but he slaps a hand on Ekubo's back in friendly jest anyway. He steps away towards his own car as Ekubo's driver pulls around. "Jumpa anda di sekeliling, bangsat, or whatever the hell they say where you're from.""I'd be pissed if I wasn't impressed by how fast you learned to insult me in my own damn language!" Ekubo calls, right before Arataka slams his car door shut.He casts Ekubo another, wider grin, before peeling off back into the street.A few streets over, at a red light, Arataka takes the box Ekubo had handed him out of his pocket to examine it. He squints.The label is in English, so it takes him a minute to parse it out. Esoterica Penzance. That fancy pipe tobacco that he'd been offered a month or so ago at that same bar, Ekubo on the other side of the lounge huffing away at his own, filling the room with sweet smelling smoke.Arataka laughs, flipping the cardboard tab up with his thumb to see several cans of the stuff tucked away inside. Arataka's not much of a pipe man—Ekubo likes it more than he does, says he prefers taste over high, but Arataka likes the way cigarettes singe him from the chest out—but he recognizes that this is pretty expensive stuff. At least Ekubo knows the value of Arataka's work.He sets the box in the passenger seat, and not a moment later his phone rings. Curving onto the next street, Arataka sighs and pulls that out too, glancing at the screen with one eye on the road.It's Kurata."Hello?""That reporter boy from Spire News is here," Kurata huffs, sounding irritated. "You were supposed to be back twenty minutes ago, Reigen-san. He's been badgering me for half an hour now.""I had to stop by and give Ekubo the news, figured it was best to do it in person." Arataka swaps the phone to his other ear as he flicks on his turn signal and makes his way to another, more kosher bar. "Tell him to meet me over at the bar beside Sumeda-san's shop. I'll be waiting for him.""Anything to get him out of the office," Kurata sighs, muttering a grouchy goodbye before hanging up.Arataka scoffs to himself, clicking his tongue.His work is never done.
•°•
"First day of law school, my Professor says two things; first, from now on, when your mother says she loves you, get a second opinion.""And?" Hoshida Origo is a bright-eyed, attentive man. He looks more like a boy in his oversized suit and brightly patterned tie, but Arataka appreciates a little whimsy every now and then.He taps his glass of virgin whiskey sour on the bar, tilting his head at the kid. It's only two in the afternoon, after all. Hardly the time to be drunk. "Second; you want justice, go to a whorehouse. You wanna get fucked, go to court."Hoshida scribbles something down on his little notepad, camera swinging around his neck as he does. He writes fast enough that Arataka's half inclined to believe that his words are like liquid gold to the kid. And, he thinks arrogantly, maybe they are.He looks back up at Arataka with curious, expectant eyes. "Okay, so... Let's say you have a client that you know is guilty—""No.""No?" Hoshida tilts his head, clearly taken aback by Arataka's interruption.Setting his glass fully back on the bar, Arataka uses his hands to extrapolate as he talks, tapping a finger on the bar for emphasis. "Neither our justice system nor I care about that. Every defendant, regardless of what he's done, has the right to the best defence his attorney can provide.""But then, what do you do with the truth?""Truth?" Arataka cocks his head slightly, picking his drink back up. "How do you mean?""I'm...not sure how many ways there are to mean it," Hoshida says slowly, apprehensive.It makes Arataka laugh. Hoshida is young enough for his naivety to still be funny. "You think there's only one?" When Hoshida stares at him helplessly, Arataka shakes his head. "There's only one that matters. My version of it. The one I create in the minds of those twelve jurors." He taps the bar again, taking a sip of his drink. "If you want, you can call it something else. The illusion of truth. If you want." Arataka shrugs. "It's up to you."Hoshida still looks a bit apprehensive. "Okay."Arataka takes another deep drink of his non-alcoholic cocktail and hums. He glances at Hoshida again. "This is a cover story, right?""Yeah.""Yeah," Arataka echoes, pleased. "Great."Hoshida scribbles something else down on his notepad, and the lull in conversation brings Arataka's attention to the TV across from them. The news is playing, because it's always either the news or a game in places like these. The woman onscreen looks stern and righteous. Hoshida could learn a thing or two from her.
"We will, of course, stay with this story as it continues to unfold. What we know is that at approximately 1:08 this morning—"
"So when did you know you had them?"Arataka startles a bit, looking back to Hoshida, who's looking at him expectantly again. "Sorry—what?"Hoshida looks back down at his little questionnaire sheet and repeats the question in full. "When, during the Namoto trial, did you say to yourself, 'I've got them'?""The day I took the case," Arataka replies easily, distracted. A familiar face is now taking up the screen where that reporter just was. He slips off the barstool and moves past Hoshida, closer to the TV. "Excuse me.""—shocking murder of one of Cinnamon's most beloved figures, TV star Mogami Keiji, has left the city numb," the woman's voice reports, an old newspaper photo of Mogami smiling out at them. "I understand we have Andou live, on the scene."The scene changes from the photo to live footage of the garden of a large, fancy house absolutely swarming with police. Another reporter who looks like he rushed to get there is reading out the context of what's happening onscreen. What's left of his hair is dripping and slowly freezing, gone either unnoticed or uncared for in the haste to be the first on scene. Arataka feels more than sees Hoshida come up beside him to watch as well.Then, like the scorching sun coming through the clouds of policemen, a man appears.He's tall. Taller than most of the officers, and built like a brick shithouse. He has dark hair cut low and straight over dark eyes, and he's covered in the sanguine, wet remains of blood spatter. The police are forcing him down into the car, hands cuffed behind his back, and for a moment the man makes eye contact with the cameras.He looks like a killer.'And a slugger,' Arataka thinks absently, head tilted in intrigued consideration.
"We have just learned that police have arrested a nineteen-year-old man identified as Kageyama Shigeo as the current main suspect. According to Captain Sano, he was found beneath the train tracks after running from—"
"We have to reschedule," Arataka says abruptly, making up his mind. He grins and claps Hoshida on the shoulder, making the man jump. "Call my office, okay? Sorry." He strides back to the bar, snatching up his phone and fishing out a few bills to leave on the countertop. He walks towards the door and flips his phone open.Kurata answers on the first ring. "Law offices of Reigen Arataka.""Have you got the news on by any chance?" Arataka chirps.There's a pause. Arataka waits very patiently for his secretary to get to the TV and find what he's looking for. He grins wider at the sound she makes when she sees it."Oh, Reigen-san. No.""Yes," Arataka drawls back cheerfully. "Clear my schedule for the rest of the day. I have to go meet our newest client."