Smooth Operator.

16. Maibara

CHAPTER SIXTEEN
MAIBARA

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ONCE TANGERINE'S SKIN HAD SIZZLED LIKE BACON IN A PAN, ESTELA ALLOWED HIM TO SIT BACK AND TAKE A BREATHER. She dragged her Beretta lightly along the floor to pull it closer to herself, eyes watching the fruit before her curiously, making sure he was recovering well.

She tucked his lighter back inside his navy waistcoat, the knuckles of her fingers brushing against his chest, and dropped the metal piping she'd broken off from the nearby sink, which had grown hot in her hand from the lighter's flame.

"Gonna make a wicked scar," Estela piped up, leaning against the back of the Momonga seats behind her, gesturing to Tangerine's neck.

When his bright eyes met hers, his expression was far from comedic, barely finding any humour in the situation.

"Got enough fuckin' scars from this damn job," Tangerine spat with a roll of his eyes, his neck stiff of movement as he was probably still in quite a lot of pain — you know, from being shot in the neck, and then almost immediately cauterised.

Estela shrugged, persistant to improve Tangerine's mood, although she thought it may be impossible to make the man genuinely smile; even if he hadn't been cauterised at all any time recently.

She scrambled forward, picking through the first-aid kit once again, this time to find a plaster large enough to cover his wound, just to ensure it wouldn't be directly affected as it healed. A pack of white plaster dressings advertised itself to her, and she eagerly popped open the pack as if they were newly-bought cigarettes — she cast a glance at her black blazer; God, she craved one.

As she ripped a plaster from its seal and leaned forward to gently apply it to Tangerine's skin, she smiled softly down at him. "We can just hope it heals nicely, then," she said with a pep in her voice, to which Tangerine purely grimaced.

The seal fluttered to the floor, leaving the white plaster naked in the air. Estela's fingers brushed along Tangerine's baby blue collar in an attempt to move the material away from the still-fresh wound, her dark eyes trained on the spot.

Her fingers trailed down from the inside of the blue collar to the skin, hot and aching even to the touch, and Tangerine sucked in a breath, his face wincing, a curse brushing past his lips.

Estela took this reaction as a sign to use lighter movements, and when she stuck the plaster down, her fingertips moved like feathers along his skin, conscious to not put the man in too much more pain.

His blue eyes glistened as Estela pulled away, plucking the stray seal off Tangerine's thigh and stuffing it back in the first-aid kit, his gaze lingering on her movements, how careful and calm she'd been with him.

Overhead, the speakers chimed and the announcer presented their prompt arrival to Maibara Station.

From the floor, Estela peered out the windows, the purple lighting of the carriage altering the true colours of the scenery outside, where the sun was beginning to rise. They'd been up all night.

"I'll be back." Estela stated as she pulled herself to her feet, Beretta snug in her grip.

Tangerine hummed in reply. He tried to get a word out, but evidently the pain was too great, and his strength had faltered.

Considering some recent tragic and physical events, no one was expecting Tangerine to be in tip-top shape; apart from, maybe, The White Death, who was supposed to be waiting for him and his brother at Kyoto Station.

Estela offered a smile before stepping into out into the gangway. Perhaps Maibara Station would be a good place to escape this whole situation, if there were anything around.

When the Shinkansen came to a stop, the assassin loitered in the gangway, examining this new setting. The door pulled itself to the side, filling the space with a low blanket of opaque fog and a nippy chill.

Although the station's roof had been fitted with lanterns, they were much too dim to light up the way through the sea of fog, of which blended into the ashen hue of the early morning sky. Where you would hope to see dark blades of mountains there was purely cloud, and nothing else much to see. On a better, more lucky day, perhaps Maibara Station would be a beautiful place.

Grip tightening on gun, Estela stepped a foot onto the damp platform, experimentally pulling half of her body out of the train so she could take a gander of the station before fully committing to leaving the sour safety of the train.

The fog was much too thick, the only things legible were black shapes, and the only shapes Estela could make out were pillars, and benches between them.

The fog was much too heavy, and Estela decided it would be a double suicide to bring Tangerine out here in his condition. The air held an icy quality; much too cold for him. And it would not be intelligent at all to step out somewhere and walk in a direction where you don't know what's at the end of the line. They may as well be walking into The White Death's fangs, if they didn't know any better.

The woman pursed her lips, running a hand over her heavily dishevelled hair, the ponytail beginning to droop as its hold began to falter.

She stepped back onto the Shinkansen and trudged her way back to the neon Momonga carriage, where Tangerine still sat against the wall. "We should stay on," she announced.

"If we stay on, we fall right under The White Death's nose," Tangerine pushed out, voice hoarse and gravelly.

"I know. But if we get off, we have no idea where the fuck we are," the woman continued, walking back over to Tangerine and leaning against a seat. "The fog's too heavy, I don't wanna risk it. If we fall right under his nose, I'll go down trying to kill him."

Tangerine nodded slowly, a non-verbal way to tell her "I understand."

"If that Russian cunt's still waiting for us at Kyoto, we can just take this train to the end of the line, take the first flight to — fuck knows — Cyprus, or some shit, and relocate there for a bit."

"Do you know anybody in Cyprus?"

Estela shrugged. "We'd find someone. And, besides, we wouldn't be there for long; we stay somewhere too long and he'd find us. We stay out of touch for long enough, however, and maybe he'd decide to drop our case for until we actually cross paths."

And, with this, the door began to shift to a close, trapping them inside the bullet once more.

"Bollocks, looks like we're stuck here now," Tangerine sighed.