The broken light held his attention for a brief second as he cast his gaze around the room. It was a strange thing to leave broken, this glass and wire contraption. The remains of the bulb crunched underfoot as he approached the scratched desk.
The shot was loud enough to attract the attention of everyone in the building, even with the silencer, but there was no one in the building who wasn’t involved.
Crawford woke up deafened. He blinked over at Yohji, who was clutching his handgun tightly and leaning over him to aim at the doorway. There was a thud. Crawford looked over and smirked at the betrayal on the man’s face.
“Hirofumi,” Crawford observed, still unable to hear his own voice.
The politician’s son collapsed face down in the remains of the long broken light bulb. Yohji looked a bit taken aback and stared at the hot metal in his hand.
“Proactive defence,” he said.
“You keep weird bedfellows,” a nasal voice observed.
“Always,” Crawford sat up.
Schuldig grimaced at him. “And you don’t even have time for a shower.”
“Fetch me a damp cloth from the bathroom down the hall,” Crawford commanded. “Yohji, give me back my gun. Do you have a passport?”
Yohji nodded, eyes shining.
“We’re going to America.”
“The minute they find out about this they’ll check the airports. My passport’s under my name. By the time we reach America they’ll have made that one phone call and we’ll be caught.” Yohji dressed as he spoke, stripping off the used condom with dark amusement. Crawford caught his look.
“Next time we’ll clean up,” he shrugged. “You’re basically packed, yes?”
“In that I live out of my suitcase? Definitely.”
Schuldig reappeared with the cloth and Crawford cleaned himself off. He tossed it to Yohji, who did the same. Schuldig leered at the blond, who winked at him. Crawford smirked at their interaction.
“When Ouka died I just got beaten with a golf club. You don’t have to run,” Schuldig said.
“Yohji does,” Crawford told him. “And besides, I want to. I have plans.” He frowned. “When did you kill Ouka?”
“Yesterday. And it was Farf who killed her, so not actually my fault.” It did explain the bruises on Schuldig’s face, and the look of wounded pride he wore. “You’ll still be drawing from your private account, then?” he asked. “I’ll tell Nagi to make sure that one stays open.” Schulgi frowned. “Wait, does this mean I’m in charge of Schwarz now?”
Crawford suppressed a shudder. “I suppose so,” he admitted. He picked up the report and evidence from the floor and studied it thoughtfully before putting the handful of libel into Yohji’s suitcase. They shared a look.
“This won’t work,” Yohji sighed. “We’ll be arrested.”
Crawford held up a pair of tickets. “What kind of fleeing criminals take a boat?” he smirked.
“Cruise? That’ll take months!” Yohji gaped, goggle-eyed.
“Ought to cool the pursuit a little,” Crawford laughed smugly. “Boat leaves in half an hour, so we’ll have to move fast.”
“And you said you couldn’t see that far ahead,” Yohji scolded.
“I can’t, but I can still plan.”
* * *
Weeks later, stretched out around a pool and planning their new business, though they’d yet to even pick a city, Crawford asked the question that had been bothering him for a while.
“What woke you?”
“What always did,” Yohji shrugged, lifting up his shades for a better look at Crawford, who’d switched his normal glasses for prescription sunglasses as well. “The bulb. I used to replace that glass regularly, you know. Everyone stood on it, and it made a sharp noise against the wooden floor.”
“Oh. Not bad.”
“I thought so.”