Chapter 4

Masahiro cut the ignition, and the soft hum of the engine died.

"Get out!" Masahiro said sharply, already releasing his seatbelt to exit the car.

Matthew followed wordlessly, his gaze flicking around as they made their way to the entrance of the building in front of them, a modern one ensconced in a quieter neighbourhood.

As they entered, Matthew could not help but notice the interior: an immaculate lobby, with minimalistic decoration, and inlaid marble floors gleaming softly under reflected lights.

They walked to the elevator and got inside; Masahiro clicked the fifth floor.

Masahiro's arms were crossed, barely looking at Mattew, so the same for this one.

Finally, the doors opened on the fifth floor; Masahiro headed down the hall, toward a door with a sleek black plaque wrote: ´501´.

He unlocked it and went inside without waiting for Matthew to catch up.

Matthew held back at the threshold, catching his breath as he took in Masahiro's apartment.

It was neat, almost obsessively so; a place for everything and vice versa. The living room was spacious: black leather couches sat around a glass coffee table. A huge bookshelf ran along one wall, lined with neat rows of books, all alphabetized if appearances were anything to go by. The colour of the walls was a soft grey, while modern art adorned them-things like abstract paintings and geometrical designs stark in their simplicity.

Masahiro set the keys down on a small dish beside the door and turned to face him, his face unreadable.

"Come in," he said, yet somehow made it an order and not an invitation.

Matthew stepped inside, his gaze doing a sweep of the place. It was almost like being let loose into enemy territory; every bit of the apartment reflected Masahiro's rigid personality. Clean. Controlled. Cold.

“That's the guest room. That's yours for now,” he said, hooking his head to the right into a small way.

He did not wait for Matthew's response but instead walked halfway in the direction toward the hall then flung his arm in that direction, leading Matthew to follow him.

Matthew trudged along after him, still trying to sort out in his head what he had gotten himself into.

The guest bedroom was small but immaculate: a bed with crisp white sheets in the middle of the room, a dresser on one side, and a single window that let in the faint glow of the city lights.

"The bathroom's down the hall. Use it but keep it clean. I like things orderly, so don't leave your stuff laying around."

Matthew just nodded, feeling like a kid being scolded by a teacher.

Masahiro stood at the door, crossing his arms. "There are a few rules you need to follow while you're here." Firm voice, no negotiation. "First, no drugs. No alcohol. You want to get trashed, do it somewhere else, but not here.

Matthew quiet giggled but nodded again. ´What did Masahiro think he had something to do with drugs? Just because he was a drug dealer once, it didn't mean he was a junky…` he thought.

Clearly Masahiro didn't trust him, and he had every right to not do so.

"Second, you're not to go through my things. The bedroom at the end of the hall is mine. Stay out. That goes for my office, too," He nodded toward a door down further. "I work in there. Whatever you need to do, you do it in here, or in the living room. Got it?"

"Yeah, got it," Matthew muttered to himself, crossing his arms, and leaned against the doorframe of his new room.

Masahiro dropped the attitude and continued. "Third, you're on your own for meals. There's food in the fridge, but I'm not your cook. You don't like what's there? Go get something yourself."

Matthew snorted, "What, no room service?"

Masahiro's stare could freeze water, "You think this is a joke?

"No, really," Matthew grumbled.

Masahiro huffed a frustrated breath; obviously irritated, "This isn't some setup that is going to be temporary. You are here because I vouched for you, and if this doesn't work, you're out, and you can fend for yourself on the streets."

The smirk fell off Matthew's face. Reality punched him in the chest. This was not a joke. Masahiro was giving him an opportunity, but a very reluctant one; it was obvious he was not going to put up with any stupidity. Matthew nodded again, this time a little bit more sincerely.

“Forth and last rule," Masahiro said, his voice lowering a little. "No leaving without my knowledge. You aren't to step out of this apartment unless I know where you are going. I am responsible for you, so in case anything goes wrong, it is on me. So, don't make me regret this.”

Matthew looked at him, unbelieving. "What… do you really think I'm gonna put the three years I had been doing a good behaviour in the jail on the trash, run off and cause trouble?"

"I don't really know what you're capable of," Masahiro said flatly, gaze never wavering. "It's not like I trust you. I've worked too hard to let some ex-con screw things up.”

Matthew bristled at the accusation but bit his tongue.

Masahiro turned to leave then paused at the door. "We start at 6 AM tomorrow. You're working with me from now on and I expect you to pull your weight. Don't be late."

Irritation and confusion churning in his stomach, Matthew watched him go. He had no idea how he had let this happen-life practically taken hostage by the man who arrested him in the first place, with rules to boot like these that just treated him like an inmate all over again.

But all that for later. For now, he needed to cooperate. His freedom depended on his screwed-up deal with Masahiro-the man he once swore vengeance upon.

____

Matthew was in the living room in front of the mirror, tucking his long hair back into a messy bun. He was fitted into a dark blue tee with some faded writing across the front, and over it, worn-out leather jacket, which sat softly on his broad shoulders. The tattoos flowed out from under the sleeves-fledged life on the road, where every design marked his history in ink.

He could hear the steps approaching, that faint, expensive scent of cologne wafting into the air well before Masahiro even appeared. Matthew knew it was him. Continuing to fix his hair, he watched through the reflection as Masahiro finally entered the room.

Masahiro was razor-sharp, as always, attired in a full black suit with an overcoat of the very same colour. The crisp white of a shirt peeked from underneath, while his leather gloves completed that calculated professional touch.

Masahiro cast a quick glance up at the wall clock, a look of surprise crossing his face in the same instant. Then, he turned back to Matthew with a disapproving look, one that showed more than well enough that he wasn't happy to have him there in the first place.

With a heavy sigh, Masahiro ran a hand through his hair. "Let's go," he muttered, already heading toward the door.

Matthew said nothing. He just followed, the sound of his footsteps quickening as he tried to keep the pace with Masahiro's long strides.

Down outside the apartment, Masahiro stepped aside and let Matthew lead out first before he followed, then turned around and locked up behind them. Matthew always walked a step behind-a shadow after the agent.

Soon enough, they arrived at the elevator, and Masahiro pressed the button. In several seconds, the doors slid open to reveal two young women already standing inside-they were unmistakably building residents. First Masahiro got in and then Matthew.

The women whispered to each other, casting darting glances in Matthew's direction now and then. Clearly, they were speaking of him. For all that he looked a little rough around the edges, for all that his beard was more than a little scurry, his hair in desperate need of a wash, Matthew was singularly arresting, and he drew eyes-male and female alike.

Masahiro made a low, vexed noise; it was obvious he was irritated by all the attention Matthew was getting.

It was several lifetimes later when the elevator doors opened once again. Masahiro strode out; Matthew second behind him, his carriage relaxed almost to the point of laxity.

They started off in the direction of the parking garage. Masahiro clicked the unlock button on his car fob as they approached it. They both got inside; Masahiro started the ignition without a word.

The closed space of the car almost choked Matthew instantly. He leaned his chin onto his hand, looking out of the window as swirls of thoughts whirled in his brain.

´Of all the agents he can work with… it had to be Masahiro? ´ he asked himself.

They finally arrived at their destination: the police station. Both exited the car and headed for the door.

The smell of coffee and paperwork invaded their nostrils as they came in. At this time of the morning, the station was generally well underway-already filled with action as officers walked up and down, phones ringing non-stop, and conversations being held in whispered hurries.

Masahiro nodded at his colleagues as they passed, with a genuine smile to boot. Matthew watched this proceeding from the side-lines in stares aghast. He could never have considered Masahiro would be… warm.

They went up the staircases to the first floor. Masahiro stopped before a door and opened it; there was a conference room on the other side. He stepped aside and invited Matthew inside.

In the middle of the room, there was a long, large table that seated twelve. There was a presentation screen at the front of the room, and against the left wall was a bookshelf filled to the brim with file folders. Across from it stood a whiteboard. Next to the door stood a small humming coffee machine. Seated already around the table was a man going through a document.

“Officer Reed," Masahiro greeted as he walked toward the table.

Reed looked up and nodded briefly at Masahiro. "Agent Payne," he said, his eyes dropping back to the document in his hands.

"Punctual as ever," Masahiro said, taking a chair and sitting down.

Reed chuckled low in his throat, looking up.

Masahiro turned and scanned for Matthew, who was leaning against the wall with his arms across his chest, eyes fixed intently on him. Their gaze touched for a second before Masahiro dismissed him, looking away uninterested.

A few minutes later, the door opened. Matthew turned to see David Jones enter, trailed by a young woman.

"Good morning," Jones said as he strode toward the table.

 Masahiro and Reed both rose to their feet.

"At ease," Jones said, waving his hand as he sat. "Let's get comfortable."

Masahiro and Reed sat back down.

Jones looked around the room until his eyes fell upon Matthew. "Why aren't you sitting?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Nobody told me to," Matthew replied, still standing, leaning with his arms crossed against the wall.

Jones shook his head in disapproval. "Come sit."

Matthew frowned a moment longer before meandering nonchalantly over to the table and sitting.

"Alright, let's skip the formalities," Jones started saying, looking around the room. "We all know why we're here. Matthew, Masahiro, Reed…” he said to each person as he motioned to them, respectively. "Reed, Masahiro, Matthew."

Everyone gave a brief nod.

Matthew has agreed to cooperate with us to bring down the mafia kingpin here in Middlesbrough," Jones explained. "He'll give us some intel and help us on the ground. So, Matthew, tell us a little about Mr. K."

Matthew leaned back in his chair; his expression unreadable. "Nothing," he said coolly. "I don't know of a Mr. K."

Masahiro gave an incredulous snort.

"So, how can you help us… what can you tell us?" Jones finally asked.

Matthew let out a deep sigh. "I really don't know, Mr. K nor what he looks like… The mafia is organized; we have the boss, Mr. K alias Kilian; under him, we have the underboss, Rocco, in charge of operations. We have eight businesses with their respective bosses but…" Matthew said, stopping for a second.

"But…" Masahiro jumped in, interested.

“The eight families are split into two groups; we refer to them as Heavy and Light."

Masahiro raised an eyebrow.

"And what are the mafia businesses?" Reed asked. "Better yet, what makes up the Heavy Side and Light Side?"

"What are the names of the other leaders of the other businesses?" Masahiro asked.

"On the Heavy Side, we have drug trafficking, human trafficking, violent enforcement and coercive control, and arms Trafficking. On the Light Side, we have nightlife operations, prostitution rings, bootlegging, and digital mafia operations."

For a while, there was dead silence, for the number of information Matthew had just given was too much.

"And their names?" Masahiro instated.

Matthew smiled weakly, almost imperceptible. "I don't know the other capos…”

Masahiro knew full well he was lying quite clearly covering for some of his old associates-but who could tell if he ever would on Mr. K?

"Anyway, we can't just go off names alone… we need to get active intelligence," Jones replied.

"What would be the best way to get that?" Reed asked, eyes narrowing.

“I think whispers surround nightlife operations. Prostitution rings can also provide insight," Masahiro returned.”

“I’ve heard Mr K prefers men…” Reed intervened.

Matthew nodded. "There are rumours about that."

Jones leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms-an expression so very serious, yet steely on his face. "So, this thing about Nightlife operations, is there any place where we can get intel?"

Matthew straightened, his eyes assuming a gravity settling in. "There are three places we can hit: Da Vinci's Nightclub, Tower, and Spiced Cherry."

Masahiro raised an eyebrow. "Da Vinci's? What's that like?

“Da Vinci's is a high-end nightclub," Matthew said, his voice tinged with longing. "It is known for its exclusive clientele, for an alive atmosphere. If anyone knows something, it'll be there. A hub for the elite and connected of this city-perfect to gather whispers."

"And Tower?" Masahiro pressed; curiosity piqued.

“The Tower's an underground gay bar in the Northeast Hotel," Matthew explained. "It's also a front for money laundering, too. The clientele there are… well, let's just say they have a lot of secrets to tell."

Masahiro frowned. "So how do we get into these places?"

"To get in Tower, you need a code word," Matthew said, suddenly serious, the smile gone. "For that, I need to get in touch with Castro."

"Who's Castro?" Jones furrowed his eyebrows.

"A mafia pigeon," Matthew shrugged. "He has connections and knows just how to get what we need."

David nodded. "So, once you get the code, you shall have access to Tower?"

"Exactly," Matthew replied.

"What about spiced cherry?" Jones asked.

"It is a high couture gay brothel. I do not even know how to get there. Never thought I would need to."

Masahiro was intrigued. "What exactly is Spiced Cherry?

“I do not really know that much about it," Matthew confessed. "It's a ghost brothel, really. Rumoured to cater to the wealthiest clientele. No one seems to know where it is, which is part of the intrigue."

Masahiro furrowed his brow, deep in thought. "Maybe that's where we should focus; if it's that exclusive, then the connections there might lead us to Mr. K."

"But for that, we need to know its location," Jones said, the worry finally beginning to seep into his voice.

Masahiro now turned to Matthew. "So, we need you to get some information first in Da Vinci's."

Jones straightened up; his tone laced with determination. "Alright Matthew, tomorrow night you're going to get some information in Da Vinci's. Masahiro will be outside, doing surveillance."

Matthew turned sideways, giving him a challenging look. "You sure you can keep your cool out there? It's a nightclub, not a police precinct."

Masahiro smirked; annoyance flared. "I can handle myself. Just don't screw this up, or I won't hesitate to pull you out."

"Trust me," Matthew replied, heavy on the sarcasm. "I'm the one that knows his way around these places. You just keep an eye out.”