The smell of freshly ground coffee beans filled the room that Sam stumbled into the next morning. After telling her boss she had agreed to the mandatory vacation time Takashi had taken her to their new base of operations.
“I get to work freelance, which means no bosses breathing down my back,” said Sam. “I get to work out of some place that doesn’t smell like stale coffee and urine. I got the newest gadgets last night. I got to wake up to the smell of fresh coffee. I got a lucky break.”
Takashi picked up his cup of coffee and walked out of the kitchen into the living room. “Don’t talk so much in the morning,” Takashi grunted.
“Looks like someone is in need of a daily dose of caffeine.” Sam poured herself a cup and joined Takashi in the sparse room. A couch and two chairs had been set up to create a conversation area in the large room, the other half of the room was used for sparing practice. Although Takashi was several decades older than Sam, he had left several bruises before she had called it quits the night before. “For an old geezer you pack quite the punch. Where did you get your training?”
“Around. Now shut up before I shut you up.”
Sam sat obediently in her chair until Takashi had finished his coffee. “Can we talk business now?” she asked.
“Yeah.” Takashi pulled of a folder and opened if on the low coffee table. “These are all the paintings that have been stolen so far.” Another folder joined the first. “And these are the suspected marks.”
“Suspected?” Sam inquired. “As in they have reason to believe these would be target by JP.R.? Actual evidence?”
“Not evidence exactly.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“It means they had a profiler look pick out the most likely hot spots for us to work with. They are arranged in order of most to least likely hits.”
Sam flipped through the folder growing more disgusted with each suspect mark. “This is bullshit. Complete bullshit. Did the people who created this steaming pile of crap even take a peek at JP.R.’s record?”
“I would assume so,” replied Takashi unfazed. “Why?”
“There isn’t a single Monet painting in here, for that matter there isn’t even a single impressionistic painting. There’re a few abstract pieces, but seriously, I want to meet this profiler, they suck.”
Takashi’s eyes never left Sam as she shifted through the paintings and ruled out every lead they had. By the time Sam had gotten to the last possible mark in the folder, papers littered the floor. The soft clink of coffee mug hitting wood stopped Sam’s rant, I’ve said to much in front of him … What if he realizes the truth.
“Looks like Commissioner Weslyn wasn’t lying when he said you were the best one for this job,” Takashi stated. “You are a mystery. You have had the best education, and yet, instead of continuing your education or starting your own business, you become a police officer. With your high intelligence and quick understanding it wasn't long before you were promoted, and here you are now, a captain. Why pick this career? It’s dangerous.”
Sam lowered her head and stared at the mess she had made earlier, I can’t let him figure out the truth. “You read my file, you tell me.”
“Is revenge your only reason?” Takashi whispered. “Is revenge what gives you the edge to succeed? Or is it something else?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes,” he replied. “It matters because there’re are people who care for you and your irresponsible actions will hurt them. Remember that you are not the only person who gets hurt when you’re injured!”
“Yes I am!” Sam cried back. “I have no family. I have no friends. My old partners want me dead. The only thing I have to live for is revenge!”
“Of course you have friends.”
“No I don’t.” Sam looked down at the bronze ring on her pinky, it had been silver platted when she had gotten it. Years had slowly washed away the silver platting, letting the bronze show through. The engraving had been worn away with silver platting, but Sam still remembered what it said, what it meant for her. “My family was all killed, along with all my friends. The only people around me now are co-workers, and most of them can’t stand me.”
Takashi sat in stunned silence as the words sunk in, she has no one, how has she managed to survive so far? “The name is Ren, Ren Takashi. I only let my close friends call me that.”
“You’re going to regret this.”
“No, no I won’t,” Ren replied. “I am an old man who can make his own decisions without being questioned by a young hooligan like you.”
Sam leaned over and started picking up the papers around the room. Putting them back in order proved more difficult than she expected, none of these, he wouldn’t steal a single one, not his thing.
“You’re the expert, where should we start?”
“Ren, that is a very good question.”
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