Gil listened as the newest set of footsteps echoed and dissipated down the hall. He glanced over to the last operative who stood there with him and Blaque: Tamashī. And the pastier, mousier operative pondered whether he'd like to have Tamashī joining him on this case. He decided well enough that he did, so his brain raced to open a figurative door.
"
If everything's well enough under control, boss-man, I think I'd rather take a walk downtown than chase men of the cloth," he said, in perfectly obsequious fashion. He let his gaze shift back over to Tamashī after having stared into Blaque's sunglasses a little while; his hand burrowed itself deep in his baggy pants pocket. "
What about you? I'll buy a round of pints on the way to the Blairstone Monument, if you're interested." Gil smiled warmly, a chubby cherub possessing his countenance.
Gil had never figured out what precise nationality "Tammy" had. But he knew Hattori was the name of a Japanese knife company, so if he'd known the man's name, he could have guessed that easily. Generally it seemed like an impolite thing to ask (besides the obvious risks of digging too deep into an agent's files), and businessmen weren't impolite when they could help it; everyone was treated like a future employer, a future customer, a future coworker. He liked the man anyway. Notwithstanding the strange romanticism the Asian placed on outdated weaponry, he had a good brain between his ears: Gil liked the alias, and he liked how discreet this fellow could be when he wasn't playing a modern-day Toshiro Mifune character, a high-tech
Yojimbo. He was unpretentious, and if he
really needed that stupid sword, well, more power to him. At least he didn't wear it every day, like some paranoid
ronin behind enemy lines. Some things were just better off left behind in old movies.
Dark Cloud,
Chronic,
TokyoPewPew,
Astro,
Izurich,
puddingpunter,
Fish of Oblivion,
CyclingTortoise,
Zygfryt,
dianthuspetals
