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Chapter Four: Dirty Deeds (Done Dirt Cheap)

Four soft, padded paws trotted over the twisted mountain of blankets. A small black nose snuffled along the outline of a large, snoring figure. Beady little eyes fixed on the snoozing man expectantly, fluffy little tail whapping against the covers.

A faint whine escaped the puppy when his person didn't respond. He clambered up onto his person's chest and began to lick his nose.

"Nnnergh, CJ…CJ stoooop, lemme sleep…"

The puppy woofed.

"Shaddup. Lemme sleep. I mean it, CJ. Five more minutes."

The puppy, CJ, seemed to huff and consented to curl up at the foot of the bed, eyes fixed on his dozing person. Not more than thirty seconds had passed, however, before a blaring music tune rang through the room.

Mondo Oowada's head jerked upwards out of his pillow, drool leaking out of the corner of his mouth. His sleep-coated eyes locked on the buzzing cell phone on his nightstand. "For fuck's sake…" Fighting the urge to bury his head under his comfy pillow once more, he grabbed his cell and rolled over to stare the ceiling.

"'lo?"

"Mondo! Rise and shine, sleepyhead!"

Mondo closed his eyes and growled. "Leon. Do you even know what time it is?"

"It's eight in the morning." Kuwata's cheery tone dropped like a stone. "Time to get up."

Mondo planted a hand on his cheek and began to rub it. "Go fuck yourself. What is it with you athlete types and early mornings?"

"Time is money, man." Kuwata suddenly sounded smug, and Mondo could just picture him, seated at that obnoxious desk of his with a day's worth of illegal activities ahead. "Anyways, pay attention. We've got shit to discuss."

"I took a nice long one last night." Mondo rolled over onto his stomach, chuckling as Kuwata groaned. CJ padded over to him, snuggling under his arm. He reached up, rubbing behind the Maltese's fluffy ears.

"Haha, very funny. Fine, if you don't wanna hear what I gotta say then I'm gonna hang up."

"C'mon, Leon, don't pout." Mondo clucked his tongue.

Kuwata sighed in an exasperated fashion. "All right. So, you're never gonna guess who came by the warehouse yesterday." He waited a beat, but couldn't resist the urge to gossip: "Ishimaru."

"Kiyotaka?"

"No, Ishimaru the Prime Minister. Of course Kiyotaka! He was lookin' for you."

"Good."

"Hey, Mondo, I appreciate your whole 'death wish' thing, but try not to be so flaky about it, okay? You're gonna be disappointed anyway. He's not lookin' to shoot you. Just wants to talk."

Mondo frowned a bit. That certainly wasn't what he was expecting. Then again, he probably shouldn't have expected anything else from the former hall monitor. He cursed under his breath before replying to the silent Kuwata: "Why?"

"Oh, gee, I dunno, you save the life of the guy who's trying to kill you. WHY THE FUCK ELSE WOULD HE WANT TO TALK TO YOU?!"

Mondo winced as Kuwata's roar rang through his sleep-fuzzy mind. He sat back, allowing Kuwata to scold him loudly: "You and Ishimaru gotta quit it with this honor-bound killer code! All you two are gonna accomplish is runnin' around in circles and nothin' is gonna get bruised 'cept egos. Then you'll start bonding and ugh…Sayaka made me watch this movie with this exact same plot, dude, and let me tell you I am not going to you two's wedding!"

That snapped Mondo out of his hazy stupor. He sat up sharply, scowling into his receiver. "Get fucked, Leon!"

"I did last night." The smugness was back in Kuwata's voice. "And man, she was fiiiiine."

"Get. On. With. It."

Kuwata, recognizing that he had pushed Mondo's buttons too many times in too few minutes, swallowed and muttered about how Mondo had been a lot more fun before he decided he was sick of the world. He was silent for a minute, no doubt fiddling with his suit, before adopting a more business-like tone: "I told Ishimaru about your issue with the Monochromes."

Just the name inspired a flare of ugly heat in Mondo's stomach. "Go on."

"And I told him if he was gonna kill you, he might as well put a bullet in that bitch's head too. And then I got to thinking. You know how good I am at putting coalitions together, right?"

"No."

"Well I am. So I got to thinking, right, that maybe you could convince Ishimaru to work with you to take down the Monochromes. And then you'll be free from worries and can happily take your bullet in the head."

Mondo shifted, resting his chin in his hand. He turned the proposal over and over in his mind. Ishimaru was good at keeping in the shadows, he'd seen that firsthand. And if someone could take a clear shot at the leader of the Monochromes while someone else distracted her…mulling it over, he finally answered Kuwata with a wry: "I thought I was the one being flaky about my death wish."

"Hey, I'm pickin' up behavior from you. So…what do you think?"

"Of me and Ishimaru working together? It's stupid."

"Of course it is."

"And it just might work."

"Of course it will!"

"Tell Ishimaru to meet me in the public park this afternoon."

"Sure thing, man."

"And, er…thanks, Leon."

"No problem. Between you and the Hall Monitor, I have a feeling things are about to get very interesting."

…

CJ immensely enjoyed his walk to the park, tail puffed and ears cocked for compliments from cooing women. Unfortunately CJ's terrifying-looking person kept most of his admirers at bay. So instead he opted for chasing falling leaves and looping his leash around Mondo's legs.

Mondo would occasionally compliment or scold CJ for0 some stunt. Most of the time, though, he stared straight ahead, lost in thought. The idea of working with the man who was supposed to kill him intrigued him. If Ishimaru would agree to it, that would solve most of his problems right then and there. And if he didn't, well…

A death wish, Leon had called it.

If it were only that simple.

The back of his neck prickled, and he was overwhelmed with the sensation that someone was watching him. He glanced over his shoulder and watched as a figure in a dark jacket moved through the trees towards him.

Ishimaru stopped short in his tracks. He and Mondo maintained eye contact for a moment longer. Than Mondo stood, clucking his tongue for CJ to follow him. He covered the distance between himself and Ishimaru in several strides, stopping short just inches from him.

The silence between them was deafening, drowning out the noise of the city around them. Mondo cocked his head to the side, smiled, and then offered what was perhaps the oddest greeting in the history of predator and prey:

"So, how do you like your coffee?"

…

As it turned out, Ishimaru took his coffee with ten creams and ten sugars.

Scratch that, eleven sugars.

The bounty hunter shook the little sugar packet for all it was worth, tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth in intense concentration. Tiny crystals of sugar tumbled into the coffee that had long since turned gray.

Mondo watched him out of the corner of his eye. His own steaming coffee was black. "So…got the coffee taste out of it yet?"

Ishimaru shot him a glare, pursed his lips, and made no comment. He finally took a sip of his coffee—grimacing at the still-bitter taste—and returned to staring straight ahead.

That he was receiving the silent treatment from Ishimaru didn't overly shock Mondo. In fact, he was glad Ishimaru was consenting to this meeting at all. He remembered the black-haired, red-eyed young man's ethics from high school very well—never got into trouble, never hung around with anyone would might be in the "wrong" crowd, always sorting the world into black and white. He, Mondo, was a bad person, and it was no doubt a herculean effort on Ishimaru's part just to sit on the bench with him.

Mondo could respect a man who stuck to his principles. Even if those principles had gotten him beaten up more than once.

Suddenly his mind flashed backwards to the image of a much younger Ishimaru stumbling into Calculus five minutes late, his pristine school uniform splattered with mud and a bloodied lip making him wince as he hastily apologized to the bemused professor. He had clutched his dirtied books to his chest in a protective fashion even as he slunk towards his seat in the front row.

The memory made Mondo wince, even if he hadn't been responsible.

Well, he hadn't been responsible that time.

Realizing that he and Ishimaru had been far too silent far too long, he coughed and shifted on the park bench they'd settled down on. CJ was settled on his feet, snoring contently.

Ishimaru glanced down at the Maltese, lips still pressed together firmly. The image of a cute little white dog resting on the big black boots of a thug just confused and frustrated him further. This wasn't like Kuwata, who had turned corruption into an art form. Oowada was more subdued, restrained, a very different man from the one who had confronted him on the rooftop.

"You have a nice dog," he finally muttered. The instant the words left his mouth he inwardly grimaced. Did people say stuff like that? Was it possible to have a 'nice' dog?

"Thanks." Mondo shifted again, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards. "How's your coffee?"

"Much better. Uh…" he coughed into his super-sweet coffee, "er, Oowada…I believe I owe you for dry-cleaning." His hand dug into his pocket and withdrew some spare change, offering it to Mondo.

The gangster waved the proffered cash away. "Relax, man. I was just messing with you."

Nonetheless the money was shoved under his nose. Ishimaru was staring at him; giving him that same look he had given students who were late to class. Intimidated by the intense gaze, Mondo scooped up the change and pocketed it.

"Oowada."

"Hm?"

"Why did you…"

"Take you the hospital?"

Ishimaru nodded. Mondo paused, and then shrugged. "It's more convenient to keep you alive."

No reason to get Ishimaru tangled up in his inner demons. Keep it short, keep it simple.

"I…see…" Ishimaru's tone revealed that he hardly saw it at all. The bounty hunter frowned. His grip on his paper coffee cup tightened. He looked down into it, seeing his reflection in the murky gray liquid. "Oowada…"

"Kuwata thinks we should work together to take out the Monochromes."

Mondo spoke quickly, as if he were confessing something heinous. His hands curled into his fists and his eyes flashed with fury. "And I agree with him. The Monochromes messed with my boys. They've been a pain in my ass for years now, but this…this crossed a line." Fury and frustration in his chest, rumbling through his body like a motor. "They gotta go, and that bitch Junko is gonna pay."

Ishimaru looked up from his coffee musings. His mouth edged downwards into a grimace. He knew the reputation of the Monochromes: an unruly, unpredictable band of thugs and miscreants who seemed to have no motive except for causing chaos. "Kuwata mentioned that he wanted me to…ah…" Unwilling to repeat Kuwata's exact words, he mimed firing a gun.

Mondo nodded. "Yeah. That's why we should work together. Nobody's been able to able to get even close to her. But you…you don't need to get close to her, do you?" He tilted his head to the side, suddenly intrigued. "None of my boys have fancy toys like you do, Hall Monitor. That sniper rifle of yours…high-powered, right?"

Ishimaru nodded, a glimmer of pride in his eyes. If there was anything he could take away with pride from his job, it was his proficiency with a rifle.

Mondo licked his lips, thinking hard. "If I could draw her out…and you were somewhere nearby…"

"Oowada…are you offering me a contract?"

Mondo's eyebrows shot up into his hairline. He looked back to Ishimaru, who looked serious. "If you're offering me a contract, I'll need to get it in writing."

A short, barking laugh—almost like a dog's—escaped Mondo. "We're gonna do this the right fuckin' way, then?"

Ishimaru nodded. His mouth thinned into a straight line. "And once we take out the Monochromes, I get to shoot you. I made a promise to my employer that I would."

"Fair enough. Only a coward goes back on his promise."

The cavalier attitude Mondo took towards his own imminent demise took Ishimaru by surprise. He swallowed the urge to comment on it, however, and instead proffered his own hand. "I'll get the contract written up this afternoon."

Mondo grinned. His shoulders slumped in relief and suddenly his eyes were shining. He grabbed Ishimaru's hand and pumped it up and down enthusiastically. "Sounds like a plan, Hall Monitor."

It was only later, as Ishimaru considered the wording of the contract he was about to write, that he wondered if Mondo's elation had less to do with Junko's death and more to do with his own.

Fourth Wall? What Fourth Wall?