A Deal in the Shadows
Cointreau noticed that Vermouth's composure beside her was beginning to fray. Her gaze kept drifting, again and again, to the pocket where Gin had stowed the bug — and that told her everything. All of Vermouth's attention was pinned on the fingerprints that might be lifted from it. She had to be terrified that the prints would turn out to belong to Kudo Shinichi.
"Vermouth's right," Gin said — and contrary to expectation, he didn't chew Chianti out at all; instead, he offered an explanation of his own. "Unless they knew in advance that we'd be there, there's no way Akai Shuichi could have gotten into position to snipe at us from that building."
"Then why not assume Mouri Kogoro and the FBI set the trap together?" Vodka spoke up with the question.
"Hardly. If they really were working hand in hand, would the FBI ever let their own partner walk into danger like that?" Vermouth propped her head against one hand and leaned back against the window, her tone artfully casual. "My guess is that the FBI got wind of Kir's contact with Mouri Kogoro. After the two of them parted ways, the FBI must have found a way to plant a transmitter and a bug on the sole of Kir's shoe."
"Let's go with that." Gin offered no argument, but it was obvious he didn't consider her version the truth either.
"Still, today wasn't a total loss." So saying, Gin drew out the listening device that had so nearly been destroyed by Akai Shuichi. "Pull the prints off this and run a comparison — if they belong to the FBI or to Mouri Kogoro, we'll know whether the two of them are really in league."
As he spoke, Gin made a point of watching Vermouth's face.
Cointreau followed his gaze to her. It had to be said — calling Vermouth the Thousand-Faced Witch was more than fair; her command over her own emotions was genuinely masterful.
Only moments before, Cointreau had been able to sense the faint anxiety bleeding off her. But the instant Vermouth registered Gin's eyes on her, she reined in that ill-timed turmoil without a trace.
For now, Cointreau still needed Vermouth to smooth things over a little for her in front of the Boss — and she would need her help down the line as well.
After a moment's thought, Cointreau slipped out her phone in a spot Gin couldn't see, and, with studied nonchalance, fired off a message to Vermouth.
She kept the motion hidden from Gin, but Vermouth was sitting right beside her, and she caught the gesture instantly.
Before long, Vermouth felt her phone buzz with a new message. Something clicked into place, and she took it out and opened it, stealing a glance at the screen the moment Gin's attention shifted elsewhere.
I'll make your fingerprint problem go away. In exchange, you give me files on some of Rum's people — especially the ones about to go into business with Miss Ningguang. If we have a deal, knock twice on the window.
Vermouth nearly choked reading it, a surge of frustrated indignation welling up in her chest. Cointreau really knew how to loot a burning house.
She ground her teeth in silence. Hah. Cold-blooded bastard. If she remembered correctly, Cointreau's precious hard-won princess was on perfectly good terms with the Mouri family — and yet, watching a gun pointed at someone important to that girl, Cointreau hadn't batted an eye. He'd even piled on, pressing for the shot to be fired. Vermuth was now seriously doubting whether he cared for that girl as much as he let on.
And more than that — to this day she had no idea what exactly bound Cointreau and that girl together. Going by their faces, they had to be blood relations, but no matter how she dug, she could never pin down how close that blood ran.
Meanwhile, Cointreau had all but mapped out everything about the ones she cared about — Cool Guy and Angel. It left a distinctly uneasy feeling.
Once this operation was over, she decided, she would find a way to get close to that girl and learn more about her. Paper records alone revealed nothing of any real use.
Vermouth put the phone away without so much as a flicker, lowering her eyes in thought — and realized that aside from Cointreau, there truly was no one else capable of taking something out of Gin's hands and forging the results.
In other words, Cointreau really was the only person who could do this favor for her.
So, after a brief pause, Vermouth lightly tapped two fingers against the car window — then had to watch, with suppressed resentment, as Cointreau broke into a satisfied smile.
"Gin, if you want the prints off the bug, hand it to me," Cointreau said. "I know someone who can get results fast — we'll know by tonight, most likely, whose fingerprints are on this thing." A promise was a promise, and now that her answer had come, Cointreau had no intention of welching. She acted right there in front of Vermouth.
Gin eyed the offer with mild surprise. It was rare to hear Cointreau volunteer to help with anything. But given that he had proactively asked in on yesterday's mission as well, Gin didn't find it too strange — and when Cointreau said he could have results quickly, Gin handed the bug over without much hesitation.
Watching Gin surrender the device with barely a second thought, Vermouth got exactly the outcome she wanted — yet somehow the weight on her chest only grew heavier.
She raged at Gin silently. Really, Gin? Where's that famous paranoia of yours?! Where's the suspicion you were throwing at me just now? Cointreau opens his mouth for two seconds and you swallow it whole — you just hand over the only lead we have?!
"And who exactly is this person of yours?"
Just to be safe, even after passing the bug over, Gin still asked who this contact was.
"Oh, you know him. Alhaitham — or rather, Bordeaux," Cointreau answered offhandedly, pocketing the device.
"Bordeaux?!" Vodka could hardly believe his ears. As far as he knew, the two of them had barely crossed paths — how was Cointreau talking as if they were old acquaintances?
And wasn't Bordeaux a specialist in the life sciences? Since when did he dabble in this?
"How do you know he'd even handle something like that?" Gin asked, equally puzzled.
"I got to know him a little while I was working with Kaeya, and he seemed decent enough. He mentioned it to me later." Cointreau leaned back against the seat, answering with studied indifference. "From what I've seen, Alhaitham never makes promises he can't measure. If he said it, then he's confident he can deliver."
Cointreau noticed, with some irritation, that he still wasn't used to calling Alhaitham by his codename — the man's name slipped out on reflex.
Decent enough?
Vodka's expression turned peculiar. Was Cointreau really talking about Bordeaux?
"You trust him quite a bit, then." Gin studied Cointreau's face and stated it as fact.
Cointreau shook his head once. "Not exactly. I don't trust him — I trust my own judgment."
Bordeaux? Vermouth thought. That codename-holder the Organization has been favoring so heavily in its experiments lately?
She had met the man a few times himself — cold, distant, the sort who radiated keep away. She simply couldn't fathom how Cointreau had ever grown familiar with someone like him.