Recruitment
*~*~*~*~*~*~
Shooting the man he had come to save wasn’t exactly….ideal.
He let Kenara none too gently shove him out of the way, edging in front of her injured coworker, her pale hands stained red with the blood that kept on streaming out of him. Slowly, he rocked back on his heels, and stood up, letting the professionals do their work.
“We need to get him to surgery,” Kenara said after a minute, her voice strained with worry. She glanced up briefly, and her pale eyes flashed with something Tobirama didn’t care to identify. “You did a damn number on him, Senju.” Then she redirected her glare to another nurse hovering anxiously behind her. “You, call ahead to the OR, tell the surgical team to prep. And you!” She pointed at Hashirama, who blinked comically at her. “Get over here and help us bring him up.”
Obediently, Hashirama shuffled forward, crouching down and carefully wiggling his arms under Madara. Then, with a near effortless move, he hoisted the Uchiha up into his arms. “Just show me the way,” he said with a weak smile. Kenara stepped right beside him, pressing her hands down on Madara’s abdomen.
“Come on,” she muttered, taking a slow step forward, then moving quicker when Hashirama strode forward with her. Unthinkingly, Tobirama started to follow, the thought of Madara being out of his sight filling him with unease.
Kenara didn’t seem too fond of the idea. “You stay right where you are,” she snarled, viciously, glaring at him over her shoulder as they strode down the hall. “You’ve done enough here, and I’ve seen what you’re like during a surgery. You are not welcome off this unit.” With that, she ushered Hashirama away, through the unit doors and down the hall, with Madara’s thick, dark braid swaying at his side.
Tobirama watched them go, taking a deep breath to calm himself. Madara would be fine. He was in very professional hands. He’d be fine. He wouldn’t have to worry. Besides, he had a….mess, to clean up here. Stroking a finger along the still warm barrel of his gun, Tobirama refused to let himself dwell on the fact that he had just shot Madara, doing who knows how much damage, and glanced over at Jiro’s body. Riddled with bullet holes and blood, sightless eyes staring at nothing.
It was far better than he deserved. Tobirama would have very much liked to bring him home, to the prison beneath the mansion, and tear into the man for days, for weeks, months even. Ohhh, he would have made him scream, and plead, and beg for a quick death. It wouldn’t have been granted, but it would have been amusing to hear.
He curled his fingers tightly around the gun, resisting the urge to either load the body with a few more bullets or kick it to an even bloodier pulp. But before he could do eo either, a tightly clenched fist punched him in the jaw, hard.
Tobirama stepped back to regain his balance, taken off guard by the blow, and reached up automatically to rub the now aching spot. Chuya immediately sprang into action, grabbing his assailant's arms and twisting them behind his back.
Scowling ferociously, Hikaku Uchiha leveled him with a dark glare, bristling like an angry cat. “You bastard,” he hissed, pulling against Chuya’s iron firm grasp. “How dare you just stand there like you’re not the reason all this happened!”
’Seems a lack of survival instinct runs in the family.’
Rubbing his jaw a moment longer, Tobirama beckoned to Chuya, who reluctantly let his captive go, stepping away and eyeing the Uchiha warily. For a moment, it looked as though Hikaku was about to launch himself at him again. Fortunately, it seemed Hikaku had a tad more self restraint than his more temperamental cousin. (Just a tad, though).
Curling his lips even further, Hikaku scowled at him. “Madara‘s life has gone to shit ever since you came into it,” he said venomously. “He’s better off without you poisoning him at every turn.”
Tobirama tilted his head, raising an eyebrow. “What makes you say that?”
Hikaku laughed bitterly. “There’s a host of reasons, Senju, and if you can’t figure it out for yourself then you are blinded by your own selfish ambition and greed. And now you SHOT him. What kind of bastard does that to a friend? Or a lover, or whatever the hell you are!”
“It was unavoidable,” Tobirama hedged, trying to convince himself of that at the same time. Hikaku snorted.
“Like hell it was.”
“In situations like these it is best to act quickly,” Tobirama replied. “Madara knows the risk, and he made a calculated decision. If you want to be angry at someone, Uchiha, then be angry at him and his lack of self preservation.”
“Self preservation?” Hikaku puffed up like an angry cat. “You call shooting him ‘self preservation’?!”
Hikaku’s anger certainly wasn’t helping him make himself feel better. “I’ll get this mess cleaned up for you,” he said instead of answering, waving vaguely to the body and the blood scattered everywhere.
Hikaku snorted quietly. “You have more than that mess to clean up,” he muttered under his breath, crossing his arms. Tobirama paused.
“What?”
Hikaku raises a challenging eyebrow at him. “You’re not as good at running your own organization as you think.”
Annoyed with his cryptic answers, Tobirama took a threatening step forward, feeling somewhat gratified when Hikaku took a step back. “What is that supposed to mean?” he said darkly, stalking forward until Hikaku’s back was against the wall and Tobirama was towering over him, one hand fisting in the front of his scrubs and twisting up under his jaw. Hikaku looked appropriately intimidated, though not as much as Tobirama wanted.
Hikaku lifted his chin, steeling himself. “When Madara was talking to…him…” He jerked his head towards Jiro’s corpse, dark eyes darting briefly to the mutilated body. “He was saying that he has an informant, or something. A man on the inside of your crew. That’s why your brother was hurt so badly. And why he knew where to go to come after Maddy. And he wanted to come after all of us, too. Everyone that helped your brother.”
Tobirama stared at him, but he saw no hint of a lie in Hikaku’s eyes. An informant….One of Jiro’s men, in HIS syndicate? If this informant knew where Kawa was going to be when he got hurt….. But not many people knew about their trip out hunting Jiro that day and would have been able to tip Jiro off with enough heads up for him to plan something….
Which meant that whoever Jiro’s informant was, they had climbed their way up the ladder in the Senju mafia, and sat at one of the top rungs. They could be part of Tobirama’s inner circle, or one of the members directly below them. And they betrayed him. They fed Jiro all the valuable information he needed, and that led to both Kawarama and Madara getting hurt.
Who knows what else might happen now. Jiro was dead, but perhaps this informant still wanted to carry out his masters mission.
He had to find the rat before anyone else got hurt. But until they were found, he only had a few people he knew he could trust.
Inhaling sharply, he let go of Hikaku, taking a step back. “Chuya,” he barked, turning around and stalking down the hall. His cousin immediately fell in step with him, recognizing his anger.
“What is it?” he asked in a low undertone, stepping over Jiro’s body.
“We have a traitor in our midst,” Tobirama hissed between his teeth. Chuya frowned, opening his mouth to say something, but Tobirama barrelled on. “Until he is found, we have to assume that they want to carry out Jiro’s mission. He wanted to go after Madara and his team, so I want you to assign each of them a personal guard. 3 men for each, to work in shifts. Watch over them from afar, but don’t let anyone suspicious get close.”
“His whole team?” Chuya asked, and Tobirama nodded.
“Izuna, Hikaku, Naori, and Kenara. As soon as Madara is stable, we’re bringing him home. He’ll be safe there.”
Chuya was quiet for a moment, and Tobirama could almost see the gears turning in his clever cousin's mind. “How do you plan to weed them out?” he asked finally.
Tobirama hummed quietly. “I have a good sense of intuition.”
“You’ll need more than that.”
“I know. Which is why I intend to call up on a few favours owed.”
Chuya arched his eyebrows, catching on. “Really? You’re going to go that route?”
Tobirama passed him a viscous, lopsided smirk. “I am. Call in a cleanup crew to deal with this.” He waved at Jiro’s body, and his men, still held at gunpoint by Tobirama’s crew. “You know what to do with the vermin.”
“Yes sir. It will be done. What about you?”
“I have a visit to make. When Madara is out of surgery, inform Hashirama that he is in charge of his security until I get back.”
“Yes sir. Good luck.” With a two fingered salute, Chuya turned back to the mess in the hospital hall. Tobirama took a moment to watch his men hoist up Jiro’s body, and herd his surviving men down the hall to the opposite unit doors.
They were a mess that would be buried six feet under within the hour. His men were efficient like that.
Slowly, he surveyed the Acute care unit, taking in the staff; nurses, care aids, and others that he didn’t care to identify. Lucky that only one other person was hurt.
Snorting, he turned on his heel and strode off, heading down the halls to the hospital’s front entrance. As soon as he stepped out, he was greeted by the police chief and his permanent frown.
“Senju,” Ashina Uzumaki greeted coldly, inclining his head.
“Uzumaki,” he replied, just as briskly.
“Is the matter handled?” the old chief asked, dark eyes narrowing. Tobirama curled his lips into a mockery of a smile.
“Just as I promised it would be. And there’s not even a mess for you to clean up.”
Uzumaki glanced over his shoulder, frowning at his lack of company. “Where are your men?”
“Cleaning up said mess.”
“And who is at fault here?”
“No one of importance,” Tobirama replied, shoving his hands in his pockets and fixing him with a hard glare. The old police chief caught on quickly. Mafia business, on a need-to-know basis.
“And what do you suggest I tell the press?”
Tobirama hummed thoughtfully. “Tell them it was simply a group of radicals hoping to make a political statement, and thanks to the efforts of the police, only two were injured. I’m sure you can fill in the details.”
With that, he squeezed the man on the shoulder, perhaps harder than necessary, and sauntered off to his silver sports car, parked haphazardly by the curb. A swarm of press people and reporters were gathered at the police boundary, snapping photos and yelling questions at anyone they could see. It was almost amusing, how bloodthirsty for a good story they were.
He despised them with a passion. But fortunately, the local media was in his pockets just as much as the police were. If anyone snapped a picture or even saw a glimpse of him or any of his men, not a whisper of it would be publicized.
In the cool quiet of his car, Tobirama tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, weighing his options. He wanted the issue of this traitor dealt with swiftly. But would going to who he had in mind, going to this….individual be worth it? Or would it be seen as an admission of weakness, or inadequacy?
He sat for a few minutes longer, then made up his mind, starting the engine and roaring away. It didn’t matter what might be thought. He had people to protect, and his pride wasn’t greater than their lives. He wouldn’t risk his family, or Madara, or anyone else.
And that fact that he couldn’t even protect Madara today…..
Anger reared its head within him again. Anger at Jiro, at the world, at himself.
He would take great pleasure in tearing the traitor apart once he found them.
~*~*~*~*~*~
~*~*~*~*~
It was dark by the time he reached his destination.
Imposing, iron gates blocked the driveway, and he pulled up to a halt in front of them. He didn’t have to wait long before they slowly swung open, granting him access to the estate they guarded. It took another few minutes of cruising along the long, winding driveway until he finally parked in front of a modestly large, almost medieval style mansion. A few lights shone through the windows, but otherwise, the mansion was as dark and imposing as the gates.
He made his way through the front doors, up the split staircase to the upper levels, and through the cold, dark hallways to a spacious study at the end of the farthest hall. A massive desk occupied the middle of the room, and with a sigh, he folded himself in one of the chairs in front of it, and waited.
His host, willing or not, made him wait an agonizingly long few minutes until he finally entered, holding two glasses of golden liquid. He set them both down on the desk, one in front of Tobirama, and the other in front of the chair behind the desk, in which he sat down. He seemed entirely unsurprised at Tobirama’s surprise visit. Folding his hands together, he leaned forward on his elbows, fixing him in his intense, dark eyed stare that never ceased to bring Tobirama back to his younger days.
“So,” the man said, picking up the glass in front of him and taking a slow sip. “I hear there’s been some events with the family.”
“There have been,” Tobirama confirmed, leaning back in the chair and folding his hands on his lap. “Kawarama was injured, but he’s doing okay.”
“Indeed.” His host swirled his drink. “And what about the disaster at the hospital today?”
“That’s what I’m here to talk about.”
“Is that so?” He downed the rest of his drink, a somewhat dry smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “This have anything to do with the doctor you kidnapped?”
“He’s not a doctor,” Tobirama grumbled automatically. “Not yet.”
“Ha!” Getting up, his host grabbed a bottle from a nearby shelf, refilling his glass. “You’re not denying it, Tobirama. Care to explain?”
“What’s there to explain?” Tobirama sighed, swiftly chugging his drink and pushing his glass forward to a refill. His host graciously filled it again before sitting once more. “It’s nothing worse than you’ve done.”
“Oh, I’ve done far worse. I have no issues with you bringing him into your fold. It’ll be good to have a doctor, eventually, in the Senju syndicate. But explain how these all connect.”
Tobirama tapped his fingers on his glass. “I had a dispute with Jiro, and decided to evict him and his little group. He didn’t take well to that, unfortunately. And he decided to get his revenge on the inner family. Kawarama first, but Madara intervened, wound up saving his life. Jiro decided to get him out of the way so that we’d have no one to turn to for help on his next attempt on one of our lives.”
“And he went after this Madara in a very public fashion,” the man mused thoughtfully. “Bold of him. He wanted to make a statement.”
“Yes,” Tobirama agreed. “And he wasn’t shy in explaining his methods.” He paused for effect, running his finger along the rim of the glass. His host raised an impatient, expectant eyebrow. “He has an infiltrator. An inside man, feeding him information, telling him who was all involved in saving Kawa, and where to find them. Jiro sought to go after them all to get to me. If I can’t protect those I’ve brought into my own, then who can I protect? That was what he wanted everyone else to see. And who knows what else this insider has told him, or what strings and connections they might have. Maybe they’re linked to more of our enemies. Maybe they’re feeding our weaknesses to more than just one foolish man.”
The man’s eyes gleamed. “An infiltrator,” he said thoughtfully. “You allowed this to happen?”
“Unfortunately.”
Quirking his eyebrow, his host leaned forward again. “And do you have any idea who it might be?”
“Someone higher up,” Tobirama replied. “Someone high enough to be involved with the planning and execution of our work.”
“So why are you here then?”
“I cannot devote my full attention to the matter. I have other…things that I need to tend to.”
“Like your badly injured little doctor.”
“As much as I desire the hunt, I need to make my intentions to him clear.”
“And you came to me to clean up the mess.”
“I need an experienced eye,” Tobirama said flatey, not beating around the brush. “I need someone impartial. Someone who knows the inner workings of the Senju syndicate like the back of their hand, and can spot a fault within it better than anyone else could. Even me, because I’m not the one who created it, or built it up from nothing. Unlike you.”
“Well, Tobirama.” His host stood up, placing his hands flat on the surface of the desk. “I see my lessons paid off. You always were the most….resourceful of all my sons.”
Tobirama quirked his lips halfway. “Does that mean you’re willing to come back into the business, father?”
With a grin as feral as a wild dogs, Butsuma Senju opened the top drawer of his desk, pulling out an old, lovingly maintained pistol. “I've been craving some violence lately. It’s good to keep your killing skills sharp. So, when do we start?”