[Immovable-force] A voicemail on Miles' phone from Kisama's number, but not his voice: "Hey hey! This is that Edgey guy's number, right?! Hah, I KNEW he lied about not having it, the sneaky devil! Well anyway, just thought you should know Kissy's birthday is coming up on the 1st! He's trying to let it fly under the radar like a sad-sack, but not on my--" (In the background: "MOTHERFUCKER, DID YOU TAKE MY PHONE!?") "-- Whoops, gotta go, byyyyye!" Click.
Receiving calls at ungodly hours is one career hazard Miles isn’t surprised to see repeat itself in Naobi. A nebulous workload, one that restricts itself to no time-frame nor sense of reason, is merely to be expected—so with only a distracted sort of interest, he plays the message from Chief Oushiza’s line while popping his toothbrush into his mouth.
Said toothbrush is discarded once he hears the nickname usually applied to him by Larry Butz. That is one thing he hadn’t expected would follow him from California: the grim phantom of childhood embarrassment and uncomfortably humble beginnings. Yet he supposes Kisama’s men must think they came up with it on their own, especially if the point of this wretched call was to humiliate their boss.
Miles is unconcerned with birthdays at the best of times. He gifts things to those within his social circle, of course—money, usually, because the natural alternative of finding perfectly-tailored gifts would be too time-consuming. Until now, it hadn’t even crossed his mind that Chief Oushiza might qualify as someone to whom he should send the usual card-with-banknotes.
Yet, he supposes, Oushiza is the closest thing he has to an ally in this city—in this country. And there must be a reason why, of all the people here, an officer commandeered Oushiza’s phone to call him. It’s simple deduction: the sort of thing Miles has come to rely upon when calculating where he stands with people, because abstract cues aren’t admissible evidence and he can hardly go around asking.
Oushiza expects something from him, then. Or he gave his men that impression, by the sounds of it. This is both a development and a headache—because Miles at least knows Oushiza well enough to recognise the Chief wouldn’t take kindly to an American benefactor opening their wallet. The guise of festive altruism won’t fly with such a cantankerous man.
This time, Miles has no choice, it seems. He must send a gift.
Later, around noon, a parcel will make its way through Naobi’s police department. It will arrive in Oushiza’s office at around what would have been lunchtime, back in L.A. Perhaps Naobi observes no such thing to break up the day, or perhaps Oushiza will be at his desk regardless. The sender, though not quite a fish out of water, has yet to familiarise himself with how Naobians do things.
The sender has yet to familiarise himself with a lot of things here. But it’s not for lack of interest, nor motivation—as the slim, rectangular parcel comes with a note attached:
Apologies for the simplicity, but short notice made it unavoidable. Next time, please remind me ahead of schedule. In the meantime, I hope this will bring you the same mental repose it brings me. I believe you might benefit. - M. E.
Inside, Oushiza will find a glass chess set: one army clear, one army frosted.
tangentwithtanner
kaledo-art
andulkaphoto
dededos
turnnoffyourmind
2087
snowghoul
