A Shot in the Dark

Chapter One:

Chapter One: Grand Arson and Other Fun Icebreakers

CW: Injuries, mentions of death, arson, general idiocy

(When the bartender had told Kocho that he'd give her a job, no questions asked, so long as she helped with 'a few errands' first, she'd expected to take orders or mix drinks, not assist in a kidnapping.)

***

"This is illegal," Kocho muttered, nails digging into her palms as she faced Louis Raleigh, a widely respected composer, stock broker, and now hostage. "Right? I mean- I'm real sorry about all this, but there isn't much I can do for you. At least, freedom wise. I can look for things to do, though."

Being gagged, Mr. Raleigh found himself unable to respond, instead sending Kocho a bleary-eyed glare. How the seventy-two year-old managed to look less disturbed by his abduction than his abductor, she didn't know, but in Kocho's humble opinion, it was probably the blunt force trauma.

"Not to be rude, but have you been kidnapped before? That would explain why you're so relaxed about this." Kocho brushed her bangs out of her face, dark locks pressed flat to her forehead from the sticky humidity. She continued, more quietly, "Really, it's almost admirable how calm you seem, sir."

Sadly, the compliment hadn't appeared to lift the man's spirits. Perhaps it was in bad taste to try and converse with one's captive, but to be quite honest, hostage situations were remarkably boring.

Kocho had been moseying along in some dingy dressing room for the past hour, yet to have found a single thing to do. There wasn't much in the way of entertainment, aside from the posters on the walls and pages of scripts lying about, rendered unreadable by smudged ink. 

I suppose that's why I've been saddled with this job. Babysitting an old man isn't the most dangerous thing I could be doing, all things considered.

"They told me that I would be working as a musician, y'know. Getting up on stage and playing for people at this one cafe. Or, I guess it's a bar at night. Even if the place is kind of sketchy, my coworkers seem pretty nice." Kocho began to regret her words after remembering that her coworkers had been anything but nice to the man. (The aforementioned blunt force trauma spoke for itself.)

Raleigh sent her another unimpressed glance. Ever so sorry if my kidnapping isn't up to your standards, sir. At least Boss doesn't have any faith in me, so I can't disappoint him.

(She remembered what she'd been told during her interview two weeks prior, the likes of which had lasted about fifteen minutes and was far more casual than it should've been. The conversation between Kocho and the Boss had gone something along the lines of:

"Try not to mess this up. Of course, if you do, that's your own problem, but it's kinda annoying when younger people get arrested. Or die, really. More media coverage. Anyhow, once you finish your shift, listen closely. When you're done playing Pachelbel's Canon or whatever the patrons request, find a Scary Lady™, do whatever she tells you the first time, and do it fast." He said, tone upbeat in a way made his words sound almost encouraging.

"Sir, I'm applying for a pianist position. What are you talking about?"

She had actually ended up playing Pachelbel's Canon during her time at the bar, right up until she'd been escorted [read: shoved] into a white van by—shocker, a very Scary Lady.)

The room Kocho inhabited was one of the many in the Chois Theatre, the likes of which was owned by one Clinton Shill. She had no idea who the man was, of course, but he had an important-sounding name, so she took a mental note of it regardless.