heist ➣ jungkook crime au

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Marrakech, Morrocco

19:15

"I have eyes on the target," I say discreetly, pretending to check the time on my watch. The marketplace is bustling with bright colors and idle chatter.

"Don't pretend to know shit you don't," huffs an annoyed, low voice. From the corner of my periphery, I see DQ posted up at my 3 o'clock, his eyes hidden under dark sunglasses. "Everybody knows the Bangtan Boy Scouts, ain't nobody ever seen em before."

"Isn't it, like, racial profiling? Just singling out a fucking Korean in a bazaar?" Golightly tweets into the earpiece, interjecting.

I wrap my scarf tighter around my face, wiping a bead of sweat off of my brow. It's a good excuse to bring my watch back up to my face so I can tell DQ off. "And thanks to your dumb ass, Quixote, everybody in the world knows you're a Truant. Maybe tuck your hillbilly beard into a bandana and keep your shit to yourself. You're lucky you're even out on the field right now," I hiss, with only a hint of humor. I watch through the dusty sunlight as the target slips around a booth, out of my sight. Still not convinced that I wasn't being watched, I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, bringing the watch ever so slightly to the corner of my mouth. "Target moving southeast, deeper into the city. I'm pursuing."

I hear the protest of 4 voices blare into my right ear, and scoff. I'd lost him again in the bobbing sea of heads.

It is easy to get overwhelmed by the sights and sounds--the smells-- in the bazaar. One day, I'll come back here. Staying out of sight, I chat idly with a stall owner in broken Arabic. When I resume my tail, I pick anxiously at my fingers. There are too many damn people. I bid the man goodbye, and plunge back into the crowd.

Sweeping my eyes to and fro, my focus flits between faces before I spy him again: long hair tied into a messy ponytail that bounces with each step. His face is obscured by a slim-fitting face mask pulled taut around his ears, but I recognize him easily--who dresses in all black in a market full of bright orange, yellow, blue? I slow my pace, having caught up to him, chatting idly with a stall owner.

I spot the frantic movement of his head before he even turned to glance at me, cursing under my breath. Even though I'm dressed like a tourist, I know I must have stuck out like a sore thumb, the same way he did.

"Ishikawa, report."

I stop in my tracks, my eyes trailing aimlessly at a jeweler's booth. I pull my bag up to my face as though searching for loose banknotes. "Into an alley, still south-southeast. Now shut the fuck up so we can get this god damn trip over with. It's hot."

The jeweler gently reaches out a hand to me, her dark fingers encircling my wrist as she gestures to a pretty opal bracelet that she clasped onto my arm. Pressed for time, I slip her a few dirham notes, to which she cries gratefully out to me as I walk away.

"Fuck," I murmur, walking faster, drowning out the buzz of conversation in my earpiece. Golightly is bored in the safe house. Sherlock followed her tail to an arms dealer--had the place bugged already. Watson was visiting a contact back at the bazaar. I'd been tailing this guy since I spotted him a few hours ago, hoping maybe I'd find some valuable intel as well.

"'Shikawa, do you need backup?" DQ barks into his radio.

Tch. I face the alley, seeing the target pull a hat from his back pocket and draw it over his head, ponytail gone. He knew that someone--that I-- was on his tail. If I do more any waiting, I'd lose him. I plot it out in my head: I'd ditch the scarf at the end of the alley, ditch my button up and go on in the tank top I was wearing underneath. Ditch the braids. I could do it all in 10 seconds, and I could do it all on my own. And I'd definitely do it better than this Bulletproof Boy Scout.