[Damien might get around to asking him not to spread his story around. for now, however, and absolutely in spite of himself, the corners of his mouth quirk upwards into a sick sort of smile. he should have expected Akechi to put it together. he's a smart boy, and that look in his eyes, just then -- yeah, he should have expected it]

[either way, he lets the smile go on a breath out] The Irish Mob. The Chicago South Club. [they're both the same thing] The cops may be useless, for all that half of them are in the Club's pocket, anyway, but my partner and I -- [to his credit, he doesn't hesitate, doesn't give away that Aiden isn't really his partner anymore, in any sense of the word. that relationship broke about the same time his legs did. it helps, maybe, that every other word he tells him is true] -- well. We figure we got too close to something they didn't want us to see.

[he expects, of course, that based on what Akechi knows of him, he'll assume he and Aiden got close to some vital piece of evidence that would put someone or someones, plural, at the top away for a very long time. what they actually stumbled upon, what the Club really wanted to scare them away from was a blackmail video and the intellectual nuke that is the Bellweather]

I ... appreciate it, though. [the sympathy. normally, he'd sneer at an apology, Akechi's fault or not, for all that it's too close to that pity, too close to wounding his pride all over again, but -- well, it doesn't feel so cheap, here, as it usually does. it's like he actually means it, and that matters, oddly]