He hopped inside his car, closing it with an angered slam. 

Fucking hell. 

His blood a-boiling, he rechecked the note. Oh, he wanted so horribly to rip up the paper and burn it in the fireplace. But, it would be important for not only finding his wife, but it could serve as evidence, in case.. 

He couldn't theorize what would happen later, as he started to turn into the street mentioned on the paper.

 It seemed to be one of the more run-down neighborhoods, with trash littering the streets and graffiti decorating the walls of houses. In fact, he could see some plastic bags blowing across the road as he drove. Stray dogs and cats disappeared behind trash cans, scratching their flea-ridden skin. 

It took a while of passing dilapidated houses and checking the rusted numbers hanging off the doors. Just as it was getting too long for his comfort, he drove down into a grove, separated from the majority of the houses. He unconsciously turned his head to the side, and ah- this was it! 

A mailbox sat alongside the path, marking it as the exact place written on the paper. He stopped, whole body shaking with rage,  and read it for a third time. Yep, this certainly was the place. 

He got out of the safety of the car, shifting the backpack with his shoulder. He needed to be able to reach it in case of emergencies. (This was an emergency in itself, now that he thought about it.) 

As he walked along it, the path turned from asphalt, to gravel, to dirt. The foliage around him became thicker and thicker the further he went. 

Seems they really wanted to hide. 

Finally, FINALLY, he felt his foot hit concrete. Ryoma looked up on reflex, and there it was. 

It was a large mansion, and it appeared to heavily contrast the residences farther back. It loomed over him, like most things did for Hoshi. 

But, no time to admire the details. 

He strode up to the heavy, wooden front door. He almost wished he had a little something to calm his nerves. But, that was, almost, selfish thinking. 

Before he could even raise a hand to use the lion's head door knocker, it swung open. Almost as if on cue, two men stepped forward. They both had matching outfits, consisting of a suit, dark sunglasses, and black, felt fedoras. That outfit was very familiar to the shorter man. 

They nodded their heads upon spotting him, and then stepped aside to let him in. 

Oh, this was it. 

Showtime.