“…He’s wasted my time twice…so I’ll murder him twice…”
Shizuo stomped away from the apartment, veins still bulging at the thought of his old nemesis’s face.
Only dozens of seconds later, just as Shizuo was leaving the apartment building, a woman pulled the sheet of paper off the door.
“If a trick that crude actually worked on him, this Shizuo must be extremely dense.”
Namie Yagiri looked down over the railing of the apartment hallway. She caught sight of the man in the bartender outfit stalking away in a huff and muttered, “This is quite an elaborate ruse, all to push one man into a corner.”
She continued watching Shizuo go without much interest and then offered a ghastly suggestion.
“If you can’t kill him with a knife, just use poison.”
As for why Shizuo Heiwajima was heading for Izaya’s apartment, that will require rewinding to the morning of the fourth.
“Oh! She’s awake!” rang out a voice in Shinra’s apartment at six in the morning.
The voice belonged not to Shinra or Tom or Shizuo—but a teenage girl wearing glasses.
Both Shizuo and Tom witnessed Celty asking Shinra to “let her spend the night, since she was attacked by a stranger.” Shinra reassured Anri that she didn’t need to help out or do anything, but unable to resist, she decided to take over the duty of watching the bedridden little girl.
Shinra got up from his desk and answered, “Okay, I’ll be right there.” He washed his hands at the sink, picked up a sterilized examination mirror, and headed toward the bedroom.
“Speaking of which, I forgot to tell Celty about the girl.”
Well, she seemed really preoccupied. I guess I can tell her later, the doctor thought blearily as he trudged to the room in the back where the girl was sleeping. When he opened the door, he did not see what he was expecting to see.
The little girl was not in her bed anymore, but in the corner of the room, trembling incessantly. And the trembling was not because of the fever.
Her eyes were staring at Shizuo, who was already in the room. He was standing with his arms folded, looking down at her in consternation. “Should I just stay quiet, then?”
“I feel like you talking is just going to agitate her, Shizuo. So, yes, hush up,” Shinra advised and held out a hand toward the girl. “How are you feeling? Your complexion looks better, but we should check your temperature first.”
But the girl kept her gaze locked onto Shizuo, her eyes pleading angrily.
“Are you going to kill me, too?”
“…What do you mean, ‘too’?” Shizuo shot back, frowning.
Shinra shook his head sadly. “I knew it. You must have slain one of this poor girl’s loved ones…”
“Want me to make you Victim Number One in my personal homicide record?” Shizuo threatened, veins beginning to pulse.
Tom stepped in to calm him down by saying, “Not in front of the kid! You can do it later.”
Shinra put a hand to the wary girl’s forehead and soothingly noted that her fever was going down. He had a thermometer as well for a proper reading, but the point of the gesture was to calm her down.
Anyone who knew the normal Shinra would have to assume this was a different person entirely. If Celty were there, she would scream, “You’ve never shown me such a normal smile like this… Aaaah! You lolicon!” and run away from home. That was how reassuring and heartfelt the smile was.
“…Who are you? One of Shizuo Heiwajima’s friends?” the girl asked.
“No, I just can’t seem to get rid of him. Don’t worry. I won’t let him hurt you. But to do that, I need you to explain some things first,” Shinra said, like a helpful neighborhood physician.
Shizuo felt goose bumps on his back. But if anyone here was going to get the girl to talk, it would be Shinra. So he kept his distance from the girl, listened closely, and tried not to let the creepiness affect him.
Shinra crouched down until he was at eye level with the girl and spoke to her as if she were his own child. “Would you mind telling me your name?”
“…Akane.”
“What’s your last name, Akane?”
“…”
The moment he asked, the girl named Akane fell silent. He decided that she didn’t want to tell him that, so he moved on.
“Does anything hurt? Sore throat, tummy ache, anything like that?”
She shook her head no.
“I see… That’s good. Can I ask you about what happened yesterday?”
The girl thought it over for a bit but didn’t nod or shake her head. She glanced timidly at Shizuo, and when he met her look through his sunglasses, she twitched in fear.
“Don’t worry. He won’t do anything. He might be a violent cretin, but he’s good at heart. If he was really trying to pick on you, he would have beaten you up already, wouldn’t he?”
“…”
“Or did he do something else to you? And that’s why you were trying to get him?”
“…No,” she squeaked, shaking her head.
Perplexed, Shinra decided to be direct. “Then, why did you want this man in the sunglasses to disappear?”
“…”
She said nothing at first, but after seeing Shinra’s disarming smile, she finally admitted, “Because…he’s a killer.”
“Huh?”
“I heard that a hired killer named Shizuo was going to kill my dad and grandpa. But I can’t go back home to them, either, so I didn’t know what else to do…”
He had a bad feeling.
Even before he could ask her why she couldn’t go back home, a nasty shiver raced through Shinra’s body.
The man in the bartender outfit behind him must have felt the same premonition. Shinra heard something that sounded like creaking bone from Shizuo’s direction. He forced himself not to look.
“And…what about the stun gun?”
“Someone gave it to me and said it would work on him.”
“Who did?”
“Someone who taught me all kinds of things when I ran away from home.”
The foreboding intensified. Shinra was beginning to envision a particular face in his mind’s eye.
“So this person gave you the stun gun and told you Shizuo was a hit man?”
She nodded.
Shinra tensed up and finally asked, “And…what was his name?”
She hesitated to deliver the finishing blow at first, but over the course of their short conversation, she had decided she trusted Shinra now.
“…Big Brother Izaya.”
A chill ran down his back.
He felt a momentary illusion that a demonic god sent to destroy the world was materializing right behind him—and turned slowly, a cold sweat forming, to look at the other man in the room.
There was Shizuo. Smiling kindly.
Huh?! The unfamiliar expression initially plunged Shinra into sheer terror. Sorry, Celty. I think I might die today, he thought to himself.
Shizuo said kindly, “Ha-ha, you’ve got the wrong idea, Akane.”
“Oh…?”
“Izaya just has the wrong idea about me. I’m not actually a killer.”
“…Really?”
“It’s true! Izaya and I are friends—we just had a little fight,” Shizuo claimed, shrugging and turning away from Shinra and the girl. “I’m just going to go patch things up with him.”
He gave Akane a cheeky wink and left the room, whistling innocently.
When Shinra realized that there was a cold sweat forming all over his body, he thought to himself, so that Akane wouldn’t be disturbed, I wonder if Izaya is tired of life or something…
Tom walked out the front door and closed it behind him, then called out to Shizuo ahead.
“Way to hold it in. You deserve the People’s Honor Award or something.”
“…Thank you, Tom,” Shizuo grunted to his boss without looking back. “I have a request.”
“What’s that?”
&nbs
p; “If I kill someone and get arrested today, please ask the boss to say that I was fired as of yesterday.”
“…”
Tom had plenty of thoughts to share, but he kept them to himself as he watched Shizuo head down the stairs.
He stood in the walkway of the apartment building, watching the scenery below, and then pulled out a cigarette and lit it. He took a deep drag and exhaled a comment to himself with the smoke.
“Better call the boss and tell him Shizuo took the day off…”
May 4, late morning, art gallery, Ikebukuro
It was a pristine interior, full of painting frames hanging on exquisite wallpaper.
But the voice that spoke within it had very little in common with fine art.
“…Just think about it. For the price of just a single cup of coffee a day, this work of art, a source of pure joy, can be yours. It’s just the first step to being a winner in life,” the woman said with a plastic smile.
The young man, his face bandaged, looked lovestruck. “Hmm, it’s very tempting. But if I spent all that money at once, I don’t know what my girlfriend would think.”
“I believe she will be utterly impressed when she sees this painting on the wall of your residence. Coming across the right piece of art is as fateful as locking eyes with the girl of your dreams. It’s extremely rare to come across a piece by the great Karnard Strasburg, even if it is a print!”
She was in the midst of a sales pitch over a particular piece that had been placed next to the table. The young man she was trying to sell it to had been there for over an hour. But he was staring directly at the saleswoman’s face, not showing the least amount of interest in the painting itself.
“Personally, I find you to be much more interesting than the painting.”
“Well, if you want to know, I find myself very attracted to men who would buy paintings like this.”
“Really?”
“Really! I mean, people who can spend money on their dreams are just irresistible!”
The art was indeed from a famed master—but it was silk-screened on a poster, no more than a cheap mass-market item. She kept calling it a “print,” claiming that it was a rare item with a serial number.
In fact, it could be bought for less than thirty thousand yen, but the price she quoted to him was 1.28 million.
If you wanted a rare Karnard Strasburg piece for that price, you could get one that was a lithograph rather than silk-screened—but the saleswoman continued to insist that the cheap print was, in fact, a valuable work of art.
He’s gotta give in soon.
The chief of the sales team, watching from a distance, was certain that the customer would buy the painting. If he still held back, the chief could try the “you wasted our time and business, so just sign the check” method. This was the kind of place that would get down and dirty, if needed.
But the bandaged man’s reaction was too abnormal for such orthodox means to work.
The bandaged young man spotted the sales chief and beckoned him over, beaming. He approached the table, assuming that the deal was as good as closed.
“Is something the matter, sir?”
“Well, actually, I don’t have any money. And this babe here says she really needs me to buy it. So I’ve decided to work out a deal.”
“Yes, sir, thank you very much!” the chief grinned, assuming they were going to work out a finance plan. The young man with the eyepatch grinned back.
“Put ’er there.”
“Pardon?”
To the chief’s confusion, the man covered in gauze held out the palm of his hand as if to receive something. But the contract and pen were already sitting on the table. What else could he want?
He was just wondering if the customer was expecting a business card when he shockingly heard, “One million two hundred and eighty yen, she says. You can give me your card, if you don’t have the cash.”
“…Huh?”
The sales chief had no idea what the young man meant.
He continued, “Well, I mean, the lady says she needs this. But I don’t have the money. A man can’t cause trouble for a lady, now, can he? But you seem like you’ve got the means. You’re probably the owner of this gallery or something, right? If you can buy all this expensive art to hang in here, you’ve gotta be loaded.”
“Umm…”
“Money should be spent on women. You’re a man, so you should buy this painting to help her out. Give me the one million two hundred and eighty and I can handle the rest.”
“Sir, you must be joking,” the chief mumbled, his face tense. The next moment, it froze entirely.
“…What? …Joking?”
Abruptly, the eyepatch-covered face turned sharp, cold, and undeniably cruel. The shift from when he was talking to the woman was so sudden and startling that the sales chief instantly realized, This guy isn’t a regular patron.
“When did I tell a joke? When did I make you laugh? Huh?” he said, getting to his feet and approaching the chief’s nose.
The saleswoman finally recognized what was happening, and her face went pale. She said, “Um, s-sir?”
The young man spun around on the spot and flashed her a smile and thumbs-up. “Don’t worry, miss. He’s gonna buy it. Like you said, not only will it make his life better, he’ll have the women screaming over him. Any man with money would buy it!”
The sales chief shot the woman a look that said, Why did you bring him in here?
She looked back at him with teary eyes that pleaded, I didn’t pitch him anything; he just started hitting on me on the street and followed me in here, but that was a little too detailed for mere eyes to get across.
But there was another person who saw her about to cry: the unbelievable customer.
“Hey, guy.”
“Y-yes?!”
“You just shot her a dirty look, didn’t you?” he accused, full of righteous fury.
The chief was taken aback—which was ironic because it was usually his job to threaten customers. “H…huh…?”
“I don’t know if you’re her boss or whatever, but she’s been tryin’ her best to walk me through this whole practice, since I’m new to it. Who the hell do you think you are, staring her down?”
“Wha…? Um, sir, this is a private company matter. It has nothing to do with you…”
“So if it’s none of my business, that means I’m free to hit you?” he threatened, cracking his neck as he took a step forward.
“S-sir, I’ll call the poli—” the chief started to say, and then the possibility arose in his head that he might die before the police arrived. He had plenty of experience with odd guests, but the attitude coming from this person was something he’d never seen on this level before.
And right as the menacing youth crouched down to do something—a ringtone went off in his shirt pocket.
“…”
The young man stopped, picked up his phone, and held it to his ear.
“It’s me… Ah, gotcha. Where are you now? Huh? …The hell? That’s right outside this building. Actually, all of you come inside here right now. There’s an asshole here who doesn’t know how a lady feels… Oh yeah? Tsk… Fine, fine. I’m coming out.”
The man in the eyepatch and bandages hung up and glared at the sales chief.
“I’m gonna come back here later to make damn sure you bought this lady her painting…”
Outside of art gallery, Ikebukuro
“So you found this Dollars guy?” Chikage Rokujou asked of his fellow Toramaru gang member as he exited the gallery.
The man in the leather jacket grunted confirmation and reported, “He’s a half-Japanese guy named Walker Yumasaki, and he’s supposedly pretty well known within the Dollars.”
“Weird name. Where is he now?”
“Well…,” the man in the jacket mumbled. He jutted his chin up a bit to signal the gallery building in front of them.
“He followed a woman into that building right before you walked
out of it.”
Inside the gallery
I thought I was going to die…
The sales chief was relieved that the man finally left. Then, he heard a different visitor’s voice. It was not the usual business talk—it sounded as though there was trouble after all.
What is it now? he wondered.
A young man was arguing passionately in front of a painting by an illustrator who went by the name Suzy Yasuda.
“I mean, this is just silk-screened, so even with the frame, at this size the base cost would be twenty-four thousand yen, right? I have great respect for this illustrator, so I’d be willing to pay a million yen for this masterpiece! However, I cannot make this deal unless I have a guarantee that at least eight hundred thousand of that will go to the artist.”
“Er, well…”
“Besides, this piece was not originally drawn to be silk-screened. And selling it with a serial number as if it was supposed to be printed is just tarnishing the true value of the work. Did Suzy really allow you to print and sell this? This? I mean, there are way too many holes in your story! It doesn’t get a single fraction of Suzy’s appeal across to the buyer! It completely ruins her mystique! Where did you get these level-zero powers, anyway?! Listen, the root of Suzy’s illustrations goes back to…”
“Ch-chief!” pleaded the sales clerk.
The chief raced over and recognized the narrow-eyed half-Western boy. He put his head in his hands. “Not you again, sir! Please leave at once!”
Once the chief harangued the young man out of the building, he turned to scold the woman who had been soliciting customers on the street.
“You’re new here, but let me warn you: That half-Japanese customer is not to be trifled with! Even if he happens to look like a very easy mark!”
“Y-yes, sir.”
The stressed-out chief, a master at underhanded sales strategies, muttered to himself, “I think I need to get out of this business…”
“That guy dressed as a bartender smashes the place up right as I start working here… The Awakusu-kai stroll right in and demand the originals we copy… It’s just insane, really…”
Durarara!!, Vol. 5 Page 14