Shizuo could not bring himself to go back to work so he wasted the rest of the day wandering about the city. He ended up buying the portrait. The streets teemed with people, Shizuo focused on these living tides with the intent of understanding some of Izaya's interest in humanity. He could see nothing but faces shut to any perusal of inner reality and soon enough he gave up.
The thing he dared not do was hope. Upon further pressing the elderly artist proved less than reliable being, in a muddle as to what day it was today and overall confused about recent dates. Which left Shizuo too uncertain to draw any conclusion. He was afraid of entertaining hopes especially in the teeth of the harsh reality he had seen and that still played itself over and over in disturbing dreams. Between what he had witnessed – Izaya courting the abyss – and the assertion of an old and somewhat confused old man Shizuo was much more inclined to trust that which his eyes and memory testified to.
Still, his heart fluttered when he turned a corner and nearly bumped into a small crowd of fur fringed jackets loitering about a vending machine. Shizuo had heard about these proclaimed disciples that were nothing but petty criminals. It was about as distasteful as it got and Shizuo was not about to turn a blind eye to it.
"Who are you punks supposed to be?"
In no time they gathered around Shizuo.
"Eh? You don't know about us? We're the Jackets. Orihara Izaya's gang."
Shizuo lit a cigarette. So much for the fabled notion that without Izaya the city would become a better place. He smoked almost meditatively.
"Really, huh. I don't think so."
They waved fists at him angrily. To Shizuo they seemed like nagging flies buzzing about.
"What the fuck do you know? No one pulls shit on us."
Shizuo removed his glasses.
"Izaya doesn't do crowds. Takes more than playing dressing up to match him."
A few muttering voices agitated the gang.
"Hey, isn't that Heiwajima? Shit!"
Shizuo took a step forward. That was all it took, they scrambled hurriedly and were soon gone. Shizuo finished his cigarette. He needed answers and come what may he would seek them. The switchblade made contact as he put his hands in his pockets as if to reassure him.
Even though he legally owned the apartment now Shizuo still unlocked it almost stealthily – the keys had been turned over to him – and he felt like he was sneaking in. Izaya's apartment remained untouched and unchanged if not for the thickening layer of dust claiming the corners. Shizuo went immediately to what he saw as Izaya's headquarters, the tiny computer infested cubicle in the bedroom.
He sat on the swivel chair, for a split second he could see Izaya merrily spinning around in his very spot, and turned on what seemed to be the main computer. Shizuo hunched until his face was nearly glued to the monitor and pixeled light bounced from his glasses. He tapped the keyboard impatiently. Never a computer person he suspected that this would be hard work. The machinery hum as circuits flowed back to life made him nervous, it brought into relief the great silence.
Shizuo expected the Windows whatever-version-it-was-at to initiate. Instead the screen remained black and then a tiny Izaya icon, fluffy fringe and an absurdly big scythe in hand, popped out of nowhere. It smiled as it danced from right to left, dragging a box: 'Insert Password!'
Shizuo sighed. He never could make sense of Izaya's sense of humor. The icon sat on a skull, little legs swinging. Now was not the time to crack Izaya's oddball jokes. Shizuo expected password protection but it still depressed him. He had no idea. But since he had to start somewhere he typed, 'I love humanity' only to be greeted with 'Wrong! Chibi Izaya isn't happy now'. The icon shook its head in cartoonish mock sadness. Shizuo tried other variations of the same trademark with no success. Without a doubt this was going to take a long time, assuming it would work at all.
