"I'm not saying he didn't deserve to get punched, I'm just saying that maybe you could have waited until we were out of the building to do it. We're just lucky the landlady likes me, otherwise we might have - hey, are you even listening to me?"

"Yeah, I am. But doesn't security seem extra tight today?" Shizuo asks his senior. The two of them are currently sitting in an airport cafe, wasting time until Tom has to leave for his trip to Osaka.

"Probably some bigshot coming in from overseas, I wouldn't worry about it. I think that's my flight they just called - yep, it is. That's my cue. Take care of yourself, okay? I'll see you in a couple weeks."

"Yeah, you too. Safe travels." Shizuo waves goodbye, waiting until his friend is out of sight before sighing and getting up from the table. Taking his pack of American Spirits out of his vest pocket, he pulls out a cigarette and starts to head towards the smoking area. He's in the middle of lighting it when he feels something hit his leg, glancing down to find a scrawny little foreign girl wearing no shoes sitting on the ground with a dazed expression on her face. She must have fallen when she bumped him. "You okay, kid? Where are your shoes?" He asks, offering his hand to help her up. She doesn't take it, instead choosing to blink up at him silently. He doesn't know why, but something in her stare gives him the chills.

Suddenly the girl jumps to her feet, her face paling as her wide eyes focus on something behind him. Turning to look, he notices that a few of the guards have begun to walk in his direction; when he turns back to the girl, she's gone. "What the hell?" He scratches his head in confusion.

"Excuse me, sir." One of the guards stops in front of him, her eyes hidden behind mirrored shades. He's starting to think they aren't guards at all. "You're going to need to come with us."

"Oh, yeah? Why's that?"

"I am not authorized to answer that question."

"Then I ain't going nowhere."

"We're not asking." One of the other so-called guards warns. "We are prepared to use force if necessary."

The threat causes a grin to spread across Shizuo's face, his eyes taking on a dangerous glint as he leans forward to loom menacingly over the other man. "I'd like to see you try."

"You're making a big mistake, sir." The third "guard" tells him, his hand on his sidearm. "Maybe you'd like to reconsider?"

Shizuo's grin simply widens. Five seconds and one trash can later, two of the fake guards are unconscious on the ground and the last one is frozen in fear. Deciding it'd be a good idea not to stick around, he shoves his hands into his pockets and heads for the train station.

By the time he gets back to his studio apartment, Shizuo's ready to climb in bed and pass the fuck out. When he unlocks the door and opens it to find the little girl from the airport sitting on his futon, he's forced to accept the fact that that most likely isn't going to happen anytime soon. "How the hell'd you get in here?" He asks, confused and a little creeped out. The little girl doesn't answer. "Okay, you don't speak Japanese. Got it. Fuck, what do I do now?" If it wasn't four in the goddamn morning, he could text Celty and ask her for help. For now... for now, he guesses, he'll have to wait.

He digs through his pile of clean laundry until he finds a t-shirt, a pair of boxers, and a towel, then sets them on the bed in front of the girl. He then points to his bathroom, not quite sure how to best communicate with her; luckily, she seems smart enough to get the point. Nodding at him, the girl picks up the clothes and towel and disappears into the bathroom. He waits until he hears the water running before changing out of his uniform, pulling on a pair of sweat pants and a plain white tank top. Grabbing a couple of blankets and a pillow off of his bed, he stretches out on the floor next to the coffee table.

When the girl comes back out, he's already snoring.

Later that evening, in Shinjuku...

The exhausted informant rubs his eyes for what seems like the millionth time, frowning at the papers in front of him. He'd had what he's pretty certain was the worst sleep in his entire life; if it wasn't for the nightmare he'd had last night still being fresh in his mind, he wouldn't have thought he'd slept at all. Normally he's not bothered at all by bad dreams, but this one was different... it had felt so real, so unlike a dream at all that it's been hours and he's still shaken up by it.

"Your five o'clock is here."

Izaya looks up to see his secretary standing there, a curious look on her face. "I wasn't aware I had a five o'clock."

"He called earlier today while you were in the bath. Some American guy that looks like he's watched too many teeth-whitening commercials."

"Business suit or polo shirt?"

"Business suit. Can I take the rest of the evening off?"

"Ah, yes. It's Seiji's birthday tomorrow, isn't it? Are you going to bake him a cake?"

"There's leftovers in the fridge." Namie responds coldly, ignoring the question. "I'll send him in. If you need anything, call someone else."

"Namie is so caring~."

"Whatever."

A moment later, his secretary is gone and the American man is standing in her place. "Please, have a seat." He gestures to one of the couches, folding up his reading glasses so he can put them back in their case.

"Do you speak English?" The man asks in English, taking the offered seat.

Izaya snorts. "Better than most Americans, from what I've heard." He responds, also in English. "Though obviously you speak Japanese, or you wouldn't be here."

"Only the basics. When needed, I find a translator. Vincent Pierce-Mongtomery." The man smiles, extending his hand. "I hear you're in the business of information?"

Izaya accepts Vincent's offered hand, taking note of the gold Rolex on his wrist and the firmness of his grip. He could tell already that this man is used to getting his way, most likely the son of a wealthy business tycoon or politician. "You heard correctly, Mr. Montgomery. Though I am curious... who told you about me?"

"I'm afraid I can't reveal my sources. And please, call me Vincent." The man requests, the smile still on his face. "I was wondering if you'd be able to look into a few people for me?"

"That depends. Who are they, and what am I looking for?"

Vincent slides over a list of names, complete with ages, genders, and addresses for both their homes and schools. It's a fairly thorough list - he can't help but wonder where he got it, especially since none of the people on the list seemed to be over the age of 15. "I'm mostly interested in their grades, talents, and I.Q test results - if available, of course. Do you think that's doable?"

"I don't see why not." It's not a very difficult request at all - in fact, he'd even go so far as to consider it an easy one. "Anything else I should look out for?"

"Nothing specific, though I would appreciate it if you could keep me informed of any strange behavior you might observe during your investigation. How old are you, if you don't mind me asking?"

Izaya blinks, the change in topic catching him off-guard. "Twenty-three, why?"

"Just curious. You seem like an intelligent young man - did you do well in school?"

"Well enough, I suppose. Is there anyone on this list you'd like me to investigate first, or does it matter?"

"It doesn't matter, do it in whichever order you like. Ever win any awards?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"Again, I'm just curious. I apologize if I'm making you uncomfortable."

"You aren't." Izaya lies, feeling very much uncomfortable. "I'm just not used to clients asking me personal questions."

"Fair enough! I suppose I'll let you get to it, then. Thank you for meeting with me on such short notice." Vincent stands, adjusting his tie and jacket. "I look forward to hearing from you."

Izaya watches him leave, frowning. There's something about the other man that rubs him the wrong way - he just can't quite put a finger on it, and that bugs him. Accepting that there's not really anything he can do about it right now, he sighs and goes back to his paperwork.