Chapter 7: Nightfall
What was he? Thirty? Izaya couldn't quite tell with all the anabolics buffing his stature like a doll glued to heaps of cotton. "You look great," the specimen of science praised Izaya's appearance and honestly the compliment made Izaya want to retch.
"I know."
Hell would be freezing over before he was going to serve as this guy's entertainment, and it seemed he had at least left the guy a bit dumbfounded as he had expected a compliment in return. He was obviously as artificial as he could get and his muscles the only way to show off.
The shirt he had chosen to wear only supported that idea as it was too small in various ways, making the buttons up front fight for their life as they tried to keep the fabric closed.
A sleek smile decorated the guy's lips as he recovered from his unexpected setback and smiled, "Come on, ask me out."
Returning the same expression with mischief, Izaya turned to his drink, ignoring the guy in his entirety. "Okay, get out."
His attention was back on the bartender that had now circled back to the counter to fetch his second load of drinks.
To be honest, usually it took only a pair of decent comebacks to get rid of most idiots inside this club. But it seemed this specimen was of a particularly stubborn nature as the seat next to Izaya was pulled from the counter.
A bit bummed, but with his best smile in place, he continued to look at Izaya with eyes that easily revealed what it was that he wanted to do to him and the raven invertedly groaned.
It was when Shizuo returned from his second run and a table full of satisfied guests that he noticed his virgin wave was actually getting hit on. By a guy nonetheless. And his interest seemed to be hitting rock bottom at the approach.
Slipping behind the counter Shizuo started clearing away the remnants of his mixtures.
"What are you doing tonight?" He heard the stranger speak with his sleekest voice, reserved for flirting only. He was obviously giving his best.
"Not you?" his virgin wave replied and Shizuo couldn't quite hide a smile as he cleaned the utensils used and started wiping the back of the bar.
He rarely enjoyed anyone getting hit on by strangers they disliked. The woman earlier had suffered from a similar guy trying to force himself on her. But when it came to his favorite guest Shizuo suspected he could handle the situation better than anyone else.
And he really didn't disappoint.
"You are gorgeous. I saw you from all the way over there," the guy tried showering Izaya with more compliments in order to receive a more favorable response. "Are you a bottom?"
Too bad Izaya couldn't care less about those.
"I'm a burden."
But sadly enough the guy still didn't seem to be fazed. What was this to him? A game of persistence? Did he really think by simply acting like a pain in the ass for long enough he was going to achieve anything?
"Come on," the buff bastard tried again, and suddenly his hand moved with clear intention. He wanted to put it on Izaya's shoulder, probably as an attempt to create false closeness and Izaya's stomach did a backflip in utter disgust.
Slapping his hand away with more fervor than needed his voice filled itself with venom and spite as he glared at the guy.
"Could I get any more clear? I am not interested. Get the hell away from me." The response was harsh, cold and filled with clear intention.
Izaya rarely chose the honest option when it came to ward off people hitting on him, but this guy was one of those rare cases that needed a fresh check of reality in order to give up.
Incredulous rage flared in the bastard's eyes and he clicked his tongue as he rose from his seat.
"Собака-" he mumbled under his breath and finally pushed his mighty body off the chairs. Relieved to finally have retained his peace, his usual smile reached Izaya's lips as he looked at the dwindling figure disappearing in the crowd.
"A dog? Is that the best you can call me? Try harder," he yelled and Shizuo snorted at the way he kept the last word even here.
"You speak russian?"
Attention finally back in the presence of a more decent partner, Izaya grasped for the specialized Cosmopolitan and shrugged.
"I speak four languages in total," A smirk spread across his lips as he realized this was one of the first questions the bartender had actually asked about him. Moving the straw with the tip of his finger he cast a playful glance from under his lashes.
"Impressed?"
He was searching for surprise, maybe words of praise or fascination. The usual when it came to his many hidden talents. But that was not what he found when the bartender's expression shifted to one of shrouded mystery and allure.
A smile spread across the blond's lips and he spoke with a voice of cinnamon and autumn drizzling down a comb of honeywebs.
"Make it five and I might be."
Izaya didn't know what it was about this guy, but the way he said those words caused a kind of intrigue he hadn't experienced in years. His lips involuntarily curled and his chest filled with the heat of thrill.
Every sentence leaving this bartender's lips seemed like a fight for dominance and he was there for it.
"Acting like a big shot only suits when you have something to back it with," Izaya warned, but as expected the bartender's unwavering gaze was no easy victim to the arrows Izaya shot.
Leaning forwards just slightly the bartender's elbows grazed the counter and Izaya's breath stilled as he spoke.
"Who says I don't?"
The music inside the lounge had suddenly dimmed. Whether Izaya was just imagining that sensation or his ears deemed it necessary to focus on his opponent alone was something he couldn't discern but appreciated nonetheless.
"I'm just questioning where that confidence is coming from," he hummed, and as quick as the bartender had closed in he was gone again, retracting to the bar for another set of glasses.
Izaya hadn't even noticed another order coming in until he saw him start mixing.
Picking a glass from the top shelf the bartender shrugged while preparing the ingredients.
"Facts?" Amusement played along his lips and Izaya realized that he was actually being played with. A snort left his lips and he quickly reverted his attention to his drink.
"What did you do before you came to your shift? Bathed in spite?" he asked and took another sip from his specialized treat.
A mistake he learned only a second later as the bartender replied.
"No. I slept thirteen hours."
The laughter that bubbled forth from Izaya's throat at the response came as much unexpected to the bartender as it came for him as Izaya exerted his best to avoid choking on a mouthful of his beverage.
Managing what most couldn't with the grace of a hummingbird he cleared his throat before raising his brows. "What?"
A quick shrug was given and a few lemons met their agonizing fate as they were poured inside the blender.
"Seriously, I arrived late to my shift because of that." The glass he had previously handled was suddenly dipped into a heap of white, coating the rim with generosity.
"How can you sleep thirteen hours straight? What are you a bear? Hibernation starts in winter, you know," Izaya argued while the bartender added vodka, triple sec and ice to the degutted lemons.
"I was tired, what do you want me to say?" Up and down the shaker moved and Izaya snorted as he watched the bartender complete what appeared to be a lemon drop.
The sugar coating the rim was gracefully avoided as he poured the freshly made contents inside the glass.
It was right then that the sensation of vibration brought Izaya's attention back to his pants. His phone. Having stayed silent for most of his evening it suddenly showed a very specific number with no contact saved.
He knew who that was.
Taking a last sip from his gifted drink Izaya quickly slipped out of his seat.
"You are leaving?"
Disappointment grazed just the edges of that question and Izaya relished in the faint promise of today's victory as he paused.
"Looking forward to my presence already?" he sneered, and the hint of curiosity quickly left the bartender's eyes.
"Just gauging the entertainment of my next shift," he smiled with an expression made to defy and Izaya grinned. "I will be there if you are."
No more words were exchanged, no further wits brought forth as Izaya quickly slipped through the dancing masses.
The lounge had always been quite spacious and peaceful when it came to the people room ratio. That didn't account for the rest of the club.
Forcing his way past a few girls who had drunk too much for their own sake Izaya emerged from waves of heat, perfume and buzzing noise.
The night sky was showing the faintest tint of purple which was attributed to the building's flashing lights and he quickly waved over one of the many taxis standing aside.
Wary of his origins as well as the address Izaya gave upon slipping inside the backseat only served to inflict more horror when Izaya leant towards the driver with a low whisper.
"Just this destination, I will be picked up."
Eyes forward and steering wheel grabbed as if his life depended upon it the taxi driver moved, and the club faded into the distance.
The phone that had previously buzzed was pulled from its confines and Izaya typed away on the smooth glass screen.
He didn't need to pick up the call to know what it was that was expected of him.
The night was lively. A space to feel free, free from work, free from the restraints of the day, of work, obligations and society. The night belonged to no one and yet it belonged to anyone.
It was a sensation that had always pleased Izaya whenever he set foot onto the streets shrouded in darkness.
But sometimes the night wasn't peaceful. Because sometimes it held dangers of a kind no daylight would ever see.
Stopping at the address Izaya had handed towards the taxi driver he quickly slipped out of his seat. The money was tossed, no questions asked, and the driver moved away quicker than the lights of the maserati nearby came to light.
Gliding over with the silence of an approaching shark it served quite the picture in this darkest of nights. A very familiar face belonging to the only man trustworthy enough to end up as his boss' chauffeur emerged from the front seat and opened the back for Izaya to slip inside.
As expected the car was empty. Leather of beige and brown mixed in a luxurious fashion and rose golden applications made up most of the substance usually crafted by aluminum.
A fresh glass of champagne sat at the back and Izaya wondered when the mockery of his principles was going to stop. Reaching towards the backseat's secret pocket Izaya retracted what he had dumped here earlier. His favorite watch. Dark black encircled an intricate pattern of white mixed with the color of blood. The clock's hands were made of obsidian and four in total as Izaya was a fan of precision that a mere second couldn't deploy.
Shady transactions called for shady environments, that's what most movies taught in heaps, and they weren't too wrong about that.
Nearing an abandoned construction site Izaya found himself quickly inside the walls of an abandoned hall.
Light of blue and ice grazed from the ceiling, flooding the area with more light than most probably anticipated with a load of three tons of cocaine sitting underneath.
Figures of black stood beside the plastic reflecting the grotesque choice of illumination and Izaya neared the center with unrivaled confidence.
The grotesque glasses of green turned to look at their newest guest and his boss' expression lit up in false care.
"Izaya, just in time," Creston sang with the catharsis of a man having led too many of these deals to still feel the thrill of danger despite multiple weapons lingering nearby.
Izaya could see five guns, one on each of their counterparts hips, just from glancing into their direction. Not to mention any hidden weapons.
Izaya only held a flick blade as he was neither a fan of guns nor particularly fond of running out of bullets when time needed it. They drew too much attention and made worse a mess.
"Mr. Kurokovitch," Izaya greeted politely, approaching the single entity that currently held more importance than his boss. Their client.
Just glancing towards the mountain of powdered gold Izaya could tell that this was a deal going well over three hundred million.
Their destination was clear and their quality ensured if they didn't mess up.
Well, but messing up would probably include having their lives taken, so Izaya guess no one would be dumb enough to try to negotiate.
This stuff was meant to be spread among the locals of the city. Dispersed to many it was hard to trace back where it came from, and even harder if the seller remained in another continent entirely.
Nodding appreciatively, the Russian shook Izaya's hand with adequate fervor.
Five men on his side. Izaya, his boss, the driver and the only bodyguard at his side only made four. An even match when it came to skill Izaya surmised and quickly retracted from the position of negotiation.
He was not the one to handle this business, he was the one responsible for distribution.
Most people would have expected a long speech of intimidation or negotiations over the prize or quality. But none of them was dumb enough to argue when it came to three hundred million or a few dead bodies.
One package was chosen by Creston on random and Kurokovitch did him the favor to stab the package like a newborn he had deemed unfitting.
Stepping forth, Creston's bodyguard swiped some of the white substance and rubbed it into his gums. The goal was clear, fast absorption into the bloodstream and an educated fast response on its quality.
A quick nod was all that was needed after a five minute period of waiting in a silence that would have driven any sane man insane.
Not Izaya.
The deal was quick as far as he was interested. The money adequate and their counterpart double, triple and hundredfold checked when it came to his origins and motives of approach.
Izaya would easily claim that he knew this man better than his own wife after having done his research.
Nods were exchanged, phones pulled out and within a few seconds the money wired to their respective offshore accounts.
It was only half an hour later that Izaya found himself inside the hall, alone with Creston, the bodyguard and the driver.
The smell of a first class cigar dragged across the floor and Izaya scrunched his face at the way it bit his eyes.
"Good job." Creston announced and Izaya knew better than to accept a compliment given by habit.
"Did you expect anything different?"
A small smirk drew across Creston's features and he pulled his phone up. The screen showed white on black as Izaya read the sum they had just spent on this order.
"That's 10% less than we agreed. What did you promise in return?" Right. Izaya had secured himself a bonus the last time he talked to this man, and so he shrugged.
"Secrecy and returning orders?" he tried, but of course Creston wasn't easily fooled by a halfhearted excuse like this.
"That was worth 10%?" his boss snorted, half amused, half offended and Izaya's eyes returned to their confident flair.
"He is running them over me. And the ten percent are mine to hold." It was a simple statement, voiced as if he had just told his mother he was going to visit a friend after school.
Just that this friend after school was a matter of earning thirty million on the side by backhanding his boss across the face.
Surprise glazed Creston's features, but no offense was to be found.
"Are you stupid? What are you doing gathering lead on yourself?" he asked, obviously not caring about the money at all. And not about Izaya when it came down to it.
A shrug followed and Izaya turned as he headed to the front of the hall.
"I know what I'm doing." It was time to make some calls and get rid of this cocaine as quickly as possible.
"Suit yourself. But don't come crying if you mess up," Creston shrugged and followed into the direction of the parked maserati. It was only when he met Izaya at an even height that he paused in his steps. "And Izaya. 3pm sharp. I expect you to be punctual."
to be continued~
C: Well I hope you liked this one xD We finally got to see a bit more of Izaya's "work" xD