Business had been slow lately.
Yakuza activity seemed to be pretty quiet at the moment, and Izaya'd had no new requests or jobs from them. His other big clients seemed to be annoyingly content with life at the moment, and he'd had no new clients either. The few jobs he'd actually managed to get over the past two weeks were simple cases, only one even getting him out of the office at all.
This new case was no different.
The instruction was simple really – get in, get the flash drive, get out, and DON'T make yourself a personal copy (of course Izaya would never…). He could have done it with nothing but a lock pick. Hell, he could have got Namie to do it.
But Izaya was bored.
And he was going to make this one interesting.
That's why, at 9 PM on a Friday night, Izaya checked his makeup one last time in a little silver compact mirror, while he sat in the back seat of a cab.
It was all still in place; the heavy black eyeliner he'd used to make his eyes more feminine and his mascara coated lashes still looked perfect. It hadn't budged yet – because of course he'd been careful to only use waterproof. It was his eye shadow that worried him most – rich brown, a few shades darker than his own pupils, slightly shimmery. He'd heard that glitter fallout was a bitch.
He adjusted his dark wig slightly, just enough so that the longer half of the slanted bangs would fall across his right eye when he looked down. He quietly glanced over the silky black curls that tumbled over his shoulders, the sparkling fake diamond, suspended around his neck by a thin silver chain, and finally, the sequined neckline of his dress. He pulled it up slightly, tugging on the satiny spaghetti straps on his shoulders, reminding himself to keep an eye on it. It wouldn't do to show off his incredibly-padded, incredibly-uncomfortable, but still incredibly-pretty strapless bra in the kind of place he was going.
Izaya clicked the compact shut, just as the cab was pulling over. He opened his small silver purse, placing the mirror back in it, and looking over its contents one more time. Money? Check. Lip gloss? Check. Small, non-lethal dose of tranquilizer? Check.
He handed the money to the driver, and opened the cab door to get out. He carefully placed one foot on the pavement, before the other, not quite trusting the strappy black stilettos he was wearing to support his weight, even though he'd been practicing in them for a while, just to make sure he wasn't going to fall on his face tonight. He luxuriated in the way soft ruffles of tulle brushed against his newly shaven legs, cutting off just above the knee (short enough to keep it interesting, but not enough for anyone to see what they shouldn't), as he was straightening up.
"Thanks," he smiled at the driver, putting into practice the voice he had been trying out over the past few days. Not too high. Not too overdone. Soft, quite low for a woman, and yet… enticing. Almost musical.
He closed the door softly with one hand and used the other to surreptitiously pat down his thigh. For a moment he panicked, not finding what he was looking for. He felt his eyes widen as the cab drove away… wanting to call the driver back, wanting to end this right here and now, but then – he found it.
Hidden under the frothy swirls and ruffles of tulle, hugged tight against his left thigh in an elasticised holster, was his familiar switch blade. He'd never do this job without it. Not now that he'd given himself so many… extra complications to work through.
He breathed a sigh of relief, composing himself, resetting his lips into a flirtatious smile, not that much unlike his own trademark smirk.
And then he turned towards the club, and gracefully, letting his smooth legs brush up against each other as much as possible, he walked in. The bouncer glanced uninterestedly at him when he was flashed a smile, motioning with his hand that he should go through. Nobody stopped women as pretty as that going on in, unless they were trying to make the place unpopular.
Once in the club, he allowed himself a moment's pause, letting himself take his surrounding in, before continuing on towards the bar.
The place was moderately sized with a large bar and lounge area to one side. There was also a dance floor, that looked pretty packed already, and Izaya noted happily that it was a sufficient distance from the bar so that he'd be able to hear himself think over the pounding beat of the music.
Sitting down at the bar, he crossed his legs and set his purse on the table. The bartender made his way over to him and Izaya ordered a glass of red wine. Tapping his black nails on the table top in front of him as he waited for his drink, he finally allowed a small thrill to pass through him.
He'd had it from one of his most reliable sources that his target was coming to this particular club on this particular night. He'd also had it from several sources (reliable and unreliable alike) that the blonde haired foreigner was rather fond of pretty Japanese women and alcohol.
Of course, Izaya could have just gone to the club and followed him home. Held him at knife point and demanded the flash drive. Taken it home. Copied the files for himself. Handed it over to the well-paying client who employed him this time. Gone back home and seen just why those files had been so goddam important to him…
But Izaya could also seduce him. Pretend that he so desperately wanted to get in the man's pants that he would follow him up to his hotel room like a puppy. Act like he was going to let the man have his way with him. And then, while gently caressing his face, sneak the tranquilizer into the back of his neck.
Tomorrow he'd wake up thinking he'd drunk too much and that lovely 'Kanra-chan' had taken off without leaving him so much as a cell phone number.
And Izaya found the latter plan of action so much more…
Well, he'd been bored hadn't he?
The bartender came back with his wine, and he took a delicate sip, letting his barstool swing round slightly, so that he could more closely observe the room. And find out if his target was here. From his vantage point at the corner of the bar, he could see the rest of the club easily. He let his eyes drift lazily over the dance floor, playing with the catch on his purse. Then he scanned the lounge and the rest of the bar.
Not here yet.
Izaya sighed, uncrossing and recrossing his legs as he sipped at his wine again. This wasn't the end of the world. It was just possible he hadn't arrived yet… or maybe he was in the men's bathroom, which inconveniently happened to be the one place Izaya couldn't check.
For another ten minutes or so, he absently (or so it appeared) watched everyone who entered and left the club, also keeping an eye on the bathroom doors. He saw nothing and nobody that interested him. He did, however, have to turn away two men that each offered to buy him a drink.
"I'm so sorry," he'd said, letting sympathy creep into his eyes as he shook his head slightly at each of the hopefuls. "I'm actually waiting for someone. That's terribly nice of you though."
Of course they both understood completely, and they were sorry to bother 'her'. Yeah, right. Izaya knew better.
After that, he did find himself starting to get bored. As much as it amused him to get dressed up like this (and he had smugly noticed that he was the most attractive woman in the club, having gotten quite a few stares), he didn't like how the lacy bra restricted his breathing, or how the heels made his feet hurt when he walked in them. He hoped the target showed up soon, and didn't make him suffer through this all night.
He stood up, picking up his purse to slowly stalk towards the ladies room. He wanted to check out the club from a new angle, make sure there wasn't anywhere he'd missed, but just walking around might seem a little strange.
And it would be painful, he thought, forcing himself not to wince with each step towards the bathroom.
He had no luck though, seeing no one even remotely blonde as he stepped through the bathroom door. Not wanting to look strange just standing there, he checked his makeup again. Of course it was still perfect – Izaya hadn't messed around when he put it on, but he still popped open his purse and dabbed a bit more gloss on.
He was out again, looking very much 'on the prowl' as he was growing less and less subtle with his quick glances around. Not that it mattered. Women did this all the time, right?
He wasn't one hundred percent sure, but it wasn't drawing him any weird looks or anything, so he figured it was okay. What was not okay, was that he still hadn't seen his target anywhere on the dance floor or at the lounge.
He bit his lip in frustration.
Scanning the bar as he approached his own seat again, his heart leaped as he thought he saw a flash of blonde on the other side of the bar. There was a bunch of people in the way, and he waited impatiently for them to clear.
And then his heart sank.
He had seen someone blonde, and they were sitting down on the far end of the bar from him.
But it wasn't the American womanizer he was supposed to be chatting up.
Not at all.
It was Shizuo.
God dammit, Izaya thought, pressing himself back into the shadows of his corner, and letting his thick bangs fall across his eyes. If Shizu-chan recognises me, it's all over.
He couldn't help but smirk though. This really was getting fun.
A/N: So this was supposed to be a oneshot, but I realised it was getting way too long, so... a twoshot perhaps? We'll see when I write the next bit.