Durarara!!, Vol. 2 (novel) (8 page)

He was much younger than I expected. Very young to have a suite in a high-class apartment building in Shinjuku and unnaturally young to be such a well-connected information dealer. He didn’t look much older than twenty.

His name was Izaya Orihara. I heard about him from the chef at the sushi place, but his name also turned up several times during my first round of surveys on the street from the more knowledgeable types.

“My source is confidential,” I said, covering for the sushi chef. The slender young man put on an inscrutable smile, leaning back against the sofa.

There was a shogi board on the table between the two of us. Interestingly enough, there were three kings on the board.

“Claiming confidentiality to an information dealer… Fine, that’s your prerogative.”

I began to describe the course my research had taken me, leaving out the sushi place. But to my surprise, he had apparently been reading my articles.

“You write ‘Tokyo Disaster,’ don’t you? The column about odd events and the various groups active around Tokyo… If I recall correctly, the next issue will be having a big Ikebukuro special.”

“Oh, you read us? That should make this easy,” I said, somewhat relieved that things would proceed smoothly.

I was wrong.

“Is your high schooler well?”

“Wha…?”

“Wasn’t Mr. Shiki from the Awakusu-kai considerate?”

“…”

Then I understood everything.

The
source of information
the yakuza lieutenant had mentioned was none other than Izaya Orihara. And like a poor ignorant sap, I’d come right to the guy who sold them their information.

Anger, frustration, and a hint of fear.

The three emotions interlocked within me. I wasn’t sure what kind of expression to wear anymore. But the information agent across from me continued talking, completely unconcerned with my struggle.

“But…enough about that. The strongest in Ikebukuro, huh? Well, there are plenty of tough people around this neighborhood…but if I
had to narrow it down to one… In a fistfight, it’s Simon. But if anything goes…that’s probably going to be Shizu.”

“Shizu…?”

“Shizuo Heiwajima. I don’t know what kind of job he has now. I don’t even want to know.”

There was that name again.

I never brought him up, but even Izaya Orihara was giving me the name Shizuo Heiwajima. And yet again, I still hadn’t the least idea what kind of person he was.

“Um…so who is this Shizuo guy?”

“I don’t even want to talk about him. I know him, and that’s enough. No one else should.”

“You can’t toss me a bone?”

“I try to find out more about him because he gives me so much trouble, but even that’s unpleasant enough…”

It didn’t seem like I was going to get anywhere with him, but after pushing a little bit more, Orihara put on a creepy smile.

“All right. I’m a busy guy, so I can tell you about someone who knows him well. If you want more, this is your source.”

Good grief. Once again, I might as well have learned nothing. The trip to Shinjuku, all for nothing. Perhaps I should have bugged him a bit longer, but he knew my address and about my daughter. No use making enemies with someone like that.

At this point, my only hope was placed in this acquaintance of the young man’s.

…I just had to hope it wasn’t going to end up being Simon again.

“Hello, I’m Celty the courier.”

…

No idea how to respond to this one.

The being in front of me was showing off a PDA with a message typed out on the screen.

When I showed up at the park at our meeting time, I was met by a very strange person wearing an all-black riding suit and an oddly shaped helmet.

The courier showed up on a motorcycle without a headlight, with everything from engine to driveshaft to tire rims in pitch-black. There was no way to see inside the helmet, and to be honest, I couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman. The moment I saw it, I thought it was a man, but the slender form told me that it might be a woman.

But this couldn’t be right…

I never counted on meeting the Black Rider urban legend in a place like this.

I was more curious about what I was seeing here than in the topic of Ikebukuro’s strongest. No, I didn’t believe in occult rumors of ghosts or spirits. And it was still the middle of the day. But from the moment I saw him (her?) I could tell that he was something different.

I’d assumed that whoever was riding the black bike had to be doing a street performance or making some kind of antisocial statement. But the person I was seeing here was far too natural and comfortable in this setting, as if to say that
he
was the one who truly belonged here in this world. And the name Celty—that wasn’t Japanese, was it? I had more questions than answers now, but I suppose that was what made it a “real urban legend.”

I knew more journalists and writers than I could count who would leap at the chance to talk with the mysterious rider. Was it right for me to make contact regarding something completely unrelated?

It only took moments for me to get over my doubt. Nothing good happened in this business if one got too curious.

“Umm…it’s nice to meet you. Mr. Orihara told me that you knew Shizuo,” I said for starters.

Celty hammered away at the PDA keyboard with frightful speed. For an instant, it looked like a shadowy digit was extending from those fingers and tapping along on the keys next to them—but that had to be my imagination. Don’t get curious.
Focus on today’s job, me.

“Shizuo Heiwajima, right? Yes, he’s a very close friend. To me, at least.”

“I see.”

“He can be scary when he’s mad though.”

There we go. Now we’re talking—er, typing.

I tried to keep my excitement to a minimum, calmly getting to the point of my questioning. “Interesting… Well, as a matter of fact, I’m
taking statements for an article where I’ll be figuring out who the number-one fighter in the neighborhood is.”

“Ahh, your magazine likes topics like that, doesn’t it? You did that motorcycle gang ranking, and the ones who got left off the list tossed Molotov cocktails at the company office, didn’t they?”

“Well, that wasn’t my article… But from what I’ve heard so far, some people claim
you
might be the strongest in town…”

For a moment, Celty went quiet, shoulders trembling. Based on the way the helmet was shaking, I judged this to be laughter.

“Me? No way! They’re just afraid of the way I look.”

After another moment, Celty typed away at the PDA with great confidence.

“Shizuo’s much stronger than me. I doubt there’s another person in this town who can beat him in a pure fight.”

“He’s that tough?”

“Oh yeah, real tough. He’s so dangerous, it’s almost moving. It’s not just a brawling or martial arts thing—it’s like he lives in a different world from the rest of us. If you told me he was a werewolf or a lizardman, I’d believe you. Oh, but I hope he’s not an alien. Those grays are traumatic to me.”

Celty’s typing was even faster than a spoken conversation. The text almost struck me as…excited? As though Celty was bragging about this friend, Shizuo Heiwajima.

“It’s not that he does some MMA thing or anything. It’s like, you know how even the toughest combatant will go down if they get shot? How to explain this…?”

After a moment’s hesitation, Celty increased the font size on the PDA.

“That’s it—his strength is like the power of a gun. Even comparing him to others makes no sense.”

After discussing a few other topics, I finally learned where Heiwajima worked. Once I was certain that my article research was done, my discipline finally cracked.

I got curious.

“Um…”

“What is it?”

“I don’t need this for a story, it’s more of a personal curiosity thing, but…do you mind if I ask what you are? Um…might I see under your helmet?”

It wasn’t so I could expose the rider’s identity or report it to the authorities. It was just simple curiosity, a desire to know the gender and age of the person I was talking with. I certainly didn’t think there would be no head underneath, like the silly paranormal shows suggested.

“Er, sorry, didn’t mean any offense. I’m just curious,” I stammered.

Celty began typing on the PDA without any hesitation.
“Sure thing. If I take this helmet off, you’ll see exactly what I am. Plus, you still won’t be able to write an article about my true identity… You won’t even be able to tell anyone about it.”

“Huh?”

I was about to ask what that meant when the rider put a hand to the helmet…

I was sitting on the ground, completely paralyzed, as the shadow walked away.

Celty must be an illusionist,
I thought. I figured that wasn’t actually true, but I was desperate to convince myself.

This was what happened when you let your personal interest get the best of you.

It’s why you can’t let your curiosity take control in this line of work…

Satisfied that I’d bought my own lie, I continued with my interviews.

Next was the color gang wearing yellow bandannas. They took the name Yellow Scarves and had been consolidating power within the city since last year. They appeared just at the moment that it seemed the color gang fad was going out of style, and now they wielded a quiet presence throughout Tokyo. They weren’t suffering any crackdowns, as they hadn’t shown any propensity for criminal activity or turf
warfare, but the simple fact that they were a color gang was enough to intimidate plenty of folks.

Even the people inclined to scoff at the idea of color gangs still existing would be overwhelmed by the sight of several dozen clad in the same colors walking the streets—not that anyone who talked trash was dumb enough to pick an actual fight with them.

According to Mr. Shiki from the Awakusu-kai, the Yellow Scarves didn’t seem to have a working relationship with any of the criminal syndicates. They weren’t interfering with the business or causing trouble with the motorcycle gangs under the syndicate’s umbrella, so the Awakusu-kai had little reason to care about the group.

I made contact with one of them and succeeded in getting introduced to one of the group’s officers. What I heard from him, put simply, was the same thing I’d been getting all along.

“We’re not beefing with anyone. We just exist… A big group of friends getting along. Oh, but the Shogun gave us the name Yellow Scarves—we gotta call the boss ‘Shogun,’ that’s the rule. All the guys at the top love manga about the
Romance of the Three Kingdoms
, see… Oh, sorry, got distracted. Anyway, I’m pretty sure we’re more than a match for the Dollars when it comes to numbers, but the Yellow Scarves’ Shogun always says there are two guys never to mess with. One of them is a guy you should never let talk you into anything, and that’s Izaya Orihara…”

I was a bit surprised to hear Orihara’s name, but I’d been doing this long enough to predict the other name he mentioned.

“The other one is this guy named Shizuo Heiwajima, who wears a bartender’s outfit and sunglasses. We’re not supposed to go near him… I’ve seen that guy in a fight once, and he was a freakin’ monster.”