Baccano! - Volume 16 - Chapter Pr

That summer, a reporter who feared death met a killer—

—and a boy who wanted to die met an immortal.

Digression A

1932 A certain day of a certain month The speakeasy Alveare

“Isaac, Isaac! It’s awful! It says Ice Pick Thompson has struck again!”

The young woman’s voice calling out was far more cheerful than one would expect to hear in a Prohibition-era speakeasy after hours. Although cheerful was more a description of the timbre; at the moment, she was fearful and shocked.

In response, the man she’d called Isaac whirled around toward her. “What?! Tell me you’re joking, Miria!”

Both of them were dressed in the sailor suits worn by the British navy. If the speakeasy had been open, people would have assumed they were performers in some sort of skit. However, they were neither actors nor bar staff. No one had any idea why they were dressed this way.

The couple continued their conversation with such an expert sense of timing that it really did sound scripted.

“It’s true! See, it’s right there in the paper!”

“My God… Our fears have been realized…”

The man and woman had opened a newspaper on top of the liquor barrels that stood in the corner of the speakeasy as part of the décor. Their faces looked solemn. Spotting the pair—Isaac Dian and Miria Harvent—a baby-faced young man who was passing by spoke to them.

“…Huh? You two know about Ice Pick Thompson?” Firo Prochainezo asked, frowning.

Isaac and Miria looked at each other.

“Come to think of it, what was Ice Pick Thompson again, Miria?”

“Hmm? I dunno. But the newspaper says it must be terrible.”

“So what was that about fears? You’re panicking when you don’t even know what’s goin’ on?”

Firo rolled his eyes, while Isaac objected vehemently.

“What are you talking about, Firo?! Miria may not know what’s going on, but it’s terrible enough to frighten her! What fear could be greater than that?!”

“Ooh, Isaac, that’s amazing!”

“How?!” Firo sighed in even greater exasperation. Trying to have a serious conversation with those two would only wear him out, so he opted to continue the conversation and just throw out the parts that didn’t make sense. “Ice Pick Thompson is a murderer, you know.”

“A murderer! Do… Do you mean he might go around killing people?!”

“He does go around killing people. It’s why they call him a murderer,” Firo explained blandly, and Isaac put a hand to his chin, looking grave.

“My God… We were afraid of this, and now it’s happened…”

“I’m scared! What’ll we do, Isaac?! This is awful!”

So they really were makin’ noise about things they don’t know?

In a way, Firo was almost inspired by their approach to life. He decided to hang out by the barrel for a little while and listen to their conversation.

“It’s all right, Miria! A homicidal person only targets humans! So if we disguise ourselves as something that’s not human, he won’t come after us!”

“I see! Isaac, you’re incredible!”

“Legends from the Far East say that if you run up a waterfall and draw an eyeball on a wall, you can turn into a dragon! If we hide ourselves by becoming dragons, I’m sure he’ll let us go!”

“Yes, Zhang Sengyou! Beard the dragon!”

Jang… Uh, what?

Firo was confused by whatever language Miria was speaking, but even if he cared enough to ask, he doubted he’d get a real answer. He decided to ignore them.

Still, he couldn’t let all of it go, so he decided to correct them on another point.

“Heck, if you turned into dragons, you could just knock off the killer anyway.”

However, Isaac sent Firo a serious look, then shook his head.

“What are you saying, Firo?! Use your head for a moment. Dragons get slain by that guy Sig…Sig-something! If you turn into a dragon, the humans will come after you!”

“Yes, Fafnir! Komodo dragons! Kaya-no-hime!”

“Sorry, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

This was turning into a crazy mix of legend and reality, and he wasn’t even sure if they’d been serious about the idea of turning into dragons in the first place.

Acknowledging that he wasn’t going to be able to follow the conversation any further, Firo began looking around for Maiza or Ronny. Those two were executives in the Martillo Family, the Camorra syndicate he belonged to, and he was hoping they could help him out.

But the individual he laid eyes on was a small guest who wasn’t directly connected to the organization.

“Fafnir is the dragon defeated by Sigurd in Norse mythology. In Wagner’s opera, the name was Siegfried, not Sigurd, I think. Komodo dragons are large, real lizards; their existence was confirmed about twenty years ago. I believe Kaya-no-hime is a Japanese goddess who is considered to be the same as Nozuchi, a grass spirit that resembles a snake. Well, Firo? Did you learn something?” With a teasing smile, Firo’s rent-free roommate reeled off a whole list of trivia explaining Miria’s remarks.

“Learning that stuff won’t earn me one red cent. Maybe you should spend your time learning something useful, Czes.”

Firo was speaking to a boy who seemed to be obviously younger than he was, but Czes’s sigh sounded like an adult’s.

“You’re right. I’m sorry, Firo.”

“…Hey, no apology required.”

Czes’s response hadn’t been what Firo had anticipated.

It really does feel like he’s keeping his distance on purpose.

Were Isaac, Miria, and his old acquaintance Maiza the only ones this boy opened up to? On the surface, he smiled around Firo and plenty of other people, too, but Firo couldn’t shake the feeling that the expression was somehow false, or that he was trying harder than a child should not to bother them.

Firo felt this way quite a lot, but he’d decided that the issue would probably resolve itself with time. He didn’t want to intrude on the boy’s privacy.

Meanwhile, a couple who had never considered keeping their distance in their lives carried on as they usually did.

“I wouldn’t feel safe turning into a dragon, if they’re weaker than humans.”

“The anxiety! The suspense!”

“Something stronger than humans… Something humans could never beat… When do humans die…? Well, all humans die eventually… I know! Time! Humans can’t beat time! In other words, we just need to become time itself! If we do that, then the killer won’t get us!”

“Amazing, amazing! Isaac, you’re an idea man!”

After giving it some earnest thought, the pair had arrived at an idea. But they couldn’t actually be serious.

Firo hesitated, thinking it might be about time to rein them in. Before he could, though, Czes sat down at the table closest to them and joined their conversation.

“How are you planning to do that, specifically? Will you strap clocks all over yourselves?” Czes asked with a rather mean-spirited smile, and Isaac and Miria fell to thinking.

“You know, you’re right. How are we supposed to become time?”

“Yes, that’s a tough one! It’s one of the seven mysteries of the world!”

“Time… Time is, uh… What is time…? Time is…?”

“Money!”

“I see! Time is money, so money’s the best way to beat the killer!”

“Yes, money is time!”

“How are we supposed to become money, though?”

“Another tough one! It’s the Mary Celeste!”

I’ll just let them be.

Shooting a lukewarm look at the couple and their meaningless circular conversation, Firo took a seat at the speakeasy’s counter. Picking up the pitcher of water nearby, he grabbed a cup and filled it without asking for permission. The place belonged to his organization, and whether it was closed or open for business, it felt like a second home to all of them.

In that relaxing place, Firo thought about the moniker “Ice Pick Thompson” with vague unease.

A killer, huh? I wonder what he’s after.

What passed through his mind was nothing more than the sensation of distant gossip, and the unpleasant thought of having a murderer in his own neighborhood. Unlike his ordinary neighbors, though, he wasn’t afraid that he or someone close to him might be killed.

His body, and the bodies of virtually everyone closest to him, was a little unique. Even though Firo was aware of this, he still thought about the incidents and what they had to do with him.

Up till now, all the killings have been on Runorata turf, or in Keith’s family’s territory. If one happens on Martillo turf, then it’ll be our problem, too.

A murderer, huh?

Maybe it’s rude to the victims for me to say so, but…

…pretty ironic that we’re up against a murderer when we can never die.

As if to dispel the eerie feeling that lurked in the depths of his mind, Firo swirled the glass he held. The ice in it separated with a familiar clink that took the edge off for the young Camorra executive.

Though these events hadn’t directly touched him, they were very close—

—and quietly, a tale of the in-between spaces began.