Baccano! - Volume 19 - Chapter 10

Chapter 10 The Fugitive’s Den Has No Blanket

Like any other nation, America had many faces.

Some of those facets were bright and glamorous, but of course the nation had poverty as well, and in the shadow of the unprecedented Great Depression, that negative aspect had undermined vast swaths of society.

The government was fighting back with the New Deal, but it would be a little longer before the economy recovered.

The Depression had begun several years ago.

Riots over food had broken out repeatedly all over the country, but those who were able to riot were still doing better than some. In certain states, there were reports that the unemployed had gone hungry for so long they didn’t have the strength to protest anymore. Since more and more people were having trouble paying for their electricity, there were various districts that didn’t have a single light on at night.

The wealthy were surrounded by bright light even during the recession, and they could use indoor heating to stave off the cold. However, while the poor might look for jobs, there were none to be had, and they couldn’t extricate themselves from their circumstances.

During those dreary years, multiple workhouses went under, and the streets overflowed with drifters.

As the shadow of the Depression continued to constrict many lives, the government kept fighting it through a variety of measures, one of which was building more welfare lodging houses.

This particular lodging house had been thrown together rapidly and financed not by the government but by a certain doctor.

It was located on the outskirts of New York, and its atmosphere was completely different from Millionaires’ Row, where the affluent lived. Those who had lost their homes huddled here, living quietly with their families.

The house had been set up by a doctor named Fred. He’d bought a shuttered hotel and was using it just as it was. He’d originally intended to reuse it as a hospital but had decided to convert it into a lodging house until the Depression ended, as a place where the unemployed could get off the streets and out of the cold.

He charged the lowest rent possible for rooms, but when expenses were taken into account, this was a charity project on which he was prepared to take a loss.

However, even with the Depression, the people who passed through this lodging house didn’t have to worry about starving quite yet. Until just the other day, they’d had temporary work.

On the coast, very near to the island of Manhattan, was an avant-garde building that had been nicknamed Ra’s Lance. It had been designed as a multipurpose commercial building, and many of the local residents had been roped in to help build it. The unveiling ceremony was already over, but parts of the basement were still under construction, and many people from this lodging house were working at the site. Some of them used the money they’d earned on the job to find better places to live, and so rooms sometimes opened up at the lodging house.

On one such day, a man practically dived into a vacant room.

The place was really too cramped to be considered a room. The only things in it were a bed and minimal furnishings. Spiders and rats ate each other in the corners, and angry roars, sobs, and the occasional scream echoed from all sides.

“…Well, I guess it’s better than the welfare housing I saw earlier.”

Lodging houses were housing in name only, where penniless prostitutes and down-and-out thugs gathered. Most of the rooms didn’t have electricity. Relying on candles for light meant fires broke out frequently, and even though people often died, conditions were never improved.

Telling himself this was good compared to places like that, the man wearily lowered himself onto the edge of the bed.

Yeah, that’s right. If I’m hearing yelling and screaming from my neighbors, it means they’ve still got the energy to make noise. Really, I’m the one who wants to howl, but I don’t have it in me… Well, tons of people bunk down without a roof over their heads. Compared to them, I’m a lucky fella.

Now, if only I didn’t have pursuers on my tail…

Nader Schasschule reviewed his position.

He’d been practically kidnapped by a guy named Ladd Russo and brought to New York. Come to think of it, at that point, it seemed as if some nasty current of events had swirled around his feet and trapped them.

If that Ladd fella hadn’t glommed on to me, right about now, I’d be…

……

Where would I be now?

That’s when it hit him: He’d already been out of options.

Nader hadn’t wanted to leave prison in the first place. The Bureau of Investigation had talked him around, and he’d figured that the few remaining Lemures would have forgotten about a schmuck like him by now. At this point, he was well aware he’d been way too naïve.

And anyway, who were the fellas who were watching us after we got out?

There were mysterious people shadowing them, the trouble at the casino, and then—

Even that waitress. She looked like she coulda been anybody, and even she was part of that outfit. Part of Hilton…!

Outside the casino, he’d encountered a girl. A mixture of hate and murderous malice had suffused her young face as soon as she’d seen him.

It had been half a day since then, and he still couldn’t get that sight out of his head.

From that point on, he’d run and kept on running. He’d slipped into a group of working stiffs who’d just gotten off the job and wound up at this lodging facility. When he asked the staff member who was doling out food, the guy had said a room had just opened up, and they’d been about to put out an ad for it.

Maybe the man had succumbed before Nader’s sheer desperation, or maybe handing him several bills with the injunction to pad his wages with them had done the trick. Either way, he’d managed to become the tenant of this little room.

He bought a pillow from a nearby store, pulled all the cotton out of it, and stuffed it with the bundles of bills he’d gotten at the casino.

As Nader worked, he sighed wearily. I’m like a bad joke. I duped the fellas above me over and over, fighting my way up…

And now, even though I’m rolling in dough, I have to fake like I’m poor and dupe everybody here.

Nader Schasschule was a flimflam artist.

That said, he had only tried to talk a rich person into an investment scam once.

For him, it was more a way of life than an occupation. He’d trick the strong, convincing them he’d be useful, then crush the organization he’d just left. After that, when he’d sensed he couldn’t move any further up the ranks of his new organization, he’d start to look outside the group, find a stronger outfit—and begin to sell himself to it with no hesitation whatsoever.

He’d sold people out like this over and over, worming his way into ever-stronger outfits, climbing the ladder.

However, he hadn’t been able to use Huey Laforet’s Lemures as a stepping-stone. As a matter of fact, he’d put his foot wrong and slipped right off the ladder. Miraculously, he’d survived. Even so, as things stood, they’d ruined him.

Why had things ended up like this? He mulled that over as he stuffed money into his pillow.

Why had he become a grifter? What had his first scam been?

He’d kept thinking about those things the whole time he’d been lying low in prison, fearing retaliation from Huey’s underlings.

If it hadn’t been for that beginning, none of this would have happened to him. He would have inherited his dad’s cornfield, and although he didn’t know whether he would have been happy, at least life would have been peaceful.

However, the more he thought about it, the more certain he was of the answer. As he sewed the end of the cut pillow closed again, the same answer came to mind, and he saw the familiar scenery of his good old hometown.

His very first scam had been a lie he’d told to a childhood friend, a girl who was quite a bit younger than he was.

When I grow up, I’m gonna be a hero!

Yeah, like Wyatt Earp or Jesse James!

Just you watch—I’ll get super strong!

And then, hey… I could protect you, too, if you want.

Someone had bullied the girl, and she’d been crying. He’d told her that little white lie to comfort her. To set her mind at ease.

“Although…at the time, I didn’t think I was lying,” Nader muttered to himself, dropping the pillow full of money onto the bed. He’d really meant those words when he’d said them in the moment. He’d wanted to be a hero and protect her. That had been his dream.

However, in the end, he’d become a run-of-the-mill con artist. He hadn’t even been able to swindle a fortune for himself. He was a former terrorist turned traitor, lying low in what was basically a workhouse.

As far as “heroes” went, people who were on the brink of starving to death with their integrity intact fit the definition better than him, a guy who’d just won a ton of money at a casino.

Even if he’d genuinely believed those words as a kid, if this was what he was like now, he’d flat out lied to her.

Oh, wow!

That’s amazing! You’re so keen, Nader!

If it’s you, I’m sure you’ll get really, really strong!

That’s a promise, Nader!

Every time he remembered his childhood friend’s innocent, delighted smile, guilt squeezed his heart again.

She’d smiled because she’d believed in him with all her heart.

But after ten years, his memories were hazy in places.

He had to recall her face more vividly.

In an attempt to ease his own fear a little, Nader tried to lose himself in memories of his hometown, but his young friend’s face suddenly twisted with hatred, and she spat out a curse at him.

“Death to traitors.”

Her twisted face looked exactly like that waitress’s.

“DwaAAah?!”

Nader flinched, startled, and tumbled off the bed.

The pain when his back hit the floor brought him to his senses, and he realized he’d almost fallen asleep sitting up.

“A…a dream, huh…?”

He’d broken out in a full-body cold sweat, and his breathing was as rough as if he’d just run a sprint. The face of his childhood friend had temporarily vanished from his memory, overwritten by that waitress’s face.

Dammit!

What is this? What’s with them? They almost killed me… They killed everybody else who’d sold them out with me… And even then—even then they can’t forgive me?!

“……”

Resuming his seat on the bed, he took close to a minute to get his breathing under control. Then his thoughts went to the woman, who had to be one of Huey’s people…

…and also to the question of what he should do now.

Her encounter with Nader had seemed to be a genuine coincidence; he didn’t think she’d been tailing him, but that was a problem in and of itself. After all, it meant Huey’s people were so thick in this town that he’d run into one by accident. Of course, it was possible only a handful of Huey’s underlings were here and this had been an unlucky coincidence… But either way, now that they’d spotted him, he was in just as much danger.

He’d considered making tracks off the island, but they might have lookouts posted on the bridges. Besides, if he took to his heels on his own again, it wouldn’t change the slow downward spiral he was stuck in. Meaning he had to do some thinking, right this minute.

What would it take to save him?

What could he do to clear the books?

If he joined a group of tramps and working stiffs, the men who roved around the country looking for food and work, he might be able to cover his tracks to some extent. As a matter of fact, if it hadn’t been for the money he’d accidentally picked up at the casino, he probably would have ended up in that life anyway, even if he hadn’t been on the run.

However, due to some bizarre quirk of fate, he’d come into the sort of jackpot you got from hitting a triple seven. He wouldn’t be hard up for food or shelter for a while. If he played his cards right, he might even manage to start up a business in the Depression.

…But a run-in with robbers would finish him.

He could have put the money in a bank. The thing was, depositing a big sum of money just after he’d been released might attract the wrong sort of attention from the Bureau of Investigation, and more than anything, Huey’s information network might pick up on him.

Dammit… What is this? What the hell?! Why would they chase around a bottom-rung flunky like me for years and years? What do they get outta that?!

Anger rose inside him, but not enough to squash the fear.

“Dammit…”

For now, I’ll get some rest. I’ll think after that.

Being short on sleep wasn’t helping his mind work any better. Thinking he might as well make the most of the bed he’d managed to find, Nader lay down.

“…No blanket, huh?”

In a cold month like this one, he thought he might freeze, but he didn’t have the courage to go outside again to buy a blanket. Besides, he’d hidden his money in the pillow; if he was dumb enough to take his eyes off it, he might lose it to an oblivious pillow thief. That said, it would look way too unnatural if he walked outside with the pillow under his arm.

“Actually… Come to think of it, I bet nobody’s open at this hour anyway.”

The sky in the east had begun to pale a little, but it was still dark outside. Late night was just beginning to shift into early morning.

If this place had a manager, I could ask if there was a blanket I could borrow, but…

Suddenly, there was a knock. The door was decrepit, and the sound was louder than he’d expected in the small room. Nader felt as if something had clutched his heart.

“…! …—!” Hastily hiding his pillow behind him, he held his breath, staring at the door.

Who’s that?! There’s no way I’d be getting a normal caller at this hour of the morning.

The door had a simple lock, which he’d used, but anybody who wanted to break it could do that pretty easily with a hammer. If this was one of Huey’s underlings coming to bump him off, his luck would run out right here.

No, no way. To hell with that! You ain’t gettin’ me here, you bastards!

Still holding his breath, he turned back, looking at the window. This was the third floor, but maybe he could jump…

As Nader was wrapped in his panic, he heard a voice from beyond the door. It was more laid-back than he’d anticipated. “Hey, you okay in there? There was a really loud thud.”

“……”

That had probably been him falling off the bed a minute ago. If the noise had traveled that well, it was best to assume everyone would hear everything.

“…Yeah, it’s all jake. I just fell. Sorry if I woke you up.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it… Uh, I’ve got the room downstairs, but I also help manage this place. You just got in today, right? Lemme introduce myself.”

“……”

What do I do? Is this a trap? But if I turn him down and he breaks the lock, it won’t make a difference…

On top of that, if it turned out he was wrong, it would get harder to operate out of this place.

After a brief hesitation, Nader hid his pillow under the bed, then slowly unlocked the door.

He was relieved when he peeked through the crack and saw the face outside. This wasn’t someone he knew, and he didn’t seem too tough. He looked patently unhealthy, a type even Nader could probably knock down easily.

…? This fella looks like he’s on the level now, but…I bet he used to be a junkie.

He had that unique pallor about him, but his eyes were clear and focused. He figured if the guy had been on dope before, he’d kicked the habit now. Nader opened the door wide and checked to see if anyone was behind him. Once it looked clear, he said, “I’m Goose. Who’re you?”

Nader introduced himself by a random false name. The young man’s hollow cheeks quirked in a smile, and he gave his own name.

“I’m Roy Maddock. If you run into any trouble, just let me know.”

Several hours later The lodging house dining hall

His incredibly brief nap seemed to have taken away a good bit of his drowsiness, because Nader never did manage to get to sleep.

When mouthwatering smells started to drift up to him, he remembered he hadn’t eaten anything since noon the previous day, so he followed his nose, walking rather unsteadily.

The dining hall was in what looked like the old hotel’s remodeled lobby, and a lot of people were already there. Most of them were residents, but there also seemed to be a few tramps who’d been hanging around nearby.

The smell of liquor hung in the air as well. A few diners were definitely already drunk.

Starting the morning with a drink in this economy?!

Still, some of the liquor stank like patently low-quality stuff, while other types smelled more like industrial or medical alcohol, so he decided not to think about it.

Where am I supposed to pay for this?

As Nader hesitated, unsure what to do, the assistant manager who’d come to his room earlier called to him. “Hi there, Goose. You just stayed up, huh?”

The other man had used the false name he’d given him earlier, and for a second, Nader wondered who he was talking to. Managing to keep his anxiety hidden, he forced a casual smile. “…Yeah, couldn’t get back to sleep. Uh, Roy, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah. For starters, breakfast here is free. It’s included in your rent, see. Eat all you want.” Roy brought over his own breakfast and Nader’s, setting them down on a nearby table. “You’re lucky; the dining hall’s pretty empty this morning. I dunno what it was about, but there were airplanes flying around yesterday. Some folks were up into the small hours, hollering about how we’d gone to war and applesauce like that. Apparently, that bunch is still in bed.”

“Really now? …Wait, free breakfast? That’s pretty fine hospitality.”

Come to think of it, they were passing out food until late last night, too.

It couldn’t hurt to know more about the place where he was hiding out. Nader sat down next to Roy and asked for details. “Is the landlord that flush?”

“Well, he’s a fine doctor. Apparently, he has more wealthy patients than you’d figure… He uses that money to see hard up fellas like us for cheap; it’s real generous of him.”

“He sounds like a pushover.”

“I’m with you there. After all, he set a reformed dope addict like me up with a proper job. This lodging house is basically charity; about half the tenants were under his care before they settled down here.” At that point, Roy paused to take a sip of milk from his mug, then went on. “It’s not all the doc’s money, though. There’s a big mafia outfit in Chicago that had local shopping districts cough up some money, then used it to openly run soup kitchens to win public support, you know? It’s like that. Several of the local gangs make joint contributions to it.”

“Joint contributions…?”

“It just goes to show how good our landlord’s connections are. It’s great for the gangs, too. This way, the starving citizens complain about the government, not them.” Casually digging into his breakfast, Ray glanced at Nader’s prosthetic hand. “Well, they can’t provide food for several thousand people, like that big Chicago syndicate. Anyway, our doc’s got a soft spot for folks who are sick or injured… Come to think of it, I wonder if the attendant let you move in without a fuss because he saw that fake hand of yours.”

“…Oh. This thing?” Moving his prosthetic—although its fingers were fixed in place—Nader tapped it on the tabletop with a thunk. “Well, I’m pretty used to it by now.”

“You’ve got it better than me. Sometimes the aftereffects of the dope make my whole body lock up. Still, I bet that hand makes it real hard to find work in times like these.”

I knew it. This guy actually was a dope fiend, huh?

Sounds like he’s cleaned up his act now, though.

Nader observed Roy absently, but the assistant manager was observing him right back. “There’s that burn on your face, too. Was it some kind of accident?”

“!”

Dammit. I forgot and washed my face earlier.

Or maybe… That cold sweat might’ve washed it off way before that.

Nader had gotten his burns the time the Lemures’ bomb had almost killed him. He’d miraculously made it out alive only because he’d used the bodies of his fellow traitors to shield himself, and he’d then been saved by a passing doctor who’d seen the blast. He hid the scars with makeup so Hilton and the other surviving Lemures wouldn’t recognize him.

Come to think of it, other than Hilton, the Lemures only knew what he looked like without the burns. Would it be better not to hide them?

“I mean, if it’s hard to talk about, you don’t have to,” Roy said.

Nader decided to tell a half-truth. He thought it was better to partially use the other man’s goodwill, rather than clumsily keep the truth under wraps and make him suspicious. “Oh, nah, it’s just… Way back when, I almost got killed by some mafia goons.”

“Almost got killed… What, for real?”

“Yeah. Those fellas might still be after me. I’d rather word that there’s a guy with burn scars and a fake hand staying here didn’t get around.”

“Hey, relax. Nobody at this place would do a thing like that.”

“Can’t be sure. If the mafia issued a bounty…” Even as he said it, he imagined what would happen if Hilton and the others actually put a bounty on him, and an awful chill ran through him.

However, Roy interpreted this as the reaction of a man running scared from the mob, and he tried to calm him down. “I’m telling you, it’s fine. Anybody like that would get zotzed by the nastier types who hang out here, first thing.”

“The nastier types?”

“It’s like I said: The doc who runs this place is a pushover. Don’t matter your race or how much money you got, he’ll examine anybody.”

So the guy’s either a terrible hypocrite or he’s got a few screws loose. Or maybe he’s an actual hero type of guy…

He’d meant the idea to be ironic, but partway through, his thoughts turned self-deprecating. Reining in his mind, Nader responded casually. “…That’s really something. And?”

“He doesn’t care about race, age, sex, or how much money they’ve got or don’t got, but that’s not all. He’s also not picky about what line of work they’re in, or whether they’re good or bad. He treats penniless junkies like me, and gangsters who got shot up in gunfights, and hitmen whose targets nailed them first—all of us equally.” At that point, Roy glanced around, then smiled wryly and lowered his voice. “We’ve got quite a few fellas with pasts here. There’s an unspoken rule that if you see somebody, you make like you didn’t. If anybody turned stoolie in a place like this, well… You know what would happen, right?”

“…Yeah. I’ll keep that in mind,” Nader told him. Inwardly, he thought, I see… My luck may have taken a turn for the better. After all, Huey’s underlings had plenty of cabbage. I doubt they’d come within a mile of a place like this. In a way, being able to hide among people who’ve got their own stuff to hide is a big help.

Gloating privately, Nader dug into his breakfast, holding his spoon in his left hand.

There wasn’t much hamburger in the chili con carne, but the tomatoes and beans were pleasantly spicy, and the more he ate, the more his appetite woke up.

“…This is good.”

“Ain’t it, though?” Roy shrugged, smiling. Nader returned the smile, sincerely this time, and went on eating.

It was the first real meal he’d had as a free man.

It might have had a lot to do with his empty belly, but the taste was somehow soothing. It reminded him of his hometown.

……?

He’d assumed the doctor who’d fed him was a hypocrite and missing a few screws. Who the hell did he think he was? Nader felt something like self-loathing—and it surprised him quite a lot.

He’d betrayed all sorts of people up till now. The fact that he could feel self-loathing over such a minor thing after everything was ridiculous.

Maybe too much had happened since then.

Everything about the life he’d lived had proven worthless, and his past was haunting him with such a vengeance that he couldn’t hope to run.

The fear of being pursued had put a collar on him. He’d become a slave to his own karma.

He really must have taken a wrong turn somewhere.

I… Why…? Where…?

His regrets circled around and around until it felt like he was losing the ability to think anything else. Realizing this was bad news, Nader decided to distract himself by focusing on his breakfast.

That’s right. For now, I can relax here.

This place is the newest one I’ve managed to make it to. That means my past hasn’t gotten here yet.

Repeating this silently in his mind, Nader kept working on his chili con carne.

…But he’d forgotten a few things.

First, that he hadn’t yet tried to throw all his strength behind anything, even making an escape.

Second, he’d come to this town not by running away but through a current taking him there.

If he’d been pulled into the strange whirlpools that surrounded the immortals even marginally—in the end, he’d be washed to the same place they were.

Since he hadn’t struggled to escape the vortex, he was approaching a certain fate—one that was extremely close to coincidence but could still have been called inevitable.

“Man… This is real good stuff.”

“Tell it to the guy who’s working the kitchen today.” Roy laughed at Nader, who was sounding like a broken record. “The breakfast cook is another fella who got hurt for reasons he can’t talk about. He cooks here in the mornings, then works during the day. He said he was saving up so he could become some kind of musician.”

“Huh. So he’s keeping his nose to the grindstone.”

“Sounds like it… Well, speak of the devil. Here he comes now.” Roy put up a hand toward someone behind Nader. “Hey, c’mon over. Let me introduce you to the new fella.”

In response, Nader heard a sigh from somewhere behind him.

“What’s this ‘introducing the new fella’ business? Folks move in and move out every day; this isn’t like you, Roy.”

“Well, this particular new fella says he likes your cooking.”

“Say, thanks, pal. I’m glad you’re happy about it.” In response to Roy’s explanation, the breakfast cook thanked him politely.

I should probably at least look him in the face when I say hi, right? On that thought, Nader slowly turned around. At almost the same moment, Roy said his name.

“Let me introduce you. This is Mr. Goose.”

At that point, right in the middle of his turn, he froze.

……

…Oh yeah. My fake name.

It was the pseudonym he’d introduced himself by earlier. Even though he’d been in the dining hall for only a few minutes, he’d almost forgotten it again, and he told himself to get it together already.

I shouldn’t have picked “Goose,” huh…

It really had been a mistake to use the name of the direct superior who’d almost killed him, Nader mused as he started to turn again.

Just then, Roy spoke to the breakfast cook; he sounded perplexed. “What’s the matter? Why so startled, Upham?”

Upham.

When he heard that name, Nader froze.

“Oh, no, it’s just, my old boss had the same name.” The breakfast cook was laughing cheerfully, but his voice gave Nader a nasty premonition.

At this point, Nader couldn’t tell if that voice was familiar. He wasn’t confident he could place it against voices he’d heard a while back. He’d always planned to betray his comrades and use them as stepping-stones, and he’d never tried to remember their voices.

However, he did remember the name “Upham”—and that guy had said his old boss had been named Goose.

The bad feeling made Nader’s spine stiff with tension.

Should he run or try to bluff it out?

In the moment he hesitated, the situation got worse.

“…Huh?”

Upham, who’d come up beside the table, saw his profile and frowned.

“Say… Are you Nader?”

It’s all over.

That was the sole phrase running through Nader’s mind. In the end, he’d played himself.

Why… Why is this guy here?!

He’d seen the breakfast cook’s face out of the corner of his eye, and he did recognize him.

The young guy had been a Lemures underling who’d spent his spare moments looking at Chané. He’d seemed timid, so Nader had figured he’d be easily led, which was why he’d brought up the “sellout” with him pretty early on. However, in the end, Nader was the one who’d been sold out, and he’d lost both his right hand and his foothold in life.

Nader would have been lying if he’d said he wasn’t holding a grudge, but he was beyond caring about details like that right now. The one thing he knew for sure was the temporary sense of relief he’d felt when he started on his breakfast had vanished like the mirage it was.

In an instant, Nader had swapped the spoon in his left hand for a fork and lunged at Upham, bolting from his chair with enough force to knock it over.

“Hey!”

By the time Roy’s voice echoed in the dining hall, Nader had already pinned Upham from behind and shoved the tines of the fork against his neck. Steeling himself to run it into Upham’s throat, Nader asked him a tense question. “…Did Hilton send you here to kill me?” If he’d given it a little thought, he would have realized that didn’t mesh with what Roy had told him, but in the moment, he couldn’t see Upham as anything but a Lemure assassin.

Naturally, Upham had only realized the other guy was Nader a moment earlier, so the whole situation was a complete shock to him. “Huh?! C-calm down! Look, Nader, how are you even alive?!” he asked, confused.

Teeth chattering, Nader shouted at him. “Don’t play dumb with me! There’s no way one of the Lemures would be hanging around a place like this if Hilton hadn’t sent them!” Nader was the one threatening his opponent at forkpoint, and he clearly had the advantage, but he was far more frightened than Upham.

By this point, Upham picked up on the fact that Nader wasn’t thinking clearly. “Wait! I’m not with the Lemures anymore! I quit ages back! Forget me—what’s your deal?! Why are you here, using Master Goose’s name…?!” he said in desperation.

“Put a cork in it!” Nader barked. He was already struggling to process the situation, and he didn’t have the spare brainpower to answer the other guy’s questions. He had no idea what to do next. He just stood there, in full view of the whole dining hall.

“Okay, okay, just put the fork down, Goose… Or, uh, Nader? Whichever.” Roy put his hands up, trying to talk Nader down. “There’s no fighting here. I dunno what happened between you fellas way back when, but while you’re living at this place, forget about the past. None of that means anything here. I’ll do you no wrong, and Upham won’t, either. You get that, right?”

“……”

Even though Nader was breathing roughly, he looked Roy in the eye. Then he fell silent.

He had Upham locked in place, but he had no plan beyond that. Would it be safer to kill the guy and head right back to the clink? His paranoia was starting to make him think so. Gradually, he put more force behind the fork at Upham’s throat.

“H-hey, Nader, stop! Don’t do it!” Upham practically screamed, and Nader tried to yell at him to shut up. However, those words were forced back down into his throat when he felt something cold grind against his temple.

It was the muzzle of a large-caliber gun.

Nader’s breath hitched. From beside him, a man quietly said, “Starting a standoff with a fork as a weapon. You’re a lunatic, fella.”

“…Ah…agh…”

Nader’s mouth flapped uselessly. The man who was holding a shotgun to his head kept talking; there was a sharp look in his eyes. “I don’t hate your insanity, but it’s nowhere near enough to hinder my own lunacy. Don’t fill the dining hall with your terrified thirst for blood. You’ll lower the purity of mine.”

The man with the shotgun wasn’t making sense. Next to him, a boy with blond hair and a young face gave him a sidelong glance. “Couldn’t you just say what you mean and tell him not to interrupt your breakfast, Master?”

“Quiet, Apprentice One.”

As he listened to this exchange, Nader felt sticky sweat break out all over his body. Death was staring him in the face.

Not only that, but if he trusted what he’d heard, this had nothing to do with Hilton or the Lemures. This was all because he disturbed somebody’s meal.

This isn’t funny. I haven’t been running pathetically all this time just to die here over something like this!

He felt like crying, but the terror of the gun against his temple made his whole body freeze, and even his tear ducts didn’t seem to be working. His eyes were getting drier by the second. He couldn’t stab the fork into Upham’s throat, and he couldn’t throw it away, either. He was petrified, as if a curse had turned him to stone.

“Mr. Smith, don’t you antagonize him, either! Put the gun away, all right?! That thing’s no joke!” Roy yelled.

Smith shook his head. His expression was cold. “Listen. If I’m going to sheathe my insanity once drawn, there are two things that must be respected. One is the world, which still permits me, the vessel of insanity, to exist. The other…”

The man was monologuing with his fancy words like a regular poetaster. All Nader could do was listen, but then a powerful stench of alcohol surrounded them.

“…?”

An old man had appeared next to him, on the other side from Smith and his gun. His face was flushed, and he was making no attempt to hide the boozy smell.

“At leash…lemme drink my likker in peace. ’Kay, bo?” The old man took a gulp straight from the bottle of whiskey he was holding. Nader didn’t have time to deal with a drunk, and he started to turn his attention back to Smith—

—when a heavy blow struck his face.

For a second, he thought he’d been shot, but there was no way he would have been conscious after such a thing. He didn’t understand it, but the pain warped his vision. He fumbled the fork and crumpled to the dining hall floor as if his strings had been cut.

“…Hey, alki. I was talking.”

“Your tomfool speechifying makes my poor, hungover head throb.”

The reeking drunk had slammed his whiskey bottle into Nader’s face, and now he and the man with the shotgun were facing off over his fallen body.

“And anyway,” the drunk continued, “a fella who tried to take out both the Gandors and his own comrades in a surprise attack ain’t got no right to say any of that.”

“Why you… You’re bringing that up now? Besides, that Mexican girl was hardly a comrade.”

Smith was clearly in a bad mood, but the old man didn’t seem to care. “I remember it like it was yesterday. That big ol’ scar on your face is proof they got you instead.” He snorted and took another swig from his bottle.

The geezer’s attitude made Smith’s temples twitch, but the blond kid and Roy separated them.

As he watched the exchange play out above him, Nader felt himself slipping away, on the verge of blacking out. C’mon… What is this? They’re not gonna finish me off?

Neither the man with the gun nor the old drunk were paying him any mind, as if his presence didn’t even register to them anymore.

At that point, Nader was finally convinced those two weren’t assassins. Then Roy’s voice echoed in his ears. “Hey, you okay, Goose? Uh, Nader?”

“Yeesh. I don’t even get what you got wrong. You alive down there?”

Even Upham checked up on him. He was rubbing his throat.

Oh, I knew it. Realizing he’d become a total clown, Nader broke into a smile. No matter how hard I struggle, I guess I can’t be a hero.

Then he blacked out completely.

Having been forced to see his own weakness, he was practically running away out of sheer embarrassment.

Or he was turning his eyes as far as he could from the fact that he’d never be a hero, no matter how he tried.