Baccano! - Volume 21 - Chapter 19

Chapter 19 The Tricky Customers Don’t Hesitate

Late one nightIn Little Italy

A little ways off Mulberry Street, there was a jazz hall.

This was the office of the Gandor Family, an outfit as small-scale as that of the Martillos.

The establishment’s name was Coraggioso, a word that meant “hero” in Italian, and the individuals who’d assembled in its basement were certainly strong enough to be worthy of the word.

That said, their personalities were pretty far from anybody’s idea of a hero.

“All right, amigo. Is this everybody who’s supposed to show today?” asked a woman, smiling brightly. She was dressed in a relatively masculine saloon girl costume, and she wore two Japanese katana at her waist.

Luck Gandor, the man she’d called “amigo,” responded evenly. “We’re expecting one more, but it sounds as if there’s been a delay, so we’ll begin now.” Luck scanned the office’s large hall.

This area was ordinarily used by the family, and there were pool tables in the center. A small group that had gathered around one of the tables was making the atmosphere in the office rather peculiar.

The members of the Gandor Family were hanging back, sneaking glances at them. Of course they were, Luck thought as he considered yet again just how odd the assembled individuals were.

His two older brothers, Keith and Berga Gandor, were seated on his left. As usual, Keith was silently shuffling and reshuffling a deck of cards, while Berga was tactlessly eating and drinking by himself.

His brothers did stand out a bit, but they always did; if they’d been the only ones, their men wouldn’t even have noticed. The “guests” who’d gathered today were far more bizarre than the Gandors.

It would have been hard to mistake them for law-abiding citizens.

They were the hired killers the Gandors had recruited for the casino party at Ra’s Lance as extra muscle to join them in the fray.

First, there was the family’s own bodyguard, Maria Barcelito.

Ordinarily, she performed sword dances at the bar as a saloon girl, and she was one of the family’s most formidable members: a “master swordsman” who was extremely skilled with Japanese katana. She called her blades “Murasámia” and “Kochite,” and she was tough enough that, in a small enough space, she could hold her own against multiple gangsters with guns.

The man who was exchanging occasional glares with this woman was Laz Smith, the self-styled “Gunmeister.” Although he was indoors, he was still wearing a thick coat, and Luck knew it was because of the several dozen guns of various types stowed inside it. Laz also had countless ways to use all of them.

Luck didn’t have a solid grasp of Smith’s skills, but his men had seen him in mortal combat with Maria, and he’d recruited him on the strength of their opinions.

One thing made him rather apprehensive, though.

When they’d hired Smith, a boy who seemed to be around fifteen had come with him.

The kid was the one member of this crew who seemed to be on the right side of the law, and the others couldn’t help but look at him.

However, once they’d taken in the sight of him, he caught their interest in a different way.

Without taking their eyes off him or approaching him, the Gandor Family men whispered together.

(“Hey, that kid… Isn’t that him? The one who got into the tussle with that newshound here…?”)

(“You mean that time with the ice pick?”)

(“Come to think of it, what happened to that jackass?”)

(“I think they’ve got him buried under the floor. They said they were going to test new tortures on him whenever Tick came up with one…”)

Luck couldn’t hear the whispers, but he’d heard about the boy from another of his men earlier.

Specifically, that he’d once been involved in a certain string of murders that had been connected to the Gandors and the immortals.

He had no idea why the kid was going around with Smith now, but Smith had insisted. “This boy has one foot in my world. He’s my apprentice, and my assistant,” he’d said, so Luck had acquiesced and allowed him into the meeting.

He’d always known Smith wasn’t normal, but could he trust a hitman who took a kid to work with him? Although the question did cross his mind, he decided to just keep an eye on things for now.

After all, he’d hired Laz Smith as an afterthought.

The one the Gandors had really been after was the boozy old guy standing between Maria and Smith, ignoring the glares they were sending each other. People called him Alkins, but there was no telling whether that was his real name; Laz called him by the nickname “Alkie,” a slang term for an alcoholic.

He was somewhere between his late fifties and early sixties and so worn down from the liquor that he seemed older than that. Everyone called him an old man.

Still, Luck and his brothers had high opinions of him.

He was a bona fide hitman with skills that even Claire Stanfield acknowledged.

Ordinarily, he looked like a regular old drunk; it was impossible to believe he was a hitman. However, those who were familiar with his skills started to think his appearance was an act meant to throw people off.

As evidence to this point, while he was constantly tipsy, it didn’t matter how many bottles of strong liquor he emptied—he was never completely drunk.

“…’Scuse me, li’l lady. Gimme some hooch, wouldja? Liquor. I’ll take anything, long as it’s hard.”

“I’ll get you something right away.” Edith, who was helping out as a waitress today, was nervous around this particular crowd, but she performed her work smoothly. She was Roy Maddock’s girlfriend, and since she was helping him pay off his debt, the Gandors often sent waitressing jobs her way.

Today’s wages would be quite a bit higher than usual, and Edith could see why. All the assembled guests looked extremely sinister; at the very least, she was sure none of them were in a decent line of work. Even so, she conducted herself bravely, serving them as if they were any reputable customers.

There was something Edith hadn’t noticed yet: the fact that three of these guests had been deeply involved with the “war” she and Roy had gotten dragged into.

Maria, Smith, and Alkins.

This wasn’t the first time the Gandors and these hitmen had encountered one another. They’d once gone after the brothers’ lives as Runorata Family assassins. Hiring them was dangerous, but Luck felt that it would make them easier to control.

At the moment, the greatest threat they were facing was the Runorata Family. They were powerful all on their own, but that wasn’t the only cause for concern. That fellow Melvi, the immortal, was also unsettling. When the Runoratas saw that the hitmen they’d once hired were working for the Gandors—their former targets—they probably wouldn’t trust anybody who’d change employers so easily. That meant that even if Laz or Alkins did try to sell out the Gandors, the Runoratas wouldn’t necessarily accept. Luck had hired them partly as a check on the other family—

—but as a result, they’d picked up two completely unpredictable wild cards as well.

Said “wild cards” were sitting at the very back of the hall.

One was resting his metal prosthetic arm on the table, watching Luck and the others out of the corner of his eye. The other was languidly waggling an enormous wrench in front of a tower of cards he’d built himself.

Suddenly, the man with the wrench—Graham Specter—launched into a speech. “Let me tell you a sad, sad story… Just now, I built a five-story tower out of cards, with utmost care…but what’s the right way to wreck it?! What am I supposed to do now?! Do I take it down from the top, one card at a time? Or should I knock it down all at once?! Knocking it down will be over quick, but that’s just demolition, not wrecking—ain’t it?!” Graham was trembling.

The Gandor men, who were hanging back and watching, frowned.

“Hey, Luck. What’s that kid yowling about?” Berga looked puzzled.

Putting a hand to his forehead, Luck answered in a low voice. “It’s better to just ignore him, Berga.”

Even as they were talking, Graham had continued his peculiar monologue. “I put it together, which means I should take it apart, which means there must be a proper way to do it. Holy moly… A long time ago, I remember my sister saying to me, ‘If you can’t put something together again, don’t break it,’ and whacking me with a hammer… Wrecking and construction are two sides of the same coin. Heads is tails, and tails is heads! That means if I can’t break it, I shouldn’t build it, and if I keep this up, my sister’s gonna deck me again; is that okay?! No, it is not!”

Graham had vanished into his own world, but there was another man who walked right in after him: Ladd Russo, the man with the metal left hand. “Just get rid of both sides of the coin, then.”

“What?! Is that even possible?!” Behind his thick bangs, Graham’s eyes widened.

Grinning, Ladd reached into his jacket and took out a box of matches. “If you set ’em on fire, they won’t have heads, tails, or anything at all, yeah?”

“……! That’s it! That’s the Ladd I know! While I was lost in the space between demolition and wrecking, you smashed up common sense and found a new answer! Are you trying to become a god?! I see… If the Tower of Babel burned down after a lightning strike, then this card tower is the first step toward godhood, which means setting it on fire has to be the right way to wreck it!”

Buzzing with delight, Graham took the matches from Ladd and began trying to strike one.

“Er, no fires inside, please.” After shutting Graham down, Luck heaved a deep, deep sigh.

Ladd Russo and Graham Specter.

They’d just happened to be at the lodging house where Luck had found Laz and Alkins, but they’d overheard the conversation and wanted in on the action. Luck had hesitated, but since he’d seen what Ladd could do at Firo’s casino, he’d decided to make him one of his hires.

That said, he’d also seen the man’s utter lack of restraint, so the decision hadn’t exactly given him much peace of mind.

The fellow in the blue coveralls had basically tagged along with Ladd, uninvited. However, Nicola, one of the Gandors’ executives, had said, “…I’ll vouch for his skill in a fight. If absolutely nothing else.” That meant he couldn’t be much different from Ladd, so for now, Luck had decided to include him.

As a result, the mood in the basement room was truly chaotic.

Taking another look at the assembly, Luck wanted to put his head in his hands. Thanks to Maria and Tick, he’d thought he was used to oddballs, but having this many in one place was quite a sight.

The most normal-looking member of the group was the boy who stood quietly behind Laz, and Keith was glaring at him.

Realizing what his brother’s behavior meant, Luck explained in a low voice. “He’s already involved with us. You remember the ice pick incident…”

“……”

That seemed to be enough of an explanation for Keith, but the look he turned on Luck said, You’re planning to drag him into this?

Ladd had been watching their exchange. “Hey, why not?” he interjected. “We can handle having one kid around. Everybody dies if their number comes up—kids, dolls, and old geezers. Doesn’t matter if we hear him out or not.”

“……”

Keith gave him a cold glare. Ladd shrugged. “Whoa, that’s a hell of a glare you’ve got there, pal. Maybe you’re both mafia bosses, but my uncle’s got nothin’ on you. Listen, chief. I just met that kid, and we haven’t talked, but he ain’t just any kid, see?”

Ladd glanced at the face of the boy who stood behind Laz.

The boy returned Ladd’s look for a moment, but his eyes promptly went back to Luck.

Unfazed by the boy’s reaction, Ladd offered his verdict. “He’s got the eyes of someone who’s died once. Who’s prepared to kill and get killed. I dunno what life did to him to make him that way, but he may end up being a hundred times more useful than that confused gunman, if he’s not careful,” he said, chuckling.

Laz Smith slowly rose from his chair. “Well, well… You talk pretty big for a drifter who got picked up on a fluke.”

“Hey, now. Don’t hurt yourself showin’ off for your apprentice and sworn brother here,” Ladd taunted with open condescension.

The apprentice was the boy, and the “sworn brother” was probably Graham. Graham apparently looked up to both Ladd and Smith, but the two men couldn’t have been a worse match for each other.

As Luck analyzed their relationships, he was trying to think of something that would shut the pair up, but—

—without a sound, the boy stepped forward to stand in the midst of the storm, and he calmly apologized to Ladd. “I’m sorry. My teacher’s been rude to you.” Then he turned back to Smith. “You should be careful, Teacher,” he said in a low voice. “Your bloodlust is special. If you let it show openly in a place like this, you’ll degrade the purity of your insanity.”

Anyone who happened to overhear the boy’s whisper would have wondered, What the heck is he saying? but the effect of his words was dramatic.

“…I see. You do have a point. No, I knew, I knew. I was just testing that boorish barbarian.” Smith’s eyes had been positively murderous, as if he might draw his guns at any moment—but the danger instantly vanished from his face, and he resumed his seat as though nothing had happened.

The boy took a nonchalant step back, returning to his former spot.

The deadpan exchange seemed to have taken Ladd off guard. He shrugged, muttering to himself. “Man, oh man. I can’t tell which of you is older.”

As if signaling that he didn’t plan to waste any more time on Smith, Ladd turned to Luck. “And? You’re gonna go over the job now, right? Who should I kill? If you want, I’ll bust into the Runorata mansion right now and bring you back Bartolo’s head.”

It sounded like a joke, but Luck didn’t assume it was. Whether or not it was actually possible, Ladd Russo probably would bust into the Runorata mansion at the first opportunity.

It wasn’t just reckless courage. If a man like this had survived this long, he had to have something special about him.

Was it just luck, or a rare talent for educated guesswork? Or was it the sort of strength Claire had, the type that stripped the recklessness out of reckless courage? At this point, he didn’t know.

We really will need to handle him with care, Luck thought, growing only warier of the other man.

Even Keith, who was meeting Ladd for the first time, seemed to have picked up on how dangerous he was. Luck could tell he hadn’t let his guard down this whole time.

That said, he knew this only because he and his brother had lived together for years. To the Gandor Family men, Keith was terrifying and always on high alert.

After giving Keith a small nod, Luck drew a deep breath and got down to business. “I see. In that case, to answer half of your question, Mr. Russo, we may indeed order you to take out Bartolo Runorata. Depending on the circumstances.”

Ladd whistled.

The Gandor men who were watching from a distance had heard that as well, and most of them stiffened.

Rubbing out Bartolo Runorata would be ridiculously rash. Even if such a play happened to succeed, the consequence would be a bloody war that would end in annihilation.

Wordlessly, Luck’s subordinates exchanged looks. Hoping to reassure them, he went on. “Only in the very worst case, however. We do understand the scale of our organization, and we want to avoid choices that would needlessly cost the lives of our men.”

“Oho. Meaning in that worst-case scenario, we’ll be charging the Runoratas, ready to go down fighting?” Ladd teased.

Luck kept his face blank. “No. ‘Going down fighting’ is out of the question.”

“?”

“If we do that, I intend to obliterate the Runoratas in the process,” Luck continued coolly. “Picking a fight we plan to lose would be worse than any worst-case scenario. We don’t even need to add it to our list of options.”

“You think you can win?” Smith asked. “Don’t tell me you think the Runorata Family is all men on Gustavo’s level.” Gustavo was the name of the Runorata executive who’d once hired him.

“What I’m saying is that we won’t make our move until we know we can win. Mr. Smith, are you implying that even with you on our side, we have no hope of defeating the Runoratas?”

“……!”

“I spoke to each of you because I believed you would be able to fight them, in the event that we found ourselves in that worst-case scenario.” Luck shrugged.

Smith tugged his hat down lower, shaking his head. “You’ve got a point. We may have no hope of winning. I admit it: I’m weak. Yes, humility is essential in this line of work. However, the fate we’ve been handed is to cling to that humility and go up against powerful enemies anyway.”

Ladd drew his eyebrows together and mumbled under his breath. “I think the fella’s gotten even dumber…”

Smith didn’t seem to have heard him; his apprentice had praised him (“That’s just like you, Teacher”) and put him in high spirits. Granted, his apprentice’s expression was stone-cold, and his voice was something very near a monotone, but Smith hadn’t really noticed.

“May I continue?” Luck cleared his throat, then resumed. “To be honest, we don’t know who our enemy will be. A variety of outfits may be involved in the trouble we’ll most likely be facing. Due to our position, we’ve already made enemies of the police and the Division of Investigation. We may also find ourselves in conflict with a terrorist by the name of Huey Laforet, or with other mafia syndicates.”

Huey Laforet.

The moment that name came up, Ladd’s smile twisted slightly.

However, only Keith, Alkins, and Smith’s apprentice noticed. Luck missed it as he went on with his explanation.

“We’d like to employ you so that it won’t matter which enemies we ultimately face. Now, I want to confirm something with you. Depending on how this shakes out, you may spend the whole time standing by, or we may end up in conflict with a major syndicate, in which case your lives will repeatedly be at risk. The job itself will be a bit of a gamble. Will you take it?”

“In other words, it’s up to chance?” Ladd shrugged, laughing.

Luck neither confirmed nor denied this. He simply went on outlining the job. “We’ll keep an eye on the situation and determine who our enemy is. When the time comes, no matter who that enemy proves to be, we want to know we can count on you to do your jobs. That is all I’m going to ask of you.”

“No matter who the enemy is, huh?” Ladd’s smile changed to one less pleasant. “Does that include your pal Firo Prochainezo?”

It was a mean-spirited question.

But Luck answered immediately and firmly. “Of course.” There was no coldness in his eyes, though.

He wouldn’t hesitate to cut down a childhood friend, someone who was practically a blood relative, for the sake of the family. At the same time, he was also sure Firo wouldn’t side against them. The determination in his stoic answer had managed to strike a balance between trust for his friend and responsibility toward his family.

“Ha, yeah, I like it! I’ve got a soft spot for dramatic declarations.” Chuckling, Ladd went on. “New York is a riot. I was bored outta my skull in the Russo Family, and they were several times bigger’n your outfit. Yeah, I’m gonna have a good time here. I can feel it.”

“Not too good of a time, Mr. Russo. Keep in mind that if you and Firo Prochainezo were in the same position, we’d prioritize our good relations with the Martillos and loyalty to a longtime friend.”

“Ha! Honest bastard, ain’tcha.” Lips curving, Ladd spoke to all three brothers. “If you’re gonna lay it out for me, there’s one thing I need to spell out for you, too.”

“What do you mean?”

“The ginger—Claire or Felix, or whatever his name is. He’s your pal, right?”

Just then—

—the mood in the room underwent a palpable change.

Although no one said anything, when they heard the names “Claire” and “Felix,” everyone except Smith’s apprentice visualized a certain hitman.

Vino, the hired killer.

The name was so big that all freelance killers—including Alkins, Smith, and Maria—knew it.

He was a hitman, and yet he managed to be famous, still alive, free of criminal charges, and unharmed by any attempts at revenge all at the same time. That alone was enough to make him a singular figure in the underworld.

“…Yes, well.” That was when Luck remembered something else.

When Ladd had been tearing up Firo’s casino, Melvi hadn’t been his only target. Once Claire’s disguise had come off, Ladd had shown a distinct hostility toward him, too.

So he is going to bring that up.

After all, his feelings toward Claire had been enough to make him throw part of a demolished gaming table at him. To Luck, the hostility seemed to go beyond a general murderous instinct.

“Come to think of it, you did say he’d done something to you. Or rather, to you and a young lady of your acquaintance.”

“That don’t matter; it’s gonna end the same. I’m killing that ginger bastard first chance I get. Hell, even if I don’t get a chance. That’s one of my goals in life at the moment, see.”

“……”

“Huh?” said Berga. “Hey, Luck, did something happen between this fella and Claire?”

Keith was still silent, but Berga was puzzled. They both looked at Luck.

Luck was wondering how to handle this. Claire was a good friend, and they’d all grown up together, but he wasn’t a member of the Gandor Family. He was a freelancer, like Ladd and Smith. In fact, he was currently working as Melvi’s bodyguard.

“I won’t ask you about your quarrel with him. He was a hitman as well. I know he’s earned grudges from many different quarters, and there’s no reason for us to shield him from them.” Glancing down slightly, Luck spoke firmly. “However, speaking as your employer, I don’t recommend trying to kill him.”

“What’s that, your token gesture of friendship?”

“Perish the thought. We can’t afford to lose a fighter.”

Luck’s calm reply held a clear implication: You people can’t beat Claire.

“I can beat him!” Maria retorted. “I swear I can do it now! What, is he fighting for the other guys now? Just say the word, and this time I’ll kill him right! I can cut him down no problem, ami—”

Luck shut her down sharply, without even sparing a glance. “Be quiet, Maria.”

“But…”

“No buts. If you recall the time you actually fought him, you’ll remember he’s not an opponent you can beat with sheer enthusiasm.”

Maria started to argue with her employer again—

—but Ladd beat her to it. “Are you talking to me, too?”

Ladd’s voice had taken on a dangerous edge, but Luck didn’t back down. He spoke plainly, as the employer in this situation.

“I personally saw you fight him at the casino. It was only for a moment, but I seem to recall he was leading you around by the nose.”

Confronted with this fact, Ladd ground his teeth. Then he smiled. “…Damn. You don’t think much of me at all. Well, you’re right that I didn’t kill him at Firo’s casino, so I guess I can’t exactly argue. I don’t care what you think, though: I’m gonna be the one to kill him.”

Then he looked around at Maria, Smith, and Alkins and issued a declaration. “You people seem to have a bone to pick with the redhead, too. Get in my way, and I’ll take you out first.”

“Ha!” Berga interjected with a snort. “No way a thug like you could beat Claire!”

“Uh… It looks like the hulk over there don’t know about me.”

“Huh?” When he heard himself called a “hulk,” Berga’s smile vanished.

Ladd narrowed his eyes slightly, beginning to rise to his feet. Luck moved to intervene, but a moment later, Graham poked Ladd in the shoulder with his enormous wrench.

“Hang on, Ladd. Berga Gandor’s not wrong about us bein’ thugs. He only just met you, but he’s already got your number. That means he just might know us pretty well… Meaning he’s a fan…? Yeah, maybe Berga Gandor’s a fan of ours!”

Graham’s eyes were so wide it was as if he was seeing into the end of the world itself. Deflating, Ladd sat back down.

The moment for retaliation had passed. Confused, Berga checked with his brother.

“…Hey, Luck. You sure about these fellas?”

“At the very least, we have Nicola’s word regarding the skills of the one in the blue coveralls.”

When Graham heard that, he started yelling excitedly. “Nicola! Wow, the nostalgia… Let me tell you a nostalgic story! It’s been a while since he and I went toe to toe! One win to six losses. When I remember that magnificent time, my blood boils, my flesh dances, and my bones would probably dance, too, even without flesh on them—and that’s a pretty scary image to think about! If I saw a dancing skeleton, I might dislocate all its joints out of fear!”

“…Hey, Luck. You sure about these fellas?”

Berga asked the exact same question he’d asked a few seconds ago, but he looked even more dubious this time.

Luck heaved a deep sigh, then murmured half to himself, “Probably.” Then, he whispered to his brother in hopes of diverting his attention. “…And you, Berga. Don’t fight with Smith, all right?”

Luck had noticed that Smith was shooting glances loaded with mingled fear and anger at Berga. Considering the large scar on Berga’s face, this was probably to be expected.

However, Berga gave Smith a puzzled look. “Hmm? Who was that guy again?”

“…Never mind. I’ll explain it later.”

Reminded of just how complicated their current situation was, Luck nearly heaved another big sigh but hastily swallowed it down. He might be their employer now, but it wouldn’t be a good idea to show weakness in front of them.

Any one of them might easily sell him out on a whim, at any time. Every member of this group was that type of person.

About half an hour later…

Just after he’d explained what they’d do next and what they’d be paid, one of his subordinates came downstairs. “’Scuse me, boss. You’ve got a visitor,” the man whispered in his ear.

Luck gave a small nod and issued an order. “All right. Say it’s okay to come down.”

After he’d watched the man go back upstairs to summon the new arrival, Luck addressed Ladd and the others. “I’m glad you’ll get to meet before you go your separate ways today.”

“Huh? Is this that last person you were talking about earlier?”

“Yes. I suppose a lot’s been going on.”

At that point, they heard quiet footsteps at the top of the stairs.

The ones watching those stairs were a motley crew: the Gandor men; Edith, who’d been waiting tables; the hitmen and the apprentice; the wrecker, who’d come along for the fun of it.

And the one who walked down them, the focus of all that attention, was—

Several days laterEvening

This villa belonged to the Runorata Family.

Although the place was located in the suburbs, the property it sat on was vast, and calling it a modest palace would have been apt.

One corner of its extensive grounds was occupied by something that seemed rather out of place.

It was an enormous tent, the sort used in small circuses or for sideshows. It wasn’t as brightly colored as an actual circus tent, but it was the size of a small house, and it clashed a bit with the modern mansion.

Inside the tent stood a young man and a boy.

The boy was Carzelio, Bartolo Runorata’s grandson, and he was conversing innocently with the redhead next to him. That said, the content of that conversation was far from innocent…

“Huh! So the puddles of blood looked like wine, and that’s why they called you Vino.”

“Yeah. Boy, was I young and reckless. Or maybe just a worrywart. I had to keep going until it was really clear that they were dead, or I wouldn’t feel right. I guess my standards for hits were too high. I wanted perfection.”

“Do hitmen make a lot of money?”

“Money? Well, let’s see… I made quite a bit, but some of ’em didn’t bring in much even when a job was potentially deadly. I bet the pay range is pretty big.”

The redhead, who was speaking far too openly about the ins and outs of killing for money, was Felix Walken. Aka the former Claire Stanfield.

Oblivious to the Gandors’ growing conclave of hitmen who had bones to pick with him, he was enjoying some downtime after work.

The boy who was talking with Claire may or may not have believed what he was hearing. However, he listened with rapt attention, and his eyes were shining.

“So what’s this about? You want to be a hitman, Cazze?”

“No, I…I don’t know what I want to be yet, so I’d like to hear about all sorts of jobs!”

“I see. That’s a good mind-set. You should talk to a doctor next, to balance things out. I hear saving folks makes for a good career, too. And people like doctors.”

“Yes, sir!”

The boy he’d called Cazze was in his early teens, and he wasn’t infatuated with picaresque novels. From his guileless expression, he was just having fun hearing about worlds that were new to him. His eyes would have shone the same way even if Claire had been telling him about his experiences as a conductor or a member of the circus.

Cazze’s eyes stayed bright when the conversation turned to life and death, and then to crime. It was fair to call this abnormal.

That said, as the one detailing the life of a hitman in a loud, clear voice—and providing rather slanted information on the subject—Claire was plenty abnormal himself.

When they came to a lull in the conversation, Claire asked Cazze a question. “So are you taking Cookie with you on the day of the party?” He was observing something inside the tent.

“Yes! I think we’ll pitch a tent in the plaza beside the hotel, and I’ll have Charlie balance on a ball.”

“Yeah, that trick was his specialty. This guy’s name is Cookie, though, not Charlie.”

“‘Charlie’ sounds cooler.”

“‘Cookie’ is cuter.”

Cazze and Claire looked at each other for a moment, their faces expressionless. Then they both burst into laughter.

“Let’s compromise and make it ‘Charlie Cookie.’”

“Sure. ‘Charkie’ for short.”

The pair smiled as they talked it over.

A boy who was ingenuous yet practical, and a complete adult who’d stayed a kid at heart.

In a way, their mental ages might not have been too different, and the two of them seemed to have hit it off. Cheerfully, they called to the individual they were discussing.

“Okay, Charlie. See you again at dinnertime!”

“Yeah, I’m glad you’re doing so well, Cookie.”

They were speaking to—

—an enormous beast who was excitedly shredding a truck tire in the back of the tent. Cocking his head, he stuck his tongue out and roared happily.

Although that roar would have made anyone who didn’t know him fear for their lives.

In the Runorata villa

“……”

A few men flinched at the sound.

“Tch… It’s that monster…”

Breaking out in cold sweats, they resumed their poker game at the small table.

“I can’t believe young Master Carzelio tamed that thing…”

“Never mind that—when are we gonna off that Melvi kid?”

“The timing’s everything. That redheaded bodyguard of his keeps a tighter watch than we figured.”

They were supporters of a female dealer by the name of Carlotta, and they hadn’t been happy when Melvi showed up out of nowhere and stole an important job from her.

Although technically, that was a notion they’d developed on their own. Carlotta herself didn’t seem to bear Melvi any ill will. She might have had a few personal feelings about the matter, but she never let them show.

However, they had tunnel vision when it came to anything involving her, and so they were overlooking her efforts to keep the matter from growing out of proportion. They were also ignoring the fact that Carlotta thought nothing of her self-proclaimed devotees. They weren’t even trying to see that one.

These men were plotting to eliminate Melvi, both socially and physically.

He had been using his spare time in very odd ways. They had proof that he’d visited the Gandor Family on his own, and that he was in contact with some “House of Dormentaire,” a family that shared his last name. They could have started ugly rumors about him based on this information—but they were looking for a more direct method.

In short, they were attempting to frame Melvi as a spy for some other syndicate and kill him outright.

“Rumor has it he’s keeping some dame hostage.”

“…A woman?”

“Yeah, it’s something I got out of the information broker. Cost me an arm and a leg, though.”

“…That intel might be useful. Which mansion’s she in?” This was important information, and the group’s leader leaned forward.

But the man who’d brought in the story shook his head. “She’s not in a mansion.”

“Huh?”

“It’s gonna be hard to get into…but it’ll make the cleanup easy.”

A certain place

“……”

In a room, Ennis was thinking about whether there was anything she could do.

It had been several days already, and she hadn’t found an answer.

At present, her hands and feet weren’t tied, and she was free to move around within her quarters. It seemed like a first-class hotel room; it even had its own toilet and bathing facilities. The difference was the large men just outside, guarding the door around the clock in shifts. She was still a prisoner.

Of course, the men weren’t the real obstacle.

If she tried to escape, Melvi had said he’d kill someone who had nothing to do with this. In Ennis’s mind, that brief remark had become a heavy shackle.

That said, she was causing Firo and the others a whole lot of trouble just by being a captive.

He said he’d sent people to Alveare as customers. I never even noticed…

Out of nowhere, Ennis remembered the young person she’d met at Alveare before she was kidnapped—the child with the peculiar scars. They had said their name was Rail and made a comment about how she “didn’t look like Szilard.”

She doubted the child was a spy, though.

For one thing, a spy wouldn’t actively strike up a conversation with her. Then there was that interaction with Christopher when he came in. Her guess was that they probably had something to do with the immortals, from another angle.

She should have given more thought to what that meant.

If she’d realized that some sort of immortality-related incident was brewing, she might not have ended up in this mess.

If I’d been more cautious…

Once again, she was forced to see her own weakness, but she still couldn’t think of anything to do.

Well, she had thought of one thing. The trouble was that it would be hard to execute, for several reasons.

If that man is an immortal, then…I could use my hand…and…

Her eyes went to her right hand.

Memories of the time she’d first “eaten” someone surfaced in her mind, and cold sweat broke out on her back.

Could she do it again, scarred as she was from that other time?

Really, the more fundamental issue was whether it would be possible at all if she wasn’t fully committed to the act. The man’s self-confidence wasn’t empty vanity.

When dealing with him, she felt as if she should be just as wary as she would have been with Szilard Quates, or maybe even warier.

While Ennis was thinking, there was a sudden knock at the door. Before she had time to respond, it opened.

“Well, that’s a shame. You weren’t getting dressed.”

Melvi cracked a vulgar joke as he came in, but he didn’t actually seem to view Ennis with lust. He was looking at her the way he would have looked at a tool or a lab animal.

“Now then, have you found your answer?”

The “answer” was her response to the question he’d asked her in the underground storeroom.

“I’ll ask you again. It’s an important question. Both for me, and for your future.”

Melvi seemed wary of Ennis’s physical abilities; as he spoke to her, he kept a fixed distance between them. “Well? Are you still the person you were before you ate him? Can you look me in the eye and say your personality—your ‘soul,’ so to speak—is the same?”

It was the exact question he’d asked her in the storehouse, word for word.

A few days ago, Ennis hadn’t been able to give him a response, but—today, she’d found an answer.

“At the time, I didn’t know how to define soul. However, you could say that I was a different person before I absorbed that alchemist.”

“Huh. Then you admit that the person you were before died?”

“Possibly. But I’m not the same person today as I was yesterday, either.”

“……?” Melvi cocked his head, smiling faintly.

Ennis went on in a matter-of-fact way. “What changes people is knowledge, experience, and the consequences of what they’ve done. I also think souls and hearts are observed by others, not the people they belong to. If no one sees you, you might as well be dead. The world would remain just the same.”

“What are you getting at?”

“When that alchemist became part of me, his knowledge gave me a connection to the world. But I gained a connection in the truest sense when I met all those people on the day Szilard died. When my world expanded.”

“……”

Melvi was silent, and Ennis simply went on with her answer. “People change in the absence of others, yes—but I think that’s because they know what it’s like not to be alone. If I were to give my own definition of something as abstract as a soul, separate from the definition of life, I would say my soul was the innumerable threads connecting me to the world.”

Ennis intentionally said “my soul,” not “the human soul.” She still couldn’t see herself as fully human.

It wasn’t clear whether Melvi had caught this distinction; he only waited for her to go on.

“What makes me myself are the people who acknowledge my existence. As I continue to meet them, I expect I’ll keep evolving.”

“That’s…awfully convenient for you, that mind-set. Do you think you’ll be forgiven because you aren’t the person you were before you knew what morality was?”

“No. The results of what I did are already connected to the world. If someone who had ties to the alchemist I absorbed accuses me of being a murderer, I’ll have no response to give them.”

“……”

Melvi gazed at her, that thin smile still pasted on his face.

But Ennis doubted it was genuine. Was he intentionally holding that expression to hide his emotions? The expression was so void of humanity that she couldn’t help but wonder.

“By that logic, then, you wouldn’t care if someone accused Firo of being a murderer, correct? After all, he killed Szilard Quates.”

“That case was justified self-defense.”

“Ha! Justified, is it? He’s in the damn mafia! You’re planning to claim ‘justice’ for a man who’s done the awful things he’s done?”

Melvi’s words were scornful, but—

—in the next moment, his smile faded.

“I have one correction to make.” Ennis’s eyes had been passive up until then, but now they shone with strength. “He isn’t mafia. He’s Camorra. Both groups have roots in Italy, but the syndicate he belongs to is affiliated with the Camorra, which began in Naples, not with the Sicilian Mafia.”

“…You think a stupid semantic distinction—?”

“It’s important to him. It’s not stupid,” Ennis told him bluntly. Then she rebutted what he’d said earlier. “And yes, he is a member of the Martillo Family. He’s involved in illegal gambling, and he’s aware that he’s committing a crime. There’s nothing ‘just’ about Firo’s job. But that’s a completely different matter from the incident with Szilard.”

“It is, is it? Thinking long-term, wouldn’t the world have been better off if Szilard had wiped out the whole gang?”

“…I owe so much to Firo, but it’s true that he might not be a good person in the eyes of the world. I know he’s always prepared to do what he must, but I also don’t believe that resolution can serve as a pardon.” Ennis gave her honest opinion of Firo’s work; even so, she rejected what Melvi had said. “But everything I know about Szilard Quates has convinced me that there was no one more depraved or more driven. If he were alive, the world itself might be a different place.”

“I see, I see. If that’s the appraisal of a homunculus he created himself, then Szilard Quates really may have been an appalling evildoer.” The man who claimed he should have become that evildoer gave another deeply twisted smile. “And all his knowledge and experience is inside Firo now. There’s no telling how it will affect him. Don’t you think Szilard Quates’s memories may take over and make him just as twisted?”

In response to Melvi’s spiteful question, Ennis shook her head. “Unlike me, Firo is strong.”

“…That’s a lot of trust,” Melvi said, as if it bored him. Cracking his neck, he turned to leave. “Well, it doesn’t matter. I didn’t come to talk to you. I had another job here, so I stopped by on my way.”

“Please wait!” Ennis called after him. “I truly want to know… Who are you?”

It was the same question she’d asked in the underground storehouse, but this time, she got a different response.

“I did promise our conversations would be games of catch, didn’t I? All right, I’ll tell you one thing about myself.” Stopping near the door, Melvi spoke without emotion. “My name is Melvi Dormentaire. However, I have no Dormentaire blood in my veins.”

“……?”

“I’m an imperfect homunculus created by the House of Dormentaire. Just like you.”

“……?!” Ennis’s eyes widened in astonishment.

Melvi continued. “You see, the House of Dormentaire got its hands on a little liquor of immortality. Only enough for a handful of people, mind you. One mouthful went to a greedy woman. Another went to an injured individual the woman had made into her plaything. The last went to the head of a certain family of fallen aristocrats. He had no idea he’d be used as a guinea pig for two hundred years, in the service of creating me.” Melvi smirked, stroking his face as he watched Ennis. “Just as you were born from Szilard Quates’s cells, I was born from the cells of a lowlife who’d curried favor with the House of Dormentaire.”

Tracing the contours of his own face with his fingers, Melvi smiled again.

“Apparently, Maiza took after his mother, and Gretto looked exactly like their father did when he was young.”

“You can’t…mean…”

“See you around, puppet. I’m going to become ‘human’ soon.”

Turning his back on the speechless Ennis, Melvi started out of the room.

“As the original plan intended…I’ll be reborn as Szilard Quates.”

Once he was outside, Melvi spoke to the man who’d been standing guard. “She hasn’t tried to escape, has she?” He’d switched back to his customary level of courtesy.

The man, one of the House of Dormentaire’s private soldiers, told him, “No, she’s behaving herself.”

“I see. I’m glad to hear it.” With a breezy smile, Melvi looked around at the view. “I thought she might put up a little resistance, but… Well, it is a first-class room with its own attached bathroom. Perhaps she’s satisfied with that.”

He was gazing out at a vast sky and the blue ocean. Except for the horizon line that ran between them, there was nothing else to see.

The House of Dormentaire’s large private vessel was floating on the Atlantic Ocean.

“It isn’t as if escaping from this ship would do her much good anyway.”

There wasn’t so much as the shadow of an island in sight, let alone the American continent.

Several other ships surrounded their vessel at a distance. From the scale of their shadows, they appeared to be just as large.

Melvi seemed to be enjoying himself as he continued. “She may be an immortal…but I doubt she could calculate where she’d wash up, or how many days it would take.” He gave a satisfied nod, then warned the guard. “Whatever you do, though, don’t get careless.”

He was still wearing that breezy smile, but his words were cruel.

“If she happens to take control of the pilothouse, the surrounding ships will sink this one.”

Melvi left the guard behind and walked across the deck, gazing at the other ships.

He knew what those five vessels carried: the army of seaplanes that had issued a challenge to the city of New York a week ago. In addition, large flying boats were hidden inside the specially constructed ships. Each ship carried one flying boat and seven seaplanes.

It was enough firepower to launch a modest war, but the planes and the ships had different owners. The ships transporting the seaplanes belonged to the House of Dormentaire, while the aircraft belonged to Time, Huey Laforet’s organization.

“Now then…I wonder how much of our actions Huey has anticipated already. He can’t possibly consider the Dormentaires a simple collaborator, but…”

Melvi was affiliated with three different organizations: the House of Dormentaire, Time, and now the Runorata Family. He savored the illusion that he had them all twisted around his little finger—

—and although he knew it wasn’t real, he let his mind succumb to the idea for a while, out there in the sea wind.

“Huey Laforet… I can’t wait,” Melvi murmured to himself. The high wasn’t completely satisfying. “Once I’m Szilard Quates…my first pleasure will be selling you out.”

He went on quietly—too quiet for anyone else to hear.

“After that…as my master desires, I’ll kill that Elmer C. Albatross fellow. Whoever he is.”