Baccano! - Volume 4 - Chapter 7

USE

December 29, 1931

“…Well. Things have gotten very odd indeed.”

A clear voice sounded from behind the document stacks.

Several people, including Nicholas, Elean, and Henry, were standing in the newspaper president’s office.

After he’d heard their reports, the president began to summarize the situation.

“Elean gave Miss Eve Genoard the Gandor Family’s name, I provided the Gandors with the Runoratas’ circumstances, and Nicholas sold information on Roy Maddock to the Runoratas… Does that sound about right? Nothing happened on your end, Henry? You said that Roy himself stopped by…”

“Unfortunately, we failed to reach a financial understanding, and so no business took place. He left without purchasing any information.”

As he brazenly talked away, Henry’s lips were very slightly warped.

“I see. Well, there’s no help for that. Nicholas, have one of your people casually check up on Lia. That bag really could be a trump card of some sort.”

“—That idiot!”

Edith was furious.

After giving the black bag to Lia, she’d gone straight to the Gandors’ speakeasy, but she was late, and apparently, before she’d arrived, the place had been attacked. They said they didn’t yet know who the assailants had been, but even she knew the Runoratas were probably behind it.

Since she’d been late, she’d been lucky enough to avoid getting pulled in, and for the moment, they’d cleaned up and opened the shop for business as usual. Her duties there had finally ended, and she’d returned home at dawn, but…

“Why is a timid guy like him being considerate when nobody asked?! What on earth is he thinking…?”

Her hands gripped a message from Roy, written on a little scrap of paper.

It said, in a terribly roundabout way, that he was going to try to do something about things himself, to keep Edith from getting involved. It also said that, until the matter was resolved, he wouldn’t be coming back to the apartment.

“I-is this the place?”

He’d left Mulberry Street and was in the area near Central Park on Fifth Avenue. The surrounding scenery was gradually being buried in things Roy wasn’t used to seeing. He’d almost never visited this area except to use the train station. One reason was that Roy detested the bourgeoisie and had actively avoided it.

The district in this area with a concentration of particularly high-class residences was commonly known as “Millionaires’ Row.” It was lined with the mansions and luxury apartments of the wealthy, including the Carnegie family.

Aware that he clearly wasn’t dressed for the neighborhood and feeling inferior, Roy managed to find the mansion that Henry had told him about.

While obviously a rung below the great mansions that surrounded it, it was still in a completely different world from the hoi polloi. On the contrary, it wouldn’t have been an exaggeration to say that its age gave it dignity. This building was the Genoard Family’s former main residence, and at present, it was being used as a second home, serving as one of the symbols of the Genoard fortune.

“So she’s in there…”

He’d reached the house, but he had no idea what to do next.

He couldn’t go in, and even if he met her, what in the world could he say to her?

He’d considered kidnapping her, but that seemed like a last-ditch method. Besides, any woman who lived in a mansion like this one was bound to employ bearlike bodyguards.

If she was ever on her own, at least… If she went somewhere even a little ways away from this area…

Knowing there was no point in thinking anymore, for the moment, Roy decided to keep watching the house.

“Oh, miss! Are you feeling better?”

“Yes, Benjamin. I’m still a little tired, but I’m fine. I’m very sorry to have caused trouble for you.”

“What are you saying? I am prepared to do anything to aid your recovery, even offer up my own heart, should it come to that. If such is a servant’s duty…”

“Good heavens. It isn’t a demonic ritual, you know.”

Eve giggled a little, but her heart was filled with resolution.

I’ll go meet them. The members of the Gandor Family. I need to hear the truth from them. If my brother really has died, if possible, I’ll avenge him—

She wasn’t thinking of actually killing them, but she might be able to get the police to arrest them, somehow. Even as she thought this, in her heart she’d considered one more possibility.

If they were the ones who killed Dallas, then did they kill Father and Jeffrey as well…?

The car that had sunk into Newark Bay. Conditions that could have been either murder or an accident. Their horribly changed bodies.

As all this simmered in her heart, before long it led her to a single resolution.

Wishes and prayers would reach no one anymore.

Consequently, she’d just have to do this through her own strength.

That was how she’d atone for her brother.

If she told Benjamin and Samantha about her idea, they were bound to either stop her or tell her to let them take care of it. She couldn’t do that. This was a selfish, personal desire.

If the Gandors killed her…

Would Benjamin and Samantha grieve for her?

No matter what the answer was, if she died a worthless death here, she’d be betraying them.

The thought hurt her, but her resolution couldn’t be checked that easily.

In short, she simply had to avoid dying.

She thought she understood just how difficult this would be, but—possibly because she’d been raised in a very sheltered environment—she didn’t seem able to visualize a concrete terror of the mafia.

They planned to return to New Jersey early next month. Before that happened, she needed to establish contact with the Gandors somehow.

First, she wanted to hear what they had to say. For now, that was her only objective.

Several guests were visiting the hotel where Gustavo and the others were staying.

“Well, that’s how it is. I hope you’ll help us out, Mr. Gustavo. Mr. Bartolo’s a great man, and we all have a lot of respect for him. Make sure you don’t do anything to disgrace him.”

With those sardonic words, the guests left the hotel.

Gustavo, left behind, ground his teeth and watched them go.

“The little bastards are getting cocky…”

The visitors had been messengers from the five big syndicates that controlled Manhattan.

Gustavo’s mind replayed the words they had said a few moments ago:

“We’re here for just one thing. We came to deliver a warning.”

“It sounds as if you got up to some pretty flashy stuff yesterday.”

“We don’t care what you do in the Gandor or Martillo territories. But—”

“Don’t forget that that area’s a boundary line, and our turf is right on the other side.”

“If you cause even a little trouble in our territory, we’ll take it as direct provocation.”

“Oh, we’re not saying we’ll start a war or anything. We’ll just lodge a complaint with your boss, Mr. Bartolo. You know what happens to your position if we do that, don’t you?”

“Anything, no matter how small. For example, if one of the Gandor men comes onto our turf, don’t you nab him or do him harm.”

“You’ve only got three free zones in that area: the Gandors’ turf, the Martillos’ turf, and the Daily Days newspaper. That’s about it… That and police headquarters, I guess.”

“The Daily Days is almost completely neutral. As far as appearances go, anyway.”

“That said, I wouldn’t recommend making enemies of those three places.”

“People like us and Mr. Bartolo are one thing, but you, Mr. Gustavo…”

“Do you know why we don’t mess with those three spots?”

“Of course, if we wanted to, we could crush them anytime.”

“It just wouldn’t pay, that’s all. Well, the Daily Days’s situation is unique, I suppose.”

“That place is a sort of underworld public facility, so to speak.”

“We don’t know how long that information brokerage has been around.”

“However, it’s a fact that it was here before our syndicate moved in.”

“People like our bosses and Mr. Bartolo could get pretty much any information without relying on that place.”

“…But you sure couldn’t. I’d use that information broker as much as I possibly could, if I were you.”

“At any rate, whatever you do, be extremely careful not to cause us trouble.”

“Make sure you manage those drugs properly, too. Don’t let your new stuff find its way onto our turf.”

“We’re conducting negotiations for deals for the new drug with a fella called Begg, so that’s nothing to do with you.”

“Take care not to release more than a set quantity of those drugs.”

“We won’t be getting our hopes up, but do your best.”

“Don’t forget that Mr. Bartolo’s the one we want to be on good terms with. Not you.”

“I think it’s in your best interests to consider the possibility that you’ve been demoted to this area.”

“In short, well, you know. What we’re trying to say is—don’t push your luck. That’s what this is.”

“Those scumbuckets… Make a monkey out of me, will they…?”

He would have liked to give them a good makeover with a Thompson, but they were too far out of his league. Not only that, but they really did have genuine respect for Bartolo… So what were they doing, making such a fool of him, the man’s subordinate? Were they trying to say they didn’t acknowledge him as one of Bartolo’s men?

If he lashed out unwisely, he’d be starting a war over his own personal grudge. If they’d at least talked smack about Bartolo, too, he thought, but even if they had, the result would have been the same.

“You better watch yourselves… Once I finish off the Gandors, you’re next!”

Even as he stomped down his ferocious anger at the messengers, Gustavo blazed with hatred for the Gandors.

“I’ll have the Gandor pigs pick up the tab for my humiliation, along with everything else…”

Thinking typical small-timer thoughts, Gustavo hurled a hotel ashtray against the wall.

December 30, 1931 Night

In an underground casino on Martillo Family turf, Firo, who had been put in charge of running the place, was listening to a string of complaints from a now-penniless Berga.

“Firo, hey. Wouldja make it a little easier to score on the roulette wheels here?”

“Berga, you come to someone else’s turf and ask for what?”

As a rule, it would have been unthinkable for the boss of another organization to visit a place like this.

Firo and the three Gandor brothers had grown up in the same tenement and were practically family. That said, when it came to the interests of their organizations, they never colluded.

“Anyway, Berga, this is no time for you to be here, is it? I heard the situation with the Runoratas is a ticking bomb.”

Apparently, news of the attacks the day before yesterday had already reached the Martillos.

“Well, that’s why. If I hang around on our turf, they might take a shot at me, and I know for a fact the Martillos wouldn’t sign on with the Runoratas.”

“Just stay home. Don’t drag us into it.”

In the middle of that perfectly natural comment, Firo spotted a grifter and had him dragged into the back. He was talking with Berga only when he had a moment to spare.

However, when a certain individual’s name was mentioned in the course of the conversation, Firo’s eyes lit up.

“Claire? You mean the Claire?”

“What other Claire would be Claire besides Claire?!”

“I see… Well, that’s something to look forward to. So Claire’s coming… Then the Runoratas have as good as lost.”

Firo nodded to himself, predicting the defeat of the Runoratas solely by the existence of this Claire person.

“Nah, you don’t know that yet.”

“No, I know. That natural-born contract killer is coming back. There’s practically no one in this business who doesn’t know the Vino name by now. If you manage to lose anyway, you’re complete idiots.”

As they talked, a man approached them from behind.

He took a long, thin needle from the back of his necktie and, with no preliminary action, thrust it at Berga’s back, right over his heart. However—

“Anyway.”

Abruptly, an arm slid in from the side, catching the man’s elbow in a viselike grip. While that hand was still on his elbow, the other hand caught his opposite shoulder. The next instant, the man’s body was flipped, and as he was looking up at the ceiling, he was dashed to the floor.

As he involuntarily expelled the air from his lungs, a heel came down mercilessly on his solar plexus. The impact ran through him all the way to the backs of his eyeballs, and he didn’t even have time to scream.

“We don’t need nitwits like this one causing trouble on our turf. Go home and take him with you.”

“Oh, yeah. Right. My bad.”

Scratching his head awkwardly in response to Firo’s words, Berga picked the guy up and left the gambling den.

“Geez. I can almost see that Tick fella dancing a jig over this.”

Remembering the torturer’s innocent smile, Berga felt just a little sorry for his attacker.

Still, letting him go had never been an option.

“You know where that bastard Roy is?”

For a moment, Gustavo’s eyes shone, but in the next instant, they were clouded by dissatisfaction.

“Then why haven’t you nabbed him already?”

One of the men timidly answered his direct superior’s question:

“Well, uh, the thing is, he’s on Millionaires’ Row. That’s not part of the Gandors’ turf.”

“You morons! You’re telling me you took that threat seriously?!”

“S-see, Mr. Gustavo… This ain’t good. When we spotted the junkie there, we started watching him… And, obviously, we were dressed to blend in, y’know? Anyway, about five fellas in black showed up and said, ‘Why don’t you quit playing around here and help us with our job instead? If you want money, we’ll pay you a kiddie allowance.’”

“And you just clammed up and came back here.”

“No, uh, we left one guard. It didn’t sound like Roy was working with the guys in that territory. But those fellas were real bad news! It sorta seemed like they knew all our faces, all the guys who came here, and they’re keeping their distance, but I swear they’re watching us! This ain’t good, they’re the real dealzubluplugaah!”

The poor guy didn’t even get to finish his sentence before a heavy marble ashtray buried itself in his face.

“So what? Hey, pal, you sound like you’re sayin’ we ain’t the real deal!”

Gustavo kept kicking the man tenaciously, even though he was already unconscious.

“Dammit… They’re all messing with me, all of ’em, every last one!”

At the sight of Gustavo’s irritation, the eyes of his subordinates rapidly grew cold.

The only one who failed to notice those looks was Gustavo himself.

“Get the hell out of here, you bastards!”

His men left the room, as ordered. They’d forgotten to report something essential.

Either that, or they’d intentionally let it slip their minds.

It was the fact that the place Roy had been watching was the second Genoard residence.

December 31, 1931 Afternoon Near Pennsylvania Station

In a back alley not far from the station, the three Gandor brothers were talking with a young man.

“All right, let’s go. Who should I kill first? I only managed to get a little light exercise last night, and I’m feeling rusty. I want to do a job where I can go all-out for once.”

The young fellow said this to the brothers without hesitation, even though they were technically mafia dons.

Claire Stanfield. Although he was the Gandors’ sworn brother, someone who’d grown up under the same roof with them, he wasn’t affiliated with the Gandor Family. He was a freelance hitman, a force whose alias, Vino, was known throughout underworld society. In a way, a hitman whose name was well-known had a problem, but as far as he was concerned, the fact that his fame was spreading gave him no trouble.

If he did have a problem, it was his eccentric personality. It was completely different from that of a murdering hedonist or pathological liar, a unique character that couldn’t be considered either normal or aberrant.

Today, as usual, no sooner had he reunited with the brothers than he began saying incredibly weird things. The minute they met up, he started walking quickly, heading toward the Gandor hideout as though he was short on time.

“Let’s get this finished up fast. I’ve got somebody to look for after this. It’s somebody who might marry me.”

At Claire’s words, the three brothers looked at one another.

“Wha—? Did you ask some total stranger to marry you again?!”

“Close.”

“Don’t gimme ‘close,’ you moron! Just how many dolls do you think you’ve gotten to give you the brush-off that way, huh?!”

Berga sounded disgusted, but Claire answered him without seeming the least bit flustered.

“Now, hang on. I don’t treat it like a pickup, and I’m not joking. I’m being serious, so there’s no problem. And I’m positive I’ve gotten dumped up till now because there’s an even better girl in my future. After all, this world is—”

“—‘designed to work in my favor,’ was it?”

With practiced timing, Luck got in a comeback. That was probably Claire’s basic mind-set. According to him, Even if I die, I bet this world is a dream, and I’ll just keep dreaming from the real world. For now, I’ll just assume that’s how it is. Naturally, Luck and the others didn’t understand a bit of it.

If that was all you heard, he sounded like a mere escapist, but he also had the skills to put that thought into action, and he spared no effort in maintaining them. That was the most troublesome thing about this Claire guy.

“In any case, Claire. You really shouldn’t trust the sort of woman who accepts an offer of marriage out of the blue.”

When Luck abruptly said Claire’s name, Claire immediately went back to acting strange.

“Claire’s dead. Or he will be on paper, anyway, as far as the government’s concerned.”

Wearing his emotions on his face—There he goes again, making absolutely no sense—Luck hit him with a levelheaded verbal jab:

“If you’re officially dead, you won’t be able to marry that woman, you know.”

At that, Claire stopped in his tracks, then turned around.

“Crap. What do I do? How much does it cost to buy an identity?”

“You aren’t making any sense, Claire. In that case, what should we call you from now on?”

As Claire started walking again, he said casually:

“Well, maybe Vino… Or you could call me the Rail Tracer.”

“Lame.”

As he watched Claire and Berga, who’d begun to brawl violently in the alley, Luck sighed, looking mildly disgusted.

They complain, but those two really do get along, don’t they…?

Just as he thought this, one of Berga’s teeth flew his way. The tooth immediately zipped back to Berga’s body in order to regenerate, and so, as he broke out in a cold sweat, Luck pretended he hadn’t seen anything.

“Laws a-mercy, there’re folks sluggin’ one on t’ other, right smack in da middle of da road.”

Samantha tried to peek in from behind the rubberneckers, but Benjamin coughed and held her back.

“Don’t concern yourself with such vulgar individuals! Come, come, miss, let’s hurry and move along.”

“Hmm? Oh, yes, of course.”

The butler’s words brought Eve back to herself with a jolt. She’d been lost in thought, and she hadn’t even noticed that a fight had broken out.

Whatever can I do to meet the Gandors?

“Never fear, miss.”

“Ah—?”

When the butler spoke, for a moment, Eve’s heart thumped. Had he read her thoughts?

“The dishes Samantha and I prepare aren’t sufficient to restore your appetite, are they? I thought not, and so yesterday I contacted a chef of my acquaintance. I requested that he refer an available cook and bartender to us, even if only for the duration of our sojourn in New York. I am told they will be arriving by train today, so I expect they’ll present themselves tomorrow.”

“O-oh, no, you really don’t need to do that! And in any case, a bartender…?”

The butler answered this perfectly natural question with a mischievous, boyish smile.

“In the basement, I discovered a wine cellar that predates the law. I’ve been searching for someone capable of setting those many bottles of wine in order. Simply possessing them isn’t a crime, you see. In addition, after all, the mansion is equipped with that bar. We’ve come all the way to New York, and I wanted you to enjoy the city’s atmosphere to the greatest extent possible. I’ll pay his salary out of my own savings. Do allow me this indulgence, miss.”

“Benjamin…”

“Don’tcha go forgettin’ I’m shelling out my own bread to employ the cook. See, Missy Eve, that’ll spare me the tahm spent in da kicchin, and then I kin put more zip into other jobs, so don’t you fret.”

Samantha also smiled at Eve as she smacked Benjamin lightly on the back.

“Would you desist?! Harrumph… In addition, if there are more people available to help with household chores, we’ll be able to concentrate harder on the search for Master Dallas.”

These two were the type who couldn’t stand that sort of excess, and yet…

It was clear that they were doing it for her, out of thoughtfulness. Feeling terribly grateful and apologetic, Eve desperately fought back the tears that were threatening to spill over.

“Thank you very much. I truly am grateful to you, Benjamin and Samantha.”

She felt wretched for trying to do something selfish right under the noses of her two benefactors, and she couldn’t forgive herself for it.

Even so, it was too late for her to stop these thoughts…

They’d finished their shopping and were on their way back to Millionaires’ Row when, in front of a certain general-goods store, they heard another commotion.

“C’mon, buddy, sister, you’re really gonna buy all this?”

“Sure we are! Load ’em into the flivver!”

“We’re cornering the market! It’s a monopoly!”

The proprietor of the general store was helping a guy in a ragged gunman outfit and a young woman in a bright-red dress.

“Nah, I’m real happy you’re buying them, but what’re you gonna do with all of ’em?”

“Knock ’em down!”

“Clickclickclick, like that!”

As Eve watched the couple who were engaged in this odd conversation from a distance, something about them tugged at her.

Oh, I see.

Abruptly, it hit her. They looked like that couple. The pair of burglars who’d come to the mansion a year before and brought her happiness.

Then they were swallowed up by the waves of people, and she lost sight of them almost immediately.

She didn’t know whether they really had been the same people, but in her heart, Eve offered up a small prayer.

I’m sure they’re still spreading happiness around somewhere.

As she recalled what had happened a year ago, memories of the happiest time in her life rose in her mind.

Tearing up slightly, Eve quietly renewed her resolution.

“It’s…been…a…long…time. You…seem…well. That’s…great.”

In front of a passage that led to the station’s back entrance, two figures were conversing.

“Mm-hmm. You look good, too, Begg.”

Begg was talking with one of his old companions.

“Did…you…meet…Maiza?”

In response to this question, the shadow nodded once.

In contrast to Begg, who was smiling cheerfully, the other figure looked vaguely sad.

“Begg, the thing is—”

“I…heard. A freight…robbery, was…it?”

“—That’s right. The explosives weren’t on board officially, so I can’t report them to the police, but…”

“I…see. Well, of…course.”

“I suppose this means the Runoratas are going to kill me, over and over…”

The figure sounded a little uneasy. Begg smiled and shook his head.

“Bartolo, my boss, isn’t…touching…this…one. I…was…planning…to pay…all…the…money…myself. You…won’t…have to…be…punished.”

At that answer, the figure looked slightly startled.

“Why—?”

“I…heard…about…your…situation…from the infor…mation…broker. I wanted…to help…you…out…somehow, but…I…couldn’t…just…give…you…money, you…see?”

On hearing that, the figure’s expression shifted into something complicated.

“You’ve got a soft heart. You haven’t changed. Thanks, but—”

“I…shouldn’t…have…bothered? I…know. But…I…abandoned…alchemy. I’ve…lived…without…it…all…this…time, and all…I…gained…was…money. I…haven’t…found…the…happiness…I…want…yet, either. The…only…thing…I…can do…is smile…at…you…this…way.”

In the midst of his smile, only his eyes hinted at sadness.

“That’s enough, all by itself. Thank you.”

Moving slowly, the figure clung to Begg. Begg stroked its head with his left hand.

“Thanks, Begg. For…not eating me.”

Looking at the figure, which shed a couple of tears as it smiled, Begg cried a little, too.

“Next…time…you…say a…thing like that, I’ll…get…angry.”

“Hey, Berga, you’ve gotten pretty tough. Coming out of a fight with me without a scratch…”

Claire raised his voice, sounding impressed.

Even though they’d fought so spectacularly, both had emerged unscathed.

Berga’s injuries had just healed through the power of immortality, but Claire physically hadn’t taken any damage.

When Keith and the other three returned to their office on foot, no one was there except for Tick, who lived there. Since everyone had been ordered to stay home and wait, this was only natural.

“All right, on to the main topic: Who am I killing? If I’m taking out Bartolo, I’ll need to get myself psyched up for it, but if it’s just Gustavo, I can get him today if you want.”

“You know a lot about this.”

“Bartolo’s hired me a few times. I’d bet Gustavo doesn’t know that, though.”

“…If you’re a contract killer, do try to preserve client confidentiality, please.”

“Ha-ha-ha! You’re as picky as ever, Luck. Well, it’ll be fine. You guys aren’t going to rat me out or anything, right? …Right?”

Claire sounded entertained. Luck explained the substance of the job, speaking for his brothers:

“Well then, Claire. First: Don’t do anything. Until we ask, just wander around town, if you would.”

“What?”

Claire looked a little confused. Luck narrowed his eyes, as if he was plotting something.

“For the moment, we want you to act as a deterrent.”

Right about then, Gustavo was raging in a hotel room.

“You’ve gotta be shitting me, Begg! You think you can just say, ‘Somebody stole it,’ and that’ll be it?! I was counting on these bombs of yours!”

“I had him…tell me…how to…make…them. Give…me…a…month…and…I…can…mass-produce…them…at that…factory.”

“That’s not fast enough! Dammit! I thought I’d get to blast the Gandors’ turf sky-high right this second! The speakeasies and the gambling dens and the betting parlors, everything, customers and all!”

“Are…you…crazy?”

“Shove it! I don’t care how it looks anymore! I tell you what, that friend of yours is pretty useless, yeah?”

On hearing that, with a speed that was utterly different from any of his previous movements, Begg got right up in Gustavo’s face.

“Gah?! Wh-what?!”

“Don’t mock my…friend.”

That was all he said. Then Begg stepped back again. Even if it had only been for a moment, Gustavo had been overwhelmed, and without thinking, he clenched his fists and squeezed out a sore loser’s line.

“Hah! Well, it’s true, ain’t it?! Any loser who lets someone lift the tools of his trade is the lowest, most incompetent merchant ever!”

On hearing those words, Begg looked blank for a moment. Then he laughed loudly.

“Ha-ha-ha! You…couldn’t…be more…right! I…haven’t…laughed out…loud…in ages. Thanks!”

With that parting shot, Begg left the hotel room.

“What the hell?”

Failing to understanding the intent behind the man’s actions, Gustavo thought about what he’d said.

Getting the tools of your trade stolen. Lowest, most incompetent…

Drugs. Roy. Robbery. Person in charge. Me.

“Huh?”

Finally registering the meaning of Begg’s laugh, he hurled his third ashtray at the window glass.

“You meant meeeeeeeeee!”

That night at the information brokerage, the executives held a report meeting.

“The most noteworthy information tonight is probably the incident aboard the Flying Pussyfoot, the one Rachel got pulled into while she was on the train. After all, it looks as though Senator Beriam himself is working to cover up the affair. I’m requesting information from my acquaintances at the railway company by telegraph as well, but even then, I doubt we’ll manage to gather all of it. The problem is that red monster Rachel says she saw; however, I have an idea about that. They say the hitman Vino was on that train, and I think if we speak to him, we may be able to get nearly all the information that exists regarding this incident.”

“Vino… You mean Claire Stanfield? Didn’t he die in the conductors’ room?”

Nicholas’s question received a confident-sounding reply from behind the documents.

“This is only a hunch, mind you, but…that was probably someone else. Scraping the face off, then burning the body: That’s rudimentary camouflage. He’s slapdash, and that’s just like him. Besides, Rachel, who reported this incident, doesn’t seem to have told me quite everything. She’s a habitual ride-stealer, and considering the fact that she was released easily, it’s likely that she got a ticket from someone. She isn’t brazen enough to steal one from a corpse.”

“You mean, in that case, the only people with spare tickets would have been the conductors?”

The genie of the documents agreed with Elean.

“Right, except both conductors were dead. Taking that into consideration, I think she may have met Claire and been told to keep quiet about it. She’s terribly conscientious about such things.”

After a short pause, he added a few miscellaneous thoughts on Claire.

“Besides, I really can’t believe he’d die that easily. I can’t think of many people who could kill him. Ronny of the Martillo Family, or Chané Laforet of the Lemures…”

He listed a few other names, then, at the end, gave the name of the most likely candidate:

“Or…the Handyman, Felix Walken. He might be able to win… Although I hear he wants to get out of the hit business.”

“Felix Walken? Is he still in town?”

A hint of astonishment came onto Nicholas’s face.

“Yes, he has a daughter now, and it sounds as though he wants to get rid of his past, but… They say he’s the best in Manhattan and that he could take on Albert Anastasia’s Murder, Inc.—the one directly under Lucky Luciano’s control—all by himself. No one’s going to let him retire that easily.”

At that point, the president changed the subject and spoke about the incidents surrounding the Runorata.

“—And that should do it. By the way, Nicholas. What happened to that black bag?”

After summarizing the day’s movements, he checked on an item of information that hadn’t yet been reported.

“No particular problems. We got a report that two men entered Lia Lin-Shan’s room, but it was probably her younger brother, Fang Lin-Shan; he was supposed to arrive today.”

“They’re both Chinese? Odd names, if so.”

“Their father was British, so it’s probably related to that. From what I hear, their community tended to keep them at a distance, and the brother caused some sort of trouble because of it.”

“What about the other man?”

“We haven’t confirmed this yet, but apparently, he’s the brother’s friend, a young man by the name of Jon Panel.”

“You know a lot about it. You managed to check into him that quickly?”

“No, it’s just—those two were involved with the Flying Pussyfoot incident as well. It’s a coincidence.”

This satisfied all the executives, and they nodded. Then the president wrapped things up:

“All right, Nicholas, you keep your men on that. Tracking the movements of that sort of perpetually moving thing is very important. The liquor-of-immortality affair last year was the same way, remember? In that incident, all the coincidences were focused on that drifting liquor. Well, in the end, it proved impossible to predict its movements completely. Compared with that, we’ve been able to observe the movement from the very beginning this time, so nothing could be easier. Then, let’s see, regarding strange things that happened today… ‘An ashtray fell out of the sky and struck a Ford.’ …What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What should I do?”

In a room on the first floor of a tiny apartment building in a corner of Little Italy, Lia Lin-Shan was gazing at the black bag, thoroughly perplexed.

Her friend Edith had left it in her care, and that was fine, but this room didn’t even have a lock, and she couldn’t keep it here forever. Precisely because it was something that would have to be handed over to the police in an emergency, she needed to put it somewhere more secure.

She’d told Edith she’d leave it with someone she could trust, but when it came right down to it, she wasn’t sure whom she should give it to. She’d have felt safest leaving it with Ronny or Maiza, but since she was supposed to keep it secret from the syndicate members, that wasn’t an option.

Should she ask Ennis, maybe? As she was thinking about it and fiddling with the handle of the bag, she heard a knock at the door to her room.

For a moment, she flinched, but the voice that followed set her heart skipping cheerfully.

“It’s been forever. It’s me, sis.”

The voice belonged to her younger brother, who ordinarily lived far away.

“Uh, ’scuse me…”

Her brother and the young man who’d come with him were planning to stay here for the night.

Apparently, the dining car on the train where they’d worked had been closed suddenly, and tomorrow, they’d be starting at new jobs with a rich person who lived on Millionaires’ Row.

“Huh? You’ll be living there?” Lia asked.

“Yes, we will. They say we can bring all our luggage, too. They’ve got a big safe, so they said we could bring our valuables or anything else and not have to worry—”

When she heard those words, Lia’s problem evaporated.

Trustworthy people with access to a safe place had appeared, just like that.

1932 New Year’s Day

“What’ll I do? That Roy… I wonder where he went.”

Edith had spent the past few days desperately searching for Roy.

Even from a distance, it had been obvious that mafia-type thugs were watching his apartment. Roy probably wasn’t dumb enough to go back there.

At the same time, that meant he hadn’t been caught yet.

In search of a glimmer of hope, Edith decided to visit a place she’d heard rumors about: an information broker.

Behind the door under the Daily Days sign, several members of the editorial staff were hard at work, even though it was New Year’s Day.

“Welcome to our information brokerage. We sincerely appreciate your visit.”

The first person to speak to her was, put briefly, a man with a nasty smile. She felt a little sorry she’d come in, but it was too late to turn back.

“Have you come to inquire about a regular subscription to our newspaper? Or perhaps you’re here for information?”

The man’s courteous attitude made Edith nervous, but she told him, “For information.”

“In that case, if you’d step this way. My name is Henry. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

The man at the desk warped his unpleasant face even further and ushered Edith into a reception room.

Just then, in the president’s office, Nicholas was talking to the genie of the documents.

“Henry’s hiding something.”

“I know. He’s still a bad liar.”

“There’s nothing wrong with his provision of information. He just enjoys it way too much.”

“He doesn’t know the risk of information yet, that’s all. If he ever gets himself into some sort of dangerous scrape, that bad habit should improve slightly, but…”

A rather complicated emotion crept into the voice that issued from behind the paper stacks.

“If possible, I don’t want anyone on my staff to encounter that sort of situation. After all, that’s what information is for in the first place.”

Handling information is a pleasure. That’s why I chose this occupation. Information brokers stealthily pass notes to one another in back alleys and the corners of bars; I thought that image was everything. Whoever would have thought such a conspicuous brokerage existed?

Manipulating information means manipulating something that accompanies it. Sometimes that’s money, sometimes people, sometimes lives, sometimes cities. In the end, I’d wager it’s possible to move nations, or even the world.

What an exquisite pleasure it is to hold all these fates in the palm of one’s hand. None of the drugs that have been popular of late could ever compare. It makes you feel as if you’ve become a god but with all your wits intact.

It’s the same at this company. Of the information regarding the current Runorata and Gandor affair, I’m the only one who knows that Roy is pursuing Eve. This incident is connected: It forms a ring. That is information I alone hold. One could say my position in the world that surrounds this affair is more advantageous than anyone else’s.

Still, that Roy fellow seems to have begun dancing to the tune of my information with astonishing ease. That’s what makes this job so addictive. Up until now, thanks to Nicholas, Elean, and the president, it never went well, but this time it did, yes indeed.

Roy’s a hopeless imbecile, though. There’s no way a little girl like that would know about the drug factory, no way she could possibly become a witness. Even if he did manage to make contact and kidnap her, the moment he threatened the Runoratas, they’d simply destroy the evidence, and that would be the end of it.

Even if he escaped the Runoratas, he’d have become a kidnapper.

There’s no way to prove any connection to this newspaper, and I was not doing business: I simply murmured to myself.

Of course, if he’d had money, I would have served him properly. I am a merchant, and I flatter myself that I do have that much pride.

When all is said and done, he’s the dregs of society, scum that has turned to drugs and is bound for destruction.

I loathe fellows like that from the bottom of my heart… In consequence, I merely finished him off, that’s all.

There’s absolutely no problem. None, none, none.

And now, this woman is here as a customer.

Roy’s sweetheart, Edith, hmm? This has gotten interesting.

I want to twist her fate, too.

Controlling the fates of two lovers at once. What a delight that would be!

“I do have some idea of where Roy may be.”

“Really?!”

“As a matter of fact, the other day, I had the opportunity to speak with him privately…”

As I told her everything that had occurred between us, I saw her face grow paler and paler. That was amusing to watch, all on its own.

“Just a minute… Then where’s Roy?”

“I’d imagine he’s probably attempting to do something with Miss Eve. I did warn him against it, you know.”

“I’ve got to stop him…”

As she hastily tried to rise from her chair, Henry struck her with a brisk statement:

“And where do you intend to go? You don’t know Miss Eve’s whereabouts, do you?”

At that, Edith shot Henry an intense glare.

“Tell me. I’ll pay whatever you ask!”

She slapped her pocketbook down on the table, but Henry shook his head.

“What do you mean to do by stopping him? It really is the only remaining way to save him, no matter how slight the possibility may be.”

“That isn’t true. You said so yourself: It was the only way because Roy didn’t have money. In other words, if he’d paid a proper sum, there was proper information available. Right?”

“I would advise you not to get too carried away.” His expression clouding slightly, Henry tossed Edith’s pocketbook back at her. “Do you think information that could be used to outwit the Runoratas is something individuals such as yourself and Roy could easily obtain? Don’t misunderstand me.”

Slowly rising from his chair, he put his face up close to the woman’s. His tone and the look in his eyes had undergone a drastic change: He was like a god who governed the truth of the world—or possibly more like a devil.

“Information is power. It’s only natural that there’s a cost to obtain it, is it not? Then, too, those without power die. That is also perfectly natural. It couldn’t possibly be so cheap that those without the strength to serve as the price—financial clout, or authority, or personal connections—could acquire it easily.”

Abruptly, his face and tone returned to normal, and he resettled himself deeply in his chair.

“—That is how matters stand. Have I made myself clear?”

Edith glared at the man. Despite his sentiment, she spoke in a voice filled with a quiet determination…

“In that case, let me ask. What sort of information could compensate for that information? Give me an example.”

Shrugging as if he was mildly surprised, Henry thought for a bit, and then he remembered the executive meeting the night before and gave his answer:

“Have you heard of the incident that took place yesterday aboard the Flying Pussyfoot?”

“…And so, in order to learn about important aspects of the incident, the information held by this contract killer, Vino—or rather, his testimony—is vital.”

When he’d spoken that far, Henry paused and drew a deep breath.

“Well, to cut a long story short, if it was in exchange for Vino’s story, I believe I could tell you both Eve’s location and a way to escape the Runoratas.”

“You mean it? Swear.”

With no hesitation, Edith made as if to leave. Henry asked her a single question:

“Why would you go that far?”

“Promises. It took him time, but he kept his. I don’t have time, though. If I don’t work fast, he’ll die. That’s all.”

“Really?” Henry asked, surprised. “That’s really the only reason?”

“That’s what promises are, aren’t they? Even if they really aren’t worth it.”

Not even turning to look at Henry, she flung the door open. Her expression was determined.

“I heard all that, you bottom-dweller.”

At the voice that abruptly addressed him from behind, Henry shuddered involuntarily.

“Do you even know what shame means? You’d better be prepared to take a pay cut, at least.”

“M-Mr. Nicholas.”

When he turned around, the English-edition copy editor was standing there, scowling. Apparently, at some point, he’d come in through the door at the back of the reception room.

“W-wait, please. If this is about Roy, he had no money, so as an alternative, I—”

“Oh yeah? And why didn’t you report that, hmm?”

“Because I was technically not at work.”

“Meaning you were slacking on the job for that time, huh?”

Nicholas had grabbed Henry’s collar, and Henry steeled himself, certain he’d be hit.

However, no fists flew his way, and the hands abruptly lifted.

“Still, out of consideration for the guts you showed at the end there, I won’t slug you. That was really clever. The president’s a softy, after all. He’ll probably call it even for you after this.”

“R-really?”

On seeing how Henry looked, Nicholas furrowed his eyebrows again.

“What? Did you say it without knowing? ……I see.”

Gazing at Henry with eyes that seemed somehow pitying, he went back to his own post.

“Poor guy. Well, this’ll be a great opportunity for you to experience the risk the president was talking about. Get through the jaws of death and grow a ton as a person. Just be careful not to actually die.”

Left by himself, unable to understand what Nicholas meant, Henry began to feel uneasy.

What’s going to happen, exactly? Curses! This is why those without information are powerless!

Edith stepped into the Gandors’ office, prepared to die.

As she went down the stairs to the basement, she reflected on the idea that had brought her here.

No matter how she thought about it, the only people around her who might know about hitmen were the three Gandor brothers. It was no more than a possibility, but still, for now, it was the only lead she had.

However, if she was going to ask them, she’d probably have to tell them everything. They might fly into a rage and beat her to death on the spot, or maybe they’d wait until right after she’d rescued Roy and kill them both. Even so, as long as there was a chance, she had to cling to it.

Taking Roy and skipping town was also an option, but Roy probably wouldn’t let her abandon her friends and family. If she doggedly talked him around, he might agree to it, but after that, they’d both regret it for the rest of their lives.

Resolving to shield him from a rain of bullets with her own body if it came to that, Edith stepped off the last stair with the determination of someone jumping off a cliff.

“Oh, heeey. It’s Edith. C’mon iiin.”

The room was mostly empty, and she saw Tick at the table in the center. Who was the guy sitting on the other side? At the very least, he’d never stopped by the speakeasy.

When she looked, she saw that Tick and the guy had something spread out across the table.

A large quantity of new scissors, their sharp blades gleaming.

“Isn’t it great? We bought a lot. They cut really well.”

As he spoke, Tick smiled like a child.

The guy across from him had his palm spread flat across the tabletop, and:

Tunk. Tunk. Shunk. Tunk. Tunk, tunk, shunk, tunk, shunk-a-shunk-tak-shunk taktaktaktaktaktaktaktaktaktaktaktaktaktaktaktaktaktaktaktaktaktaktak!

He was jabbing the tips of the scissors into the spaces between his five fingers, rapidly traveling back and forth, rhythmically and powerfully. The speed grew faster and faster, until finally the scissors began to leave afterimages and it looked as though there were several pairs.

Not only that, but when she looked closer, she realized that every time the guy stabbed the scissors in, he was closing and opening the blades.

When the blades were open, the tips jabbed into two places, straddling one of his fingers, and as he raised them again, he closed the scissors.

One wrong move, and he might have lost a finger.

“Wow, that’s really, really cooool! Maybe I’ll try that…”

“I wouldn’t. If you cut yourself, it hurts. Bad.”

“Hmm, I wouldn’t like that. I know, I’ll try it with the hand of the next person I torture.”

As she listened to their conversation, a cold thread ran down her spine.

I might need to be prepared for more than just death…

For an instant, she came very close to hesitating, but it was already too late.

“Mr. Keith, Mr. Berga, Mr. Luck! Edith’s here!”

Just as Tick finished yelling, the three bosses appeared through a door at the back.

“Well, Edith. What brings you here? Oh, we’ve closed the speakeasy for a while, but you’ll be paid as usual—”

“No, Mr. Gandor, that isn’t it. That’s not it.”

There was no going back now. Intent on saving Roy, she took a step into hell.

“Mr. Gandor, I’ve…betrayed you.”

After hearing her whole confession, for a short while, the three of them looked grave. Then, after glancing at his older brothers, Luck spoke first.

“We understand what you’ve told us, Edith. Frankly, it’s a pity you weren’t able to trust us. Although it is a shame, at the moment, we don’t intend to do anything about Roy.”

At his answer, Edith’s face lit up.

“Do you mean it, sir?!”

“Well, he isn’t one of our comrades, and to be honest, we can’t insist that people we haven’t even met conform to our rules. And while it’s true we aren’t involved in the drug trade, that type of product hasn’t spread far enough among the outfits for a tacit understanding about their handling in the first place.”

When he’d said that much, Luck’s smile abruptly vanished.

“However, Edith. You are a problem. You knew drugs were against our rules, and yet you covered up the facts. Even if you’re only a speakeasy waitress, since you have aligned yourself with us, this was a definite act of betrayal.”

Oh… He’s right. I was prepared for this, but if they’re going to kill me, I wish they’d let me make sure Roy’s all right first.

“Now then, regarding your punishment… In all honesty, there’s no precedent for this. I’m not sure what to do… What do you think, Keith? Berga?”

Luck’s two brothers were standing beside him, and he looked to them for answers. However, Berga announced, “I dunno. Whaddaya wanna do?” and looked at Keith, while Keith played with his deck of cards and looked faintly troubled.

In the end, the three of them stepped away for a moment, discussing what to do in low voices.

“So what should we do?” asked Luck.

“Hell if I know,” Berga replied. “Whadda they usually do?”

“In Sicily, they occasionally kill people for adultery, but…this is different, isn’t it?”

“Like we could kill her for this, you moron?! Why not just call it good and let her off?”

“If we do that, we’ll lose face,” Luck insisted. “I know, I know, I think killing a woman over something like this is out of the question as well, but we have to do something. We need to come up with some sort of mild penalty.”

“Dock her pay for the month, maybe?” Berga offered.

“We aren’t a company.”

“Well then, what do we do? If she were a guy, I could slug ’im and bust all his teeth, and we’d be done.”

“Look, we can’t do that! Striking women is despicable.”

“I know that, dammit! So, fine, we just let her go. There’s nothing else to do.”

“But we need a reason of some sort… Agh, if we let her go, we’re bending the rules, but we mustn’t get violent, either.” Luck scratched his head.

“How ’bout giving her some kinda chance?”

“Chance?”

“Jorgi embezzled from us, and we gave him a ninety percent chance of surviving. Even if he did end up biting it.”

“Still, we can’t make her do Russian roulette…”

“……”

“Hey, how ’bout we have her draw one of Keith’s cards, and if she pulls the joker, she’s guilty?”

“That’s it! And we’ll take the joker out ahead of time!”

“……”

On hearing that, Keith looked a bit troubled again. He turned the stack of cards over and showed them the fronts.

“Whaaat?! They’re all jokers?!”

“I’ve been wondering about that; where do you buy things like this?!”

“Don’t tell me you bought fifty-two decks and picked out all the jokers, one by one! …Uh, Keith?”

“……”

“W-well, uh, how ’bout if she pulls a joker she’s innocent?!”

“That doesn’t make any sense!”

What sort of terrible things are they talking about? I wonder how they’re going to kill me…

As Edith watched the three brothers’ backs in a corner of the room, sweat started to break out on her own.

Tick and the other guy had been watching, and finally, as if they’d gotten sick of it, they made a move.

The mystery man had been juggling five pairs of scissors, but his hands abruptly stopped, and he whispered something in Tick’s ear. Snipping and snicking away with a pair of new scissors, Tick called to the three brothers in a lazy voice:

“Say, Edith did something bad, riiight?”

Hearing him, Luck turned around. He sounded perplexed:

“‘Something bad’… Yes, but it isn’t as though she’s broken the law. I supposed you could say she did something bad as far as the neighborhood is concerned.”

“Y’knooow, she’s got really long hair, doesn’t she?”

“Well, yes…?”

At that, Luck suddenly seemed to realize something. Tick was beaming, and his eyes looked almost abnormally innocent.

“Can I cut it?”

“I’ve been thinking this for a while now, but…”

As the sound of the scissors echoed, the young man who’d been juggling shears muttered something:

“Maybe you’ve made good a little, but deep down, you guys ain’t cut out to be mafia bosses. Seriously.”

A woman’s hair is her life. There’s no telling which era those words were originally from, but in any case, cutting a little of it settled the matter. It was so unexpectedly easy that all the strength went out of Edith’s body.

“Just so you’re aware, this is the last time we’ll let you off in exchange for your hair.”

At first, someone had suggested shaving her bald, but since that wasn’t possible with scissors, they’d cut off about half of it and called it good.

Tick was rather clever with scissors, and her hair actually looked better than it had before.

“…Thaaat’s a wrap, folks.”

Tick spoke in a pleasant-sounding voice, closing the scissors with a snick.

With that sound as the signal, the curtain fell on this spectatorless farce.

“All right. Returning to the original subject, then: What sort of information did the information broker want? It was something only people like us would know, correct?”

He was right. She’d still only cleared the first hurdle. If it turned out that the brothers didn’t know anything about Vino, all her determination would come to nothing.

Feeling as if she was praying, she forced the name to materialize from the depths of her throat.

“I, um, actually, I’m looking for a hitman named Vino!”

Just as she finished the yell, the guy who’d been attempting to juggle twenty pairs of scissors at the back of the room turned around.

“…You rang?”

Around the time the sun began to set, two shadows arrived at the second Genoard residence.

After they’d rung the bell several times, an elderly gentleman appeared from behind the palatial door.

“Ah. I don’t believe I have the pleasure of your acquaintance. Might I inquire…?”

In response to Benjamin’s puzzled question, the two young men—one Asian, one Irish—smiled agreeably.

“Erm, this is the Genoard residence, isn’t it?” asked the Irishman. “We have an introduction from Gregoire, the cook…”

“We came to make meals for you, that sort of thing,” the Asian visitor offered politely.

“Oh, you’re the…! Yes, yes, please, do come in.”

Obediently following the butler’s instructions, they stepped into the luxuriously decorated interior.

“It’s a butler.”

“Yeah, a textbook butler. So textbook it’s a shame he doesn’t have whiskers.”

As they conversed in low voices, the two trailed after the aged servant.

The Asian cook was Fang Lin-Shan. The Irish bartender was Jon Panel.

Up until yesterday, both had worked aboard the Flying Pussyfoot, a transcontinental limited express. However, because of a certain incident, the dining car had been scrapped, along with the rest of the train.

At that juncture, they’d found a temporary employer through Gregoire, the dining car’s former head cook. The initial contract was only for the first part of January, but if they made a good impression, they might be given work at the main residence in New Jersey.

With those particulars pushing them, the two were headed into this job with definite willpower. First, they’d display their skills at dinner tonight. The impression they created with how delicious—or unappetizing—a meal they managed to make with the ingredients provided would no doubt make a world of difference.

They followed the butler, envisioning all sorts of situations, and before long, they arrived at a large door on the second floor.

“Miss, miss! The kitchen staff have arrived! Please come and greet them personally—”

But there was no response.

“Miss?”

The servant hesitated, wondering whether he should open the door. If she was only sleeping, it would be a terribly improper action for a butler to undertake.

As he was worrying over what to do, Samantha, who happened to be passing by, unceremoniously pushed the door open.

“Missy Eve, c’mon and git some yummy grub.”

Samantha went into the room with no hesitation…but Eve wasn’t there.

Having registered this fact, the butler ran in as well, not caring that the room belonged to his mistress.

“M-miss?!”

He shouted in spite of himself, but there was no answer from inside the room.

The window on the far wall was wide open, its curtains flapping.

When Samantha and the butler hastily stuck their heads out, they saw a large ladder set underneath it.

“What’s this?”

Fang, who’d entered after them, picked up a letter that was lying on the desk.

“L-let me see that!”

Snatching the letter away from him, the butler skimmed its contents with bloodshot eyes.

It held an apology for going out without permission and expressions of gratitude to Benjamin and Samantha for several things. Then, upon discovering a line that read, If I haven’t returned in three days, he looked up, without reading any further.

“Miss… You can’t possibly have…?”

“Oh, miss… How terribly reckless!”

Benjamin was on the sofa, his head bowed low.

Samantha’s response, however, was unflappable: “Watchoo stressin’ fah? Missy Eve ain’t a little ’un no more. She’ll be jest fine.”

“How could I possibly not worry now?! Samantha! How can you be so calm about—?”

His howl broke off abruptly as he looked up. Samantha had put on her good walking shoes and was all ready to go out. “Where are you heading off to?” he clucked.

Jon and Fang, beside her, were also headed out the door.

“First that business on the train, and now this. It’s been a really noisy New Year’s,” Jon complained.

“No help for that,” Fang replied coolly. “If the guest of honor isn’t here, there’s clearly no point in cooking.”

Looking mystified, Samantha spoke to the butler, who was gaping at the three of them.

“We’re goin’ ta hunt around for Missy Eve, natch. Are you not comin’ or somesuch?”

After a moment’s silence, as if to rebuke himself for his foolishness, the butler shouted:

“Of course I am coming! Obviously!”

“By the by, what’s that black carry y’all got in yer paw?”

Samantha was eyeing the bag Fang was holding with his right hand, and he answered, albeit awkwardly:

“This. Right. My sister gave it to me to hang on to today. She said she wanted to leave it somewhere secure, so I thought I’d ask if I could put it in your safe, but now isn’t the time for that.”

“Yeah, apparently it’s full of a dangerous drug some corporation uses in their development processes, so she wanted to give it to somebody trustworthy.”

On hearing that, Samantha thumped her chest, reliably:

“If’n that’s so, then you jes’ leave it with the feller we’re gonna go see! It’s a big ol’ company, and it’ll be worlds safer than t’would be ’round here!”

That night, when Henry had finished his work and was preparing to go home, a figure appeared beside him.

“Hmm? Ah, if it isn’t Miss Edith. What did you need?”

Hmph. I expect she’s realized her own powerlessness and has come to throw herself on my mercy. As if that would work.

“Henry, do you remember what you told me? You said information was power, and if I wanted it, I’d need power that could compensate for it.”

“Yes, and that is indeed the case. Well? Did you find that power?”

“I don’t have wealth or authority, but…apparently, my personal connections are good beyond belief.”

“Pardon?”

In that instant, someone flung their arm over Henry’s shoulder.

“Evening.”

When Henry turned his head toward the voice, a young fellow was standing there. Well, he thought “young,” but the other guy seemed to be in his early twenties; he was probably the same age as Henry, or maybe a year older.

“E-ve-nin-g.”

The newcomer repeated the word, very deliberately, then shot Henry a cold glare.

“For somebody who wanted to see me, you sure aren’t very friendly.”

…Could it be…? —It can’t be!

“I hear you want to ask me about the train.”

Claire started out the door, dragging Henry with him.

“In that case, let’s go catch a night train. Find out what the guys who got killed were feeling through an in-person simulation. Get a good, solid feel for power.”

Henry wanted to struggle, but his arms and legs wouldn’t obey him. It felt as though a wild beast were roaring at him from point-blank range.

“You can pay in terror.”

“This is the address of the mansion where Miss Eve Genoard is currently living. We’ll figure out the rest; for now, Miss Edith, take your friend and lie low at the Gandors’ office or some similar location. We’ll settle the matter with the Runorata Family inside a week.”

At the newspaper offices, after Henry had been dragged away, Nicholas was explaining to the three Gandor brothers and Edith what would happen next.

“The president told me about your situation, Keith, Berga, Luck. We’ll communicate Gustavo’s movements to you as soon as we know what they are, so please wait in your office or at home.”

Nicholas was wearing his customer service smile, but his eyes were completely serious.

After everyone had gone, Elean spoke to him cheerfully.

“Good work there. You’re really enthusiastic about this, aren’t you? Even though we’ve been so busy lately…”

“Yes, dammit. As an information broker, I like staying as neutral as possible. I don’t want to get any more involved in this incident. This is it.”

“I see. By the way, what happened to that bag?”

“It’s on the move, apparently. Lia Lin-Shan’s brother took the black bag and went out. No one’s reported its destination yet, but we should be hearing about it any minute.”

Just then, the door to the newspaper offices opened, and a group of varied ages, genders, and races entered.

“Elean! I gots a lil’ favor to ask ya!”

The plump black lady held out her right hand. There was a single piece of luggage hanging from it.

When he saw that black bag, Elean murmured quietly:

“It looks like objectivity isn’t an option anymore.”

“…Gimme a break.”

“Hold it. Did you say Vino?”

In a hotel room, Gustavo gave a wild cry.

“Yes. That’s right, Mr. Gustavo.”

“You mean the one-man-Western fella who says he’s freelance, in this day and age?”

“He isn’t a gunslinger or anything, but yes.”

“You’re saying the Gandors hired him?”

With an expression that seemed to say he couldn’t believe it, he stubbed the cigar he’d been smoking into an ashtray.

“The thugs all over town are talking about it. The fellas from the big outfits that were here a little while back, too. They said, ‘Well, that’s it for you guys. Once that monster’s on his tail, Gustavo won’t last three days.’ They were, uh, feeling sorry for us.”

“Screw those jokers!”

He was bluffing with both his body and his voice, but privately, he was filled with real fear.

Vino. That terrifying hitman? What was he doing with a puny outfit like that? Gustavo had heard that his boss, Bartolo, had hired him just once. They said he’d taken out the executives of several opposing syndicates in Newark in a single night. He’d also heard he’d been paid an enormous reward; did the Gandors have that kind of money?

“This isn’t good, Mr. Gustavo. Several of the men are starting to get jumpy.”

“Dammit, dammit, damn him! Send out our hitmen! Clip him before he clips us!”

“We can’t. All our cleaners work directly under Don Bartolo. If we’re going to borrow them, it would be faster to borrow some explosives.”

“Then use freelancers or mercenaries! Anything! Find them! Get me people who won’t piss themselves when they hear that name! If they rub him out, their rep in the underworld will shoot sky-high; there must be tons of guys who want that! Find me gonzo hatchet men like that! While you’re at it, set bounties on the Gandor bosses’ heads! Right now, do it now!”

“‘Their rep will shoot sky-high’? Sure, maybe if this really were the Wild West. Mr. Gustavo’s finally lost it.”

Even as Gustavo’s men grumbled, they reluctantly obeyed his orders.

And so the rumor about Vino became solid information.

That information spread quietly—and steadily—through the underworld.

I managed to get out of the house, but how am I going to find the Gandors?

Eve had chosen clothes that were easy to move in before she left, but even so, they exuded an air of luxury, and they were catching the attention of the people around her right and left.

Although the sun was long down, the neighborhood of Grand Central Station was just as crowded and raucous as it had been in the daytime.

It’s probably best to ask the people at that information brokerage.

On that thought, she tried to hail a taxi and head for Chinatown, but—

“’Scuse me. Are you Eve Genoard?”

Hearing a voice behind her, she turned. A timid-looking young man stood there. He couldn’t have been called well-dressed by any standard, and when he stood next to Eve, the contrast was almost comical.

Although she felt a little bewildered, Eve nodded.

“I’m, uh, my name’s Roy. Roy Maddock. Erm, there was something I wanted to ask you about, and, um, that’s why I stopped you… Is that okay?”

“Me? What could it be?”

“Well, it’s about your family.”

Immediately, the girl’s expression changed.

Yesss! That reaction has to mean I nailed it. Now I just need to threaten or sweet-talk her, get her under my control somehow. Then I’ll use the kid as a shield and threaten the Runoratas. If I do that—if I do that, Edith and I will both be saved! Waiting for this girl to be on her own for days on end was worth it!

Feeling certain of this, Roy grew just a little bolder as he faced Eve. In an attempt to get the advantage, he tried to use his most threatening voice, but…

“As a matter of fact, see, I know your family’s secret.”

The instant after he delivered the sort of line a two-bit punk would say, Roy was taken aback by an unexpected development.

“Oh! Are you a member of the Gandors?!”

“Huh?”

“Please! Take me—take me to your leader!”

She’d cried out abruptly in firm tones, and it overwhelmed him. Roy’s thoughts were thrown into complete confusion.

Why had the Gandors’ name suddenly come up here?

Could he still be in the middle of some drug-induced delusion?

Struck by this surreal feeling, all Roy could do was stand there, looking rattled.

Not good, Edith. Edith, what do I do…?

“It’s a lie! It can’t be—my grandfather and father can’t have done a thing like that! They can’t…!”

“Please, I’m begging you, please calm down.”

Eve had gotten all worked up, and Roy—who also looked as if he was about to cry—was desperately trying to soothe her.

He’d taken her to a nearby restaurant and, to start with, had explained his own situation. Apparently, this girl didn’t know anything, and all she’d done was frantically plead her family’s innocence. If she didn’t know, he’d have to keep her in custody and trick the Runoratas.

Looking at the girl, whose shoulders were quivering and whose eyes were swimming with tears, Roy knew that he was absolutely hopeless scum. There’d been no need to go out of his way to report her past, but he’d told her and had plunged a little girl—who, unlike him, had both hopes and a future—into the depths of unhappiness. Hadn’t there been a better way to tell her? If he’d been clever about it, couldn’t he have tricked her all the way to the end, so that they were both happy when they parted ways?

However, Roy’s brain just didn’t seem capable of finding that method.

It’s the drugs. It has to be because I did too many drugs. It all felt so great; it was like my brain was melting, so I bet it actually did melt. A weird liquid came out of my ears that one time. I guess that was my brain. Dammit, dammit, dammit, if I’ve gotten this dumb, will I really be able to run away with Edith? Dammit, dammit, dammit, no wonder she called me an idiot hundreds and hundreds of times. I really am an idiot.

As impatience and annoyance with himself swirled and coiled, Roy desperately kept trying to calm the girl before him.

However, there was something he’d kept to himself, just one thing he hadn’t told her about.

It was the fact that her father and oldest brother had been killed by the Runorata Family. At first, he’d planned to tell her only that they’d been cooperating with the Runoratas. If she had refused to help him, then he would have told her, in order to plant a hatred of the Runoratas in her. But now he was really glad he hadn’t done it.

However, if he let slip the secret, she might help him.

But I’d hate that. If I did that, I’d be way worse than just a dope addict. How am I supposed to tell her a thing like that when I’m sober? The only way anybody could do that is if they were gowed-up on drugs, or an actual devil.

After about an hour, Eve finally calmed down.

As she regained her composure, she spoke to Roy, her eyes uneasy. “I’m sorry for having gotten upset.”

“Huh? Oh, uh, yeah. Sorry. Forget what I just said, if you can. Oh, but, no, if you do that, I’ll die. What do I do…?”

Roy was startled by the difference between now and a few moments before, but he struggled to calm down.

“May I ask you something?”

“What?”

“My father and older brother passed away in an accident a little while ago. Um, could that have been—?”

“No, no way! I, uh, don’t think so. See, the guy at the information brokerage said they’d taken advantage of their accidental deaths to take over!”

“Did they…?”

The expression of relief that appeared on the girl’s face plunged him into self-loathing again.

He’d lied.

But he had the feeling that he mustn’t sacrifice any more of this girl’s future.

For that matter, using her name and threatening the Runoratas would also be stealing her future.

If things went wrong—or no, even if they went right for him—she would probably be killed.

In that case, the Runoratas’ weakness will be gone, and my friends and family will get—

…Huh?

It finally hit him: He’d never had a shot at a complete win with this strategy in the first place.

That information-selling bastard…!

Just as hopeless anger welled up inside him, Eve abruptly said to him:

“I accept your offer.”

“Huh?”

“In exchange, I have a favor to ask.”

On hearing the word favor, Roy’s vision went dark. However, he knew with certainty that he couldn’t afford to turn her down at this point.

“Please take me to the Gandors, right away.”

“See? This is the Gandors’ office.”

In an alley just off Mulberry Street, Eve and Roy were standing in front of a posted paper sign that read TEMPORARILY CLOSED FOR REMODELING.

Edith had taken him to this jazz hall several times, and he knew the Gandors’ office was in the basement.

“I can’t afford to run into them, so go on in by yourself. I’ll wait for you here.”

“All right. Um, thank you very much.”

“Nah, none of that. Please don’t say stuff like that to me.”

He shook his head, looking seriously wretched.

Just then:

Creeeak…

The door with the sign suddenly opened, and the sound of creaking metal fittings echoed in the alley.

Roy and Eve were so startled their hearts nearly stopped. Slowly, they turned to look at the door.

“Oh. Did you need something? I’m sorry. Unfortunately, it looks as though Tick’s the only one here at the moment.”

A beautiful woman who was nearing thirty stood there. She was slender, with short golden hair. Her transparent skin made her look rather like a doll, and she seemed fragile, as though she might break if you hugged her hard.

She appeared to be smiling faintly, but she didn’t seem like a very expressive person.

“U-uh, we wanted to meet Mr. Gandor, so we, um…”

“There are three people named Gandor here. Five, if you count me and my sister-in-law.”

Bewildered by what this elegant woman had said, both Roy and Eve asked:

“Um, who are you?”

The woman answered quietly.

“My name is Kate. I am the wife of the oldest brother…Keith Gandor.”

When Keith and the others returned to the office, Tick was by himself, cutting intricate pictures out of paper.

“Ah, welcome baaack.”

Unfolding a picture of a tommy gun that he’d snipped out with his scissors, he told Keith about the guest.

“Listen, a minute ago, Miz Kate stopped by. When I said you were out, she went back home.”

On hearing that, Keith’s eyebrows twitched.

“Oh, you did say you’d go home for a bit today, didn’t you?”

“Hey, weren’t you too busy at work to spend last New Year’s with her, too?”

“……”

Shaking his head slightly, Keith hung his coat and hat on the wall.

Apparently, he wouldn’t be able to make it home tonight, either.

“Well, I suppose this really isn’t the time for that.”

“Claire’s sure taking his sweet time. Don’t tell me he actually hopped a night train…”

“This is Claire. It’s possible.”

“Come to think of it, he was weirdly gung-ho about that. Said he had something to ask the information broker, too.”

Claire was generally pretty detached, but this time, his face had clearly shone. It was the way he looked when he’d hit on a fun idea.

“Ah, you know, he was saying something about the girl he’d proposed to. It’s probably that, isn’t it?”

“Okay. Got anything else you want to ask?”

Claire sat down on the roof of the night train, addressing Henry, who lay flat on his back beside him.

Henry’s face had gone a sickly white, and his wide-open eyes were cloudy, like the eyes of a dead fish.

“If not, then it’s my turn. You’re giving that Edith woman information, so I think you should slip that much info my way, too. That okay?”

In response to Claire’s question, Henry nodded several times. He looked exhausted.

“Props for not having passed out yet. I guess you’ve got a bit of a spine. So, about those questions. One is, I want the lowdown about a certain girl. The other is—”

On top of the moving train, Claire told him about the information he wanted, eyes wide and cheerful.

“Is that for real?”

Late at night on New Year’s Day, in the same hotel room, Gustavo was grilling a subordinate.

“There’s no doubt about it. That Roy guy made contact with Eve Genoard, then took her to the Gandors’ office. We thought we’d nab ’em there, but a dame came out of the office, and they got into her car and left. We had several guys following them in another car, but they went into a house outside the territory.”

“You blockhead! Why didn’t you plug ’im when he went onto the Gandors’ turf?!”

“I’m really sorry, sir. We thought it would be better to see where they went.”

“Hah! And if they’d given us the slip, that’d be it! If we’re just gonna ice the guy, who gives a rip about what’s in the background?!”

“B-besides, Mr. Begg said to take him alive.”

At the mention of Begg’s name, Gustavo’s face turned bright red.

“Nobody cares what that formaldehyde-pickled bastard said! Right? Who’s your boss, huh?! Go on, say it! Say it right now!”

“Well, Mr. Bartolo Runorata, of course.”

“Rgkh?!”

The man’s unexpected counterattack left Gustavo at a loss for words. He’d expected to hear his own name, but getting Bartolo’s instead was a problem. A number of his subordinates were in the room—if he flew into a rage over this, they might see it as disloyalty toward the Don.

“…That’s right. And Don Runorata left this territory to me. That means my orders are absolute!”

I dodged that one well. That was what he thought, but to the people around him, it had only sounded like a lame excuse.

“I…don’t…know…about…that.”

Begg, who’d apparently come in at some point, snorted at Gustavo’s yell.

“Why, you…”

“Bartolo…left…everything…about…the…drugs…under…m-my…control. In other…words, my…orders…regarding…the…drugs…are…also…abso…lute.”

Begg chuckled, and Gustavo clicked his tongue, sending a sharp glare his way. “Don’t think things are gonna go your way forever.”

His eyes held a fierce light, one that could have been either hatred or murderous intent.

“Nothing…has…ever…gone…my…way. All…right: Do…take…him…alive, if you…would.”

As if he had nothing else in particular to say, Begg headed for the door.

“Oh, yes. ‘Formal…dehyde…pickled…bastard…was…good. Considering…I don’t rot, it’s…fairly…accurate.”

Keith, the oldest Gandor, lived in a detached house in West Manhattan, on the edge of Hell’s Kitchen. Up until the previous year, he’d lived with his brothers in several rented rooms in a nearby tenement, but when Berga had gotten married, they’d each moved into places of their own. At present, only Luck was still living in the old apartment.

“Please, do help yourselves. I was planning to eat with my husband, but really, it sounds as though he’s too busy to make it.”

“I, uh, I will. Thanks.”

Roy, who hadn’t had a decent meal in several days, started to shovel what was probably a New Year’s celebration dinner into his mouth.

The spread included fish amandine, spicy Italian seasonings, and lamb steak so tender it could be bitten through easily. Although Eve held back at first, even she gradually began to reach for things all over the table.

“…It’s delicious.”

Eve, who’d been silent until then, murmured her thoughts aloud. It was a pure comment she made, with no falsehood about it, but her overall feelings were rather more complicated.

Kate, the woman in front of her, really didn’t look like the wife of a mafia boss. However, if the lady said she was, there was no help for it. It was likely—no, almost certain—that she was related to the people who’d killed Eve’s brother Dallas. Eve really had no idea how she should act in her presence.

“That’s wonderful. I wouldn’t have known what to do if you hadn’t liked it.”

Kate smiled softly. It was a kind expression, but there was something ethereal about the woman, a misty sort of atmosphere.

“By the way, about what we were discussing earlier…”

To disguise her conflicted feelings, Eve attempted to move the conversation forward. She’d been asking about Keith and the others a few moments ago, and apparently, Keith had had plans to celebrate the New Year here, in this house. However, something sudden had come up, and he hadn’t been able to return home.

“Um, do you know when we might be able to meet him?”

“Let’s see. Things always do seem to come up abruptly for him, so… He’s dealing with a little trouble right now, but once that’s over, he should make it home every day.”

“There’s trouble?”

“I don’t know much about it, either. He never talks about his work at home… And I think, because of that, he’s trying not to come back any more than he has to, right now.”

When Kate talked about her absent husband, her voice held a mixture of happiness and loneliness.

“Um… He is a mafia professional, isn’t he?”

Splurt. On hearing what Eve said, Roy spit out a little black tea.

“E-Eve. You can’t just say stuff like—”

“Hmm? But…”

As Kate watched their exchange, she only smiled quietly. “Yes. Although officially, he manages a jazz hall.”

Maybe she’d taken a liking to the pair, because Kate began to tell them just a little about her husband’s work:

“His father was the one who started the organization. The father was a member of another syndicate, and the boss of that syndicate abruptly said he’d cede some territory to one of his executives. It was a rather suspicious offer, but the executive—my husband’s father—accepted gladly. Then, immediately afterward, he got pulled into a tremendous dispute, and before he knew what was happening, the territory shrank. That territory was right on the border of other, larger syndicates that were jostling each other, you see. The former boss knew it was going to happen, but for appearances’ sake, he couldn’t simply run, so he gave the territory to my husband’s father, who knew nothing about it. He just took the money he’d earned up to that point and made his getaway… Apparently, that’s how it went.”

After Roy and Eve had finished eating, as she cleared away the dishes, she spoke almost as if she were telling them about her own memories.

“Still, even if it was small, it’s amazing that he managed to preserve the organization at all under those circumstances. From what I hear, Keith’s father was an old-fashioned sort, and he said, ‘I can’t lose the outfit my boss gave me.’ In the end, the strain of worrying took its toll on him, and he died young, but the brothers took up his cause, and they’re still protecting that area together. That’s what he told me. So you see, even now, they’re constantly having trouble. Even I have almost been killed twice.”

“Why did you marry someone that dangerous?”

She knew it was a rude question, but she couldn’t help it; she had to ask. Kate’s bearing also made it seem as though Eve would be forgiven even if she did ask.

Having carried most of the dishes to the kitchen, Kate sat down at a small organ in a corner of the room.

Then, after she’d gazed at the pair’s faces for a short while, her slim fingers began to glide over the keys.

The sounds that echoed from the organ accurately reflected Roy’s and Eve’s hearts.

At first, the melody seemed to symbolize unease and doubt, but as they listened to it and changed from it, it gradually transformed along with them.

The performance lasted about five minutes. During that time, Roy’s and Eve’s fears were neatly wiped away, and the end of the melody impressed them with its truly pretty harmony.

As the recital ended, they both applauded involuntarily.

“Awesome, seriously, that was great.”

“You weren’t looking at any sheet music… Did you improvise that?”

In response to Eve’s question, the woman nodded. Her expression hadn’t changed.

In 1927, the world’s movie market was monopolized by silent films.

These comedies and tragedies were shown without audio, and organ accompanists hired by the movie theaters played melodies to go with them, sometimes using sheet music, sometimes improvising to suit the images. At the time, this was mainstream.

As an organ player employed by a major movie theater, Kate had improvised all sorts of music, sometimes matching the type of audience or the day’s weather, providing the best possible melody for each situation.

However, that year, the silent-movie era came to an end.

The cause was Vitaphone, a recording system developed by a major movie company: in other words, the appearance of “talkies.” The system had been created the year before, and starting with Don Juan, it was made more practical, little by little, until finally it sparked a revolution for the movie industry.

That year, the world’s first feature-length talking movie, The Jazz Singer, opened and became news all across America. The movie theater that employed Kate decided to show it as well, and it caused such a commotion that there were lines for several days before the screening.

Kate was there, too, in the milling crowd.

It wasn’t because she was looking forward to the talkie system or to the songs from the film’s lead, Al Jolson. It was because, if these talkies became popular, she and others like her would lose their jobs.

Kate thought that in the end, recorded music wouldn’t be able to hold a candle to live sound. She thought it could never beat the sound of their performances. She went to the theater to scoff at it, to clear away her own unease.

She took a seat and quietly waited for the movie to begin.

Ordinarily, someone would have been seated at the organ, but now there was a black cloth draped over it.

No matter what sort of songs they were, no matter what sort of music it was, they absolutely couldn’t lose. They couldn’t afford to.

If the music in this film was truly wonderful, she’d make music that was even better.

Then the movie began.

What sort of music would play? Would it begin with a song instead?

However, even when the picture started to move, there was absolutely no sound.

Had there been a malfunction? The moment she thought this, the lead actor, Al Jolson, appeared onscreen.

So it would be a song. As Kate listened closely, with undisguised hostility, the first sound echoed through the theater.

It came from the audience on the screen…and it was the noise of a storm of applause.

The next thing she knew, Kate was crying.

They got us.

It was a sound she’d never expected. She could have called it an attention-grabbing stunt, and that might have been all it was. However, Kate knew: This was a sound she and the others couldn’t make. The self that had thought her songs and music could win, and the self that had been planning to scoff, seemed hopelessly petty to her. She even felt they had been insulting to other accompanists.

“Wait a minute, wait a minute—”

As the first tears fell from the corners of her eyes, the first lines played, as spoken audio.

Those lines, which would become famous around the world, shattered her heart.

“You ain’t heard nothin’ yet.”

She didn’t remember much of what happened after that. Lots of the subsequent lines were written intertitles, anyway, but as far as Kate was concerned, this was trivial, and the audience seemed moved by Jolson’s songs.

Afterward, movie theaters across the country scrambled to show—and keep on showing—movies with the talkie system, and films that had been created to be silent were hastily converted into talking movies.

Like the others, she wound up unemployed, and she drifted through various jobs.

One day, a strange man approached her.

He didn’t say anything, and his bearing marked him as someone who was clearly not an honest citizen.

At first, she had no idea what he wanted to say, but then, quietly, he spoke.

“What movie theater do I need to go to, to hear you play now? At the movies they show these days, you can’t see the performers’ faces, so I can’t tell who’s who.”

Initially, she thought he was teasing her, but this odd man said he’d always come to the theater because he’d wanted to hear her play.

He said nothing else, staying thoroughly reticent.

Before long, she found out that he was one of the Gandor Family’s bosses, and she gradually started to take an interest in the way he lived.

As Kate learned about this man called Keith and the world he inhabited, she began to think she’d like to play music for him.

After all, he was practically a silent movie himself.

When the conversation turned to Keith, Kate grew talkative. In contrast, she didn’t want to say much about herself.

The recital had been designed to dodge Eve’s question, and apparently, it had distracted them nicely.

The young girl who’d said, I want to speak with the Gandor boss, and the man who’d brought her, saying, I don’t want to meet them, or, uh, actually, I really can’t.

To Kate, they both looked as if they were dealing with special circumstances of some sort. Eve’s thoughts seemed to hold a mixture of hope and unease. The feelings in Roy’s expression were complicated: It was as though he was afraid of something but still had a task to accomplish.

The only thing she was sure of was that neither was a bad person. As far as she was concerned, that was enough, and there was no need to probe further.

“Will the two of you be going home now?”

At that question, the pair looked at each other. Roy didn’t think Edith would be looking for him, and he had no place to go home to anymore. For Eve’s part, she knew that if she went home now, they’d probably never let her outside again.

Seeing their faces, Kate smiled gently.

“You can stay the night. Try stopping by the office again tomorrow evening.”

The newspaper offices, late at night.

Nicholas was sitting in the chief editor’s chair, smoking a cigarette and quietly staring into space.

How many years has it been since I took this job?

Nicholas had originally belonged to the military’s intelligence division, but he’d left the army, joined this newspaper, and risen rapidly to his current position. He’d taught the company’s Asian employees how to handle guns and had built up the information brokerage’s military might until it equaled the power of the surrounding syndicates.

Not yet. Something’s still missing.

As long as he was in the business of selling information, no matter how well he fortified himself with equipment, he could never be free of the anxiety that preyed on him. That was what it meant to be an information broker.

Handling information meant simultaneously being forced to dance by that information. Nicholas’s experiences in the intelligence division had fixed that fact all too firmly in his mind.

Sure, information is power. It’s not power anyone can monopolize, though. It’s just like the weather: You can predict it, but you can’t control it. If Henry would just figure that out…

As he was thinking these things, the door to the editorial department crept open.

“Henry!”

From beyond the door, a young man with a bloodless complexion appeared.

“Hey, buddy, stay with me. You alive?”

The man was on the verge of toppling over, and Nicholas hastily caught him in his arms; Henry’s eyes were wide open, and his whole body was trembling.

It was as if something were rampaging around in the cores of his bones. His eyes were unfocused, and the only sound that struck Nicholas’s ears was his harsh breathing.

“Dammit… Vino, you bastard. That was going way too far.”

Complaining to someone in absentia, he checked to make sure Henry’s life wasn’t in danger.

“I hope you’ve wised up a bit, after getting into a scrape that ugly.”

Even as Henry heard his voice, his consciousness was thinning rapidly.

However, just before he passed out, his lips opened slightly. Possibly because his mind was cloudy, the words he murmured under his breath sounded delirious.

“I’m the one who got this news…… This information…this power…is mine…”

Henry went quiet after that. Peering into his face, Nicholas muttered, “For the love of… See, this is why selling information isn’t decent work.”