Baccano! - Volume 4 - Chapter 8

COLLAPSE

January 2, 1932 Noon The speakeasy Alveare

The unlicensed bar run by the Martillo Family.

During the day, it was transformed into a lunch hall where the syndicate members gathered, and lots of executives and rank-and-file members were there today as well.

Intending to fill his belly before he opened his illegal casino, Firo Prochainezo went in through the thick door.

Once he was inside, the sight in front of him was a bit different than usual.

The round tables that should have been in the center of the room had been pushed to the side, creating a large open space in the middle.

“…What’re you doing?”

A man in a tuxedo and a woman in a dress were there, on their knees, lining something up on the floor for dear life.

“Shh! Softly, softly! They’ll fall!”

“Yes, they’ll fall!”

“Huh?”

The objects they were setting up on the floor were thin and rectangular. They looked like flattened mahjong tiles, but with dicelike dot patterns on the wide sides. When he saw that, Firo finally realized what they were. He remembered they’d bought the things at the general store the other day and that there’d been a mountain of them in Ennis’s car.

“Huh. Domino tiles. Why are you lining them up on the floor?”

Firo watched them curiously, but the pair—Isaac Dian and Miria Harvent—kept setting up tiles, seemingly unconcerned. The two were Firo’s friends, and they’d been freeloading at the speakeasy for the past few days.

“To knock them down, I suppose,” Isaac pontificated.

“Yes, to knock them over!” Miria added.

“Huh?” Firo had no idea what was going on. “Why would you line them up just to knock them down? What’s the point?”

“That’s a tough question. If I had to say, it’s because the dominos are there!”

“We’re dominers! Dominists!”

“Don’t talk like a mountaineer. Maiza, what are they doing with those things?”

A bespectacled man seated at the counter answered Firo’s question: “It’s a game that’s popular among children. They often play it when they don’t understand the rules of dominos.”

“Oh, I see… Except, um, you guys are in the way.”

Firo just wanted to eat lunch, and he didn’t care about this either way. The seats at the counter were already full, so, with no help for it, he decided to head for a table in the rear… However.

“Huh? Hey, the dominos go all the way to the back.”

In the back, around the corner of the counter, several people were already crouched down.

“Pezzo and Randy, you, too? Seriously, what are you doing?”

“Well, see, we knocked a few over, and it turns out it’s fun.”

“I did this all the time when I was a kid.”

Behind the two executives, two women were lining up dominos, their faces serious.

“Lia and Ennis!”

“This is fun.”

“Oh, Firo. Won’t you come help?”

There were lots of little white headstones farther back, already lined up, creating a geometric pattern on the floor.

“I came to eat…”

“Firo. You’re in the way.”

“If you’re not gonna help, then move it.”

When he looked to the side, even two of the upper-level executives had joined in.

“Ronny, Yaguruma…”

“I tell you what, when I was a boy, I did this with shogi tiles all the time. It’ll improve your concentration. C’mon, you try it, too. Think of it as training.”

“No way. If any of the guys from the other syndicates see us like this, we’re through.”

Appalled, Firo covered his face with a hand. Ronny, who was lining up dominos with abnormal rapidity, said to him:

“It’s all right. If that happens, I’ll get rid of them.”

“Please don’t say scary stuff with such a serious face.”

Should he consider this situation pathetic, or be happy that the days were so peaceful? Firo’s head started to ache, and he decided to keep waiting for a counter seat to open up.

“By the way, that pattern’s unbelievable. Who designed it? It can’t have been Isaac and Miria.”

At that, the eyes of everyone in the place went to one man.

“…I like this sort of thing.”

“Maizaaaaaaa!”

At the same time

“You’re sure about that?”

Gustavo, his face expressionless, was confirming a report from one of his men.

“Yes, it was the same bag, no question. When we got up close, it had the scratches we used to mark it, in the exact same spots.”

“I see.”

Saying nothing more, Gustavo leaned back in his chair and drew a deep breath.

Last night, after Roy had started to act, one of his subordinates had checked out the house he’d been watching, just in case. Then, a short while after Roy had made his move, an Asian and a white guy had visited the house. He’d seen that they had the black bag, so he’d stayed there and watched for a while.

After that, a group led by a fat black woman had appeared from the gate, and the woman had been carrying a familiar black bag in her right hand.

The group’s destination had been even stranger.

He’d followed them and had ended up…at the information brokerage, the Daily Days newspaper.

Since then, they hadn’t left the building.

“What the hell is going on?”

The house Roy had been watching was the Genoard family’s second residence.

Then he’d made contact with the Genoards’ daughter, Eve. Not only that, but since he’d been watching the place, it had been inevitable, not a coincidence.

Roy was after the Genoards’ daughter. If there was a possibility, it was that the girl knew about the Genoards’ shadow business, and he was planning to use that in an attempt to cut a deal with them.

…But Roy shouldn’t have known about the Genoards. He really couldn’t imagine that a mere dope-addicted punk would know something like that.

Technically, the trail should have gone cold, but when he thought of what had happened afterward, all the pieces fell into place.

The woman who’d come out of the Genoard house had taken the black bag to the info dealers’.

Then, after making contact, Eve and Roy had headed for the Gandors’ hideout.

Wouldja look at that. It’s simple. It’s real damn simple.

Gustavo picked up a marble ashtray, held it in both hands, and twisted it to pieces.

Crushing the shards of granite that crumbled off the broken edges in his fist, Gustavo murmured softly, his expression calm:

“Gandors, information broker, Roy, Genoards.”

He was a fighter, and as his eyes returned to what they’d been in his prime, he slowly got up from his chair.

“So they were all in cahoots, huh?”

“And? Are they here? The freelance hatchet men.”

“Y-yessir. They’re all in the same room.”

Cringing, one of Gustavo’s subordinates answered him. The man was clearly different from who he’d been yesterday; he had an air about him similar to when he clawed his way up to become a Runorata executive under his own steam. If anyone ticked him off now, they’d probably get their neck broken on the spot.

“The same room? Are people who’d let the other guys see their faces gonna be any good in a fight?”

“I think it means they’re just that confident. Our fellas are in there, too, to make sure they don’t take each other out.”

“I see.”

Without any particularly strong feelings, he threw open the door to the room.

“Hello!” called a friendly female voice. “You must be the boss, huh, amigo?!”

“……”

No sooner had the door opened than Gustavo heard a young woman’s lively welcome.

A smiling brown-skinned woman was resting her elbows on the table in the center of the room. The word artless suited that smile very well, and she might actually have been under twenty. She seemed to be Mexican, and she was dressed in the sort of outfit mariachi bands wore in her home country. At her hips, she wore two small Japanese katana, although there was no telling how she’d gotten them into the hotel.

Beside the woman, a man holding a whiskey bottle slumped in a chair. He was drinking his whiskey straight from the bottle, never stopping to pour it into a glass. In contrast with the woman, his face was dour, and his age clearly wasn’t under fifty.

“……”

Opposite the old man stood a young guy. His hands were empty. He was wearing an abnormally long coat, and sharp eyes peered out from under the hat he’d pulled down low on his head.

Aside from them, there were no other new people; all the rest of the faces were his subordinates’ familiar ones.

Gustavo grabbed the neck of the underling next to him and hauled him up close to the ceiling, using just one arm.

“I told you to get me hitmen, didn’t I? Why the hell would you scout buskers in Central Park? If you’ve got the air to make excuses, lemme hear ’em.”

“Mugaw, gwaaah, thass, th-th-there aren’t a-a-a-any decent, s-s-solo, f-f-fffreelance hit—! Men ar-r-r-round these d-d-d-days!”

“Don’t give me excuses.”

“—Aaaaaaaah!”

Just then, the girl who’d been sitting on the other side of the table made a move.

From what he saw out of the corner of his eye, it looked as though she’d disappeared.

By the time Gustavo glanced over that way, a silver, stick-shaped object had flashed out from under the table. The Mexican girl had ducked underneath it, drawing her long blade as she went.

On seeing its tip, which had stopped just before it hit the base of his throat, Gustavo narrowed his eyes slightly.

“No fighting, ’kay, amigo? If we’re tough, you’ve got nothing to complain about. Right? Amigo?”

“Does your family usually turn their swords on amigos?”

With a calm, sarcastic mutter, Gustavo dropped his subordinate onto the floor.

“That’s not what that was, amigo. My buddy Murasámia moved all on its own. The kid just doesn’t know how to behave!”

“Murasámia” must have been the name of the katana. Sheathing the sword, she smacked its scabbard lightly.

“…As a person, you’re excruciating, but you do seem to have skills.”

“Was that a compliment? Thanks, amigo!”

“At the very least, I have no intention whatsoever of being your friend. Never call me that again.”

The girl’s movements had been superhuman, but the others didn’t seem particularly impressed.

“Hunh. I guess it’s safe to assume they’ve got some guts.”

“N-no, there’s one more on the way.”

The subordinate, who’d been coughing for a while, finally managed to regain his voice and inform Gustavo that someone hadn’t arrived yet.

“Who is it? I don’t need any small fry.”

Just as the man was about to tell him the name, the door to the room opened, and a drab man with very thick glasses appeared. His face looked as if it could have been young, but the whiskers around his mouth made it impossible to tell his age. Without showing the slightest confusion at the atmosphere in the place, the man spoke, his bland voice echoing in the room.

“I’m flattered you went to the trouble of calling me, but…”

The bearded, bespectacled man looked at Gustavo’s subordinate and ducked his head in a bow.

“I’ve got a previous engagement, so I can’t take a hit contract.”

Confronted with this abrupt conversation, no one in the room seemed able to process the situation.

“W-wait, please! Mr. Felix!”

Felix. The instant they heard that name, the atmosphere in the room changed dramatically.

The hitmen’s eyes went round, and a stir ran through Gustavo’s subordinates. The old man with the whiskey bottle hadn’t even looked over at the earlier commotion, but the moment he heard that name, he capped his bottle.

Gustavo scowled openly, freezing right where he was.

Felix? “Handyman” Felix, the one people said was equal to Vino or even better? He’d heard he lived somewhere in Manhattan; they’d managed to contact him?

“Once the job I’m signed up for is over, I can do anything you want, but I really can’t double-book, you know. If you had any other kind of job, I could take that. Anything from kidnapping to helping you move.”

On that note, the man turned to leave, but Gustavo called to his back, imperiously.

“Wait. Don’t you want to try fighting Vino? If you kill him, that’ll prove which of you was stronger, once and for all, right?”

“I’m not interested. ‘The strongest’… I’m not a kid. That title doesn’t make me happy.”

“Then you don’t feel like going toe to toe with him?”

“The only people I kill without a contract are the ones who try to kill me. May I go?”

So no matter how I struggle, it’s useless, huh? That was what he thought, but then he remembered the words the other man had said a minute ago, and he decided to ask one more question.

“Hold up, just a minute. You said you did kidnappings, too. Could I hire you for one of those, right now?”

The man with the whiskers and glasses thought for a little while, then turned back to face him.

“That’d be fine.”

“I’ll pay any amount you want. I need to know if you can nab a couple, a guy and a girl, from Hell’s Kitchen without letting fellas from the other territories catch on. Guys from other syndicates are keeping an eye on things, and we can’t make a move ourselves.”

The guy called a handyman responded without even asking for details:

“Let’s talk rates.”

After the Handyman had left, Gustavo issued instructions to the assembled group.

“All right, we’ve got about twenty people here. I want our hatchet professionals to stay out of things until Vino shows up. Even if he doesn’t turn up at the place we’re raiding today, if we put the screws on the Gandor men, we’ll find out where he is. If he’s skipped out on us, you’ll get to write that you’re tougher than Vino on your résumés. On the other hand, if you want to run, go ahead… Of course, you’re getting all your pay after the job, and we might shoot you in the back.”

Apparently, from the way he’d loaded the word professionals with sarcasm, Gustavo didn’t completely trust the others.

Moving swiftly on, he distributed orders to his own subordinates.

“…So. They’ve done a real number on us, and that’s a fact. But it ends now.”

Shutting his shotgun into its instrument case, Gustavo slammed a hand down onto the desk.

“We’re settling this today. The first blood we’re gonna spill belongs to the rotten journos at the Daily Days, the guys who bias all their reports in the Gandors’ favor. Pour their blood into their rotary presses and make tomorrow’s morning edition a flashy, all-red one! Every last copy!”

As the intimidating group walked down the corridor, one man stood in their path.

“Where…are…you…go…ing?”

Begg was watching them suspiciously. Gustavo warped his mouth into a smile, spitting out the words:

“Just you try and stop us.”

He saw Begg’s eyebrows come together slightly, and for the first time, he felt he’d gotten the advantage over the man.

Of course, to Gustavo, something like that was trivial now.

“Yes, I understand… Right. Yes, we’ll be able to move immediately as well.”

In the basement of the jazz hall, Luck was taking a phone call.

“Ah? A girl about fifteen years old? No, she hasn’t been here.”

Luck hung up the phone, then turned to Keith and Berga. He was frowning slightly. “The plan has been moved up a day. It sounds as though they’re about to launch an attack on the Daily Days.”

“Hah! Bring it on! That just means they’ll run outta life a day sooner!”

“………”

“Good grief. If everything had gone well, we wouldn’t have needed to go to the mattresses, and it would all have been over tomorrow.” Luck looked tired, but his mouth suddenly twisted as if he was happy, and he laughed a little. “Well, you know. The matter of the drugs aside, there’s the betting parlor, the gambling den, the speakeasy, Nicola’s wound, and the pain from my slit throat. Let’s make sure they compensate us properly for those.”

Stowing handguns and knives in their jackets, the three pulled on thin coats.

Finally, Luck picked up the receiver one more time, placed a call, said only, “Medical exam starting at two o’clock,” then hung up.

“All right, Tick,” he continued a moment later, “keep an eye on things for us here, if you would. When Claire comes back, tell him, ‘The party’s starting at the Daily Days newspaper offices.’”

“Yessir. Be careful, okaaay?”

Waving at Tick, who watched them go while looking concerned, the three Gandor brothers climbed the office stairs.

“Geez, though, where’d Claire get off to?” Berga asked.

“There’s no help for that,” Luck sighed. “We told him this was happening tomorrow, and he isn’t the type to stand by just because he’s been told to.”

“……”

“Well, if Claire doesn’t come…we’ll just have to work harder.”

I think the pain in my heart has subsided just a little.

Having finished helping with the washing-up after lunch, Eve was now sitting with Roy in a room at Keith’s house.

“What are you gonna do next?”

In answer to Roy’s question, Eve simply shook her head. The look in her eyes said, I don’t know.

“I set aside the hysterics and thought about it all night, and it doesn’t look like there’s much you can do here. Since we know that, you should probably go back home. I mean, yeah, I brought you here, but you can see Miz Kate anytime you want now, y’know? So, really, for now, just go home.”

Maybe he’s right. When I look at Kate, I can’t believe that Keith’s a very bad person. Maybe the people at the information brokerage made a mistake. In that case— In that case, Dallas might still be alive.

That meant she couldn’t cause any more trouble for everyone else. It might be better to go back to Benjamin and Samantha.

“Right. You can tell ’em I dragged you over here. I’m skipping town anyway, so it’s not like tacking on a kidnapping charge is going to do much damage.”

“I really couldn’t do that.”

That’s right. I’ll hurry home. I’ll go back to Benjamin and Samantha for now, and then we can come visit Kate, have her take us to meet Keith, and hear his side of the story…

And then we’ll go look for Dallas.

Forming that resolution, she stood up, intending to go tell Kate.

However, just then, the door burst open to reveal a man they didn’t know.

“Uh, you’re Miss Eve and Mr. Roy, correct?”

Slowly, the man walked up to the bewildered pair.

“I need you to come with me.”

“H-hey, who’re you? Miz Kate… What did you do to Miz Kate?!”

Ignoring Roy’s words, the man closed the distance in the blink of an eye and sank a sharp punch into his solar plexus.

“Beg pardon. I’m in a hurry.”

“Gahk…”

“Roy!”

Hastily, Eve tried to run to him, and the man—the Handyman—gave her a little smile.

“You ran over here, not away. I’m impressed. Good girl.”

After seeing that reaction, he jabbed a revolver into Roy’s unconscious back.

“It’s great when hostages work. Relax; I didn’t hurt Kate. It looks like she went out to do some shopping, that’s all.”

Making Eve get up slowly, the man slung Roy over his shoulder and walked out of the room, as bold as brass.

“So I’m to take you to the Daily Days, hmm? I guess we should hurry.”

At the offices of the Daily Days newspaper, the site of the final showdown, various forces were converging:

The usual editorial department din had vanished, and everyone carried out their work in silence.

All sorts of people had gathered in the president’s office: several newspaper executives; Benjamin’s group, who’d spent the night at the newspaper; Edith, who’d returned after searching for Roy until morning with no success; and the president, sitting on the other side of the documents. Rather than being guests of honor, all were involved in the incident.

When they’d finished summarizing the affair, Benjamin had taken a swing at Henry. Jon and Fang had desperately held him back, and while they were doing that, Henry had gotten decked by Samantha.

After that heartwarming incident, a slightly troublesome bit of information came in.

“Well, we’ve received word from our mole, and it sounds as though Gustavo’s men are going to raid this place at two o’clock today. That’s one hour from now.”

As the president spoke, his voice sounded mildly troubled. However, Nicholas seemed entertained in his response.

“Will we be counterattacking?”

“About that… I’ve decided to leave that to the Gandors this time.”

The answer left Nicholas vaguely disappointed.

“It was a request from Keith, you see. In principle, we should protect our neutral position and wipe them out personally, but this time, this information brokerage itself has become part of the incident.”

In contrast to Nicholas, the president’s voice grew cheerful and lively.

“Since we’re directly involved, we’ve no choice but to view the affair subjectively. In that case, let’s throw ourselves into the course of action we think is right. As an aside, my current, personal opinion is—”

After a slight pause, the president stated, clear and proud:

“—I want to rid this town of Gustavo’s irritating mug… What about the rest of you?”

No one argued. Benjamin quietly muttered, “These people are insane,” but that was all.

“Just as the incident last year revolved around the liquor, we—in other words, these offices—are the focus of the current incident. If the conditions are all in place—or no, rather, precisely because they are all in place—Gustavo and the others are on their way here. All the information has accumulated. Now we simply have to wait for this drift of information to tangle and crumble away. Until that happens, I intend to do everything I can.”

Saying something that sounded as though he might be talking to himself, the president telephoned the Gandors’ office.

“Now then, in the meantime, I’d like all of you to evacuate underground through the sewers. They’re connected to the basement of police headquarters, so if it comes down to it, you can run there.”

Just before his phone call to Luck went through, he issued a special order to Nicholas and Elean.

“I’d appreciate it if you’d take materials with you when you evacuate. The Daily Days does not suspend publication. We’ll be printing the usual number of copies tomorrow, so act with that in mind, please.”

“We did it!”

“Yes, it’s done!”

By the time the sun had begun to dip slightly toward the west, a geometric design had appeared on the floor of Alveare.

When Isaac finished setting up the last domino, everyone in the place cheered and applauded.

“Shh! Wait a minute!”

“Wait a minute!”

Putting their index fingers to their lips, the two checked the surrounding cheers.

“You ain’t seen…”

“…nothin’ yet!”

In the midst of a hush, Isaac and Miria put their hands together, one on top of the other, and—

—slowly pushed the first domino over.

Gustavo’s vicious kick broke the double doors down.

The hinges popped off, and the reinforced glass smashed on the floor of the newspaper offices.

Opening fire right away would only make the cops get there faster. First they’d go in with a few men, take the man at the desk—or the guy who’d helped his subordinates, Nicholas—hostage, then barricade themselves in the reception room and open their attack from two fronts, inside and out. That was the strategy Gustavo had come up with, but…

The plan had gone wrong right at the start: The ordinary entrance was locked, and they hadn’t been able to get inside the usual way.

“Move.”

Shoving his bewildered men aside, Gustavo stood in front of the doors.

Then, without breaking into a run, he broke down the heavy doors, hinges and all, with a front kick.

According to the report, all the employees, both reporters and editorial staff, had guns. Gustavo immediately ducked behind the pillar beside the door, but there was no response from inside.

Several men charged in with weapons at the ready, but as before, nothing happened.

There wasn’t a sound from the editorial department. Documents were still strewn over the desks, just as they’d been before. Only…the people were gone.

“…They split?”

He called out the guy who’d been standing guard, grabbed his collar, and hauled him in close.

“What’s going on?”

“I-I—I don’t know! It doesn’t look like anybody slipped out the back, and nobody left through the front!”

“Nobody?”

He released the man’s collar and considered the riddle.

“You’re telling me none of the journos went outside?”

That was actually weirder. The door had been locked, too; it was almost as if they’d known they were coming—or, no, they’d probably predicted that. In that case, had they made a run for it?

“…Turn the second and third floors inside out, too. If nobody’s there, we’ll torch this place, then head for the Gandors’ office.”

Biting off the end of a cigar, he gave orders to his men as he struck a match.

They probably did run. From what I heard, they sounded like fighters, but I guess they’re smarter than I thought… Not that I’ll let ’em go, though.

“Grab anything that looks like it might get us their addresses. We’ll torture ’em all later.”

Cracking the knuckles on both hands, Gustavo headed up to the second floor himself.

Right about then, one guard had been posted outside the newspaper’s front entrance, and there was another at the back door. The guard at the back entrance was watching the area as if he was bored when the hitman in the long coat spoke to him.

“Your boss ain’t playing with a full deck.”

The Mexican girl and the drunk had gone inside with the others, but this man was waiting outside on his own.

“Maybe this place is on the edge of Chinatown, but even so. He’s planning to blaze away with guns right in the middle of town, in broad daylight? Seriously?”

“That’s the kind of guy he is. Forget that—you sure you shouldn’t be inside?”

“Not like this. If the cops showed up and nabbed us, I’d never be able to talk my way out of it.”

With that, he showed him just a little of the inside of his long coat. When the guard saw its contents, he gulped. Close to ten handguns and rifles were hanging inside, and that was only what he could see.

“This coat alone weighs sixty pounds. Frankly, I want to just hurry and ice Vino and go home. If I get the job done in three minutes, I’ll be able to make tracks before the cops get here.”

“You’re short a few marbles yourself.”

“If there’s any sane guy in this business, I’d like to see ’im.”

Just then, they noticed several shapes approaching the back door.

“Good work.”

The Handyman spoke indifferently and, threatening Roy and Eve with a handgun, made to go through the door.

“Ain’t that right? Huh, Felix? We always had a few screws loose. Ain’t that the truth? Our heads are always full of crazy, and we do this job because we just can’t get enough of it. Right?”

The Handyman spat out his response to Long Coat. “I wouldn’t talk about sane or crazy too much if I were you.”

“Hunh?”

“It’s just…lame.”

For a moment, the guy in the trench coat looked stunned, but after he’d watched the Handyman go, he started to follow him into the building.

“Huh? You’re going in after all?” asked the guard.

“I’m not that great a shot. Since that’s so, when it comes to bullets, I always fight with quantity.”

Taking a handgun out of his coat, he gave an ominous smile. His veins were bulging.

“So, see, if we start a firefight here, and I blow that poser away, I can just say it was a stray bullet. Ha-ha-ha.”

The man’s eyes held a ferocious hatred, and all the guard could do was watch him go. After the door closed, he muttered just one thing into the alley:

“Sane, crazy, who cares? All I know for sure is, they’re idiots and morons, every last one.”

“What’s this, what’s this, what’s this?”

Having evacuated through the basement, Elean was keeping an eye on things from the roof of a nearby building—until something he’d seen through his binoculars made his eyes go wide.

“…We may have a bit of a situation on our hands.”

Turning to Benjamin and the others standing behind him, he broke out in a cold sweat as he said:

“They’re taking Miss Eve and somebody else into the building.”

At those words, the butler gave a mute scream. Samantha snatched the binoculars away and looked for herself. “He i’n’t jiving! It’s Missy Eve and some young feller!”

“L-let me see those.” Edith grabbed the binoculars away. Through their lenses, she recognized some familiar clothes. “Roy!”

By the time any of them tried to stop her, it was too late: Edith had dashed off toward the stairs she’d just climbed up.

“Oh, how pretty…”

As she watched the falling dominos, Ennis’s voice floated up involuntarily.

The dominos were colored on one side, and as the carpet of tiles fell, their hues changed magnificently.

“Transforming dominos, huh?” Firo muttered. “It’s kind of a kick to see the colors change all at once like that.”

They hadn’t found anyone on the second floor either, and before they knew it, Gustavo and his men had all gathered in a big room on the third floor.

It seemed to be a storeroom of sorts; several desks and chairs were clustered haphazardly in a corner.

“Dammit! So they did run, huh?”

As Gustavo muttered in irritation, he heard the door shut behind him.

When he and the others turned to look, a fox-eyed man was standing there. He spoke, revealing a pair of empty hands—

“Excellent work, gentlemen.”

When they saw him, confusion appeared on several faces.

“Who the hell’re you?” Gustavo demanded.

At those words, it was the fox-eyed man’s turn to look startled. “Good lord. You don’t even know the faces of the people you’re picking a fight with! …To think we had an incompetent like you riding our tail. That’s really pitiful.”

“What?”

Before Gustavo could get mad, the meaning of the words unsettled him.

His men were staring, eyes round, and he shot them a look that asked, Who is this guy?

And then he knew.

“Th-that’s not possible! You’re dead! B-back then, in front of that used bookstore— Your throat got—”

“Cut, yes. Yes, it did. Well, that doesn’t matter; I came to talk to you today. All three of us came to you, together, personally. I hope we can expect a sincere answer from you, Mr. Gustavo.”

With those words as the signal, two more shapes appeared in the room. Both had materialized before the others were aware of it, one from the shadow of the curtains, the other from the darkness by the mountain of piled-up desks… Although it was possible they’d been there the whole time.

“You… I’m pretty sure this ain’t it, but are you the Gandor brothers?” With a look as if he were seeing aliens, Gustavo took his shotgun out of his coat. “And whaddaya mean, you came to talk?”

“Well, it’s quite straightforward, really. At this point, Mr. Gustavo, you don’t matter.” Ignoring the big man, Luck addressed the dozen or so people behind him: “It’s a simple offer. Would you come over to our side? That’s all.”

Those outrageous words left everyone in the room, except for the Gandors, speechless.

“Just answer yes or no. That’s easy, isn’t it?”

Regaining their composure little by little, the men started to snicker.

“Are you an idiot? Like that would ever—”

Interrupting Gustavo’s laugh, Luck spoke again.

“We’ve come to an agreement with Mr. Bartolo.”

This time, all eyes focused on Luck.

“What…are you talking about?”

“Mr. Gustavo, it sounds as though you’ve done quite a number of things when your boss wasn’t looking.”

“……”

“Little things. You know. When you dealt drugs on our turf, you created two layers of middlemen and took protection money from both, without reporting it to Mr. Bartolo.”

Using this system, first he’d sell to his pet dealers at the wholesale prices he’d reported to Bartolo. Then, instead of putting the drugs directly on the market, he’d have them distributed to dealers in the lower tier, and at that point the retail prices doubled. Then Gustavo would quietly absorb a good percentage of the profit.

On being informed of that fact, Gustavo and the handful of his men who’d been aware of it began to look agitated. When they saw this, the people around them started to mutter.

“Settle down! He ain’t got proof! This guy’s just bluffing!”

“We’re getting the proof now, as we speak.”

“What?”

“We were waiting for all your forces to assemble here. In the meantime, our men are taking control of your drug dens. It’s a suppression maneuver.”

The mutter grew louder. As if launching an additional blow, Luck delivered the coup de grâce. He’d been intentionally spreading rumors around town for the past several days in preparation for this moment.

“Anyone who sides with us here will be free to go afterward. If you’d like to join our outfit, we’ll welcome you, and Mr. Bartolo says that no subordinates who return to his organization will be punished, either. On the other hand, if you stay and become our enemies—”

Luck paused for a moment, smiling thinly and narrowing his already vulpine eyes.

“—all such persons will immediately become targets for Vino.”

The muttering stopped, and the men looked at one another. They were clearly torn.

Seeing this, Gustavo, his face expressionless, grabbed a nearby underling and hauled him up.

“What are you hesitating for?”

“Yeee…!”

Lifting the man by the head with one hand, he slammed his face into the floor.

There was a very unpleasant noise. Even an amateur could have seen that the bones of his face were broken.

“Your options are kill all the witnesses today, or die by my hand right now. Ain’t that right?”

“Violent, violent… Your men will hate you, you know.”

Not looking the least bit disturbed by that taunt, Gustavo kept the people around him pinned with his gaze alone.

“Well, for now, we’ll kill you three here.”

Even as he spoke, he took a step toward Luck.

“This after I told you we’d come to talk? We haven’t even drawn our guns.”

“Because if you used a gun, you’d bring the cops down on us. That goes for both of us.”

“True.”

“In other words, the first guy to draw his piece loses.”

“I suppose those would be the rules, yes.”

Laughing self-deprecatingly, Gustavo spoke with a brisk smile:

“I lose.”

A roar. A tremendous impact split the room, and a red spray of blood drifted in front of Gustavo.

Luck’s head had been blown off, and his unbalanced body slammed into the wall.

“You fellas are next. Draw. I’ll give you that much time.”

Saying a line that felt a bit dated, he turned the shotgun’s muzzle on Keith.

Berga, his face expressionless, walked over to Luck’s body and looked down at the surface of his little brother’s neck, as if he was waiting for something.

“Hunh. Taking your time saying good-bye?”

Gustavo snorted and began to walk toward Keith, but at the sound of the trembling voice of one of his men, he stopped.

“Mr. Gustavo, w-wait—”

“What, you want me to kill you first that bad?”

“No! Look! Look!”

The voice sounded as if it was at its wits’ end, and turning back, he saw quite a sight.

The situation was incredibly abnormal.

He was arrested by a strange sensation, as though he were watching the film A Trip to the Moon.

Without a sound, it had begun to gather where Luck’s head should have been.

Like prey being carried back to an anthill, bright-red fragments of flesh, white bone, and whitish-pink brain were coming together. Muscle and bone took shape, and teeth and eyes settled into place within them, like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.

“What…the…?” Gustavo felt his throat rapidly going dry. Desperately, he tried to swallow down saliva, but his throat only squeezed tight.

“Hey. Wake up.” Luck’s head had completely regained its former shape, and Berga gently poked it with his toe.

“Nn…” As if he’d been asleep, Luck stretched hugely.

Berga and Keith watched him as though this was perfectly normal.

“I thought so. My instincts really are getting dull. To think I couldn’t even avoid a thing like that…”

Getting up as though nothing had happened, Luck turned to his speechless audience and began to persuade them again.

“All right. What are you going to do? Will you join us, or would you rather die here?”

A movie monster made real had completely stolen the souls of Gustavo’s underlings.

However, only Gustavo’s men had been rendered mentally incapable of fighting.

A golden shadow leaped from the group and passed by Luck, and in its wake, a silver streak swept through his arm.

“Gkh…”

The sleeve of Luck’s suit slipped off, and a red line ran across his arm.

He hastily grabbed the arm with his other one and held it in place; if he’d been a moment later, it would have fallen to the floor.

As she watched the red line rapidly disappear, the Mexican girl whistled.

“That’s an interesting body you’ve got there, amigo!”

He’d had no time to avoid that attack. If she came at him again, he still wasn’t sure he’d be able to parry it.

Even as he narrowed his eyes at the unexpected ambush, Luck managed to keep calm and speak:

“If you want to be friends, miss, why not join our side?”

At those words, the girl gave a brilliant smile and shook her head.

“No can do, amigo. If I did that, I might not get to meet Vino! If I keep slicing you up here, though, I’ll meet him for sure, right?”

So that was what this was. It made sense to Luck.

He’d been expecting Gustavo to call in some outside help, but he hadn’t thought there were any contract killers like this, aside from Claire.

When he took a closer look, one other person seemed relatively calm: a man with a small liquor bottle near the back of the group… Although, technically, he might just have been drunk.

As if to strike an additional blow, someone else came in through the door.

“Sorry to interrupt when you’re busy.”

A whiskered man with glasses entered, bringing a man and woman with him.

The woman was still young enough to call a girl; the guy was pretty young, too, and he looked unhealthy. Luck and Keith didn’t recognize either of them.

A man wearing a long coat followed them in. His eyes were filled with hate, and for some reason, his gaze was fixed on the bearded man.

“Here you go: Eve Genoard and Roy Maddock.”

Gustavo felt certain that the appearance of the Handyman had turned the tables for him, and composure returned to his face.

“Thanks, Handyman. That’s a huge help.”

“Well then, I’ll be going.”

“Hold it. About your next job… It ain’t a hit. How about tying up this bunch so tight they can’t move? Is that something you’d do?”

In answer to Gustavo’s question, the man shrugged.

“Of course I can, but…?”

Gustavo smirked. In contrast, Luck and the others were watching the bearded, bespectacled man, looking mystified.

“Okay then, take care of that, Felix Walken! How much will it run me?”

“Thirty quadrillion dollars.”

“……Hunh?”

The amount was one he’d never even heard of. Were his ears playing tricks on him or something?

“If I’m going to make enemies of those three, I’ll need about that much money. Ha-ha.”

As he spoke, the Handyman shooed Eve and Roy out into the corridor, telling them, “Hide, go hide.”

“Hey, what’s the big idea?!”

“Well, my job was just to bring them here, you know.”

Berga, who’d been silently watching the exchange, looked disgusted. “Whaddaya doing in that getup?” he muttered.

“Getup?!”

Ignoring Gustavo’s instant confusion, the Mexican girl spoke to Luck, swinging her katana around.

“Say, where’s Vino? Hurry up and call him, amigo!”

In response to her voice, the bespectacled, whiskered kidnapper lifted a hand.

“You rang?”

The whole room froze.

The Handyman took off his glasses and ripped the false beard away from his mouth.

“Ow, ow, ow, ow.”

The face of the man who stood there, rubbing his cheeks, was young.

Spreading his arms wide, he greeted the people around him briefly:

“Hello. I’m Felix Walken—aka Vino. Or Rail Tracer is fine, too.”

During that line, his tone and attitude changed completely, and the worst possible guy touched down at the scene of the negotiations.

Clear confusion showed in Gustavo’s expression. As he understood what had happened, his face turned so red it was funny.

“Wha—? Wait, hold it! Dammit, Gandors! Was this one of your tricks, too?!”

As Gustavo screamed, Luck and the others looked at each other.

“Claire, who is this Felix person?”

“I told you Claire was dead, remember? My name is Felix Walken. More accurately, I got the original Felix Walken to sell me his identity this morning.”

“I don’t get it.”

Claire/Felix was speaking offhandedly. In contrast, Berga couldn’t hide his confusion.

“Remember what Luck said a couple days back? He said you couldn’t get married without an official identity. And I thought, ‘Y’know, he’s right.’”

Vino’s lighthearted attitude was completely at odds with the atmosphere of the room.

“So, see, last night, one of the information brokers from this place gave me info about the girl I’m looking for and the lowdown on a guy who wanted to lose his past, and I went over to negotiate with him that night. Old Felix is a good guy. Well, while we were in the middle of that, a call came in from those guys over there, saying they wanted to order a hit. So I figured I should at least go get a good look at the fellas we were fighting—whoops.”

Right in the middle of the conversation, Vino’s right hand darted out.

The hand held a small pistol, and two dry pops rang out simultaneously.

The bullet slipped through gaps in the crowd, heading straight for one man.

Krish.

The sound, which had echoed at the same time as the gunshots, came from the old man’s liquor bottle. After a moment’s pause, the man crumpled to the floor.

His right hand held a smoking gun.

There was a brand-new bullet scar in the wall behind Claire. Just a little closer, and it would have nailed him right between the eyes.

Was this Vino guy a monster, like Luck?

Or rather, could this man be the monsters’ leader?

Struck by the terror of the thought, Gustavo’s men hadn’t moved even when the gunshots rang out.

By now, they were no more than an audience, and Vino, imitating a certain actor, quoted a line from a famous movie:

“You ain’t heard nothin’ yet!”

When he saw a woman running toward him, the man who’d been guarding the back entrance hastily blocked her path.

“Move it!”

“What’s with you, whore?!” The guard drew his gun, intending to threaten Edith with it, but someone caught his shoulder. “Wh-who’s—? Ah! M-Mr. Begg!”

A man with a peculiar air about him spotted Edith over the guard’s shoulder, then spoke, his voice rusty. “You’re…Roy’s…friend, aren’t…you?”

Edith sensed something bottomless in the man’s eyes, but she glared back, undaunted, and answered his question with an emphatic nod.

On seeing this, Begg issued an order to the guard:

“Let…her…in.”

The Mexican girl, who held a katana at the ready, was the first to break the silence.

“Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! That was great! You’re a funny guy, amigo! You’re Vino and Felix? So—so, wait… In other words, if I finish you off, I get the fame from both people at once?!”

“Well, yeah. I guess so.” Scratching his head, Vino turned to Luck and the others, who were beside him: “So who am I supposed to kill, again?”

He’d used that movie line in an attempt to look cool, but he really couldn’t sense anything like a combat atmosphere from his surroundings.

Gustavo had his shotgun leveled as he watched the situation unfold, but he was the only one, and he didn’t seem to know how to proceed… Probably because, if he put his finger on the trigger, he was bound to fall prey to a bullet from Vino.

The hitman had seemed wide open back there, but even then, those skills… If Gustavo was dumb enough to move, he’d be sent to the afterlife all by himself. He knew it on instinct.

“I expect the police will be here soon, and if possible, I’d like to settle this peacefully… I mentioned that a little while ago, didn’t I?” Luck asked.

“Pain in the butt,” Claire muttered. “Though! The people I brought in a minute ago? I dunno who they are, but it looks like they’re Kate’s guests.”

“Huh?”

“I think you should probably keep ’em safe,” Claire said.

On hearing those words, Luck hastened out the door. But as he was leaving, he glared at Claire: “Say that first! For the love of…”

When Claire glanced to the side, he found Keith frowning a bit at the mention of his wife’s name.

Then: Just as Luck departed, Gustavo bolted for the door on the opposite side of the room.

“Hold it.”

Vino tried to turn the gun on Gustavo’s back, but there was a flash of silver at the edge of his vision, and the gun was knocked out of his hand. Taking advantage of that opening, Gustavo made his escape through the door.

Meanwhile, the girl who’d flippantly brandished the katana whistled, looking surprised.

“Nice one, amigo! I was aiming for your wrist!”

“Don’t slash at your amigos.”

“Sorry, this katana just moves on its own!”

Rebutting the comeback she’d already heard several times, the Mexican girl took some distance and repositioned her sword.

“If you can manage it, just surrender, all right? Killing amigas isn’t my thing.”

“Aaah! You’re making fun of me because I’m a woman! You’re gonna make me mad, amigo!”

No sooner had she spoken than the silver gleam became a streak, racing through the air.

Shaiiiing.

The sound of metal scraping against metal rang out, and the blade of the katana stopped just before it hit Vino’s neck.

“Huh? That’s weird…”

In the Gandors’ office, Tick cocked his head to one side, looking puzzled.

“I’m missing several pairs of those new scissors.”

Huh? Why’d it stop?!

The girl’s eyes had gone round, and Vino answered her indifferently. His eyes were growing sharper and sharper.

“I don’t make fun of people because they’re women or kids. There are strong women out there, and I’m nuts about one of ’em.”

Starting a conversation that didn’t directly relate to the situation, Vino slid the scissors he was holding farther up the blade.

The katana was caught between the scissor blades, and she couldn’t move it sideways.

“I’m actually making fun of you because you’re weak.”

A Japanese katana, stopped by scissors? Impossible; she couldn’t let that happen. Even in her confusion, the attacker didn’t doubt her conviction. Quickly, the Latina let go with her right hand, supporting the katana with her left hand alone. In the next instant, she’d gripped the hilt of her other katana, and no sooner had she drawn it than she tried to slash through her opponent’s stomach.

Scree scree-scree-scree-screeee…

The sound of metal on metal.

Vino had taken out another pair of shears with his left hand. He was stopping both katana with scissors and nothing else.

“I see. That katana really doesn’t know how to behave.”

As the four—or, more accurately, six—blades struggled with each other, a figure was taking aim at the two combatants.

The guy in the long coat had taken two shotguns out of that coat and was pointing them at Vino. At this distance, the woman would definitely fall victim to the shot as well, but as if to say that wasn’t his problem, he began to squeeze the triggers.

In that instant, an immense shadow leaped in from the side.

It pressed on both of his arms, forcing the two muzzles downward.

A roar echoed through the room, and holes were gouged in the concrete floor.

The shot and ricocheting bullets chipped flesh out of the two men’s legs.

“AaaaaaaAAaaaaaaah!”

The guy in the long coat screamed and rolled around, but the guy who’d pushed the shotguns down—Berga—gritted his teeth and stayed on his feet.

“Ggaaah!— That hurt, you nutjob!”

In response to Berga’s shout, the guy in the long coat screamed back, eyes filled with tears.

“AAAaaaaAAAAwh-wh-wh-what the hell are yoooooou?!”

Even as he rolled around, the man took a pistol out of his coat and emptied all its chambers, not even bothering to take aim. He drilled several holes in Berga’s body, and blood pulsed out in jets.

The blood that fell on the floor immediately began to climb up his body again, but the guy in the coat completely failed to notice. He took out another gun right as he finished emptying the previous one, sending a constant stream of bullets into Berga.

Even then, Berga didn’t fall. As he took countless bullets, he clenched his fist and swung it high, high in the air.

“StooooOOooOOop!”

As the fist bore down, making an audible noise, a rifle bullet struck it.

Flesh burst, and the bones of his fingers showed through.

Even then, the fist didn’t stop, and a mass with Berga’s full weight behind it sank into his face.

The guy’s psycho.

That was his last thought before he blacked out.

“W-with scissors?!”

In the midst of the noise of metal on metal, the match came to an abrupt end.

After slashing at each other for a little while longer, the four weapons met again, and the six blades locked for a moment. The girl shifted her weight backward in a bid to get some distance, and in that instant, Vino lifted his leg higher than her head, then brought the heel of his foot down on her wrist.

“Ow!”

In spite of herself, she dropped one of the katana. Leg still in the air, Vino struck her other wrist with his heel.

Technically, there hadn’t been enough force behind either blow to make her drop her swords, but she’d been brandishing katana one-handed for too long, and her grip had reached its limit.

“I guess that’s it, huh?”

“Ah…”

With the air of someone finishing a game, Vino pointed the tip of his scissors at the base of her tanned throat.

Seeing that his adversary’s will to fight was evaporating, Claire directed a murmur at Gustavo’s subordinates, who showed no sign of moving.

“Well? What’ll you do?”

At those words, several of the men stepped forward, turned toward Keith, and clicked their heels together.

“All right, then. We’ll be leaving now.”

“Wha…?” At the unexpected response, Vino made an unusually dumb noise.

Keith nodded, and the lackeys left the room.

Several of the remaining men were muttering, their expressions bewildered. It was the group who’d been just as disconcerted as Gustavo when his betrayal had been pointed out earlier.

As Vino and the Mexican girl watched the men walk right out of the room, their faces held countless question marks.

“What’s going on?”

In response to Vino’s question, Keith was as silent as ever. But, apparently unable to just stand by and watch this, Berga piped up, sounding put-upon: “I guess we didn’t tell you, huh? Half of those guys are the moles that got us that agreement with Bartolo.”

“…Seems like too many,” Claire deadpanned.

Berga shrugged. “It means the guy was just that unpopular.”

“Ah, I—see !” Coming down a little harder on the last word, Vino leaped to the side, hurling the scissors he’d held in his right hand.

It happened so fast that the girl who’d just had those scissors pointed at her froze up.

At the same time, the dry crack of a gunshot rang out.

A deadly bullet had been fired from the opposite side of the room, heading straight for Vino, who’d been keeping the woman pinned with scissors.

The bullet passed through the spot where he’d been a moment before, grazed the young woman’s hair, and buried itself in the wall.

The scissors spun, parallel with the floor, and sank into the shoulder of the guy in the long coat.

The guy in the coat was still out cold. Another man had grabbed his collar and was using him as a shield.

It was the old guy with the liquor bottle, the one they’d thought had fallen way back at the beginning. He’d hidden his slight frame in the shadow of the guy with the coat, and the white gun smoke drifting upward clung to him.

“Ha-ha!”

Giving a little laugh, Vino tumbled across the floor, throwing the other pair of scissors as a diversion, and retrieved the gun he’d dropped a little while ago.

The moment he stopped rolling, a series of gunshots echoed through the room. The bullet tracks became lines, going back and forth between them, and the air grew thick with the smell of powder smoke.

Vino avoided all the bullets by twisting his body, and the bullets fired at the old man were absorbed by his shield, the body of the man in the long coat. They might have been blocked by the large number of guns in that coat; no blood seemed to be dripping from the man inside it.

When they’d both exhausted their ammo, Vino said, sounding entertained:

“Thought so. It seemed weird to get so little pushback from you, Gramps. When I saw you at the hotel on Wall Street, you seemed like the toughest of the three.”

In response, the old man laughed a little in a low, hoarse voice.

“It looks like the rumors about you aren’t just for show, either. That’s a relief: If I kill you now, my name will—”

“Hang on a second, Gramps. It looks like the guy who hired you is all washed up. His pals abandoned him, and I seriously doubt he’ll be able to pay you. You still want to go, even so?”

“I’ve got a personal interest in Vino’s head.”

“Ah, I see.”

Cracking his neck, the young assassin produced another pair of scissors from his coat.

“Besides, even if my client is gone, I can’t very well betray him, can I?”

The old man was looking for agreement, but Vino stared at him, mystified. “Why not?”

The elder hitman seemed taken aback by this; he watched the youth on the other side of the room in amazement.

“You can just make tracks or give up,” Vino insisted. “You guys aren’t strong like I am. You’re weak, and that means if you sell someone out, there’s no help for it. That’s a natural law, see?”

“Boy… Don’t you understand? The pride of a hitman is—”

At that word, Vino began laughing as if a dam had burst.

“Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Aaah, you crack me up! That’s hilarious! You’re a real funny guy, Gramps!”

“Why are you laughing?”

Obviously annoyed, the old man took a knife from his coat. Even when Vino saw this, he didn’t stop laughing; he only warped his expression further and kept talking.

“Honor?! Pride?! Hitmen, like you and me?! What a joke! You’re a comedian!”

Looking at the old man and the Mexican girl in turns, he snorted scornfully.

Stung by his attitude, the young woman glared into Vino’s eyes—and then hastily looked away.

Vino’s eyes were clearly abnormal.

The color in his eyes was completely different from what it had been before he started fighting, a shade that seemed to have devoured all darkness.

His eyes were like twin holes in his face, and they seemed as if they’d engulf the soul of anyone who looked into them. They were obviously not what they’d been a moment ago. It was as if a demon had shown its true colors.

“The second we landed in the murder business, our pride was gone! Get a clue! Once you kill even one person, you’re lower than society’s lowest scum! Is this a battlefield? If you kill people, are they gonna give you a medal? Yeah, I’m strong. If you take me down, your name will probably jump pretty high. But that’s it. If you betray a client, you’ll lose trust? Nobody trusts you in the first place! You’re a hitman, a hitman. Like there’s anybody who’d put faith in a social outcast like that?”

Here was the hitman said to be the strongest of them all, denying the art of the trade. Yet neither the old man nor the Mexican girl could find a retort for those unfair statements.

“You get drunk on your own useless preaching, but you don’t believe in anybody. Sure, I’ll fight you. If you think I’m wrong, prove your pride or whatever it is with your strength. I’ll show you that scum is always just plain scum—”

The taunt abruptly broke off.

A single handgun, black and gleaming, had been set against the back of Vino’s head.

Feeling the muzzle through his hair, Vino murmured, without seeming particularly flustered:

“Keith.”

From behind him, his sworn brother answered that murmur.

“Don’t scoff at how folks live.”

The words Keith spoke made the most dangerous hitman close his eyes softly, and he sighed.

“These guys and you guys are fundamentally different, you know…”

“No different.” Even as he chose the fewest words possible, Keith didn’t give his hitman room to argue back. “They’re hoods…just like us.”

Seeming not to care that someone had a gun on him, Vino scratched his head lightly and turned around. As he looked into Keith’s eyes, none of the deadly light from a moment ago was visible in the reflection of his own.

“All right. I’m sorry. I forgot you’re a stickler for that dumb pride stuff, too.”

Contrary to his words, Vino’s—Claire’s—tone didn’t hold the slightest contempt.

Abruptly, the intent to kill ignited in Keith’s eyes, and he slipped past Claire.

There was a dull noise, and behind him, Claire sensed something fall over.

When he turned around, without any unease or doubt, he saw exactly what he’d expected to see.

The old man had crept up behind Claire and Keith while they were distracted, and Keith’s powerful kick had slammed him to the floor. Then, as if to finish him off, he stomped on him, right over his liver.

A low groan leaked out of the man’s throat, and he stopped moving.

“Hey, be nice to old people.”

Claire was laughing as he spoke. Expressionless, Keith muttered:

“……Enemies are enemies.”

On hearing that answer, Claire grinned, satisfied.

“I dunno about the other two, but you may be cut out for the mafia after all.”

“And? What’ll you do, kid?”

Berga, who’d been watching, spoke to the Mexican girl, who’d retrieved her katana. “……Too cool.”

“Hunh?”

One of Berga’s eyebrows lowered in a scowl. The Mexican girl answered his question with a question, although her eyes were still on Keith:

“Say, amigo. That promise the fox-eyed guy was talking about… Is that offer still good?”

What should I do? I lost Roy…

When the man with whiskers and glasses had told her to hide, Eve had gone down to the first floor and hidden in the reception room, but when she turned around, Roy wasn’t there. Had he gone outside ahead of her, or had she left him behind?

She was reluctant to go out to look for him now. The gunshots from the third floor echoed all the way down where she was, and it felt as if she’d wandered into a talkie about a war.

She couldn’t run, though. Roy had gotten pulled into this because she’d selfishly insisted on seeing the Gandors. She couldn’t just hide here all by herself.

I have to find him.

When Eve was about to cautiously open the reception room door, a figure appeared in its window.

She thought it was Roy at first, but it was much too large.

Sensing danger, she backed away, and in that instant, the door was kicked in with a bang.

“Eeeeeeeeek!”

With a piercing scream, Eve sank to the floor, right where she was.

The heavy door had slammed into the spot where she’d been standing a moment ago. The frosted glass that was set into the door had broken into large shards and scattered, and the doorknob had come apart into pieces that bounced and rolled across the floor.

“Pipe down, little girl.”

Although the door certainly hadn’t been small, the man who came in bent down to go through it.

The light had vanished from Gustavo’s eyes, and his imposing presence felt inhuman.

“Here I thought things had gotten real simple, and now they’re complicated again.”

He shook his head dramatically, creeping closer, little by little, to where Eve sat on the floor.

“Should I say it’s nice to meet you, maybe? A little Genoard girl, thinking she could set me up… You really pushed your luck, didn’t you?”

Eve didn’t know what he was talking about. Who in the world was this man?

All she managed to understand was that the look in his eyes wasn’t right as he fixated hideous hatred on her.

“What did I ever do to you, huh? You got a chance to live normally. Why’d you have to throw your life away on something this pointless?”

The man held a shotgun in his hands, and slowly, he turned the muzzle toward Eve’s face.

“Don’t tell me you’re a monster, too?”

Her body froze with terror. She wanted to run, but her legs wouldn’t move.

Seeing this, Gustavo smiled as if he was relieved.

“I guess not. That’s good to hear.”

He could have just blown her head off right there, but simply killing her wouldn’t be enough.

I’ll kill her in front of the Gandors. Either way, I’m gonna have to kill ’em all now. There’s no way in hell I’m running or dying. I’ll slaughter everyone who helped set me up. Those worthless underlings, that bastard Begg, and even Don Bartolo.

Intending to crush the bones in her legs so she couldn’t run off, Gustavo raised his foot high.

“This is for the speakeasy.”

The voice and the impact hit him at the same time.

A dull shock ran through the back of Gustavo’s head, and his huge body lurched violently.

Since he’d had one foot raised, he hadn’t been able to brace himself immediately.

“The gambling den.”

A second impact ran through the side of his head. It felt as if he was being struck with some sort of sharp object. The sensation was more hot than painful, like being hit directly with a blazing iron bar.

Dropping the shotgun, he put his right hand to the wound. There was a fierce pain and the skin-crawling sensation of touching raw meat with his fingers.

“The betting parlor.”

He turned back toward the voice, trying to land a blow on its owner.

However, the weapon slipped past his fist and bore down on him in a counterstrike.

It was one of the editorial department’s wooden chairs.

Its corner hit him in the face, and Gustavo felt his cheekbone break.

His torso began to keel over backward, but he managed to stay on his feet, using only the strength in his legs.

While he was in that position, the corner of the chair came down on his face again.

“Nicola’s wound.”

Once he’d fallen on his ass, Luck hit him with an insurance strike.

Holding the chair’s legs with both hands, he raised it all the way up over his back.

Then he brought it down full force, without holding back the slightest bit, onto Gustavo’s face—although the man seemed as if he might already be unconscious.

“And that’s for my blown-off head.”

All Eve could do in response to this sudden turn of events was avert her eyes.

The fox-eyed man who’d appeared from behind Gustavo was mercilessly rearranging the giant’s face.

When Gustavo had gone completely still, the man finally noticed her. Seeming a little troubled, he looked away. But then, in the next instant, he held a hand out to Eve.

“It looked as if he was going to kill you; I couldn’t help myself. It was justified defense.”

The man smiled pleasantly, but Eve truly couldn’t bring herself to thank him.

“Ah, erm, please don’t be so frightened.” Luck watched the girl in front of him with worried eyes. “Well, this is a problem. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He’d put out a hand, intending to help her up, but she didn’t seem at all willing to take it.

If she’d been a passing stranger, he could simply have left her, but there was a reason he couldn’t do that:

“You’re a guest of my sister-in-law Kate, aren’t you? I’m, uh, her younger brother-in-law. Luck Gandor.”

At those words, he saw the girl stop trembling.

Oh, good. Hearing Kate’s name seems to have put her mind at ease.

That was what Luck thought, but the emotion in the girl’s eyes wasn’t relief by any means.

“Um… Are you Mr. Gandor, the…leader of the mafia professionals?”

“‘Mafia professionals’? That’s, erm… And leader isn’t technically… Well, I suppose it’s something like that.”

“Please! There’s something I really…really and truly need to ask you!”

Steeling herself, the girl asked Luck a question that cut straight to the heart of the matter:

“My brother—is my brother Dallas alive?”

When Luck heard the particulars of the situation from Eve, memories of the past rose in his mind.

Dallas. Who’d have thought he’d hear that name here…

The girl had come all this way, to a place this dangerous, just to find that man, her brother. She’d known what a risk she was taking and had braced herself accordingly; that was probably why the fear had gone out of her face. That fact alone vividly illustrated the strength of her resolve.

Luck sensed that inept lies and evasions probably wouldn’t work on her. Even if they did, she’d spend her whole life searching for her brother at random.

Luck, who had also steeled himself, turned intense eyes on the girl and began to tell her a few of the facts.

“Whether you believe me or not, this won’t be easy for you to hear, but…your brother is no longer an ordinary human.”

He told her that, one year ago, after being caught up in a certain incident, her older brother had gained an imperfect immortality that had rendered him unable to die of anything except old age; he’d gone on to use that body to kill four of Luck’s comrades.

And that afterward…as a forced atonement, they’d sunk him and his friends to the bottom of the river, still alive.

At first, Eve hadn’t been able to believe the part about immortal bodies, but when Luck cut his finger with a knife and she watched it regenerate, she was forced to admit that it was true.

Complicated emotions passed through her heart. Joy that her brother was alive. And at the thought that he was suffering even now, something like hatred for the man in front of her welled up inside her. However, it was probably true that her brother had killed his friends. Eve knew better than anyone that that was the sort of man he was. Even though she’d known, she hadn’t been able to do anything, and she knew part of the blame for the consequences lay with her. However, even if she understood that, there was nothing she could do about her feelings.

“Why— Why? Why must my brother keep suffering like that? Couldn’t you just have the police pass judgment on his crimes? And you still, even so… Hasn’t it been long enough? Please, my brother and his friends—please forgive them. At least give them the right to be judged by the law. I’m begging you, please!”

The girl in front of him was on the verge of hysteria. Luck looked down, holding absolutely still.

In a sense, what she said was right. He knew that. However, just as Eve was giving priority to her feelings, Luck had simply followed his as well. During that incident, the one who’d felt the fiercest rage among the three brothers had been Luck himself.

“I doubt you could understand our world, so I’ll tell you about what I feel, nothing more… That wouldn’t be enough to quench my anger. Not even if, in the future, they go to trial and are punished by the law. It won’t bring my dead comrades back. I did this because I can’t forgive them. That’s all it is. If you hate me, you’re welcome to do so. Hate me all you like. Just as it won’t bring your brother back, the dead won’t return, either. My pain won’t disappear.”

Luck was speaking calmly, but his emotions were on the verge of exploding. Even after all this time, his anger over the murder of his friends hadn’t abated. However, he understood what she’d said as well. It wouldn’t have been odd for an ordinary mafioso to silence her on the spot.

Maybe this was part of what Claire meant when he said Luck wasn’t suited for the mafia.

“But that’s…that’s just selfish! I don’t understand your world or your feelings. If this eases the pain in your heart, then what am I supposed to do with mine?! I only—I only want you to give my brother back!”

Her anger was justified. Luck took her words in, quietly.

“Please! You can hurt me instead, as much as you want, so please, please…”

On hearing those words, Luck hardened his expression, and his tone grew a little more forceful.

“I’ll thank you not to think that someone like you would be enough to calm my anger… Forget him. If you want to stab me or shoot me, be my guest; I’ll take it. However, let your grudge end with me. If you attempt to strike anyone else—”

Luck swallowed the rest of the sentence. What am I saying?

As if to demonstrate that the discussion was over, Luck shook his head and began to stand up.

“If this anger subsides, years from now…then, perhaps…”

The words didn’t seem to satisfy Eve, but there was probably no help for that. He’d decided to accept it and wrap things up, when—

“ !”

Abruptly, Eve’s eyes widened in shock.

By the time he registered the shadow standing behind him, it was too late: The reception room sofa came down on Luck’s head.

Gustavo, his face covered with blood, was wielding a sofa that was as long as he was tall.

He’d picked up the enormous sofa, which must have weighed two hundred pounds, as if it were a thin futon. One attack from it was duller than a blow from the wooden chair, but in exchange, the impact was massive.

For a moment, Luck’s consciousness dimmed, and Gustavo swept his enormous weapon at him sideways.

The tremendous mass was being swung around at the same speed with which Luck had swung the wooden chair. As he took the direct attack, his body rose into the air, then flew to the side.

“Gagh…!”

Luck slammed into the wall, back first, dominated by the impact.

Somehow managing to get up, staggering on wobbly legs, he looked in Gustavo’s direction.

The bloodied man was glaring at Luck with glittering eyes that held nothing but the intent to kill.

“Play me for a sucker… Every last one of you, playing me for a fucking suckerrrrrrr!” Hurling the sofa to the floor, he gave a roar that sounded like a scream.

Then, abruptly, he smiled and began to speak in broken tones—“I’ll twist your head off and mash it and fry it in oil and lock it in a safe and throw it in the ocean, over and over and over.”

“It looks like he’s snapped… Dammit, Berga’s usually the one who handles this type.” A trickle of sweat ran down Luck’s face, and he took a handgun out of his jacket. “I guess it won’t be possible to settle this peacefully.”

Shaking his head, he aimed at the charging giant and pulled the trigger.

A series of gunshots rang out, and six holes opened in Gustavo’s body. All of them were right on target, from his chest to his stomach, and his death should have been assured.

…But Gustavo’s feet kept moving.

“Not gonna work not gonna work not gonna work not gonna work! Small fry like you, little shit-fish like you, you don’t even get to exist when I’m around! Bullets that ain’t there don’t work on meeeeeAAAaaah!”

“That’s insane!”

A fist sank into Luck’s stomach. As he crumpled to the floor, a kick with enough force to destroy a door slammed into his face.

Luck’s head was dashed against the floor, and Gustavo’s enormous foot stomped down on his body, again and again.

“ScramscramscramscramscramaaAAAAaaaah!”

With an inhuman holler, he brought his foot down on Luck’s ribs, crushing them to pieces.

When he saw that Luck had stopped moving, his eyes finally turned to Eve.

Eve’s legs had gone weak with terror again, and Gustavo gave her a brutal smile.

“You, too, little girl. I’ll feed you to the fishes in Newark Bay, just like I did with your daddy and your brother.”

For a moment, Eve couldn’t understand what the man had said.

“What’s with that look, huh? Didn’t you know? Ain’t that why you tried to set me up, because you knew?”

Seeing the blood drain from the girl’s face, Gustavo realized that apparently, that was the truth.

“Hah! If you don’t know, then lemme fill you in. Your daddy and the rest started jawing about how they were gonna stop refining drugs, so I dusted them with my own two hands! I killed your folks before I drowned ’em, but I’ll turn you into fish bait slowly, while you’re still alive, and drop you into the bay bit by bit.”

Gustavo smiled evilly. Gradually, Eve made sense of his words. Then, when she fully understood what he meant, her heart went pure white.

In the instant when all sorts of things seemed about to burst inside her, a voice spoke. It was weak but steady.

“Quit saying pointless things, please.”

Behind Gustavo, Luck’s ribs had finished regenerating, and he got up.

He didn’t seem to have completely recovered yet; his breathing was rough, and simply standing looked as if it hurt him. “Someone who considers himself a member of society’s underbelly, bragging about murder to an honest citizen? You couldn’t be more dead to shame, could you? That’s why both Bartolo and your men abandoned you.”

“You rotten little punk…!”

As if the words had enraged him, Gustavo ran at Luck with tremendous force, hauling him up by the shirtfront until he was close to the ceiling.

And then he threw him at Eve.

The lean man’s body bounced off the floor, and his back crashed into the corner of a table that had been beside the girl.

“Even with a weapon, you couldn’t do squat. You think you can beat me bare-handed?”

Possibly because he had the advantage, Gustavo was gradually regaining his ability to make levelheaded decisions.

He didn’t need the girl anymore, either. He’d just blow them both away.

With that thought, he looked for the shotgun he’d dropped earlier, but for some reason, he didn’t see it on the floor.

Luck took that opportunity to whisper to Eve:

“I’ll draw him off, so run. Claire’s the only one who could take this monster…”

His voice trembling from the blow to his spine, he turned to look at Eve. And then—

“Oh, Eve…”

“Little giiiirl!”

Gustavo noticed it at the same time.

With a shockingly calm expression, her eyes filled with tears, the girl held the shotgun at the ready.

The gun, which seemed too big for her body, was pointed directly at Gustavo.

With her eyes fixed on their assailant, she quietly spoke to Luck. Her tone was calm, as though her real emotions had been shut away somewhere. Even as she cried, her eyes were vacant, as if she was looking at something far away.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Luck. I’m really sorry. I said all those selfish things to you a moment ago, and I thought that was the right thing for me, but even so, right now, I can’t forgive this man—I just can’t.”

An intense strength came into her eyes. They were fearless eyes, dark and clear.

“Now I understand what you said to me earlier. And so, and so—”

Big tears fell from her eyes, and she depressed the trigger.

“You damn chit! You think you can shoot a piece like that with a body like yours? That’s real funny! Bring it on! Just you try firing that thing at me! Try to kill me, try to avenge your idiot papa, you rotten little girl!”

Gustavo taunted her, and with no hesitation, the girl pulled the trigger.

There was a roar like a bomb blast, and blood sprayed through the air in the reception room.

The recoil that struck the girl’s body was much weaker than it should have been.

When Eve looked, fearfully, there was Luck, blood gushing from the place where his left arm should have been.

The arm had fallen to the floor; the shot had broken the bone, and its end was exposed.

Luck had held the barrel of the gun with his right hand, aiming it at his left arm.

Breaking out in a greasy sweat, Luck stood in front of the girl, whose eyes were wide with astonishment.

“…I accept your pain.”

Then, turning to Gustavo—who’d frozen for a moment—he picked up his left arm and launched himself into a charge.

“You moron! Whaddaya think you’re doing?!”

As the giant clenched his fists, Luck thrust his left arm, held in his right hand, out at him with all his might.

The end of the broken bone slipped past the big man’s fists, stabbing him in the windpipe by a small margin.

“ ”

Gustavo’s mouth flapped several times. Then his eyes rolled up into his head, and he keeled over backward.

After making sure that the huge body had stopped moving, Luck murmured, his eyes cold:

“And that’s for my cut throat.”

Holding the wound on his left arm, he turned back to Eve.

“Are you all…righ…?”

Unable to bear the onslaught of pain, Luck passed out.

What do I do? I lost her.

Roy had meant to go hide with Eve Genoard, but while they were running away in a panic, he’d lost sight of her. Had he left her behind, somewhere along the way? Or maybe she’d run on ahead… He was pretty sure the door they’d been brought in through was just up ahead, around the corner.

However, the armed guard was still out there. Neither of them could handle him on their own.

And so, at the very least, she probably hadn’t gone out that door yet.

That said, he couldn’t go anywhere near that earlier room now. Starting a little while ago, he’d heard several sharp, dry sounds, and there was some sort of unpleasant metallic creaking, too.

He couldn’t run, either. He’d pulled that girl into this. He really couldn’t leave her.

He knew this logically, but even so, he really wanted to run. He wanted to make a break for it very badly, from the bottom of his heart.

No good. I’m such a no-good bastard. Dammit, dammit, the drugs, when I’m high, I can do such awesome things. I could do anything. That was me, and so is this, so what’s up with this difference?! Dammit! I could do it before, so why can’t I do it now?! That’s just pathetic…

As Roy fretted, he began to hear a voice that sounded vaguely familiar.

“…y, Royyyy!”

Damn, that’s Edith’s voice. I’m hearing things. Knock it off, you. Do you think you can’t do a blasted thing without relying on Edith or something? …Yeah, you’re right. So what?

Stop it, though. I’ve got to do this on my own now, all on my own—

“Roy!”

He finally came to his senses: Edith’s slap had hit him square on the cheek.

“Get ahold of yourself, you idiot!”

Edith’s slaps crossed Roy’s face again and again, back and forth. When she backhanded him, the bones on the back of her hand struck his cheekbone, and it hurt like hell.

“E-Edith!”

“You moron! Why?! Why are you so considerate of other people when you’re that timid?! …Or that’s what I thought, anyway, and then you pull a complete stranger into this like it was nothing! I promised! At least let me keep my promise! I told you I’d save you. I told you I’d protect you. So don’t run!”

She straddled him, punching him, but there wasn’t much force behind it, and at the end, she hugged him tightly.

“I’m sorry. I was wrong. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry,” he offered.

Lame. I’m so lame. What’s lame? The fact that at a time like this, I can’t think of any other words to say.

Just then, an unfamiliar shape appeared behind Edith. “So…you’re…Roy, hmm?”

A sickly-looking man spoke his name, his words breaking off in small fragments.

“Wh-who’re you?”

“My…name’s…Begg. Still, you…really…are…an…or…dinary…man, aren’t…you? I…suppose…it…could…be…recoil…from…that. The…fact…that…you…showed…extraordinarily…strong…reactions.”

At first, he’d simply been intrigued. He hadn’t thought anyone would grow so bold, even if they had used his drugs. He’d been surprised that a man had been reckless enough to steal the drug—a drug that was less powerful than the ordinary, illegal types—from the Runoratas.

Maybe he’d been violent to begin with. In that case, it would have been natural for him to lose himself that badly after a small dose of uppers. On that thought, he’d asked around at the drug den the man had frequented, and the more he heard, the more interested he’d grown.

Apparently, a new type of downer whose effect would ordinarily have worn off in less than two hours had kept this Roy fellow on the other side for more than three days. He’d regularly had excessive reactions to other drugs Begg had compounded as well.

He didn’t know whether it was mental or physical, but with reactions like those… With reactions like those, he might be able to see what he’d been searching for.

Taking a rubber band and a syringe out of his jacket, Begg held them out to Roy.

“It’s…drugs. Shoot…this.”

Roy looked at the syringe and band that had been unexpectedly handed to him. He had no idea what was going on.

“It’s…a…stronger…version of…what…you…used…to…use…all…the…time. A drug…cocktail…I made…mixed…with…stimulants. If…you…shoot…that, you’ll…probably…never…be able…to come…back…to…this…world.”

Edith hadn’t known what he was talking about at first, but as soon as she realized what he meant, she shouted:

“What…? Hey, you! What are you thinking, out of the blue?! He couldn’t do a thing like…!”

As she stood up angrily, a gleaming black gun muzzle came to bear on her.

“Un…fortunately, you…can’t…refuse.”

“Edith!”

Roy hastily scrambled to his feet, but the man pulled Edith back toward him, then pressed the gun to her temple.

“Show…me. Let…me…see…you…die…smiling. Let…me…see…you…feel…the…world. Show me…your…pleasure. Your…world.” He set his finger on the trigger, his tone gradually growing more emphatic.

“I…I don’t get it. Why? Why?! Wha…? Have I been using stuff a crazy guy like you made?! Explain this!”

Completely ignoring his plea, Begg quietly cocked the hammer. “Do…it…now.”

Roy huffed, mouth pursing. “All right… All right, just don’t shoot Edith.”

However, unable to do anything else, he slipped the tight rubber band onto his arm. The veins bulged out right away, and an intense feeling of pressure dominated his arm from his wrist all the way to his fingertips.

“Stop, Roy! Don’t! You can’t! You’ll die!”

“Promise me—yeah, promise me! Once I—once I shoot up, you let Edith go. Promise!”

After a short pause, Begg agreed: “All…right. I…pro…mise.”

When he heard that, Roy cinched the rubber band even tighter. With no hesitation, he stabbed the syringe into his arm.

The liquid that filled the chamber was gradually pushed in, until finally it was empty.

“Roy!”

Edith screamed and tried to run to him. However, Begg wouldn’t let her go.

Rather than going back on his promise, it was as if, in his excitement, Begg had forgotten to release her. His eyes were riveted on Roy, in anticipation of the change that was about to occur in him.

“I’m sorry, Edith,” Roy pleaded. “I’m really sorry. I guess I couldn’t keep my promise. So, well, you know…”

Although there was no telling what he was thinking, Roy raised his hand.

“You don’t have to keep your promise, either.”

That was all he said before he took his left hand, the one he’d raised high in the air…

—And slammed it into the glass in the corridor window.

A sharp sound echoed in the corridor, and the window glass shattered into splinters.

Then Roy jammed his arm down onto the sharp fragments that remained in the window frame.

A large quantity of blood spurted out, spraying into the air.

“Roy! Royyyy!”

Edith screamed, and as Begg realized the intent behind his actions, confusion came into his eyes.

“You…promised. I took…that shot. After that…I’m…yeah, I’m free to do whatever, right? Right?”

As his own blood splashed back onto him, he smiled a little.

“Point…less! Did…you…think…that would…be…enough…to get all…the drugs…out of your arm?!”

“Won’t know unless I try, will I?”

“That’s…insane. Why? If…you’re…going to…go…that…far, why…can’t you…accept…the world?! If…you’re…going…to die…anyway, don’t…you want…to…die…in the midst…of…pleasure? To die…in your…own…world?”

Roy snorted at Begg’s question, smiling with lips that were wet with blood.

“I’m the one who knows the world I saw the best. I know it real well. I’ve been there over and over and over, see. It felt insanely good. That’s why I remember it so well.”

“Then, why?”

“Yeah, I remember it clearly. That’s why I don’t want to go!” Glaring at Begg, who was still holding Edith, he mustered the biggest voice he could manage. It was almost like a triumphant war cry, declaring his victory. “In that world, over on that side, there’s no Edith! That’s what I remember most! So, hurry up, let her go! Please let her go!”

Dragging his arm, which was dripping with blood, he steadily approached Begg, step by step.

“Don’t—don’t break my world!”

He took the words he’d once yelled at Edith when she tried to pull him back from the world on the other side and slammed them into the world Begg wanted.

If he let Edith go now and the man died, he would probably die smiling…having denied everything about Begg’s drugs.

If he killed Edith, the man would die without any hope or happiness at all.

Either way, the result would be far from his ideal.

Fierce sadness and hatred mixed inside Begg. It felt as if everything he’d ever been had been denied. He couldn’t forgive Roy, and at the same time, he desperately wanted to save him.

Tell me, Maiza. What should I do? This feeling… Is this the “exhaustion of the soul” you mentioned? Well? Tell me. Tell me—

Shoving Edith toward Roy, Begg pointed the gun at the side of his own head.

“If…you…get…him to…the hospital now, you’ll…probably…make…it in…time. Get…out…before…I…regenerate. Other…wise…I…think…I…might…kill…you…both.”

The next instant, a small gunshot sounded in the corridor.

As if that sound had been a signal, Roy fell into deep darkness.

“I’d call that a success.”

“Yes, a huge success!”

Having toppled all the dominos, the Martillo Family was brimming over with a sense of achievement.

Several thousand domino tiles littered the floor, and the pattern they’d drawn was still faintly visible.

As the feeling of accomplishment enveloped the entire place, only Firo, who’d declined to participate in the carnival, felt oddly excluded.

Since Lia had taken part as well, his lunch still hadn’t arrived.

“I mean, it’s fine and all. I don’t care.”

While he watched Isaac and Miria dance on the carpet of tiles, flamenco-style, out of the corner of his eye, he muttered spitefully, “So who’s going to clean all this up…?”

But dropping his gaze to the floor, Firo noticed something.

He’d thought it was just a group of geometric designs, but there was some sort of birdlike thing depicted in the center.

“Maiza, what’s that?”

The designer seemed a little embarrassed as he answered the question. “Oh, it’s Phoinix.”

Phoinix. He’d heard that word somewhere before, but the memory was fuzzy.

“He was one of the gods worshipped in Phoenicia. He wasn’t originally shaped like a bird, but now he’s classed with various sacred birds and known as the phoenix.”

“Ah.”

He understood phoenix. It was a mythological, immortal bird that threw itself into the flames and was reincarnated, over and over again.

“The two of them said they wanted me to include a phoenix, no matter what.”

Overhearing those words, Isaac and Miria broke into the conversation, although they didn’t stop dancing.

“It’s perfect for dominos, isn’t it? No matter how often you knock them down, they always get back up again!”

“Yes, and when it comes back, it’s much, much prettier than it was when it flew into the fire!”

“Huh.”

Firo meant to let the comment go in one ear and out the other, but their words gave him a bad feeling, and he muttered:

“Wait, don’t tell me… Are you gonna do this again? Make it even more impressive than the one you just knocked down?”

“Well, of course,” Isaac said.

“That’s the duty of those who topple dominos!” shouted Miria.

On hearing their innocent resolution, Firo held his head and slumped facedown over the counter.

“Gimme a break…”

A phoenix, hmm?

As Maiza watched Firo, Isaac, and Miria’s exchange, he smiled a little ironically.

Getting through the jaws of death again and again, then coming back even stronger: It’s humanity in a nutshell.

Even if it was also immortal, it was a completely different being from the immortals.

In terms of mythology, we’re like the Tower of Babel. We aim for the heights, but we’re no match for the birds, and when we fall, that’s the end of everything.

“Ordinary humans are much closer to gods than we are. Don’t you agree, Begg?”

Knocking back the liquor in his glass, Maiza grumbled quietly to a friend who wasn’t there.

January 3, 1932 The Daily Days newspaper

“First, Tick over at the Gandors’ got information on Gustavo’s pilfering out of the man they nabbed. In exchange for that information, I told Keith how to contact Bartolo, although I don’t know what sort of conversation they had. Then we told Miss Edith about the strategy Keith and the others were setting up, as a way to save Roy… Or, rather, we’d already been pulled in as well, and we were only following Keith’s group blindly.”

The voice from behind the documents was cheerfully giving a rough outline of the incident.

The explanation they’d railroaded through with the police regarding the affair had been that Gustavo, hopped up on drugs and deranged, had rampaged around the offices of the newspaper, which had been about to run an article on the dangers of the drugs his group was dealing.

They hadn’t had to fabricate evidence: They’d put the black bag beside Gustavo. If the police investigated the drugs they found inside it, someday the stuff the Runoratas dealt would be regulated by the law as well. There had already been incidents of assault and damage to property, so the law would handle things smoothly. The government loved frame-ups, too. All in all, the men decided that even if the truth was noticed, there wouldn’t be a problem.

“Well, I’m just glad you’re all safe. They’ll probably send Gustavo straight from the hospital to prison, so I expect it’s all right to consider this incident closed.”

Nicholas and Elean looked at each other, then asked about something that had been on their minds:

“Uh, President?”

“Hmm? What is it?”

“It seemed like the police took a lot longer to get here than we’d anticipated.”

In fact, the police had arrived roughly thirty minutes after everything was over. As a result, they’d had time to carry out the wounded and falsify the circumstances, but…

“Oh, that? Yes, yes, there was that.”

The voice that came from behind the documents sounded as if it had caught itself being careless.

“It was apparently top secret, but they held a hearing for the terrorist Huey Laforet yesterday. He was transported out of Manhattan today, in strict secrecy, under guard. After all, in order to retake that man, there was a train robbery—you know, the Flying Pussyfoot incident from a few days ago. At any rate, since there was a group that had been plotting something like that, to safeguard against a possible attack from the remaining terrorists, the police had absolutely every available officer guarding that area. I’d wager that’s why.”

The genie of the documents spoke matter-of-factly, and Elean lobbed another question at him.

“When we were, erm, how should I put it; you know… When we’d evacuated outside. While Gustavo was on that flashy, jaw-dropping, spectacular rampage of his, where on earth were you, boss?”

In response to that question, the voice from behind the documents seemed to laugh a little.

“I was here the whole time.”

“Huh?”

“Sir?”

“Oddly enough, people tend not to notice. Thanks to that, I got to hear the conversations in all the rooms through the speaking tubes in here.”

As the two stood aghast, for an instant, they got the impression that the pile of documents itself had laughed. In closing, the magical paperman wrapped up the debriefing by saying something very unlike an information broker:

“At any rate, it’s best to take great care of information one has seen and heard directly. There’s no such thing as Laplace’s demon in this world, no absolute intellect. No matter how much knowledge you have, in the end, you must rely on your own instincts and experience. That’s how I see it.”

Several days later

That day, the president, Nicholas, and the others were all out, and Henry was manning the information desk by himself.

I nearly died to get that information. I want to be the one who tells it, no matter what. I’m certain I’ll be able to tell it better than the president. After all, I experienced all sorts of things directly. I feel as if I lost an assortment of other things in exchange, but there’s no help for that. Information is power. In order to obtain it, a commensurate price must be paid. I still believe that, even now.

However, in the future, I think I’ll avoid getting carried away.

Henry didn’t worry about the fact that his hairline had turned pure white. He was itching to tell someone the information he himself had paid for.

Just then, a customer stopped in.

He was an odd young man with a tattooed face. His leg appeared to be injured; it was wrapped in bandages, and he was leaning on a cane.

The editorial department’s atmosphere seemed to intimidate him, and he looked as if he might start crying from that alone.

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

Even as the young guy looked bewildered by the overly courteous greeting, he said the words Henry most wanted to hear:

“U-um, about the, the train robbery that happened a little while ago—”

And so, today as well, information races through the streets.

Those who use information, and those made to dance by it:

In order to trick and be tricked, to flourish and fall, they steal information from each other.

As if jeering at them, this mindless power gradually grows and spreads, higher and further.

Wishing to accumulate, or to collapse and vanish.

Evolving and atrophying, over and over, as if living eternally.

Information: It resurrects again, and again, and again.

The End