Baccano! - Volume 8 - Chapter 1.5

CHAPTER 1: BACK

FIRST, LET’S TRY PICKING A FIGHT

New YorkThe bar Alveare

The bar and restaurant hadn’t opened yet.

In the midst of the sweet, lingering scent of honey, a woman sat in a chair, looking sad.

There were several figures around her: the waitresses, who were getting the restaurant ready, the restaurant’s middle-aged proprietress, and a few members of the Martillo Family, which treated the establishment as its stronghold.

However, a heavy air hung over the woman that set her apart from the surrounding mood.

There was still something girlish in her features, but her clothes were strange for this era: a rather masculine-looking suit and slacks.

The woman’s name was Ennis. She had no family name.

She was an imperfect homunculus who had been created by an alchemist named Szilard.

When she’d betrayed him, her master and main body, she’d been prepared to die, but—

—a young immortal had eaten the ancient alchemist, and Ennis’s life had been left in his care.

“Firo…”

He was good at looking after others. She’d been his enemy, but he’d taken her in and had even given her a room in his apartment.

He was the first family she’d ever had.

At first, she hadn’t known how to act around him, but as time passed, he’d gradually become an integral part of Ennis’s new life.

Now he was gone.

About a week ago, men who’d seemed to be agents from the Department of Justice had taken him away.

When Ennis heard that Firo had been hauled in, she realized she felt more ill at ease than she’d ever felt before.

It was true that he was an executive in the Martillo Family, a criminal syndicate, and that he toed the line of crime, or maybe even walked on the other side of it. Ennis knew this.

However, with her, Firo had been an oddly generous, agreeable young man, and she’d almost never seen his darker face. That said, he hadn’t kept secrets from her, either.

He was precious family who’d given her a definite place to belong when she hadn’t even known the meaning of her own existence.

Once she was no longer able to see him, Ennis realized just how important he’d become to her.

However, she couldn’t just stay depressed all by herself.

Firo wasn’t the only one who’d disappeared.

Isaac Dian had also been marched out of this restaurant about a month ago by some plainclothes policemen, and he hadn’t come back. They hadn’t heard a thing after that, but he’d probably been put in prison somewhere.

When his partner, Miria Harvent, had learned about it, everyone had thought she’d either cry and wail or become frantic and start rampaging around.

However, when Miria had understood everything, she’d closed her mouth and left Alveare without a word, and she still hadn’t returned.

Ennis hadn’t been there at the time, so she hadn’t seen it herself. Even so, at the idea of what Miria must have been feeling, she was seized by thoughts that made her chest constrict.

Like Firo, Isaac and Miria had changed Ennis’s life. They had saved her, and she also thought of them as precious friends.

And yet there was nothing she could do.

Ennis was terribly frustrated by her own helplessness, and yet she knew that just staying depressed wouldn’t get anyone anywhere, so she’d decided to keep thinking about what she should be doing now.

Today as well, she’d meant to spend the afternoon driving herself into a corner, but—

“Ennis, are you okay?”

Ennis had been discouraged for the past few days, and seeing her that way must have worried him. Czeslaw Meyer—Ennis’s roommate, a boy she treated like her little brother—spoke to her, looking concerned.

“Czes… I’m all right. I’ve just been feeling a little blue, that’s all.”

“If it’s about Firo, you shouldn’t worry too much.”

“I’m sorry. I know I need to pull myself together…”

“Oh, that’s fine. It’s just… It really is okay not to worry… It sounds funny to say this, but you two have time. Even if Firo’s in prison, he won’t die from sickness or an accident or anything.”

The boy spoke frankly, and Ennis responded naturally, giving him a soft smile.

“You’re right… After all, you managed to reunite with Maiza after more than a hundred years, Czes.”

“Y-yeah…”

For some reason, Czes’s answer sounded evasive, and Ennis grew uneasy, wondering if she’d said something wrong.

However, before she could ask, they heard the voice of the proprietress from the entrance to the restaurant.

“Sorry, mister. We’re not open yet.”

“The thing is, I’ve got business with the Martillos.”

The voice that had answered Seina was low and male, with a sharp edge to it.

“…Well, well… Are they expecting you, sir?”

“Heh-heh, quit talking like city hall, all right? Is Maiza here? He’s an old friend of mine.”

When the man said that name, Ennis, Czes, and the stern-faced men around them all looked at the door.

Maiza Avaro was the Martillo Family’s contaiuolo and one of the top executives. Outwardly, he looked good-natured, but he was actually pretty sharp, and he was one of the keys to the Martillo Family’s continued existence on its small territory.

In addition, he had one other important significance for Ennis, Czes, and the others like them…

“Anyway, I’m coming in.”

“Uh— Hey, mister, hold your horses!”

While Ennis and Czes were looking at each other and keeping an eye on the situation, the man stepped into the restaurant, ignoring Seina’s attempt to stop him.

The individual who appeared wore glasses and a thin coat. His sharp eyes were filled with a light that could have been taken as either hostility or wariness, and the atmosphere in the restaurant, which had been filled with friendly chatter up until that point, abruptly turned tense.

After the incident with Isaac the other day, the family’s men suspected that the guy might be with some sort of judicial organization, and the aura that clung to him actually did make him seem like that, in the extreme.

However—there was one person who was several times more apprehensive than those around him, but for a completely different reason from theirs.

“…Czes?”

When he saw the face of the man who’d walked in, Czes’s expression had instantly stiffened.

On seeing it, Ennis realized that something serious was happening. She looked at the restaurant’s visitor—

And when she saw his face, she realized who he was.

She’d never met him directly. However, she definitely remembered his face.

Ironically, although she had no way of knowing, it was the same reaction Firo had had when he’d met this same man.

This man is… Oh, he’s—

She’d learned something she couldn’t afford to know. That sensation, regret, and an immense feeling of guilt surged through Ennis.

The pain of that guilt was something she must never forget.

On top of that, the people who would have softened that pain…weren’t here now.

Ennis’s emotions were faintly visible in her expression, but the newcomer didn’t even see her. He was looking around at each of the men in the restaurant in turn.

Then he spotted the boy with the stiff face beside Ennis.

“Hey, Czes.”

The man’s expression softened just a little, and he spoke quietly.

“I haven’t seen you in a while. What’s it been, two hundred and thirty-three years or so?”

The man spread his arms, waxing nostalgic, but Czes’s guard stayed firmly in place, and he said only one word: the other man’s name.

“Victor…”

“Sorry to barge in on you before you open. Don’t worry about me, young lady.”

The Asian waitress had been about to get him some water, but he stopped her with a gesture. With no reservations, the bespectacled man—Victor—walked up to Czes’s table, pulled out a nearby chair, and sat down in an agile motion.

“It’s been ages. You look good; that’s great.”

“Uh, uh-huh… You too, Victor.”

Victor’s tone was persistently cheerful, but Czes was clearly wary and frightened.

He sat on the edge of his chair, obviously putting distance between the other man and himself.

In other words, he was staying out of reach of his right hand.

Czeslaw—Czes—was an immortal as well, and he had a stark terror of getting eaten. Naturally, most immortals feared the one “death” that was open to them, but Czes was conscious of it more frequently than most.

In addition, he’d been betrayed by someone he’d trusted in the past, so he was also more skeptical than necessary. To this boy, an immortal who’d appeared here suddenly after a gap of several centuries was unnerving in the extreme.

“…Why are you here…?”

“I had a little something to discuss with Maiza.”

“You weren’t very startled to see me… Does that mean you knew? Did you know I was here?”

“Hmm? Yeah, of course I did.”

His existence was known.

The fact made him feel a faint chill, and Czes’s wariness toward the other man grew stronger.

“Did you hear about it from the information broker? Or from Maiza?”

“The information broker? You mean the DD newspaper? Nah, they don’t say much to us Department of Justice types. Ah, but don’t go thinking I heard it from Maiza. I haven’t seen the guy in six or seven years.”

“Then why…?”

“Well, I’ve had my men watching you all this time.”

Victor spoke frankly, and as Czes kept asking questions, his eyebrows came together.

“Your men…?”

“Ha-ha. All you’ve been doing is grilling me. Let’s enjoy this reunion a bit more, hmm?”

“…Is the question so hard to answer?”

“Good grief, Czes, what am I gonna do with you? All right then, lemme answer your question with a question… Let’s trade. I had something I wanted to ask you, too.”

Victor’s expression was abruptly serious, and the boy felt deeply nervous. Every muscle in his body tightened.

“Wh-what?”

“Czes… Where’s Fermet?”

“…!”

The change was dramatic.

Up until that point, although he was afraid, Czes had been trying to act brave. However, the moment he heard the name Fermet, he went so pale that even Ennis could tell from her seat beside him. He dropped his gaze to the center of the table, white-faced.

Naturally, Victor had registered the change, too, but he delivered the next blow with cold words.

“Fermet. The guy who left the ship with you. You two headed west after that. If you’re living here by yourself, that means—”

“S-stop it…”

“…See? Everybody’s got questions that are hard to answer. That’s your dark side, and I don’t plan to intrude. So when you poke your nose into my business, I’d be careful if I were you.”

Victor suddenly smiled as he spoke, but the color didn’t return to Czes’s face.

When she saw how the boy looked, Ennis tried to protest—but every time she glanced at Victor’s face, her heart failed her.

That face was still a solid part of the memories of the alchemist she’d eaten long ago.

Not as a mere companion but as someone who’d been a particularly close friend.

In other words, the man in front of Ennis having been a good friend of the man she’d eaten confounded her completely.

She wondered if he’d come to kill her in order to avenge his friend.

Or maybe in order to retrieve his friend’s memories…

As she waited for the man’s next words, Ennis tensed up as badly as Czes.

The man glanced at her and opened his mouth, beginning to say something, but—

Just then, a voice echoed in the restaurant:

“Victor.”

It was a young man’s voice, and it held a mixture of surprise, delight, and a little reproach.

“What’s the occasion? Why come all the way over here?”

The newcomer was tall, and he looked as if he was in his mid-twenties.

Like Victor, he wore glasses, but the impression he made was completely different.

In the case of the tall man, his glasses topped a mild expression created by his threadlike eyes, and the aura he exuded made him seem like a good-natured scholarly type.

In contrast, Victor looked like a hard-boiled carnivore. Relaxing his expression somewhat, he raised his right hand in a friendly way and hailed him.

“Hey, Maiza! Enjoying life? Reunions are great, really great. When you see your friend, and he looks completely different from when you last saw him, sometimes it affects you more than your first meeting. Is it the other guy who changed, or was it you? I was just trying to teach Czes about that, but he’s no fun at all. What do you think?”

“Have you converted all the blood in your body to liquor to celebrate the end of Prohibition? It’s best to get drunk on yourself in moderation. The intoxication may induce nausea—for us, at least.”

“Heh… That doesn’t sound very welcoming. Should I not have come here?”

“Do you understand your own position and where you are right now?”

With a mildly disgusted sigh, Maiza spoke, sounding troubled.

“What business does a Bureau of Investigation executive have with a mere ‘mafia’ syndicate?”

Clatter

The faint vibrations became a single sound and ran through the restaurant, which hadn’t yet opened.

At present, almost everyone in the restaurant had ties to the Martillo Family, and their relationship with members of the Bureau of Investigation bore a remarkable resemblance to the relationship between cats and dogs.

Even if that hadn’t been the case, there were the recent incidents with Isaac and Firo, and every eye in the restaurant turned on the man from the Bureau of Investigation with more than the usual enmity.

“Ha! If you’re so hostile at the name of the Bureau, you’re practically advertising something underhanded here that doesn’t dare show its face in broad daylight. Ain’t that right, Maiza?”

Victor didn’t look the least bit disconcerted, and Maiza gave a sigh that was half-resigned. “Did you come here to pick a fight? Or do you have some sort of urgent business with me?”

“Hey, keep your shirt on. Whether it turns out to be urgent or not is up to Huey.”

“Huey?”

He’d abruptly mentioned the name of an old companion: an alchemist who had become an immortal on the ship, like Maiza, Czes, and Victor.

Eyeing the other man quizzically, Maiza openly asked him exactly what he was thinking.

“Didn’t you capture him?”

“We got him, but apparently the bastard has swarms of minions… They’ve been real busy lately. I wouldn’t be surprised if we ended up with another Flying Pussyfoot incident on our hands.”

The Flying Pussyfoot.

Maiza and the others had heard the rumors as well: About three years ago, a train by that name had been occupied by terrorists. They’d heard about it because they’d had acquaintances on board; the incident hadn’t been publicly reported.

Some sort of political pressure seemed to have been at work, and none of the papers had covered the affair. Even though the incident was believed to have left many people dead, for all practical purposes, it had been consigned to oblivion.

The sight of that far-too-skillful cover-up gave denizens of the underworld like Maiza and the others an eerie, nagging feeling.

From routine experience, they knew how hard it was to cover up any sort of incident.

Even mundane incidents were difficult. Keeping a train hijack under wraps would be nearly impossible, no matter how you looked at it, and the mere idea of trying sounded completely lunatic.

“Don’t tell me keeping that matter out of the press was your doing as well.”

“No, Maiza. Don’t give us too much credit. We don’t have that kind of power, either. Apparently, there’s some other group that doesn’t want business involving immortals to go public.”

Victor denied his own group’s power in a matter-of-fact way, then looked just a little displeased and muttered, as if talking to himself, “Among the guys at the top anyway… Dammit, we’ve got the same goal, but they get so hostile over every little thing… Goddamn assholes…”

“And? What about Huey?”

“Hmm? Oh yeah, sorry. Well, here’s the thing: It seems like Huey has to be issuing orders from the inside…but we don’t know how.”

Prompted by Maiza, Victor began elaborating their situation in a loud, clear voice.

At the end, he added a comment that sent a jolt through Maiza and the others:

“To help with that, I have your sworn kid brother as our mole, see.”

Clatter clack rattle clatter skreek

The next moment, all the men in the restaurant suddenly began shifting their chairs, and the resulting noise was louder than the stir when they’d discovered that Victor was from the Bureau itself.

Behind his glasses, Maiza’s narrow eyes grew pointed and sharp, and he spoke to his former comrade coldly. “What have you done with Firo? Depending on your answer…we may decide that you are an enemy of our state.”

Under that freezing gaze, Victor averted his eyes slightly and raised both hands, as if to say he surrendered. “Okay, okay, hang on, Maiza. It’s true that I can’t stand you gangsters—but I don’t want to end up triggering one of those bloody purges, so I came here to clear up any misunderstandings. I’m no enemy of yours.”

With a shameless reply, Victor got up from his chair with a muttered Yeesh.

“He hasn’t spilled a thing about your family, and he didn’t sell you people out to become my mole.”

Then, sending Ennis a look that was full of complicated emotions, he began to speak, seeming to hide his own feelings somehow.

“You’ve got this doll Ennis here, right? He voluntarily took on some dirty work to get her crime struck off the books.”

“Huh…?”

Abruptly hearing her name, Ennis gazed back at Victor, bewildered.

Victor didn’t sneer, and he didn’t give her an in-control smile. He just began to describe his exchange with Firo, looking brusque and cross.

Indifferently. Dispassionately.

Even when he saw Ennis growing paler, he didn’t hesitate at all.

It was as if he was venting some sort of resentment at her.

“Victor…”

“Don’t glower like that, Maiza. Miss Ennis and the mobster shits around here look like they’ve got something to say, but I don’t have that kind of time, and I’m heading out for today.”

Having told them everything, Victor spread his hands casually, then started toward the restaurant’s exit.

Behind him, Maiza spoke, sounding a bit tense.

“When it comes down to it, what would you say Huey is planning? I suppose it’s all an experiment to him, but…especially since Elmer isn’t with him…do you think he’s gone out of control?”

“Hell, that’s what I’d like to know.”

After this exchange, which only they understood, Victor dusted off his coat and, looking as if he thought it was a pain, spat out a warning:

“Anyway…according to the intel I’ve got, Huey’s planning to send up some kinda fireworks here in New York in the next few days… You get what I’m sayin’, Maiza? If that research fiend approaches you somehow—don’t join that party. Neither you nor your family stands to gain a single thing by it.”

“…Is that warning the real reason you came here today?”

“I still think of you as a friend. Just don’t pull anything that would make you my enemy. And while I’m at it…hurry up and cut ties with this gang already.”

At that point, for the first time, the Bureau of Investigation executive gave an uncharacteristic smile, then murmured as though he was thinking about something he missed.

“Then we can go drinking together again.”

After that, as if to cancel out those mild words, he loudly rattled on without even looking back at the Martillo contaiuolo, “Listen up, Maiza! I do still consider you a friend, but I hate you mob types—mafia, Camorra, ’Ndrangheta, whatever the hell you call yourselves—with a burning passion. Go ahead and bite the big one! Suffer! Writhe! Regret the fact that you were ever born! If you’re smeared in shit long enough, you’ll turn into shit yourself! Just remember that!”

Without bothering to calm his ragged panting, Victor marched briskly toward the exit.

But right then, an elderly man poked his face in through the restaurant’s door.

“Whoops, ’scuse me.”

As the old man spoke, he passed by Victor, who was on his way out.

“…Hmph.”

Victor kept walking without pausing, but—

—abruptly, he noticed that something about his legs felt off.

What’s going on?

Had he tripped on a chair leg or something?

Victor bent his head to look down at his feet and was struck by a strange feeling.

His feet weren’t caught on anything in particular.

He couldn’t even see the floor down there.

?

The moment he started to wonder about that—a dull impact enveloped his body, and a violent shudder ran through the air in his lungs.

Since the floor was right in front of him, he understood that he’d apparently made a dramatic fall.

Why…did I fall down…just now?

Had he tripped on something and fallen? Neither the feel of the experience nor the momentum he’d had matched that possibility.

A wrinkled hand reached out to Victor, who didn’t know what had happened to him. It belonged to the old man who’d just passed him.

“What’s the matter, son?”

Victor looked up into the old man’s face, then realized he was Asian.

Kanshichirou Yaguruma, huh?!

“Hey, oldster. Did you do that?”

All he’d heard was that he had an interest in Eastern martial arts, but that fall couldn’t have been anyone else’s doing.

Irritated, he struck away the offered hand and tried to get up.

However, although he’d swung his arm with some force, Yaguruma’s hand caught it firmly.

The wrinkled hand was as hard as tire rubber, and Victor felt as if his wrist had been trapped in a vise.

Then, using the momentum of his attempt to get up, his body rose lightly into the air—

—and the next moment, a light shock ran through his lower back. He realized that he was sitting in a chair at the counter, and the momentum slammed his head down onto that counter face-first.

Before he had time to understand his situation, he heard the light sound of something shattering right next to him.

“Be careful.”

When he looked in the direction of the noise, he saw the fine, shining shards of a broken liquor bottle and a man who was slowly scraping them into a pile.

“Even if you’re with the Bureau of Investigation, or one of its top brass, or even the president of the nation—you could still fall onto a broken bottle and die.”

The sharp-eyed man glared at him, and Victor understood what was going on perfectly.

The Martillo Family was probably getting a little revenge for the provocation he’d hit them with earlier.

Even though he knew that, he hadn’t been able to do a thing about it, and he was irritated with himself. Pretending to be calm, he spoke to the man who sat next to him.

“…Is that supposed to be a threat? That crap won’t work on m…”

As he spoke, Victor had his own constitution in mind, but the man in the seat beside him put his face right up next to his ear, whispering in a voice only he could hear:

“While that bottle’s stuck in your face, someone could put their right hand on your head, too.”

“…?!”

“Just like in 1711 on the Advena Avis…when Szilard did it.”

Who…is this?

Victor hastily took another look at the guy’s face, but he wasn’t one of his alchemist companions from the ship. That said, he couldn’t imagine Maiza blabbing about the incident on the ship to other people.

Who is this guy?!

Victor was confused, and the man smiled quietly, wrapped his hands around the glass fragments—

—and as he gently lifted his hands, a perfectly undamaged liquor bottle peeked out from below them. It was as if it was being reborn from the man’s fingers.

“…?!”

“What do you think? It’s unexpectedly terrifying when a mystery presents itself in a place you thought you knew like the back of your hand, isn’t it?”

“……”

Victor slowly shifted his gaze to Maiza, but Maiza was only watching him sternly from a distance, and he wasn’t about to explain this phenomenon or the man who sat next to him.

“A magician, huh? Well, I’ll check around and find out who you are.”

The agent had abruptly fallen from his position of superiority, and he gritted his teeth hard, leaving the counter behind him.

“Just don’t forget… Even so… Even so, we don’t bend over for threats.”

The murderous gazes of all the gangsters in the restaurant stabbed into Victor’s receding back.

However, he didn’t stop walking.

He absorbed that hostility with his whole body, as if to say that looks would never kill him.

“Yaguruma. Ronny. You both threatened him too much.”

After Victor had gone, Maiza reprimanded the two upper-level executives who sat at the counter.

“Did I? If I’d really been trying to threaten him, I would’ve dislocated his arms.”

In contrast to Yaguruma, who was cackling, the sharp-eyed man—Ronny Schiatto—was gazing at the liquor bottle and frowning.

“Ronny? What’s the matter?”

“Nothing… It just seemed as though he had no memory of my face.”

“That bothers you?”

Maiza sounded a little appalled, and Ronny’s expression grew more complex.

“Well, never mind… Maiza, I’ve made a resolution.”

The man who’d once been called a demon murmured in a voice that held mysterious power.

“Next time I’m summoned, I’ll put more effort into making an impression.”

Victor got into a waiting car outside the building and quickly put the place behind him.

Bill, who was driving, spoke to his boss in an unconcerned voice.

“Uh… How did it go?”

“Harrumph! Terrifying! Frankly, I thought I was gonna get bumped off! I’ve never felt so sure Maiza’s glare was gonna kill me before, and the other executives, too… Dammit… The place is just lousy with things I don’t get. That Maiza… He’s completely devolved into a gangster!”

“Erm… I, uh, I’m not sure I should say this, but, um…”

“What? Spit it out.”

Bill was being inarticulate, and Victor was short on patience.

However, the words Bill used to parry his supervisor’s anger were still easygoing, and his response was mildly teasing.

“Hmm… You said, ‘As his friend, I’m going to go persuade him not to let Huey tempt him,’ so…if they directed so much hostility at you that your legs are still shaking even now, I’m wondering how exactly you delivered the message.”

“Oho. What do you think, Agent Sullivan?”

He spoke as if he was ducking the question, but the response he got came in the form of an additional blow.

“Uh…you did something stupid, would be my guess.”

“……”

He had no comeback for that, and yet he felt as though pulling rank here and lecturing him would be the same as admitting he’d lost, so Victor just closed his eyes, looking cranky.

Then, as he thought back over the recent scene, he remembered something with a jolt and opened his eyes.

“Damn. I was going to tell them one other thing, and I forgot.”

“Mm… What was it?”

“Nah… Just a little something about that screwball immortal Isaac.

“We weren’t expecting him to be involved at all, see…”