Baccano! - Volume 8 - Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2: FRONT

LET’S SAVOR SUPPER WITH A PSYCHO

San Francisco BayAlcatraz IslandThe wharf

“Get out.”

The guard’s flat voice called him, and Firo quietly opened his eyes.

The quality of the waves had changed from what it had been a minute ago, and it was clear that the boat had come alongside a pier somewhere.

In the boat’s hold, where the naked bulbs were unnecessarily bright, the young man took another look at his surroundings.

Aside from him, there were three other people being transported.

Since the guards were right there watching them, they hadn’t been able to talk, but all three men were memorable.

One was an Asian man with dragons tattooed down both arms.

He was wearing a long-sleeved shirt, but it was possible to imagine the bright colors under the sleeves from the dragon mouths inked on the backs of his hands and the tail designs that reached his neck. His face still looked young; he was probably somewhere in his late twenties.

The second was a big black man.

From his salt-and-pepper hair and his features, Firo thought the man was around forty. His face looked tranquil, but the scars all over his body spoke eloquently of the man’s true nature. Firo’s experience told him that those weren’t the sorts of scars he could have picked up in the course of labor or through an attempted KKK lynching. They were, plain and simple, the sort of scars picked up in fistfights, knife fights, and fights to the death.

The last one was a drooping white man.

He sighed constantly; he kept muttering as though he was frightened of something, and every time his voice grew loud, the guard gave him a warning. He seemed to be in his mid-thirties, but the man’s worn-down look made him appear unnecessarily old, and so Firo wouldn’t have been surprised to hear he was over fifty.

Looking at his diverse traveling companions, Firo sighed again.

Sinister-looking convicts. He’d be thrown in with them to walk into history’s best—or, to its inmates, worst—prison.

Even though he’d come to terms with the idea, every time he accepted that fact, his spirits sank lower.

In this odd company, Firo stepped down onto a pier that was lit by the setting sun.

The first thing he saw was the looming guard tower.

It wasn’t actually all that high, but under these conditions, with no tall buildings around, it exerted a pressure of the absolute—an inescapable symbol that looked down upon its convicts. At the top of the tower, a guard with a sniper rifle stared down at them, amplifying the tension. His presence bespoke that no matter how high it was, it wouldn’t be high enough to run from.

This place is pretty big.

As Firo looked around, that was his honest impression.

A lot of bare rock was visible on the island. It was far larger than it had looked when he’d seen it from the wharf in San Francisco, and the many sheer, rough-hewn cliffs created a feeling of being closed in that was also greater than it had seemed from the outside.

When he looked back, he could see San Francisco’s rows of skyscrapers. It looked as if he’d be able to touch them if he reached out, but the cluster of buildings, shrunk down like miniatures in a box garden, also seemed like the scenery of some far distant country.

“Walk.”

Obeying the order, the four convicts left the wharf and started up the path that led to the upper part of the island.

The island was like a slightly elevated crag, and eyeballing it, Firo estimated that its highest point was about fifty yards above the ocean.

Even though the land that the prison was built on might be over five hundred yards in length, it probably wasn’t even two hundred yards wide.

Seriously… What is this? I wouldn’t be surprised if Lupin or Moriarty had a hideout here.

Firo had known extremely little about this place going in, and he regretted his lack of education: If he’d known this was going to happen, he would have skimmed the newspapers and gossip rags more regularly.

The white structure in the center of the island, the one they were walking toward, was probably the main prison building.

However, several other buildings stood around it, and the atmosphere it exuded was imposing, as if it really was a fortress.

Rust, grime, and a unique dullness could be seen on the boat dock and the pier, as if they prided themselves on having been used for a long time. Only the building at the center of the island looked new, so much so that it seemed like a type of distortion, and there was an oddly warped beauty to it.

Yeah, you couldn’t break out of a place like this.

It was said to have been originally used as a military fortress, and its location lived up to that reputation. In addition, the guard tower and other facilities were perfectly situated to handle not just jailbreaks from inside but external attacks as well. People said the cold, swift currents would be too much for you and you’d drown, but the movements of the rifle-toting guards were also uniform and hyperalert, and the sight compelled you to imagine getting shot dead before you even reached the water. That was how solid the security was.

Forget “security.” These are full-scale military-grade defenses.

As Firo walked on, breaking out in a cold sweat, new sights presented themselves one after another.

The blue ocean, the enormous red-orange bridge over San Francisco Bay, and the clusters of buildings at both ends of it seemed even prettier than they had earlier, giving off an air of vivid liveliness.

Actually, this is a fairly long walk. If this were a stairwell, we’d be about ten floors up already.

The slope was steeper than he’d expected, and climbing the road that zigzagged up it while handcuffed made for a rather rough trip.

About the time the sea wind had begun to cool Firo’s sweat, the main prison building, which had been visible for a while now, finally barred his way.

When the guards who were escorting them sent a signal from the entrance, a bell sounded in the interior, and a door set in the stone wall opened.

Inside, there was an abrupt iron grill with a room that looked like a control post behind it. Several guards were watching them through a glass window.

With Firo in the lead, the four prisoners looked at one another as they followed the guards down the corridor, but—

“You’re over here.”

—abruptly, Firo was stripped out of the line and taken down a different hallway from the others.

The other convicts looked at Firo’s face curiously, but the guards promptly pulled them away, and they disappeared around a corner.

“Why just me…?”

“I don’t remember giving you permission to ask questions.”

As the impassive guard marched him along, Firo looked at his face.

He’d thought it might be Huey Laforet’s underling, the man who’d spoken to him before they boarded the boat, but he didn’t recognize this guy’s face at all, and he felt just a little relieved.

They entered a room deep within the depths of the corridor. Inside, a man at a desk was waiting for them.

The desk and the room’s decor were plain; it seemed to be some sort of office. The man looked at Firo, then signaled with his eyes to the guard who’d brought him.

The guard immediately nodded, said “Excuse me, sir,” and promptly left the room.

It was just one-on-one now, and Firo took another look at the man in front of him.

Unlike the uniformed guards, this man was wearing a sharp, neat suit. He was getting on in years, and his hair was thinning. He had stern features, but as he walked over to Firo, his expression was mild.

Was this the prison’s warden?

Firo suspected he might be, but the man in question told him he’d guessed wrong.

“Welcome, Firo Prochainezo. I’m Misery, the special administrator here.”

“Special administrator?”

“On paper, I’m the deputy warden’s assistant, but my position is rather unique. You are a special case; rather than Warden Johnston, I and a few of the guards will be in charge of managing you. I’d like you to keep that in mind.”

“You’re Victor’s friend, then?”

He was on the other guy’s turf, so Firo kept his question basic but respectful.

Misery nodded, as if to say that would speed the conversation along, and calmly began to explain the situation in which Firo had been placed.

“Hmm, yes. Victor’s told me about you. Personally, I was against using someone like you, an outsider…and an immortal like him, besides.”

“I would have really appreciated it if you’d stopped him, even if you had to slug him to do it.”

“Yes, I slugged, stabbed, and kicked him, but he’s surprisingly obstinate. My only remaining option seemed to be to take his family hostage, but unfortunately, he’s a bachelor.”

I see. Apparently, this guy’s got a sense of humor.

Relaxing just a little, Firo eased up on his hostility and listened to what Misery had to say.

“Now then…Huey Laforet. Victor’s told you about him?”

“Yes, sir. Briefly.”

“Right… He has multiple organizations he’s trained personally, and according to Victor’s information network, several of them are on the move. They seem to be planning some sort of large-scale maneuver in New York very soon.”

“In New York?”

“Yes… Victor said that since you’re an immortal, and since Huey doesn’t know of your existence yet, we should send you in.”

It was a pretty unappealing story.

The Mist Wall incident, which was the excuse they’d used to haul Firo in to begin with, had been something he’d gotten dragged into by Huey’s henchmen.

Besides…those guys said some stuff about Ennis.

Remembering the saw-toothed monster who’d been one of Huey’s men, Firo audibly ground his molars. Even if they told him this stuff now, he couldn’t turn around and go straight back to New York. The thought that Victor had probably neglected to tell him earlier on purpose deeply nettled him.

Still, striking out in anger here would be pointless. In that case, all he could do was stop Huey from the inside.

“…I’m going to ask you a really blunt question.”

“Go ahead.”

“Are you saying I should assume that, if I want to save my friends in New York, I may be…compelled to ‘eat’ Huey? He’d be on his guard around Victor, but you think I could take care of him easily, since he doesn’t know I’m an immortal.”

There was a moment of silence.

However, after giving it a little thought, Misery shook his head.

“…No, Victor’s not that much of an ogre.”

“I dunno about that.”

“Hmm… Well, I’d rather you didn’t let it come to that. I’ll contact you with specific instructions through the guards who work for me. As a rule, until you do have instructions, you’re to behave just like the other convicts. No matter what, avoid doing anything that would unmask you as an immortal.”

Misery spoke emphatically, but Firo responded with a bitter smile.

“Well, either way… It looks like I’ve been outed already.”

“…What?”

“He already knows. He knew I was coming and that I’m immortal.”

Then, in a matter-of-fact way, Firo reported what had happened to him.

Half-resigned and cursing his fate with a passion…

“I see…”

After he’d heard Firo’s story, Misery shook his head. Clear fatigue showed in his expression.

“You look like you saw that one coming.”

“Yes… That’s the greatest mystery about him.”

According to Misery, Huey was able to obtain information from the outside, and transmit information to the outside world, through some unknown method.

“As you say, there are guards who are under his influence as well. A mere handful, mind you. That said, we have no proof, interrogating them yields no information, and there are no problems with their past records. When I talk it over with the warden and have them transferred…before we know it, he’s influenced another guard.”

“What a great work ethic.”

“Refrain from sarcasm, if you would. That said, even if he is winning over the guards somehow…that alone can’t begin to explain his information-gathering capabilities.”

“True.”

There were very few people who knew Firo was an immortal. The DD newspaper—the information broker—was another story, but he really didn’t think it would be possible to contact an establishment in New York from this prison.

So was Misery, the man here with him, actually Huey’s underling?

Firo had considered that possibility as well, but it was only a guess, and if it had been true, he felt like the man would have simply revealed that fact right here, right now.

Either way, whatever happens is gonna happen.

The mission he’d been given from the start was uncovering Huey’s information network. Reaffirming that he was far from being in a position of superiority and that he’d lost the advantage entirely, Firo heaved an immense sigh.

Misery watched the young man sympathetically, but abruptly, he inquired about something odd:

“There’s one final thing I’d like to ask you.”

“What is it?”

“Those three prisoners who were brought in with you… What do you think of them?”

“…?”

The Asian guy, the black guy, and the white guy? He didn’t think anything of them. He hadn’t even talked to them, so all he could say was what he’d thought of their appearances.

Determining this was the case, Firo responded to the question with one of his own.

“Why do you ask that?”

“Well…technically, you were the only one who was supposed to be admitted today.”

“?”

“However, over the past few days, there was an abrupt burst of activity in our contact system… Prisoners who were supposed to be jailed next week were hastily rescheduled to come to the island with you.”

That was truly weird. It didn’t sound particularly unsettling to Firo, but something about the story did seem strange. He’d just assumed that he’d been admitted on the same day as other prisoners to camouflage his arrival, but from the sound of things, it had been the other way around.

“Did any of those three men strike you as being abnormal in some way?”

“No… If I had to say, I was a little worried about the white guy muttering constantly, but that’s it.”

“I see… Well, forget I asked. We plan to put them in cells on either side of yours, so get along as well as you can. Ah, although private conversation is against the rules.”

Are you telling us to be pals through sign language?

As he bit back that sarcastic remark, Firo underwent a health exam in another room.

A young gangster stripped of his clothes, naked as the day he was born. The doctor was bad enough; being seen by the guards was frankly humiliating. With incredibly practiced motions, working thoroughly and quickly, the doctor checked the insides of his nose, mouth, and ears, going from basic physical tests, such as making sure his hair was the real thing, all the way to a rectal exam.

Ordinarily, if he’d been subjected to a rectal exam in front of other people, he would have gone bright red and sworn revenge, but it was over before he could even work up those emotions.

Ah, geez…

Looking worn-out, Firo reached for the clothes he’d removed, but a guard rebuked him.

“Hey. Don’t get dressed.”

“?”

“The latest fashions are waiting in your cell. You’re in the buff until you get there.”

Firo, stark naked, was escorted between two men in trim uniforms.

His anger had no place to go, and looking sour, he turned it on himself.

They rounded a corner, entering a long corridor.

Although there was nothing that would have qualified as noise, the sounds of people living their lives seemed to come from everywhere, and Firo knew immediately.

So this is our hive, huh?

As far as he could see, the walls were made entirely of iron bars.

Both sides of the long corridor were lined with cells, with no gaps in between, and there was an incredibly clear sense of people moving around in the narrow rooms.

Two floors… No, three?

The cells were lined up not just horizontally but vertically as well, like an apartment complex. They reminded Firo of a two-dimensional beehive…although, unlike bees, they weren’t able to come and go freely.

Just being on this island is enough of a handicap, and then they stick you in cramped cells like these?

However, right now, he couldn’t think past that point.

From behind the bars, several of the prisoners gave him the up-and-down, checking out the newbie walking naked down the corridor.

Most of the men just glanced at his face, then looked away, but a few of them scrutinized every inch of him.

“Welcome to Broadway, sweetheart.”

Firo glanced in the direction of the quiet murmur.

A little man with sagging flesh was leering at him, baring a mouthful of bad teeth.

I’ll remember your mug.

As he was about to take the next step, planning what he’d do to that guy later—

—one of the guards glared at the little man and spoke in a flat voice.

“Shut up.”

That was all.

The guard hadn’t raised his voice, but it echoed in the corridor, turning into a feeling of stark power that bore down on the surrounding cells.

“The next guy who says anything liable to start a fight goes to the Dungeon.”

The next moment, a frozen silence enveloped the long hallway.

As he walked on, startled by the dramatic, almost magical effect of the guard’s voice, Firo was stopped about halfway down the first floor, then pushed toward a cell on the left.

A guard farther down the hall worked the cellblock’s switchboard, then opened the heavy barred door.

“A word of advice.”

The guard pushed Firo into the cell, gave a simple sign, and then his fellows closed the door.

Then, making sure he was understood, he gave Firo a kindly warning.

“I know what that guy said to you back there was an insult. If you try to work him over for it, though, don’t expect any sympathy from us. We’ll throw you in the Dungeon—into solitary.

“Revenge is a splendid thing, and it’s not for the birds who end up on this rock.”

“The latest fashions, huh?”

Muttering savagely to himself, Firo picked up the clothes that had been set on the bed.

Work clothes in a dull blue color. Around here, these were probably the most common rags to be seen.

Released from the humiliation of being naked, Firo looked over the items that had been set out on the bed and realized that he’d been provided with an unexpected number of accessories.

Two undershirts, two pairs of underwear.

They’d given him six pairs of socks.

One cap, one handkerchief, one belt. Surprisingly, there were even two different types of shoes, one for work and one for days off.

He was even happier to see a wool coat on a hanger.

Well, I guess I won’t be freezing to death, anyway.

Completely forgetting that he was immortal for the space of that thought, Firo looked around, seeing what else was in the room.

The bed was a folding type that was secured to one of the cell’s sidewalls with chains. In the back, there was a toilet without a seat. A sink sat beside the toilet, and when he gave the knob a twist, clear water gushed out with greater force than he’d anticipated.

On the side opposite the bed, two shelves—also folding—were fixed to the wall, one above the other.

Even more surprising, a variety of prison-issue items sat on the open shelves and the sink.

A razor.

A metal cup.

An eye mask.

A comb.

Soap.

A toothbrush and tooth powder.

Toilet paper.

Shoe polish.

A broom for indoor cleaning stood in a corner of the cell.

A thick sheaf of documents with Prison Regulations written on it sat proudly on the shelf, and Firo casually skimmed through it as he continued looking around the cell.

The cramped room held so many things that for a moment, he thought, Huh. They treat you pretty well here.

However, as soon as he looked up at the ceiling, his spirits sank.

The abnormally low ceiling made him feel as if he were on the verge of being crushed, and the single light bulb set into that ceiling seemed to sizzle his eyes and sensitive skin.

When he glanced into the cell across the way, its inmate was doing his business on the toilet behind the bed.

He averted his eyes, clicking his tongue in irritation. Realizing that if he could see that from here, the other guy would be able to see everything he did as well, Firo found himself wanting to break out already.

When the first post-admission headcount ended, Firo was able to confirm that the occupants of the cells on either side of his were the two men of color who’d come in with him. Three men must have been released from the prison recently, either by coincidence or…some other method of removal. The white guy was probably somewhere farther away, under similar conditions.

All right, so…what should I do?

Growing tired of being pessimistic about his situation, Firo told himself that at least the walls were sturdier than they had been during the poverty of his childhood.

The problem was the meals.

He’d been told that prison food was nasty.

According to what he’d heard from Pezzo and Randy, who’d messed up and landed in the clink temporarily, the meals had been so unappealing that they’d started to miss liquor made from diluted industrial alcohol, and they’d sworn in their hearts that they’d never mess up again. The fact that they hadn’t sworn “never to do bad things again” had been very like those two, but although they’d always laughed about that story, remembering it dampened Firo’s mood.

That was what it was like even in ordinary prisons.

What kind of leftover slop was waiting for him in a place people feared as its own brand of hell?

Since he’d been thinking exclusively about things like that, as Firo headed for the dining hall for his first meal, his footsteps naturally grew heavy.

When he entered the dining hall, he saw that the space had an atmosphere that was different from the cells.

Broadway—the cell-lined corridor—had given him a sense of mild claustrophobia. In contrast, even though it was surrounded by institutional walls and a ceiling, this place was one of the most spacious rooms in the prison.

It was a momentary feeling of freedom.

Firo wanted to pause briefly and draw a deep breath, but he was part of a moving line, and he couldn’t actually stop.

They picked up their dishes and utensils in order, had their meals dished out in order, then left the line in order and sat wherever they wanted to.

He looked around. The mess hall was overflowing with convicts, and the sense of liberation he’d felt a moment ago was already gone.

As a rule, the seats farther back were filled before the ones in front, but even so, there were several loose groups.

Black guys sat with black guys, while white guys stuck with other white guys.

It wasn’t clear whether they’d been invited or they’d just gone over of their own accord, but…the black man who’d been admitted along with Firo had already joined one of the groups, while the Asian man was already part of another small group and was silently eating his supper.

The white man was sitting in a corner of the dining hall, shivering hard. However, thinking that it would be a pain to go all the way over there now, Firo decided to eat right where he was.

From what Misery had said, it was possible that one of those three had infiltrated the prison with a goal in mind.

He’d assumed the diagram here was simple—“the Bureau of Investigation versus Huey”—but there might have been some other intention or organization at work, too.

Or had the guy simply been summoned to help Huey break out?

Either way, he really couldn’t see them being in the same position as himself. If that was the case, Misery would have known about it, and he couldn’t think of why they’d need to fool their allies that way.

Well, that’s fine. Regardless, everything here is the enemy.

In this situation, there was no telling when someone might try to kill him in his sleep. Everyone around him was a stranger. There was no one he could trust.

Steeling himself, his expression tense, Firo began to flip the mental switch that would let him be thoroughly heartless.

Just then—

“Whaaaaaaa—?!”

—a dopey-sounding cry echoed through the dining hall, and all the prisoners’ eyes darted to one spot.

At the same time, a thrill of frank astonishment raced through Firo—

“Heeey! Firo! If it isn’t Firo!”

—and the next moment, his energy drained out of him.

No, no, no, no, wait, wait, wait, wait.

He knew that voice.

This time, the memories weren’t Szilard’s. This was a voice Firo Prochainezo had heard in his own lifetime.

Why?! Why is he here?

Fearfully, he raised his head, and there—

—he saw a man whose face was far too familiar, enthusiastically waving his arms at him and wearing a smile that was completely inappropriate for where he was.

Isaac!

His friend had been arrested a full month before he had, and Firo checked several times, making sure it wasn’t an illusion.

Come to think of it, after we heard he’d been nabbed by the cops, we really didn’t hear anything else… I never thought he’d end up here…

…Huh?

All the prisoners had glared at Isaac and his flailing. However, when they registered that it was him, their eyes went back to their own meals, as if this happened all the time.

Meaning…what? Why?

The guards also looked at one another. Then, sighing wearily, they jogged over to Isaac. They surrounded him from all sides, their footsteps completely in sync.

An excessively perfect formation.

Their skill was captivating.

“You again, huh?”

“Huh? Me again?”

The hands Isaac had been waving at Firo were caught firmly, and they locked down both of his legs while they were at it.

“Yeah, you.”

“Oh, listen to you! You’re such a kidder!”

“Too bad openly breaking the ‘no conversation’ rule isn’t a joke… Congrats: This is your tenth trip to the Dungeon. To commemorate it, we’ll hook you up with two chains today.”

Then the guards carried Isaac out as if he were a statue, heading toward the corner of the dining hall so dynamically that it seemed as if they might start tossing him into the air.

……

As he watched them go, Firo had nothing to say. All he could do was fidget with the spoon in his hand, turning it around and around.

Isaac protested after being dumped on the ground, kicking and struggling against the guards who surrounded him.

“Waugh! What do you think you’re doing? That wasn’t conversation; I was exulting in a reunion, and that was a New York–style greeting—”

In response, the guards picked Isaac up as if they were used to this.

“Yeah, yeah, we get it, we know.”

“We get it, so c’mon down with us quietly.”

“Too bad. See, this ain’t New York.”

“Hurry up and learn Alcatraz-style already, birdbrain.”

“Yeah, yeah, this way—there’s a good boy. You’ll be able to have a nice, long nap in that dark, dark basement. Boy, am I jealous.”

With the same skill you’d use to pitch a mutinous child into a storage shed, the guards carried Isaac, bound hand and foot, out of the dining hall on their shoulders.

Um… What am I supposed to do here?

Firo wondered whether he should throw him a lifeline and whether that would even do any good. However, when he heard Isaac, who was being carted away by the guards like so much luggage, his thoughts broke off temporarily.

“Huh? You’re jealous? But listen, you don’t get as much food down there as you do up here, and you’re chained up and can’t move!”

“If there’s less food, you’ll slim down, and if you try to break the chains by hauling on them, you’ll slim down even more.”

“I—I see! Well, I guess that’s fine, then. Do I really have that much fat on me, though?”

“Nerve, buddy. The only thing you’ve got a lot of is nerve. Just shut up, all right?”

……

Uh… Erm… I, uh…

Well, never mind, I guess?

He sighed, thoroughly disgusted with himself for not being able to do anything but accept the situation.

At least I can trust him…

The idea that he had a friend here brought him just a little relief, but—

“Hey, are you friends with that mor—?”

“Dunno.”

Firo answered before the guard even finished his sentence, then sighed one more time, smiling wryly.

…Not that I can count on him.

For just a moment, the mood in the dining hall had changed.

Watching Isaac disappear from the corner of his eye, Firo turned his gaze to the food he’d brought over, deciding to get his meal out of the way instead of thinking.

Hmm?

He’d been anticipating something like cold leftovers, and the sight that waited for him on his tray was unexpected.

Firo had been distracted when he’d carried it over, so he hadn’t really looked at it, but the contents of the plate bore a startling resemblance to actual food. Not only that, but it was still hot enough to steam, and the portion sizes were no different from what he would have gotten outside prison.

A creamy soup ornamented with red and green vegetables. Garlic rice that seemed to have been fried carefully so that it wouldn’t scorch. Beside them, there was a green salad that was still fresh and juicy, a substantial meat pâté, and a main dish smothered in a sauce whose color and fragrance reminded him of beef stew.

Why?

It might only look good.

However, he couldn’t think of any reason for just making it appear ritzy.

Puzzled, Firo pressed the back of his fork into the meat on his plate.

Naturally, it wasn’t as good as restaurant hamburger, but a little juice welled up between the fine iron tines, and the aroma woke up his stomach.

When he tried a bite, just to see, a flavor that was more pleasant than he’d imagined spread over his tongue.

The fact that he’d been envisioning awful slop up to that point made this a total bolt from the blue.

The soup was richly flavorful, far better than what he usually cooked for himself.

When he bit into the vegetables, there was a light, juicy crunch, and for that one moment, he forgot he was surrounded by rough concrete.

Whoa. Geez, what is this? This is actually pretty…

“Tasty, ain’t it?”

Just as he finished off the greens, the prisoner next to him spoke up cheerfully.

“I was pretty startled the first time I ate here, too.”

Huh? Is it okay to respond to this?

He’d just seen the business with Isaac.

Here, in this prison where private conversation was banned, Firo wasn’t sure whether he should answer the question—but the con next to him kept speaking, his tone casual.

“Yeah, when this place was just getting started, talking like this was enough to bring the guards tearing over to toss you into solitary. Now, though, as long as we’re in the cafeteria, it’s okay to speak quietly.”

“Huh. Why’s that?”

“The warden knows real well, see. If he comes down on ’em too hard, the inmates will get desperate and start a riot, and they’ll just be harder to manage. The guard fellas don’t actually want to cause a revolt and massacre all of us. The American public would roast ’em for it.”

“I see…”

He responded casually, testing the waters, but the guy was right. The nearby guard didn’t say anything to them. If he listened closely, his ears picked up the static of whispered conversation from his surroundings, too.

“Well, that doesn’t keep the place from being boring as hell. Look at these other guys. Most of ’em look apathetic, like flies, and they look like they’re wondering if they’ll get to die soon.”

“That’s real rough.”

“You’re new, right? How’d you get here?”

“? They brought me over by train, and then I took a boat from the pier.”

The con next to Firo responded to his comments with a ready nod, then spoke with a sunny smile.

“They brought me over with several dozen other fellas, back when this prison was first set up. They had us in leg irons, and we spent three days and three nights on a train… And get this: They never let us off that train.”

“Huh?”

How had they gotten across to the island without getting off the train? As Firo was wondering about that, the inmate told him, chuckling deep in his throat.

“They just loaded the train cars onto a ferry.”

“…Is that for real?”

“Yeah, for real. When it comes to stuff like that, this country pulls out all the stops, or maybe they’re logical about it… Frankly, I think it’s real impressive.”

Firo was genuinely intrigued by this story, and he realized that he seemed markedly different from the inmates around him. “You don’t look like you’re wondering if you’ll get to die soon, to use your term.”

“Hmm…? Oh yeah. That’s because I’ve got a goal.”

Firo took that answer to mean that he had something he needed to do as soon as he got out of jail. He didn’t know how long the other guy was in for, but he thought the fact that he was able to smile so optimistically on this hopeless island was really something.

The man thumped Firo lightly on the shoulder, speaking firmly.

“Well, I bet we’ll be seeing a lot of each other for a while. If there’s anything you don’t get, just ask me.”

“Sure. My name’s Firo. You?”

As he spoke, Firo put out his left hand—but then he realized that his new acquaintance’s left arm had hardly moved at all this whole time, and he hastily retracted it.

“Your left arm…”

“Oh, this?”

The man used his right arm to lift his left one, shifting it to rest on the table.

There was a dull clunk, and a solid vibration ran through the tabletop.

“It’s a prosthetic. It’s real well made, ain’t it?”

“Huh… Is it steel? Hey, you’re lucky they let you wear that thing in here.”

“Well, it’s special. See, this hand… It’s bolted directly to my bones. Even I dunno what’ll happen if I take it off. I might even die, maybe.”

At first, Firo thought the man was joking.

Was there any other reason for the guards to have left this false iron arm alone, though? Firo thought about it, and he couldn’t come up with an answer. For now, he decided not to worry about it.

At the same time, the man with the prosthetic arm flashed him a brilliant smile and held out his artificial left hand.

“I’m Ladd… Ladd Russo. It’s great to meet you.”

There was something ferocious in that smile. If a wolf smiled, it would probably look something like this, it seemed.

For some reason, that was what was on Firo’s mind as he gripped the cold prosthetic hand.

He was completely unaware of the peculiar connection between himself and the other man—