Baccano! - Volume 9 - Chapter 5

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LINKING CHAPTER

MISPERCEPTIONS AND INFORMATION

New York In a certain café

All right… For now, I’ve provided you with all the information up to that point in time.

Do you still wish to hear the rest, Miss Hilton?

Should you elect to stay silent, turn on your heel, and go back to your former life, I won’t hound you with the truth. To be frank, it would be a waste of time.

…I expect you already have some inkling, don’t you?

Given your position, I believe you must. Most assuredly so, since you occasionally have more information among yourselves than we information brokers do.

If you had utterly failed to notice the betrayal by now, that would indeed be quite comical.

Before I relate the facts of what happened afterward, I should confirm a number of truths.

Doing so will make it easier for me to relate the end of the incident, which includes Mr. Isaac Dian and Miss Miria Harvent’s reunion.

I imagine you’d rather not believe it, but in that case— One thing.

First, Miss Robber, I shall tell you one truth. Impress it upon you.

I told you as much at the very beginning. At this point, you must be prepared for it.

You will learn even information you would prefer not to know.

Even so, shall I tell you?

Shall I tell you what happened behind the scenes of this affair, in Alcatraz?

Although—the simple fact that I am able to tell you this must have convinced you.

You must know of the existence of a traitor who conveyed the information from that location to me…

Alcatraz Federal Penitentiary

Once again, the story returns to the past.

On the night before the serial bombings that shook Chicago—

—as the eyeball squirmed in his left hand, Firo sighed. He was in a lousy mood.

This was a special cell constructed underground, even deeper than the Dungeon. Its immortal occupant was lying in front of him with a knife plunged deep into his neck.

Huey Laforet.

Faced with the body of the immortal who was presumably behind everything, another immortal—Firo Prochainezo—shook his head wearily.

“Hey…”

The voice belonged to a third man, standing in front of him and watching the situation unfold.

This man, Ladd Russo, wore a complicated expression of both irritation and joy, and his prosthetic left hand hung limply. He directed an honest question at Firo.

“I’ve got no clue what just happened here. What’s the deal, huh?”

In the first place, Ladd had visited this room with the paradoxical objective of killing the immortal Huey.

He’d flattened the people who’d seemed to be in his way—three prisoners, a guard, and a fairy named Leeza—until the only ones standing in front of him had been the two immortals, but…

One of them had jammed a knife into the back of Huey’s neck.

“Huh? What? Hey, Firo, you’ve been pals with these Felix fellas, too? This whole time? Since they let you into the joint?”

“No. I only agreed to go along with these guys about…ten, fifteen minutes ago,” Firo answered, remembering what had happened.

Just before the guard led him down here, he had abruptly stopped on the stairs and spoken to him.

“Okay… I’ve got a request for you, Firo.”

“Tell Huey to make his own requests.”

“No, this one’s mine… It’s personal.”

“…?”

The odd comment had come out of nowhere, and Firo eyed him suspiciously.

Before, Huey’s loyal henchman had only said the bare minimum to him. But now, his eyes and tone of voice were nothing like what they’d been.

It was unsettling, and Firo warily responded: “Well, spit it out.”

At that, the guard gave a self-deprecating smile, and then…

…averting his eyes in mild embarrassment, he said one of the last things Firo would have expected.

“Would you cooperate with me…no, with us…and gouge out one of Huey’s eyes?”

“…”

Silence fell between the two of them. Firo eyed the guard dubiously.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what it sounds like. Shall I tell you who in here was hired on the outside as a hitman?”

“…! …Hold it. You’re saying you’re selling Huey—…uh, I mean…”

“I might be selling him out, yes,” the guard deadpanned.

There was no crazed light or ill will in his eyes. He was simply calm as he spoke.

Firo quietly asked him a question.

“What the heck are you?”

“An information network… If you have Szilard’s knowledge, you know what I mean, don’t you? Although Master Huey stole the half-finished research, and he was the first to complete it.”

“…!”

“I’m Sham. Pleasure.”

With a breezy smile and a lighthearted voice—the guard threatened him.

“In exchange for Ennis’s safety, and that of the nameless ordinary people in your family’s territory… Would you become a temporary Felix Walken?”

And I ended up giving in to his threats.

It’s not like I owe Huey anything, but…

What if he’d told me to stab the capo masto or Maiza?

What if it had been Isaac and Miria or Czes…or the Gandors?

Could I…? Could I stab those guys in the back like this?

Maybe not me, but… If it was Szilard, in the memories I ate…

As Firo silently fell into thought, Ladd took a step forward to close the gap between them.

“Hey now, hey, hey, hey… I won’t know what’s goin’ on if you just clam up, will I? Did the shock of knifing a guy leave you speechless…? Nah, you don’t look that wet behind the ears to me.”

“No… I’m just trying to figure out how to explain it, is all.”

Holding his head with his free hand, Firo hung on to Huey’s eye as it struggled to return to its body.

He made eye contact through the gaps of the fingers that caged it, and then—

Although there was probably no connection, a third party chose that very moment to speak up.

“I’ll explain the rest.”

“Hunh…?”

When the two of them turned around, the Asian guy Ladd had coldcocked slowly swayed upright.

Then, strangely, as the Asian—Dragon—finished speaking, the huge black man sat up and spoke in the same way as the first.

“We twisted Firo’s arm a bit and asked him to help us out.”

“What’s this…?”

Ladd frowned, and this time, the small white man sat up.

“Maybe I should reintroduce myself, Mr. Ladd Russo.”

“…Nah, no need. That ain’t necessary, so just go die again.”

Ladd clenched his fist, as if telling him not to waste his breath, but the little man chuckled and dropped a name.

“Lua, wasn’t it? She’s quite a looker, isn’t she?”

“…?!”

At the unexpected mention of her, Ladd froze.

Lua? Who’s that? Maybe Ladd’s…?

From his response, Firo guessed at the woman’s relationship with Ladd. Then, realizing that this was the exact same way he’d been cornered, he frowned in irritation.

“Hey, bastards… What do you know about Lua?”

“Nothing about who she is on the inside, certainly, but… I am confident that I could kill her at any time. Even now…right this second.”

Ladd’s eyes widened at that, and his expression filled with anger, astonishment, and a little uncertainty.

Watching him, the small white man chuckled—

—and as he continued, the same words came from the mouth of the guard who’d first had the rifle, at the exact same time.

““I don’t believe I’ve properly introduced myself.””

With every sentence, another voice joined the others from one of the men sitting up. It was less like listening to a choir than hearing the exact same words from several different radios.

“““‘The former Felix Walken’ is one of my names. However…”””

Ultimately, the team of hitmen that Ladd had floored instantly, all the former Felix Walkens, were speaking in unison. Their voices were eerie and grave, and their tones were perfectly uniform.

““““If we are viewing the situation from a broader perspective, let me introduce myself as Sham.””””

The quartet played from four speakers, with no difference but the timbre of the voices.

Then, even the guard still on his face outside the door spoke, and the five men—Sham, one of the twins—saluted Ladd respectfully.

“““““It’s a pleasure.”””””

All right. I shall give you the details of their situation later on. Slowly, along with the end of the Chicago affair.

…You’ve fallen silent. Are you feeling unwell, Miss Hilton?

Or rather, considering your current emotions…should I call you, not Hilton, but Miss Leeza?

From your expression, I gather you suspected but were not certain.

More to the point, you didn’t want to believe. Or so your face tells me.

Hmmmm. That is a problem. There is no guarantee that all of Huey’s creations will swear loyalty to him. Looking at Rail must have told you as much.

Hmm. Rail… That boy is a child deserving of pity.

I expect rebelling against his creator was the only way he could win his freedom. The gloom building inside him may have driven him mad, guiding him to the lunacy responsible for those explosions.

…Carol. Don’t look at me like that. If anything, I am praising the boy. After all, at the very least, he gained enough control of his own world that he was able to go mad of his own volition.

I have not yet heard what became of him. Once I return to my headquarters, the president may tell me— But let us pray that he has found a happy ending, at least.

That aside. No matter what you do when you hear this story, Miss Hilton, it is too late.

It is already over.

The links between these people may have seemed coincidental, but they certainly weren’t entirely so… At this point, I expect that fact is beginning to dawn on you.

As is the fact that this realization is coming too late.

If you still wish to hear the rest of this tale, even so…

Very well. I shall tell it.

The tale of the man and woman who upset all calculations, torn from each other and then reunited.

In the end, was the outcome they precipitated coincidence, or not?

It may prove amusing to compare it with all that you know and think it over at your leisure.

Now then, where should I begin…?

Should I start with the arrival of the train in Chicago?

Should I relate the details of the serial bombings and disappearances, based on testimonies from those involved?

Should I commence with the tale of the joker left behind in New York?

Or perhaps with the story of the poor lovers destined to be separated once more… Hmm, that might mean skipping a bit too much.

Mind you, it ultimately makes no difference where I begin.