“Uh…?”
The man by the window didn’t have time to turn around or even scream.
In a shockingly splendid motion, his body rose into the air. Then he was sucked out into the darkness, like water from a draining bathtub.
“Huh?”
The bespectacled black suit was confused.
It hasn’t even been thirty seconds since my comrades went outside. How can they both have disappeared in thirty seconds? Not only that, but one of them vanished right in front of me. What the hell? How can I still not understand any of this? Am I really that dumb?
As he stood there, stunned, something red appeared at the edge of his vision once again.
A violent red, floating in the darkness. It was both terrifying and beautiful.
Slowly, the scarlet shadow disappeared behind the outside wall, and then only pitch-black darkness flowed quietly past the window.
At that point, the black suit with glasses finally managed to scream.
Claire hated his name.
He had no plans to change it, but as a guy, it irked him to be called by a girl’s name.
He’d heard that he’d been named after his grandfather. It was true that, up until the first half of the nineteenth century, the name “Claire” had been used for boys as well. However, in this day and age, it was a name that got him mistaken for a girl no matter where he went.
He hated the name, but he held no grudge against his parents. In any case, there was no point in resenting people who were already dead.
If they’d been alive, he might have complained a bit, but they’d been dead for as long as he could remember.
After that, Claire had been raised by the Gandors, who’d lived in the next apartment over.
Old man Gandor had been the boss of a mafia family so small that a good gust of wind could have taken it out. Among the syndicates of New York, it was on a level with the lowest organization’s pet dog.
When old man Gandor had died, Claire had been picked up by the circus. He’d thought being able to touch your own head to your butt and do one-handed handstands was normal, but apparently, it was something pretty amazing. The circus folk had said stuff about hereditary musculature and build, but Claire couldn’t have cared less.
If there was one thing he hadn’t liked, it was that afterward, no matter how hard he’d trained and mastered techniques, the people around him had explained it all away with the word talent. It was humiliating, as if his effort was being reduced to nothing, but in the end, he’d accepted that, too. I bet mastering techniques this simple doesn’t count as “effort,” he’d thought. In which case, he decided, he’d acquire something even bigger than his so-called talent.
The bottom line was that his efforts still hadn’t been acknowledged by anybody. It was true that he’d put in twice as much effort as anyone else, but to ordinary people, his abilities hadn’t seemed like the sort of thing “effort” could have any effect on.
Claire had thought he’d send the money he earned at the circus to the Gandor brothers, who were just like family to him, but the world wasn’t that kind. It wasn’t that he hadn’t managed to earn any money. By the time he’d started to earn at a certain level, the three brothers had greatly expanded their territory. To other organizations, they still looked weak, but their revenue had already grown far beyond his.
The circus troupe disbanded, and he was turned out into the world to fend for himself. Eventually, after many twists and turns, Claire had become a professional hitman. Freelance hitmen were quite rare, but he was getting along pretty well. There was a reason he’d quit circuses and used the job of conductor as his cover. In this profession, he moved far more frequently than circuses did, and he got to travel between major cities. For a freelance hitman, nothing could have been more convenient.
His kills were messy. Claire was fully aware of this. It was a bad habit of his: Unless he destroyed the target’s body to a certain extent, he couldn’t really relax. He thought their heart might not have stopped yet. It wasn’t that he was a coward. His actions were based on the idea that if he was going to accept a contract to kill, it was good form to make sure the target was thoroughly dead.
Although this habit should have been a weakness, it had actually made him famous. This method of killing, which left abnormal puddles of blood at the scene, struck enormous terror into the hearts of other organizations.
At some point, Claire had picked up the nickname “Vino” (although he’d always worked under a pseudonym, anyway), and before he knew it, that name had permeated every major city. He was rumored to be an elusive monster who turned up in cities all across the States, and the alias “Vino” echoed quietly and deeply through underworld society.
I’m a conductor on the transcontinental railroad, so it’s only natural that I’d show up in most major cities. And the idea of calling a guy who’s built as thin as I am a monster… What do they call the middle Gandor brother, then? A demon? He’s as big as two of me.
As he remembered the “family” he’d be meeting tomorrow, Claire’s heart naturally settled down.
Even though he’d gotten pretty famous, the Gandor brothers hadn’t invited Claire to join their organization. That said, they didn’t keep him at a distance, either, and they didn’t try to make him stop working as a hitman.
While there were issues with that action as far as their humanity was concerned, it made Claire happy, and if it was for the Gandors, he took jobs at bargain rates. To be honest, he wouldn’t have minded working for free, but they wouldn’t let him do that.
And now he was on his way to meet them, in order to do his duty by them. From what he’d heard, the Gandor Family was currently at war with the Runorata Family, a syndicate that counted as one of the big guys, even in New York. He probably wouldn’t be returning to his conductor job for the time being. He’d already told the rail company that after the train arrived in New York tomorrow, he’d be going on leave for a while.
The only remaining problem was whether this train would make it safely to New York.
He couldn’t let the train stop.
They might keep chipping away at the Gandor Family because his arrival had been delayed. This was something he wanted to avoid at all costs.
If either the white suits or the black suits took over the train, its chances of arriving safely would shrink dramatically. Even if it reached New York, they’d probably find themselves in a standoff with the police. Besides, if they ended up fighting with the cops, some of the passengers were bound to get killed.
I won’t give this train to those lowlifes. I won’t let them kill the passengers, either, and I won’t let them be used as hostages.
When he’d thought that far, Claire realized that partway through, he’d set the Gandors’ matter aside and was genuinely worried about the passengers.
What’s that about?
He examined his own heart.
I guess I liked being a conductor quite a lot, too.
In the moonlight, he smiled bashfully.
…Smiled bashfully as he clung to the side of the freight car with one hand, holding the corpse of a black suit with a broken neck under his arm.
Rachel had been traveling underneath the cars. She made her way through the gaps between the metal fittings like a monkey, heading for the rear of the train with what would have looked to the average person like extraordinary speed.
She was headed for the freight room. She didn’t know what was going down, but she knew people from the orchestra had burst into the dining car with machine guns.
In that case, what about the man who was guarding their belongings in the freight room? If being an orchestra was a front, the man in the freight room was probably one of them, regardless of what they really were. In order to get a handle on the situation on this train as quickly as possible, Rachel had begun to move. Although she could have just sat quietly, she was intentionally heading into danger.
It was probably something like an occupational d
isease for information brokers. This was how she excused her curiosity to herself, although, technically, she was only a gofer.
When Rachel reached the area under the freight room, she leaned out between the wheels to look at the door on the side of the train. She didn’t expect it to be open, but she wanted to find out anything she could about the state of the inside.
However, at that point, something unexpected happened.
The side door was open.
Ordinarily, that door should have been opened only when the train was stopped, in order to load or unload cargo.
The fact that it was open now meant there really was some sort of big incident going on…
At that point, Rachel’s head stopped working for a moment. She’d noticed it: Beside the open door, a bright-red figure squirmed.
Since it was dark, and since she’d been focusing on the open door, at first she hadn’t registered its presence. However, when she saw the thing beside the door, she understood the situation.
The door wasn’t open. It was being opened, in the present progressive tense…at this very moment. By the red figure.
The red shadow didn’t seem to have noticed her. It was clinging to the projections on the side of the train, in an astonishingly secure pose.
Before long, the door was fully open, and the thing went into the freight room as if nothing had happened.
For a moment, Rachel was dumbfounded, but the male screams she could hear mixed in with the noise of the train yanked her mind back to reality.
“Stop…… Stay back…… Stop, stop, stoooooooop!”
After an uncommonly frightened scream, a roar echoed in the freight car. However, it ended almost immediately. Assailed by a vague, bad premonition, Rachel began to draw her upper body back under the car.
But she was just a little too late.
Suddenly, the red shadow descended right beside her—actually, rather than “descended,” it was like it dropped down from the opening in the side.
Then something even more problematic happened.
She made eye contact.
With the red shadow, the monster…
Claire had a slight problem.
He’d already disposed of two of the black suits who’d been guarding the freight room.
However, the third one had seen him drag the second one outside. Sure enough, that third one had used the transmitter and begun to contact his companions.
The lock on the door of this freight room was broken. He’d known this, and he’d decided to sneak in and finish him off.
By the time the guy screamed, it was too late. Claire caught his arm and raised it, and the man squeezed the trigger of his tommy gun in vain.
The machine gun had been pointed up. Naturally, not a single bullet hit Claire. When he twisted a little, the black suit let the gun fall with astonishing ease.
After that, he only had to drag him outside in the usual way and kill him by holding him against the ground. Holding a grown man in a head lock, Claire leaped out through the door with the air of a man walking down stairs.
Then he needed to stop by skillfully hooking his legs around the metal fittings. Anyone else would probably have fallen, or their legs would have been unable to take the strain and broken, or they would have gotten snarled in the wheels, and that would’ve been that.
However, he’d be fine. His expression was filled with self-confidence, and he actually had managed to do it, when—
At that point, unusually, a troubled expression appeared on his face.
Who’s she?
Beside him, a woman’s head protruded from a gap between the fittings under the train. He’d never seen her before. Was she one of the black suits or white suits?
As he hesitated, the man he held abruptly got heavier. Then, in the next instant, he got lighter.
When he looked, the black suit’s legs were gone. Apparently, while he’d been kicking and struggling, they’d gotten caught in the wheels.
He must have been pulled with quite a lot of force, but Claire had maintained the full nelson without any trouble at all. As a result, the black suit’s lower half had been ripped off. The man seemed to have lost consciousness before he even had time to scream. The shock of the pain might actually have killed him already.
Either way, he wouldn’t be able to escape death by blood loss.
Well, no help for it.
For now, Claire flexed his legs and his back, pushing himself up. Using the recoil, he flung the top half of the black suit into the car.
Possibly, he’d used too much force: The man’s ruined upper body hit the ceiling, then slammed to the floor.
Without paying any particular attention to this, Claire returned his gaze to the woman’s head.
From the glimpses of clothing that was visible between the pipes, she didn’t seem to be either a white suit or a black suit. And actually, he hadn’t seen a woman like this when he’d been checking the passenger list. In that case, there was only one thing he could think of.
In spite of himself, Claire’s conductor nature led him to ask the usual question.
For just a moment, the murderous intent left his eyes, and the conductor’s bearing, the one he’d worn before the incident, returned.
That said, Rachel didn’t have the wherewithal to notice a difference like that.
What? What’s going on? What is this?!
Rachel was confused. Moving in a way that was clearly inhuman, the red shadow had ripped off the black suit’s legs. Not only that, but he’d done it using the cruelest method imaginable: by tangling them in the train’s wheels. In the moment when the black suit’s legs got caught in the wheels, the entire car had lurched. Even though the impact had been that great, the red monster hadn’t so much as flinched… Although he was holding on with only his legs, which he’d hooked around the pipes.
Throwing the corpse back into the car with one of those inhuman motions, the red shadow turned its eyes on Rachel.
Rachel couldn’t move a muscle. She gazed quietly back into those eyes. Outwardly, she seemed calm, but on the inside, she was so scared she couldn’t stand it. She just couldn’t think of that red shadow’s eyes as human. She’d looked at them for only a few seconds, and she still felt nauseated. It felt as if she were looking into a terribly deep hole. As if she were about to be pulled into that hole and killed.
Immediately afterward, the bloodlust in the monster’s eyes faded, but Rachel wasn’t in any shape to notice something like that.
The monster in front of her quietly opened its mouth—and said what were, in a way, the words Rachel feared most.
“May I see your ticket?”
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”
Rachel zipped back under the car like a snail’s eye, then began to flee under the train, as fast as if she were running. Her arms and legs moved as if each were a separate living thing, wriggling and tangling with one another, carrying her torso away toward the front of the train.
What?! The conductor? Are you telling me that monster is the conductor?! No way! That’s completely nuts! —But what other explanation is there? Why? Why is that thing talking like a conductor? I’m gonna die. If that thing nabs me for ride-stealing, it’ll kill me for sure!
She’d infiltrated mafia hideouts to get information, but a terror she’d never experienced before ruled her body now. Its control kept her arms and legs moving, trying to get her as far from the monster as possible.
In that moment, she even considered jumping off the train.
The life returned to Claire’s eyes, and his conductor persona burned with anger.
Why that little— So she is stealing a ride, huh? What am I going to do about that woman? Should I toss her off the train? Or should I make it so she can’t stand up, hang a card that says “I steal rides” around her neck, and put her on display in the station?
For a moment, he considered going after her, but his hitman’s sense checked him.
Whoops. I’m not a conductor now. I�
��m just a monster. I forgot.
As he casually thought better of it, the hitman’s deadly expression returned to his face.
He leaped back into the freight room without any trouble, then began walking around, observing the condition of the room.
As he did, he noticed a machine of some sort, sitting on a large box.
It seemed to be a wireless set, but it looked quite a bit smaller than the ones currently in use. Apparently, the enemy wasn’t just a group of adrenaline junkies.
However, as far as Claire was concerned, that didn’t matter. No matter what sort of enemy they were or how many people they had or what kind of traps were waiting for him, his self-confidence was big enough to destroy it all, and he knew he had the power to do it.
He picked up a few ropes that had been left in the freight room. They probably belonged to the black suits, but he might be able to use them for something. Claire wound the long rope around his waist and put the thin, short rope inside his coat.
Then he went on the attack again, looking for another target to destroy.
He was just a man cloaked in violence, protecting the peace of the train.
Ladd and Lua had just come from their first contact with Jacuzzi’s group. Trailing another companion, the pair—the key figures of the group of white suits—entered the conductors’ room.
To be completely accurate, the only one who actually stepped into the room was Ladd.
“This is straight-up weird. I straight-up don’t believe this. What’s with the ocean of blood? Ain’t this weird? Actually, ain’t it awesome? Whaddaya have to do to leave a mess like this after a kill, and how?”
Lua and the other white suit were at the entrance to the room, and they made no move to go inside. The entire floor was awash in blood, and a corpse with no face and a missing arm lay in the middle of it. Not only that, but the older conductor lay against the inner wall, with the back of his head blown off. That one had probably been shot to death.
“Hey, hey, hey, look, this fella with no face, ain’t this him? Ain’t it Dune? Hell, man, lookit that. That’s what I call trying to steal a mummy and getting turned into one instead! And say, who killed Dune? How am I supposed to avenge him if I dunno who did it? Aah, aah, aah, Dune, poor bastard! His pals can’t even avenge him!”
1931 The Grand Punk Railroad: Express Page 5