Copyright
BACCANO!, Volume 4: 1932 DRUG & THE DOMINOS
RYOHGO NARITA
Translation by Taylor Engel
Cover art by Katsumi Enami
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
BACCANO!, Volume 4
© RYOHGO NARITA 2003
All rights reserved.
Edited by ASCII MEDIA WORKS
First published in Japan in 2003 by KADOKAWA CORPORATION, Tokyo.
English translation rights arranged with KADOKAWA CORPORATION, Tokyo, through Tuttle- Mori Agency, Inc., Tokyo.
English translation © 2017 by Yen Press, LLC
Yen Press, LLC supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact the publisher. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
Yen On
1290 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10104
Visit us at yenpress.com
facebook.com/yenpress
twitter.com/yenpress
yenpress.tumblr.com
instagram.com/yenpress
First Yen On Edition: April 2017
Yen On is an imprint of Yen Press, LLC.
The Yen On name and logo are trademarks of Yen Press, LLC.
The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Narita, Ryōgo, 1980– author. | Engel, Taylor, translator.
Title: Baccano! Volume 4, 1932 Drug & The Dominos / Ryohgo Narita ; translation by Taylor Engel.
Other titles: 1932 Drug & The Dominos
Description: First Yen On edition. | New York : Yen On, 2017.
Identifiers: LCCN 2015045300 |
ISBN 9780316270366 (v. 1 : hardback) | ISBN 9780316270397 (v. 2 : hardback) |
ISBN 9780316270410 (v. 3 : hardback) | ISBN 9780316270434 (v. 4 : hardback)
Subjects: | CYAC: Science fiction. | Nineteen twenties—Fiction. | Organized crime—Fiction. | Prohibition—Fiction. | BISAC: FICTION / Science Fiction / Adventure.
Classification: LCC PZ7.1.N37 Bac 2016 | DDC [Fic]—dc23
LC record available at http://lccn.loc.gov/2015045300
ISBNs: 978-0-316-27043-4 (hardcover)
978-0-316-27044-1 (ebook)
E3-20170330-JV-PC
PRELUDE
1931 December Hell’s Kitchen, West Manhattan
That sound. It was as if it were flowing, as if it were soaking in.
Dawn tinted the streets, and a gentle melody enfolded them.
It was faintly melancholy, reminiscent of the sorrows of mankind.
As if pitying the end of something. As if greeting the beginning of something.
Under an exquisitely clear sky, it made the air in the streets tremble, quietly and profoundly.
As if it were changing the colors of the sooty streets to monochrome.
BEGG
1931 Early December Somewhere in New York
In a dimly lit room, two men were silent.
Even the beating of their hearts dissolved into the stillness, and their existence seemed very tenuous.
“Please understand, Begg. This is the last time I’ll be able to meet with you to negotiate.”
With no prelude whatsoever, the tall man broke the impasse. Prompted by this, sound, movement, and color seemed to return to the pair’s surroundings. As if to confirm that time had begun to move again, the tall man—Maiza Avaro—heaved a great sigh.
“Begg. Say something. I can’t leave without an answer from you, and depending on that answer, I may end up hurting you.”
Maiza looked sincerely troubled, and the man he’d called Begg finally opened his mouth. Vocal cords subdued, he emitted words that sounded rather choked.
“A-a-all right. I-I-I’ll do…as you…say.”
Begg’s eyes wandered vacantly through space. Only his heart had turned to faced Maiza.
“I w-w-won’t…d-d-distribute d-d-drugs on…Martillo Family…territory…anymore.”
On hearing those words, Maiza looked relieved. He walked over to his old friend.
“Thank you, Begg. Now we won’t have to be your enemies.”
In addition to pleasure, there was sadness in Maiza’s expression. After a short silence, he spoke to the man in front of him again. However, his tone held not situational social diplomacy but genuine feeling for his old companion.
“From this point on, I’m speaking not as a Martillo Family executive but as your friend. Begg, if possible, don’t distribute drugs in town—”
“I…I…I refuse. I—I can…do…what I…want.”
“Begg.”
“I…I…I became an alchemist…because I wanted to overcome…my limits…as an apothecary. M-my dream, my wish, my mission… It—it’s all about to come true. Two hundred years, and finally, finally, finally, I think…I’m about to get it. A—a way…to make…people…happy.”
On hearing those words, Maiza shook his head slightly.
“Are you still saying that? No such thing exists.”
“I can do…it. I…just…want to…make…people…into…the world. I want…to make…a world…for…each…individual…person. The…best…world…for that person. If I can…make that state…p-permanent, people can… They can die…smiling.”
“In other words, you’d destroy the human race. Don’t you see? They’d use drugs to bask in their delusions until they died, leaving no descendants, not even eating…”
“O-of course…that’s…only…the first…stage. S-someday, I’ll make…a drug…that…lets people…keep…dreaming…in their hearts…while…they’re…awake…and going…about…their business…as…humans. The sort…that…doesn’t…damage their bodies, only…makes…them…feel happy.”
At Begg’s “dream,” which was like an elementary schooler’s essay, Maiza sighed a little.
“You’ll exhaust their souls. Why can’t you understand that?”
“Ha-ha-ha. You’re saying…that you…of all people…believe…in something as…unscientific…as…souls?”
“At the very least, we aren’t in any position to be saying scientific and unscientific anymore. You know that already, don’t you? Not after we made a deal with a demon and became immortal.”
Immortal. The word sounded trite, but it was an eternal contract that linked the two of them. It granted immortality, which they’d gained from the demon, and…the curse of consuming one another.
They were able to “eat” each other, through their right hands.
The ability to devour all the other’s knowledge, their past and their experiences, and make them their own. In old Japan, there was a practice where a sorcerer would take several poisonous animals, such as centipedes, scorpions, or snakes, and place them together in a vessel where they would consume one another until only one remained. It was believed this survivor was the strongest of its fellows and the cannibalism had concentrated all the venom inside it.
Truly a curse.
In response to Maiza’s words, Begg fell silent for a while.
Then he argued just to argue, looking cross:
“People…seek…pleasure…on…instinct. I…only…want…to
…pursue…that.”
“Pleasure that’s overstepped human instincts will be abused. Please don’t forget it.”
On that note, Maiza turned to leave the room.
“Maiza, th-th-thank you…for…not…eating…me.”
“…The next time you say something like that, I’ll get angry.”
After Maiza had gone, Begg stuck a syringe in his arm.
The drug’s purity was far higher than anything on the open market, but still he couldn’t feel it.
He was living through eternity, and by now his chemical tolerance was extremely high.
He could no longer seek pleasure on his own.
But what he couldn’t do, he continued to seek for other people.
Even if there was no meaning in the act.
GANDOR FAMILY
“I tell you, it’s a dangerous world these days.”
Contrary to the young man’s words, the New York sky was perfectly clear and tranquil.
The sun had just reached its zenith, and it shone down warmly into the alley, which was hemmed in by redbrick walls.
Although the alley was in Manhattan, it was a little ways away from the cluster of skyscrapers. In front of a used bookstore surrounded by faded tenements, the young man asked the proprietor another question:
“Don’t you think so? The recession shows no sign of improving, and the government’s response always seems about to change something, yet never does. We go around in circles, while business and public order continue to slump. I expect it makes it difficult for you to relax and ply your trade, doesn’t it?”
“No, sir. Thanks to you, my store’s managing to get by somehow.”
The proprietor of the bookstore spoke humbly, although the young man before him was about his son’s age. The shopkeeper’s gestures and tone were perfectly meek, but a complicated look simmered in his eyes.
“Really? You don’t seem to be getting many customers… If there’s anything we can do to help you, just say the word, anytime.”
“But, sir! I don’t even pay you for protection; I couldn’t put you to that sort of trouble…”
“We haven’t sunk so low we’d take protection money from used bookstores. If you’re ever in need, we’ll fix you up with enough for living expenses. We’re in your debt, after all.”
“I couldn’t possibly, sir! It’s thanks to you and the other Gandors that I’m able to relax and focus on my business. You don’t need to go that far for me!”
This was the answer the young man had expected. Not many people could meekly say, “Please do loan me some money” when they heard those words from him.
The Gandor Family was a small syndicate that controlled a very tiny portion of the streams of money and people that jostled each other in Manhattan. Their territory wasn’t large, but within it, their influence was absolute.
Years ago, the outfit had managed only half the territory it held now, but since the boss’s seat had been handed over to the three brothers—his sons—the territory they controlled had begun to expand vigorously. They simultaneously protected and terrified the residents, in the old-fashioned way, and they avoided interacting with other syndicates any more than was strictly necessary. Other than nonaggression pacts, they took no protection from larger organizations and refused to place themselves under their control. They simply and stubbornly stood their ground.
Naturally, in order to do that, they often had to get far rougher than any other organization their size would have been able to manage.
…And one of those bosses had just told the bookstore owner that the world had “gotten dangerous.” Was it some kind of joke? Keeping that question locked inside his heart, the proprietor smiled at Luck Gandor, the youngest of the brother dons.
At first glance, it seemed to be an amiable smile, but it didn’t go past his lips. On the other hand, the proprietor’s eyes weren’t smiling at all, and in the depths of his soul, he felt an indescribable terror.
The old bibliophile spoke rapidly, hoping to shake the feeling—
“Ha-ha-ha, well, you know how it is. I trust everything’s going smoothly for you and your family, Mr. Gandor?”
“No, no, even we have a worry or two.”
Shaking his head, the young boss began to expose just a little of his position. The subtle extent to which he did this was an important factor in determining whether his organization gained the trust of the regular citizens.
However, he couldn’t show true weakness. As the shadow king of the neighborhood, the syndicate’s struggles revealed in situations like these were often things that troubled the residents as well. As a matter of fact, for the most part, the syndicate guys made it sound as though they themselves were troubled, when in fact the only ones who were really in trouble were the residents they were talking to.
“You see, there are things we can’t even look you in the face over. The matter of those drugs, for example.”
“Drugs…? No, no… The youngsters are just bringing those in from somewhere on their own—that’s all!”
“Still, it’s a fact that they’re here.”
The Gandors didn’t deal in drugs at all. This was another reason the people in their territory trusted them, but the truth was that their organization simply wasn’t strong enough to handle the narcotics trade yet.
If they’d had that sort of power, they might have gotten involved, and then again, they might not have. This was a thought Luck had from time to time, but in the end, the fact that they didn’t have the strength for it didn’t change. Personally, Luck wanted to avoid losing the trust of the people who sheltered them by carelessly getting involved in something destructive. The Gandors were tied too deeply to the residents of their territory to sow the stress and chaos that drugs brought. However, these thoughts were pure calculation.
Berga probably hasn’t thought about the profit in drugs, and it’s likely that Keith genuinely detests them.
His mind drifted to thoughts of his middle brother, Berga, and their older brother, Keith.
If roles were assigned to the three brothers, Keith’s was protection, Berga’s was fear, and Luck’s was cunning. These were, quite simply, the impressions the three gave the people around them, particularly the upstanding citizens.
Keith’s protection of the residents seemed to stem from a sort of pride rather than from morals. For that reason, when it came to getting involved with people’s lives or deaths, there was a line he refused to cross. Working from that fact alone, there was scarce possibility that the Gandor Family would ever branch out into drugs.
However, an abnormality had unmistakably started to occur within the area they managed.
Lately, a new type of drug had begun circulating in their territory, slipping through the gaps in their control.
It hadn’t turned into a huge uproar yet, but rumors of the drug were spreading steadily. Finally, just the other day, the actual substance had been delivered to the Gandors.
Once they knew it really existed, they couldn’t ignore it.
No matter what, they’d have to pinpoint where it was coming from and settle the issue.
Luck’s vulpine eyes narrowed even further, and the dark smoldering inside him gradually grew fiercer.
“What’s this? A screenplay? That’s rather unusual.”
On seeing Luck pick up a worn booklet, the shopkeeper spoke, his smile widening…
“Yes, sir—if it strikes your fancy, go right ahead and take it!”
“I couldn’t do that.”
Shutting the matter of the drugs inside his heart for the moment, Luck drew a thick billfold out of his jacket.
For a moment, as he reached for the bills in the wallet, both his hands were occupied.
“Bweh-heh.”
Abruptly, Luck heard an odd groan behind him. Curious, he turned around.
But just as he did so, the blade of a knife swept through his throat.
“Ghk…”
A sharp heat, and the unpleasant pain of me
tal scraping against cut flesh. By the time Luck understood it, bright blood was already spurting out, dyeing his vision solid red.
“Yeeee?!”
On seeing Luck topple to the ground with a thud, the shopkeeper finally grasped the situation.
Beyond the spray of blood, a lone man stood in the sunlit road.
He was middle-aged; his quivering skin had a sickly sheen to it, and his clothes were ragged. He had a knife in his hand, and his eyes glared wildly.
“M-m-mur-mur-murdeeeeeeeraaaAAAAAAaah!”
The sudden catastrophe had left the shopkeeper inarticulate; he was petrified with fear, unable to move.
“You saw kill, me, kill—kill kill kill witness kill Luck killed, killed, saw it, saw, you saw, kill-kill-kill-kill, witne-kill-Luck-kill-bookstore-kill-k-k-k-k-k-k-k-k-k-k-kill, kill you, kill—kill—”
The man had completely lost his focus. The incoherence seemed rooted in his brain rather than his mouth.
“YeaAAaaaAAAaagh?!”
The attacker raised his large knife, brandishing it at the shopkeeper. It was the blade that had just slashed Luck’s throat, and Luck’s blood wasnowhere to be seen.
“Kill-ill-ill-ill-ill-ill-ill-ill, kill-ill-ill-ill-ill-ill-ill-ill-ill-ill-ill-ill-ill-ilΓΓΓΓΓΓΓΓΓΓΓΓΓΓ!”
With a moan like some demonic instrument, the man brought down the clean, gleaming knife.
Crunch. His arm stopped dead, just before the blade reached its second victim.
After a moment of confused silence, the shopkeeper gingerly opened his eyes.
His assailant was still standing there, the corner of a book jammed into his temple. The hardcover was in the hand of the guy who’d just gotten his throat cut.
“Are you all right?” Luck asked.
As the last word ended, the man with the knife tottered, then fell over, right in the shop’s entrance.
There wasn’t a scratch on the mobster’s throat. The blood one could have sworn had spattered across the books in the storefront had disappeared without leaving a single stain.
“Uh, wha…? Huh? Mr. Luck, Mr. Luck, you just… Huh? What just…?”
Ignoring the confused proprietor, Luck picked up a red magazine as though nothing had happened.
1932 Drug & The Dominos Page 1