1932 Drug & The Dominos

by Ryohgo Narita

  Once she’d screamed the last of those words, she left Roy without looking back.

  As Roy heard the door slam, his expression began to crumple rapidly.

  “Wait, I, why did… Why did I make her cry? No, I— …Yeah, that’s right, I broke a promise, so I shoulda apologized, right? That was wrong, I…huh? Why did I do that?”

  As he thought back over what he’d done, sadness and regret welled up together in his heart.

  “Wait, wait, wait! I was wrong. No matter how you look at it, it couldn’t be anyone but me. Why was she crying? That’s wrong. I’m the one who should cry, right? I’m the one who shoulda gotten yelled at and cried, right? That’s not okay, hey, wait, waitwait, wait, why aren’t you here, why, wait, please wait, c’mon, c’mon…”

  Roy lowered his head and began to sob, quietly.

  “Wait… Please, wait. How’m I supposed to apologize this way…?”

  Watching him, a man and woman in a corner of the room began talking quietly to each other.

  “The girl should just break up with that loser,” the woman whispered.

  “Uh? Hunh, their relationship ain’t so shallow a little fight like that could bust it up.”

  The drugs seemed to have worn off for the pair a while back, and they were watching Roy with comparatively clear eyes.

  “Besides, the stuff the dame said was wrong,” the man continued.

  “What part?”

  “Even if the Gandors don’t tumble to this, that Roy fella’s gonna die soon. If you look at it that way, he’d have a better shot at surviving if she snitched on him to the Gandors and begged.”

  “Die? You mean fly a bit too high? But they said that drug’s safe for you, physically…”

  “Well, that’s obviously just a Runorata lie! And even if it were true, it’s like calling down the Grim Reaper, right into your body. No way to get away from that… See, that guy, he got high on heroin, just once, and when he did, he gashed up his neck with his fingernails. Shredded it. That ain’t a normal reaction. He’s too sensitive to drugs. You probably don’t know, but with heroin, you don’t get high the first time. It just makes you sick. You do it a few times, get used to it, and then you dive into the other side. That guy, though, he flew somewhere weird on his very first try.”

  He drew a small wallet from an inner pocket and took a few bags of powder from inside it.

  “After he landed in the hospital, Edith frantically talked him down. Well, he’d just started, so he managed to shake the hop pretty easily, but then he went right out and tried the stuff the Runorata fellas are scattering around. He fell for that idiotic ‘No physical withdrawal symptoms’ line real easy. I mean, c’mon, there’s no way anything’s that good!”

  As the man spoke, he opened a new bag of drugs.

  “Well, and I’m the bonehead who knows that and still does it. As a rule, most guys who get into drugs are idiots. But that’s the thing. That’s what’s good about it… That’s it. Heh-heh, heh-ha-ha.”

  I have to apologize to Edith.

  I left the room. That’s a start. But I’ve got no idea how to face her.

  This time, this time for sure, I’ll quit. If I do, she’ll understand, too. And anyway, I used up the last of my money on this one bag. They said it was some new kind of upper. Uppers are rough when you come down, but if you don’t have the drug, you’ve just gotta get through it.

  So, okay, this is the last one. I’ve gotta use it carefully. I mean, it’s my very last hit, so I want to fly like it’s going out of style.

  I think I maybe thought something like this when I made that promise to Edith before, but I’m positive my will was weak that time. I’ll be fine now. I’ve grown, too. I can make this dose the last one.

  Ohhh, here we go here we go here we go damn this is crazy whoa-ho-ho this is awesome, the right side of my brain is sorta jumpin’! Man, it feels like my right brain’s about to blow! Hey, I can see rainbows! Wow, what is this, huh? Me? Does the body I’m moving belong to me? Is the brain that’s thinking stuff right now really mine? Whoa, I could do anything now! I just surpassed myself! So brains can evolve, huh? My consciousness is jumping to the future!

  Awesome, this is so awesome. What’s awesome? I’m awesome!

  I can do it, I can do it! Now, I can do anything!

  AnythingAnythingAnythingAnythingAnything

  I’m awake.

  Apparently, I’d come back to my apartment at some point, because the stuff all around me is familiar.

  My head hurts. It’s cold. Freezing cold. Dammit, it’s here. I’m down.

  Ferocious unease and anxiety well up from the depths of my chest. The urge to throw up comes with them.

  All of a sudden, I’m scared of everything in the world. The higher I fly, the bigger this reaction is. I feel like the Gandor fellas are gonna open that door any minute and barge in here to kill me.

  I feel like there’s a sniper rifle trained on me, right between the eyes.

  Maybe there’s a hitman under this bed.

  Or maybe everybody except me is dead already. Come to think of it, I haven’t heard a sound for a while now. Why? Maybe Martians invaded while I was high and slaughtered everybody.

  The rotten Gandor brothers aren’t out there dancing with octopus monsters right now, are they? Or maybe they’re discussing how to off me?

  I bet the Gandors are gonna shoot me and boil me and burn me and roll me up and sink me, and then on the bottom of the ocean those octopus Martians are gonna torture me and kill me and violate me and eat me and bleach me— No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no-nohoh-nooOOOOOooooo!

  Calm down, man! You’re hallucinating; this isn’t real. You know that. But why am I so scared, when I know that? Maybe it’s not a hallucination or a delusion, maybe it’s real, maybe there’s really something behind that door— Stop! Don’t think! If you think, you’re finished! You lose! You’ll die! Dammit, if I just had those drugs from a minute ago! One more time, if I took those one more time, I bet I wouldn’t come down that time! Drugs, gimme drugs! Somebody’s gotta go deal with the Runorata pushers directly and get me drugs, or Iiiiiiiiii, AAaaaaaAAAh, I’ll die, this is really gonna kill me, hey, save me, somebody, help me, hey, Edith, Ediiiiiith…

  Seven hours later, in his bathroom, Roy finally managed to calm down.

  He’d stripped naked, and he stood dazed on a floor that was smeared with his vomit. He’d anticipated situations like this and had rented an apartment with a bathroom on purpose. He was really grateful to himself for having made it to that bathroom while he still had some sense left.

  On the one hand, this had been his first time taking that kind, so the down hadn’t been as bad; on the other, since he regularly took other drugs, he’d probably had a weird reaction. Either way, the things he’d done before now had bounced back up and hit him. From a medical perspective, there might be aftereffects, but after all, it was a new type of drug. Roy didn’t know any of the details. All he understood was the tremendous excitement from the instant he’d taken it, and the terror of the down he’d just come through.

  He wanted to apologize to Edith. He’d managed to last through the panic on the strength of that one intense thought. The weakness of will it took to succumb to seeking temporary highs and the determination to make it through the subsequent fear: Roy was a member of the odd breed that possessed this strange combination of mental strengths.

  As he cleaned himself and the bathroom, he even felt a slight sense of achievement. Now, this time for sure, he’d be able to keep his promise to Edith. He had the feeling something like this had happened before, but that was probably just his imagination.

  Pulling shorts and a shirt onto his now-clean body, Roy headed for the living room, humming. I gotta say, though, I hurt all over. Did I get in a fight while I was high or something? Is it some kind of bad effect from the drug?

  Abruptly, he stopped in his tracks.

&nbs
p; What’s that bag?

  A bag he’d never seen before lay under the table. It was a big leather satchel, and it bulged as if it was stuffed full of something.

  He’d seen it somewhere before, but he couldn’t remember where. He actually got the feeling he couldn’t afford to remember where.

  The terror he’d thought had subsided returned. Instead of his brain, his heart started to jump loudly.

  Fearfully, he went closer, opened the bag, and—

  As he remembered everything, Roy’s heart very nearly stopped from the shock.

  The bag was stuffed to bursting with white packets of powder.

  It was the new drug the Runorata Family was spreading around, the stuff he’d just been in thrall to.

  Slowly, the Grim Reaper that lived inside him began to swing its great scythe down.

  RUNORATA FAMILY

  A mansion on the outskirts of Newark, the capital of New Jersey

  “And?”

  The man who spoke was standing beside an ostentatious desk. He was probably over fifty; his wrinkles were neither deep nor shallow, and he wore intellectual-looking glasses on his dignified face. While there was no emotion to be gleaned from his tone or expression, the men in suits who stood around him all visibly tensed en masse at this single word.

  “You’re telling me that not only did someone steal all of the new drug, but you let the thief get away?”

  As the middle-aged man continued, everyone in the room gulped.

  Then, looking like death-row convicts who’d walked up those thirteen steps, they waited for him—Bartolo Runorata, the boss of their syndicate—to finish.

  After a breath that seemed like an eternity, Bartolo slowly closed his eyes and spoke.

  “And?”

  The big man who came forward to answer the question broke out in a cold sweat. “Right, we’ll mobilize all the men we can spare and find that guy—”

  “What I am asking you is…”

  Bartolo cut the other man off and quietly went on. “Exactly what benefit is there for me, you, and by extension the entire Family in your reporting every trivial thing to me this way?”

  Although his voice was calm, the sharpness in it seemed to seize the hearts of everyone who heard it.

  “Gustavo. I told you I was leaving the Manhattan business in your hands, remember? That means the only thing you need to report to me is either good news or bad news… Or what? Are you telling me you’re incompetent enough to judge an insignificant little situation like this one as ‘bad news’?”

  The man he’d called Gustavo wore an expression that made him look like a frog that had been impaled by a shrike. His big body was quivering.

  “Boss, I’d never…”

  “So you’re competent?”

  At those words, Gustavo went completely silent.

  “I have plans to see my grandchild today. Don’t sully my memories of this day with dull talk.”

  On that note, without giving him a reprimand or advice, Bartolo left the room.

  The people who remained seemed to be trying to gauge what the others were feeling. All of them wore expressions of mixed unease and relief.

  “This ain’t no time to turn cretin, men.”

  Gustavo lit a fire under his subordinates; his expression and attitude had changed completely from what they’d been when his boss was present.

  “Watch that mugger spread the drugs around for peanuts. They’d laugh us out of town! If that happens, our job in Manhattan might turn into ‘bad news’! Do whatever you have to—just find that punk!”

  As far as they were concerned, this had been an enormous blunder.

  Some absolute nobody had made off with a bag crammed full of drugs. It hadn’t happened because they’d been particularly careless. The carriers who were driving the car simply hadn’t been able to predict the situation.

  They’d never expected a truck to plow into their side at full speed.

  The impact had thrown them out of the vehicle, and a young guy had gotten out of the truck and run off with the new product, which was worth six hundred thousand on the market.

  The culprit must have taken a big hit from the impact as well, but he’d fled the scene as if he couldn’t feel pain. Naturally, they weren’t able to report the damages, and the incident had been dealt with as a simple hit-and-run.

  The truck had been stolen, and they’d gotten word that from the looks of the perpetrator, he was probably a junkie.

  However, that district was run by the Gandor Family, and they didn’t deal in drugs at all. The Runoratas knew nothing would turn up there even if they looked, so their investigation from that angle had been lax from the beginning.

  Viewed objectively, it was a priceless joke. The ones distributing drugs in that area were the Runoratas themselves. They’d been attacked by a kid who was high on drugs they’d sold. For dealers, it was a huge, unprecedented screwup of the absolute rock-bottom lowest order, the sort of spectacular error that would probably never be seen again.

  “Just take back the goods. As long as you do that, I don’t care if you murder him or what—”

  “I…can’t…have…that.”

  Behind him, Gustavo heard an eerie groan. When he hastily turned around, Begg was sitting in a corner; apparently, he’d gotten into the room at some point. Even though there were lots of empty chairs, he was sitting right on the floor.

  “Begg, huh? Don’t spook me like that! …And whaddaya mean, you can’t have that?”

  “I…want to…ask…him…what he…thought. If…someone…did something…that reckless…while…on my drugs, I…absolutely…want…to…hear his…story. I…may…use him…as a test…subject…for my…new…drugs. So…if…you can, take…him…alive.”

  “Of all the moronic—”

  Involuntarily, Gustavo began to yell at him, but he kept the rest of the words locked in his throat. He didn’t know much about Begg, but when he’d joined this organization, the guy had already been there. He had to be one of the oldest members, but Gustavo didn’t even know his real age. At a glance, he looked to be around thirty, but it had been eight years since Gustavo became part of the syndicate, and in that time, Begg didn’t seem to have aged at all.

  It was likely that his body had gone strange places due to the effect of some drug. Instead of being jealous of his youth, the people around him treated him very cautiously and did their best not to talk about it.

  “—Don’t ask for too much, all right? We gave you a terrific refinery, remember? Don’t pester us for more.”

  “Hmm. You…got one…for me? You…only…took over…a cocaine factory…that…someone…else…had…been…running… Along…with…its…cover…business. His…name…was…Genoard, wasn’t…it? The…previous…owner.”

  There was clear irony in the halting words.

  “‘Took it over’? Hey, don’t say that. The company had lost its manager, and we just shored it up, that’s all. From both the front and from the back, see.”

  “‘Lost,’ hmm? B-by…throwing…himself…into…N-Newark…Bay, car…and…all? What…violence. That’s…s-several…times…r-rougher…than…Bartolo’s…m-methods.”

  “…You’re a member of this Family, too. Why don’t you watch your mouth a little?”

  Behind his blank expression, Gustavo was clamping down rage. In response, Begg’s smile was clearly scornful. Before long, as if he’d tired of it, the smile disappeared, and Begg began to leave the room as though nothing had happened. As he left, he called attention to a certain treaty.

  “List…en. I told…you…before: B-be…careful…not to…meddle…with the…Martillo Family. That’s…my condition…for…cooperating…with you, Gustavo.”

  Once he’d said this, Begg disappeared beyond the door without a sound.

  “Hunh. For a guy who’s useless for anything that ain’t drugs, he’s pretty full of himself… Bastard!”

  Spitting out that parting shot, Gustavo turned back to the men who were still i
n the room.

  “Listen up. We’re grabbing territory from the little outfits, starting with the Gandors. At the same time, we’re putting down roots for the drug business. That’s our job in Manhattan. Another job nobody asked for got piled on top of that, but it don’t change what we’ll be doing. Crush anyone who gets in our way. If they’re weak, crush ’em even if they’re not in the way. There’s no need to warn them or negotiate. That stuff’s for equals. We just have to flex our power in front of ’em, get me? Fast and thorough, so that by the time they see it, it’s too late—”

  Talking as though he’d become the boss of a syndicate, Gustavo loudly declared their victory. It was as if the self he’d shown Bartolo mere moments ago had never existed in the first place.

  “This age is ours, period. I won’t let that thieving punk and the puny playtime mafia exist in our world. Crush ’em, grind ’em down until there’s nothing left, erase them completely from the past, present, and future. That’s our duty.”

  PURCHASE

  1931 Late December Somewhere in Chinatown

  In a corner of Manhattan, a small building stood in an unobtrusive location.

  A sign that seemed to have been tacked on as an afterthought held the name “Daily Days.”

  The Daily Days, or “DD,” was a weak little newspaper that slipped through the gaps in the fierce circulation battle that was unfolding between the New York Times and the New York Tribune.

  However, after all, newspaper publishing was merely its public front. Viewed as a whole, its shadow face—that of an information brokerage—brought in far more revenue.

  Ordinarily, it would have been inconceivable for an information brokerage to base itself in a single location. Such business was far more suited to the environment presented in movies and books: that of notes stealthily passed in back alleys and the corners of bars. In the first place, once an information broker’s whereabouts were known, there was no telling when they’d be bumped off.