1932 Drug & The Dominos

by Ryohgo Narita

  It was one thing for newspaper reporters and police officers to dabble in that line of work for pocket money, but this was a business—rare even in this industry—that used it as a main trade, like a detective agency.

  This little building in a corner of Chinatown was the headquarters for the Daily Days, which included their editorial department. Most of the employees were Chinese, but there were people of a few other ethnicities as well, and their newspaper was published in three editions, each in a different language: Chinese, English, and Italian.

  Crushing the old newspapers that lay in the road underfoot, several men entered the building.

  At first glance, the inside of the building looked like some sort of government office. The atmosphere was noisy and chaotic, and people who seemed to be newspaper reporters and editorial staff were bustling around the room.

  Initially, the only people they saw were Asian, and the men scowled openly. At that, one Caucasian individual approached them from the depths of the room.

  Apparently, although they were very close to the border of another district, they hadn’t expected to see a white guy working in Chinatown. For a moment, the men looked taken aback as they watched the employee walk toward them in silence.

  When there was a single desk between them, the white-skinned fellow stopped and spoke to the men, who still looked dazed.

  “Welcome. What brings you here today?”

  The words that came out of the man’s mouth were in perfectly ordinary English, albeit with a New York accent.

  “Did you want to request a regular subscription? Ah, excuse me: My name is Nicholas. I’m the copy editor for the English edition.”

  Nicholas introduced himself smoothly. In response, one of the men in coats arrogantly stated their business:

  “We ain’t interested in your lousy rag. We’re here for information, that’s all.”

  Nicholas looked just a little saddened by the man’s extremely rude speech.

  “We flatter ourselves that it’s a pretty interesting paper… Well? What sort of information were you looking for?”

  “You know that accident on Mulberry Street yesterday?”

  Nicholas answered the question by giving a fluent outline of events:

  “You mean the collision between a passenger car and a truck that occurred after one o’clock yesterday afternoon? Well, it would be more accurate to call that an ‘incident’ instead of an ‘accident.’ It was a completely unilateral hit-and-run on the part of the truck. There were two victims, Sam Buscetta and Anselmo Jonell; the assailant, a man with a distinctive scar on his neck, is still on the run—correct?”

  At the wave of information he’d suddenly reeled off, the men looked at one another. What Nicholas had just told them was something only a handful of people—the police and the men directly involved—knew at this point.

  As the men turned astonished eyes upon him, Nicholas kept speaking, briskly:

  “The two victims are members of the Runorata Family, a mafia organization headquartered in Newark—in other words, your friends.”

  At these words, spoken casually, all three men froze.

  They hadn’t given their names yet; they hadn’t intended to do so at all. It was as if this pale man had seen through them, knew everything about who they really were…

  However, they couldn’t afford to get flustered here. The man had probably guessed who they were from their appearance and the situation and had just happened to be right. If they acted upset now, they’d play right into his hands.

  “I see. If you know all that, then I bet you know why we’re here.” He was bluffing, but his palms were already beginning to sweat. “We want to know where to find the guy with the scarred-up neck. Any info you’ve got, even little stuff—”

  “Scottish immigrant. Aged twenty-two.” Nicholas spoke simply, interrupting the man.

  “…What?”

  “Anything more than that will cost you.”

  The matter had been brought up so abruptly that the men hadn’t realized the “transaction” had already begun.

  “The price of the information is five hundred dollars in cash. In addition, we’d like you to provide us with an item of information in return.”

  “Eh? Information?”

  “Well, you see, to put it bluntly—we want to know what got stolen. Don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean. We got a proper report of everything, including the fact that a black leather bag was carried off.”

  Still smiling breezily, Nicholas explained with terrifying ease.

  “You seriously think we could tell you that?”

  “In that case, the deal is off.”

  “…Lemme ask you something. Say we did tell you, and then the police came to you and asked for that info. Would you give it to them?”

  “Of course. We’re running a business here.”

  The man’s veins, which had begun to twitch, swelled up so fast they seemed in danger of bursting.

  “Don’t gimme that bullshit! You got a death wish or something?!”

  As the men raged, every eye in the editorial department went to them in unison.

  “Geh?!”

  And as the vitriolic customers registered a certain fact, they quickly shifted to confusion:

  All of the Asian journalists were expressionless, and every one of them held a pistol. The muzzle of every gun was trained on the group of men, and a semicircular net had formed around them in the blink of an eye. At first glance, it looked disorderly, but in fact, all the lines of fire neatly avoided Nicholas.

  A closer look revealed that the many desks and documents were in perfect position to provide cover for the others, while the gangsters’ group had nothing to hide behind.

  The resulting formation was like a small handful of soldiers surrounded by countless trenches and ramparts.

  In an instant, the visitors’ blood ran cold. However, when Nicholas raised a hand, the guns all disappeared back into the reporters’ jackets.

  “I’m sorry about that. This business tends to get rather dangerous, you see.”

  With that comment, he ducked his head in casual apology, then resumed speaking as though nothing had happened.

  “Well, just calm down and listen. Even if we did give that information to the police, it wouldn’t be proof. All you need to do is think about destroying the evidence at your leisure.”

  Mixing in unreasonable logic, Nicholas slowly began to relate a portion of his information brokerage’s system.

  “You may think your superiors will punish you, but there’s no need to worry about that. It’s our duty to keep information sources secret, and we’re very thorough about it… Although you’ll just have to trust me on that. Even if the Runorata Family were to sustain some sort of loss, you saw nothing, and you were never here. That’s all you’ll need to say.”

  “The man’s name is Roy Maddock. His address is—”

  After a little hesitation, the men had reluctantly agreed to the conditions.

  After they’d heard the outline of the affair from the information broker, they provided information in return. However…

  “The bag had money in it. Protection money from our customers.”

  Feeling that there was no need to tell the truth over something this petty, the men had decided to tell a likely-sounding lie. They’d made up a harmless story, thinking that there was no way to see through it.

  On hearing that, Nicholas gave a vaguely disappointed smile.

  “If you’re going to lie, make it slightly more entertaining, would you? Good lies have value as information all on their own, but what you just said really isn’t worth…”

  The men began to protest, but Nicholas shook his head and kept talking.

  “The Runorata territory isn’t down that road, and in any case, your collection day is at the beginning of the month. It’s nowhere near the time for protection money. Put a little thought into the fib before you tell it, all right?”

  When he saw that
the other men could no longer argue, Nicholas hit them with a rapid-fire volley of words.

  “Put bluntly, it’s drugs, isn’t it? The new drugs that have been turning up on the Gandors’ turf lately. That’s what you were transporting, isn’t it? Give me a yes or a no in the next five seconds, four-three-two-one—”

  Swept along by his momentum, one of the men nodded involuntarily.

  That was enough. On seeing it, Nicholas made one brief comment, then returned to his desk.

  “Thank you for your business.”

  “Missy Eve, dis here’s da spot, the infahmation brohka where my childhood pal woiks.”

  As she spoke, the woman began to take Eve into a certain building.

  “It’s a newspaper?”

  This was Eve’s first time in the big city, and she seemed nervous; she swallowed, and her expression was uneasy.

  Led by Samantha, they’d arrived at a small newspaper in Chinatown. The building was a patchwork of concrete and brick, and it was beginning to look a little rickety in places. Its sign held the shabby words Daily Days.

  They’d reached the family’s second residence in New York, but when it came to the question of how to find Dallas, Eve and the others were stumped from the very beginning.

  After all, when it came right down to it, no one in the family had known anything about her brother’s personal connections or how he earned money.

  Just when Eve had nearly lost heart, Samantha had suddenly let out an exclamation, then said:

  “Missy Eve! When thar’s somethin’ ya dunno, you’d best git yerself to an information broker. Let’s try one a’ them!”

  “Who would go to such a disreputable… An information broker? Do you intend to bring the young mistress into contact with those ruffians?!”

  “Well, land sakes, Benjahmin. If’n you talk smack ’bout mah ol’ buddy, you’ll get my dander up, right and proper.”

  “Oh, hush. As if we could trust information from a fellow like your old friend, someone we may very well not be able to understand! And my name is pronounced ‘Ben-yah -min’! How many times must I say it before it sinks in?! When you speak my name, don’t inflict the English pronunciation on it!”

  Her butler, Benjamin, was, as stated, very much against the idea.

  However, in the end, they’d had nothing else to rely on, and so they’d come here…

  “What, it’s a newspaper, is it? Hmm. In that case, miss, we may be able to trust them to a certain degree.”

  Her butler, who’d completely regained his composure, respectfully opened the door for his mistress.

  Eve went through the door first. Then the butler let go of the door, intending to pass through himself—only to be shoved by Samantha and topple over in grand style.

  “T-treat me as a vaudeville performer, would you!” Grumbling, he went through the door last and found himself in the midst of a disorderly scene, his ears struck by a din woven from unfamiliar words. To Eve, who’d never had any contact with ordinary work sites, the kaleidoscopic view was more than enough to give her culture shock.

  “Oh, my…”

  “Miss?”

  When her butler spoke, Eve came back to herself with a jolt.

  “Oh… They look terribly busy. They can’t possibly have time to spend on us, can they?”

  Speaking with more politeness than was necessary, Eve looked around uneasily.

  As if to reassure her, Samantha laid a plump palm on her shoulder.

  “There ain’t nada to fret yoself ’bout. I jes’ jawed on th’ameche wid Elean a tick ago.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  The butler, not understanding Samantha’s words, was confused. Eve whispered in his ear:

  “‘There’s no need to worry. I talked with Elean on the telephone a little while ago’…she says.”

  Embarrassed at having made his own mistress interpret for his benefit, the butler grabbed a man who looked as if he might understand English and began explaining the situation to him.

  On hearing their circumstances, the man—who introduced himself as Nicholas—went up a flight of stairs to the second floor.

  After a short while he returned, accompanied by an eccentric-looking man. Like Samantha, the man was black, but his clothes were clearly Chinese formal wear, a coal-black men’s outfit.

  This new man occasionally spoke with the Asians he passed, and when he did, it was in extremely fluent Chinese. He also wore sunglasses with a sharp design, which made him look even sketchier.

  When the man saw Samantha, he struck a dramatic welcoming pose, greeting his old friend in the local dialect.

  “Saaaamantha! It’s been forever, really forever! Just how many years has it been since we last saw each other?! Marvelous! Today is bound to be a marvelous day! I find myself compelled to pray that the day proves marvelous for me, for you, and for every soul in this city!”

  Maintaining an energy level that was two or three notches higher than that of the average person, he hugged his old friend tightly. However, the length of his arms was such that, even stretching them as far as they’d go, he just barely managed to touch his fingertips together behind Samantha’s back. As they held this unbalanced embrace, the pair basked in the delight of their reunion.

  “Well now, come, come, we have a lot to catch up on, but we’ll save that for later. For now, let’s hear your mistress’s request, shall we? Technically, I’m supposed to take five hundred dollars and more information in return, but since she’s your mistress, Samantha, it’s on the house this time, with my compliments!”

  The trio was shown into what appeared to be a reception room. Eve and Samantha sat on the sofa, but the butler stayed standing by the door, neatly, his posture betraying neither dignity nor subservience.

  Watching the butler as if the sight of him was entertaining, the Chinese black guy—Elean Duga—began talking to Eve.

  “All right, let’s see, hmm. Miss Eve Genoard, if I recall correctly, you wanted us to look for a Mr. Dallas Genoard, who’s been missing for a year. I have my people checking through the information right now. Once they’ve got it together, they have orders to bring it here, so somebody should show up aaaany minute. No, I mean it. It’ll be soon, I tell you, soon! By the way, you said this was your big brother? I’m sure we’ll find him safe and sound! Don’t worry; there’s nothing in this town we don’t know. We just might uncover your brother’s current whereabouts lickety-split, and—”

  Elean’s monologue was interrupted by a knock that echoed in the reception room.

  “Ah, it looks like they’re here.”

  Swiftly, the butler opened the door, and an Asian entered with a bundle of documents.

  The fact that the new man’s face was expressionless worried Eve, but Elean was glancing through the documents, and she decided to wait for his reaction.

  At first, Elean hummed as he skimmed the documents, but then, abruptly, he shot up from his chair and walked over to the window, waving his arms in an exaggerated fashion.

  The sun was beginning to set, deepening the colors of the beautiful redbrick buildings.

  As he gazed out at the view, Elean slowly began to speak.

  “Right. It’s always like that. People have told me I tend to get carried away for many, many years. I told myself that being called thoughtless was a sort of compliment; I’ve fooled myself that way all this time. But, you see, if you reword that a bit, it just means a fellow who can’t read the atmosphere, doesn’t it? I always thought, I’m not going to live like this anymore, but in the end, I haven’t been able to change. Manic states are a bit like drugs, you know. Once you’ve had a taste, you just want to stay that way forever and ever.”

  At first it was impossible to tell what he was talking about, but he seemed to be trying to change the subject.

  “U-um, please, tell me! My brother—where is Dallas?!”

  Growing excited, Eve stood up in spite of herself, but even the butler didn’t reproach her for it.

 
In sharp contrast to Eve and the others, who’d gotten worked up, the information broker’s mood grew more and more listless.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, really. I’m sorry. What was that business about ‘praying that the day proves to be marvelous,’ anyway…? As things stand, I might as well be the harbinger of misfortune, an utter bastard who feasts on others’ misery and rejoices all by himself. No practical information broker should ever have told you—and so easily—that we were sure to find him safe and sound. I’m terribly sorry to have given you false hope, only to push you off the edge like this; ah, ah, how I rue my helplessness, I—”

  “Wouldja quit dinkin’ around and use ya woids?!”

  When Samantha shook Elean and bellowed at him, he finally told them the bottom line.

  “I think it’s criminal to put this sort of thing in a roundabout way. Therefore, I’ll just say it straight out.”

  Elean had completely slipped into depression, and his lips delivered the bad news:

  “Your brother, Dallas Genoard. He’s on the bottom of the river. Under the deep, dark, cold waters of the Hudson, in a drum can, in the company of two of his friends.”

  At that plainspoken answer, Eve’s heart had frozen instantly.

  She was struck by the illusion that time had stopped. The only thing in the world that still made noise was the ferocious beating of her heart.

  As Eve kept her emotions from crumbling, she desperately squeezed air from the depths of her lungs:

  “Is… Is that true?”

  “Unfortunately, there doesn’t seem to be any doubt about it. We know who did it, too. They’re a small outfit. The Gandor Family…”

  She didn’t really remember what happened after that.

  The next thing she knew, Eve was gripping a knife and fork.

  She hadn’t registered anything since that moment, and apparently, while her mind was elsewhere, they’d returned to the second residence. At a corner of the vast table, Samantha had already finished eating. Benjamin was simply standing quietly at Eve’s side. It was likely that he hadn’t eaten yet.