For a short while, Eve stayed that way, looking down. Before long, though, she spoke, as if she’d made up her mind.
“Benjamin…Samantha. I’m truly sorry about that.”
At those words, her servants simultaneously stared at her.
“Miss! Miss, there isn’t the slightest reason for you to apologize to the likes of us! Never mind that, is something wrong? Are you feeling unwell?”
“Yeah, y’need to eat up an’ make yahself nice an’ strong.”
“Thank…you.”
She gave a weak smile. On seeing this, Samantha hollered, attempting to cheer her up:
“Don’t you pay it no mind, honey! Even infermaytion brokuhs git handed bum intel a’times.”
“She’s absolutely right! You mustn’t let anything said by such dubious individuals lead you astray, miss!”
The two of them tried desperately to encourage her, but Eve only smiled sadly.
“Thank you. I’m a little tired today, so if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go to bed early.”
Murmuring words far too familiar to say to one’s servants, Eve quietly left the dining room, still smiling faintly.
The meal she hadn’t touched sat on the table, waiting to grow stone cold.
To be honest, she’d already known. She’d thought that might be the case.
Almost no one who disappeared in Manhattan ended up returning home safe and sound.
She’d known that. And yet. What on earth had she been expecting?
She’d held a faint hope that another miracle might occur.
Even though she’d already used up her one life-changing wish on that earlier occasion.
Oh, what a foolish thing she’d done.
There hadn’t been any need to hope for a miracle.
If she’d had just a little more courage, couldn’t she have stopped Dallas easily?
She’d only prayed in an attempt to run from the effort and the fear.
Oh… When Father and Jeffrey died…that’s when I really wanted a miracle. Of course I know the dead can’t be revived. That’s why, at least—at the very least—if Dallas was still all right…
But no miracle had occurred.
If there was such a thing as a wish of a lifetime, and if it was something that really existed…then she’d already used up hers.
That meant she should have known this would happen. She’d thought she’d steeled herself for it. And yet.
Why was she so terribly sad?
I didn’t even like Dallas. He was rough, a coward; he didn’t have a shred of moral sense. People always, always, always hated him, and he always, always, always hated them, too.
Still, all she could think of was her memory of the last time she’d seen him.
How kind his face had been when he’d taught her billiards, the day after God’s burglar-messengers had come.
Oh why, why was he nice only to me? If he’d just hated me the way he hated everyone else…
Quite abruptly, Eve was afraid of herself. She noticed her own selfishness, was completely appalled by it, and grew hopelessly mortified and sad.
Immediately, tears welled up and overflowed, and she sobbed quietly as her pillow grew damp.
Is it all right to do nothing but cry? Will that be enough to let you forget someday? You’ve been confronted with the deaths of your father and two older brothers, and all you can do is cry? The best you can do is cling to something and keep praying, the way you did a year ago?
If there was the faintest possibility, then she mustn’t give up.
This just wouldn’t do. What she needed to do now…was make amends to her brother.
As Eve and the others left the Daily Days newspaper offices, a man entered, as if taking their place.
There was a perennially entertained smile on his face. In contrast to Nicholas, who came off as bracing, this man’s smile was unpleasant, as if it were appraising something about the other person.
When the man opened the door to the editorial department, the sight of Nicholas lending Elean his shoulder jumped out at him.
“Ah, Henry, are you back? Elean got a little depressed again. It’s time for me to clock out, so you take over here.”
“Well, well. Thank you ever so much for your diligent service.” With an attitude that was superficially polite but actually quite rude, the man called Henry watched the two of them go. “Rest assured, you may leave everything to me. I believe it might be best if the two of you shared a leisurely drink.”
“…I don’t feel good about letting you field customers, but both the president and the vice president are out. Dammit.”
Nicholas, sounding troubled, shook his head as he left. Elean departed with him.
Henry cheerfully watched them go and gave a little chuckle.
“Now, then. I haven’t dealt with customers in quite some time. I do hope someone I’ll be able to enjoy will stop by.”
As it turned out, his wish was granted immediately.
A man whose face was blatantly hidden by a cap, a muffler, and dark glasses came in, with a glaringly suspicious attitude.
The Asian employees in the editorial department stopped working for a moment, their hands reaching for their desk drawers or jacket pockets.
At that, with no hesitation whatsoever, the customer spoke to them. He addressed the man at the reception desk in Chinese that, while not quite fluent, had seen significant use: “I have a complicated matter to discuss. Does anyone here speak English?”
Just then, having finished preparing for work, Henry appeared.
Warping his disagreeable smile even further, he spoke, sounding terribly cheerful and amused.
“If I’ll suffice, I can listen to your story.”
Alveare—“the Beehive”—was a speakeasy run by the Martillo Family.
Here, in the space in the back of a honey shop, Nicholas and Elean were drinking liquor sweetened with honey. The décor in the spacious establishment was elegant, and the atmosphere made it feel more like an upscale restaurant than a bar.
“Think Henry’s going to be okay?” Nicholas wondered, swirling his drink.
“At the very least, he’ll be much better than I am,” Elean lamented energetically. “Ahh, I’m worthless. Worthless, worthless, worthless, worthless. What’s worthless, you ask? Everything is worthless.”
“Yeah, you’re definitely worthless,” Nicholas concurred lackadaisically. “But don’t let it get to you. You just couldn’t keep quiet about it and got her hopes up for nothing. So, look, next time, just keep your emotions reined in tighter. And I’ve said that a million times already.”
As he ate the food the girl in the cheongsam had brought over, Elean nodded silently.
Then, as if he’d remembered something, he looked up.
“Listen, though. There is something that’s been bothering me.”
“What?” Nicholas asked.
“It’s about that Dallas fellow. Apparently, there’s some information about him that’s being kept top secret.”
“Top secret?”
Even among the Daily Days newspaper staff, only the president and vice president were allowed access to information deemed to be top secret. It was possible that no such documents existed in the first place. There were rumors that all of it was kept exclusively inside the minds of the president and vice president, but no one knew for sure.
“Dallas was just a thug, wasn’t he? Top secret, for him…? Oh, though—hang on a tick.” At this, Nicholas broke off for a moment to drain the contents of his glass. “They say it was the Gandors who scratched Dallas, right? In that case, it’s probably that. Something to do with immortals.”
“Oh…I see. Yes, you’re right.”
Immortals. Elean accepted this unrealistic word, which had appeared out of the blue, with no questions whatsoever.
To these two, immortals were humans whose existence was solid fact. They’d actually met them in person.
Including, for example, the waitress who�
�d just brought them their food.
However, they had only fragmentary information on the subject.
Their knowledge that two hundred years ago, a group of alchemists had become immortal on a ship bound for this continent was a fact. They were aware of restrictions on that immortality and that immortals couldn’t use false names with each other. Immortals weren’t able to use false names in public situations, either. They knew immortals could “eat” each other through their right hands.
…And the fact that, in a certain incident one year ago, several people who lived in this town had become immortal. The Martillo Family executives, the waitress, the proprietress of the honey shop…and the three brothers who acted as the Gandor triumvirate.
Some versions of the story said there were a few others as well. However, Nicholas and Elean didn’t even know their names, although it was likely that the president’s group had some sort of information on them.
“Well, if we hadn’t heard it straight from the president, we wouldn’t have believed it either.”
“You got that right.”
Their conversation ran out there, and they went on quietly scarfing down their food.
At that point, a new guest came in.
It was a woman, about twenty years old, and she was holding a big black leather bag.
The pair from the information brokerage recognized her immediately.
“Speak of the devil. That girl’s a waitress at the Gandors’ speakeasy, isn’t she?”
“Yeah, you’re right. Wasn’t her name Edith or something?”
There was one other thing that concerned Nicholas. He hadn’t mentioned it to the Runorata men who’d come in that afternoon, but if he recalled correctly, she was Roy Maddock’s—the drug snatcher’s—sweetheart.
And that leather bag she was holding…
Feeling something approaching certainty, Nicholas decided to watch what she did.
“Oh, welcome! Edith, you haven’t been to this place in ages!”
“Hi, Lia. You’re looking as chipper as ever.”
Edith exchanged greetings with her cheongsam-clad friend, but her expression seemed a little strained.
Noticing this, Lia Lin-Shan came over to speak to her, looking worried. There weren’t many customers in the speakeasy yet, and she appeared to have time on her hands.
“What’s wrong? You look sort of funny.”
“No, uh… Listen, um, actually, I have a favor to ask…”
Mumbling guiltily, Edith held out the black bag.
“It’s about this bag. Could you hold on to it for me for a little while?”
Turn the clock back to that evening.
“And I am asking you, exactly why would you bring a thing like that to my place?!”
In the rented apartment where Edith lived, an uproar had broken out over a certain bag.
“Anyway, even if you were high, why in the world would you do a half-witted thing like that?!”
“Uh, how should I put this…? Look, it’s like, you know how you can’t get time back once it’s gone? There’s nothing to do about stuff once it’s done. See? You forget time once it’s past, and I think we should probably forget about how stuff happened and just focus on the results. For now, see, this thing happened, and we need to do something about it.”
There was no telling what had happened to the spirit he’d had yesterday. Roy had completely reverted to a timid young fellow, and he kept on making hesitant excuses to Edith, who was glaring at him.
“Honestly! What’s wrong with you, anyway?! When you’re on drugs, you get carried away and say embarrassing things like ‘I was one with the world’ without any trouble at all, but now…!”
“See, I mess with drugs because I want to change that part of me. Once people experience pleasure like that, it’s hard for them to swear it off, especially if they’re weak, like me…”
“If you’re able to analyze yourself calmly, then don’t mess with drugs in the first place! Idiot!”
After that, Edith harangued Roy for close to an hour. During that hour, the word idiot was mentioned more than three hundred times.
Running out of insults and steam, Edith heaved a great sigh.
“Still, it looks like you haven’t touched the contents of this bag. That’s a relief.”
“Honestly…I wanted to shoot up so bad I couldn’t stand it. It was just, if I took any of that, the stuff the Runorata goons would do to me… I-I was scared. Scared of what they’d do. I know how the Runorata fellas work…”
“In other words, you stopped yourself because you were afraid. I thought it was probably something like that… Still, even though you’re scared of coming down, you always shoot up without stressing about it, so I’m proud of you for holding back this time. Does this mean you’re scared of dying, Roy? …Even though drugs are all you do?”
Edith asked the question as if she was mystified. As Roy answered her, his shoulders were trembling.
“Yeah, I’m scared. From what I hear, their methods are dirty—especially that Gustavo guy. He doesn’t issue warnings or nothing; he just goes around killing anyone who’s even remotely involved, whether they’re part of the underworld or not. If I’m the one dying, I don’t mind. But, but—”
Roy was timid, and he wasn’t able to get the rest of the sentence out.
As if she’d realized what he actually meant, Edith’s face suddenly grew calm, and she hugged Roy’s quaking shoulders.
“I’m sorry. Thank you.”
After murmuring those few short words, Edith took the bag and stood up.
“It took time, but you did keep that promise. In that case, it’s my turn to promise. I promise I won’t let you die. I’ll protect you, both from the Gandors and from the Runorata men.”
With that, she flung open the door to the room, heavy bag in hand.
“Wh-where are you going?”
“For now, I think this bag could be our trump card. If we keep it with us, though, they’ll be able to take it back easily, and if they catch us with it, we’re finished. For the moment, I think I’ll leave it with a friend I can trust.”
“What?! You can’t! You’ll be pulling them into this, too!”
“It’s fine. The territories the Runoratas are messing with all belong to small outfits, but there’s one where they haven’t been spreading their drugs around. Just one. I’m going to ask a friend in that one.”
“…And that’s why… I do feel bad about this, but… I’m sorry!”
“If you’re just going to apologize, you probably shouldn’t ask in the first place.”
In a corner of Alveare, Edith and Lia were talking in whispers.
“You’re right,” Edith fretted. “I’m sorry. I knew I shouldn’t…”
“But okay. I’ll hang on to it for you.”
“Huh?”
Lia had agreed so easily that Edith’s eyes went round.
“You really like Roy, don’t you, Edith?”
Lia spoke as if she were teasing her. In contrast, Edith’s voice was uneasy—
“Y-you’re sure? Um, if possible, I don’t want the Martillos to find out about it, either. It sounds as though everyone here is good friends with Mr. Keith and Mr. Luck.”
“We aren’t that chummy when I’m working, so I think it’ll be okay. It’s fine. Only, my room doesn’t have a lock, so I’ll give this to somebody I trust.”
At those words, she felt a little bewildered, but in matters like these, it was probably safer to have double or triple layers.
“All right,” Edith said, pumping herself up. “If you trust this person, Lia, I’ll trust them, too. Okay, then: Thank you so much!”
As they watched Edith go, Nicholas and Elean, who’d been listening the whole time, drew deep breaths.
The conversation had been held at a volume that wouldn’t have been possible to pick up ordinarily, but these two were used to the din of the editorial department, and they’d just barely managed to make it out.
&
nbsp; “Well, now. We’ve just gotten our hands on some pretty sensitive information. What should we do with it?”
As he answered the English copy editor’s question, the Chinese copy editor’s eyes sparkled.
“First off, we’ll just have to report it to the president tomorrow, won’t we? If this fascinating information proves useful, we’ll have done good for the world and for mankind, and we won’t be utterly worthless anymore!”
“What’s this ‘we’ business? Are you calling me utterly worthless, too?”
Feeling mildly disgusted by Elean’s abrupt recovery from his depression, Nicholas gazed into space and knocked back the contents of his glass.
“Mind you, I’m not terribly fond of being directly involved with sensitive information…”
“Yes, I see. I understand what you’re driving at.”
At the same time, in the newspaper offices, Roy and Henry were facing each other.
“In other words, what you’ve just said may be summarized as follows: You want to know the Runoratas’ weakness. Correct?”
“Yeah, th-that’s right. I was wondering if they had some sort of weak point big enough to keep them from taking shots at me or my friend after we hand over the drugs.”
As his palms grew slick with sweat, Roy related the details of the incident.
In response, Henry maintained his amused smile and his hypocritically courteous attitude.
“Well, a confession directly from you is valuable information in and of itself, so that will do nicely. The problem is the fee. For information as important as this, we’ll require five thousand dollars at the very least.”
“F-five thousand dollars?!”
Roy, who’d just blown all his money on drugs, had absolutely no hope of squeezing out a sum like that. Add the recession on top of it, and there weren’t many people who could pay such an enormous amount at a moment’s notice, even if they weren’t Roy.
“However.”
Henry’s smile grew even more entertained, and he proposed a compromise.
“There is a way. This isn’t a formal transaction, and as a company, we are unable to guarantee this information, but—”
1932 Drug & The Dominos Page 5