“Thanks, Handyman. That’s a huge help.”
“Well then, I’ll be going.”
“Hold it. About your next job… It ain’t a hit. How about tying up this bunch so tight they can’t move? Is that something you’d do?”
In answer to Gustavo’s question, the man shrugged.
“Of course I can, but…?”
Gustavo smirked. In contrast, Luck and the others were watching the bearded, bespectacled man, looking mystified.
“Okay then, take care of that, Felix Walken! How much will it run me?”
“Thirty quadrillion dollars.”
“……Hunh?”
The amount was one he’d never even heard of. Were his ears playing tricks on him or something?
“If I’m going to make enemies of those three, I’ll need about that much money. Ha-ha.”
As he spoke, the Handyman shooed Eve and Roy out into the corridor, telling them, “Hide, go hide.”
“Hey, what’s the big idea?!”
“Well, my job was just to bring them here, you know.”
Berga, who’d been silently watching the exchange, looked disgusted. “Whaddaya doing in that getup?” he muttered.
“Getup?!”
Ignoring Gustavo’s instant confusion, the Mexican girl spoke to Luck, swinging her katana around.
“Say, where’s Vino? Hurry up and call him, amigo!”
In response to her voice, the bespectacled, whiskered kidnapper lifted a hand.
“You rang?”
The whole room froze.
The Handyman took off his glasses and ripped the false beard away from his mouth.
“Ow, ow, ow, ow.”
The face of the man who stood there, rubbing his cheeks, was young.
Spreading his arms wide, he greeted the people around him briefly:
“Hello. I’m Felix Walken—aka Vino. Or Rail Tracer is fine, too.”
During that line, his tone and attitude changed completely, and the worst possible guy touched down at the scene of the negotiations.
Clear confusion showed in Gustavo’s expression. As he understood what had happened, his face turned so red it was funny.
“Wha—? Wait, hold it! Dammit, Gandors! Was this one of your tricks, too?!”
As Gustavo screamed, Luck and the others looked at each other.
“Claire, who is this Felix person?”
“I told you Claire was dead, remember? My name is Felix Walken. More accurately, I got the original Felix Walken to sell me his identity this morning.”
“I don’t get it.”
Claire/Felix was speaking offhandedly. In contrast, Berga couldn’t hide his confusion.
“Remember what Luck said a couple days back? He said you couldn’t get married without an official identity. And I thought, ‘Y’know, he’s right.’”
Vino’s lighthearted attitude was completely at odds with the atmosphere of the room.
“So, see, last night, one of the information brokers from this place gave me info about the girl I’m looking for and the lowdown on a guy who wanted to lose his past, and I went over to negotiate with him that night. Old Felix is a good guy. Well, while we were in the middle of that, a call came in from those guys over there, saying they wanted to order a hit. So I figured I should at least go get a good look at the fellas we were fighting—whoops.”
Right in the middle of the conversation, Vino’s right hand darted out.
The hand held a small pistol, and two dry pops rang out simultaneously.
The bullet slipped through gaps in the crowd, heading straight for one man.
Krish.
The sound, which had echoed at the same time as the gunshots, came from the old man’s liquor bottle. After a moment’s pause, the man crumpled to the floor.
His right hand held a smoking gun.
There was a brand-new bullet scar in the wall behind Claire. Just a little closer, and it would have nailed him right between the eyes.
Was this Vino guy a monster, like Luck?
Or rather, could this man be the monsters’ leader?
Struck by the terror of the thought, Gustavo’s men hadn’t moved even when the gunshots rang out.
By now, they were no more than an audience, and Vino, imitating a certain actor, quoted a line from a famous movie:
“You ain’t heard nothin’ yet!”
When he saw a woman running toward him, the man who’d been guarding the back entrance hastily blocked her path.
“Move it!”
“What’s with you, whore?!” The guard drew his gun, intending to threaten Edith with it, but someone caught his shoulder. “Wh-who’s—? Ah! M-Mr. Begg!”
A man with a peculiar air about him spotted Edith over the guard’s shoulder, then spoke, his voice rusty. “You’re…Roy’s…friend, aren’t…you?”
Edith sensed something bottomless in the man’s eyes, but she glared back, undaunted, and answered his question with an emphatic nod.
On seeing this, Begg issued an order to the guard:
“Let…her…in.”
The Mexican girl, who held a katana at the ready, was the first to break the silence.
“Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! That was great! You’re a funny guy, amigo! You’re Vino and Felix? So—so, wait… In other words, if I finish you off, I get the fame from both people at once?!”
“Well, yeah. I guess so.” Scratching his head, Vino turned to Luck and the others, who were beside him: “So who am I supposed to kill, again?”
He’d used that movie line in an attempt to look cool, but he really couldn’t sense anything like a combat atmosphere from his surroundings.
Gustavo had his shotgun leveled as he watched the situation unfold, but he was the only one, and he didn’t seem to know how to proceed… Probably because, if he put his finger on the trigger, he was bound to fall prey to a bullet from Vino.
The hitman had seemed wide open back there, but even then, those skills… If Gustavo was dumb enough to move, he’d be sent to the afterlife all by himself. He knew it on instinct.
“I expect the police will be here soon, and if possible, I’d like to settle this peacefully… I mentioned that a little while ago, didn’t I?” Luck asked.
“Pain in the butt,” Claire muttered. “Though! The people I brought in a minute ago? I dunno who they are, but it looks like they’re Kate’s guests.”
“Huh?”
“I think you should probably keep ’em safe,” Claire said.
On hearing those words, Luck hastened out the door. But as he was leaving, he glared at Claire: “Say that first! For the love of…”
When Claire glanced to the side, he found Keith frowning a bit at the mention of his wife’s name.
Then: Just as Luck departed, Gustavo bolted for the door on the opposite side of the room.
“Hold it.”
Vino tried to turn the gun on Gustavo’s back, but there was a flash of silver at the edge of his vision, and the gun was knocked out of his hand. Taking advantage of that opening, Gustavo made his escape through the door.
Meanwhile, the girl who’d flippantly brandished the katana whistled, looking surprised.
“Nice one, amigo! I was aiming for your wrist!”
“Don’t slash at your amigos.”
“Sorry, this katana just moves on its own!”
Rebutting the comeback she’d already heard several times, the Mexican girl took some distance and repositioned her sword.
“If you can manage it, just surrender, all right? Killing amigas isn’t my thing.”
“Aaah! You’re making fun of me because I’m a woman! You’re gonna make me mad, amigo!”
No sooner had she spoken than the silver gleam became a streak, racing through the air.
Shaiiiing.
The sound of metal scraping against metal rang out, and the blade of the katana stopped just before it hit Vino’s neck.
“Huh? That’s weird…”
In the Gandors’ office, Tick cocked his head to one s
ide, looking puzzled.
“I’m missing several pairs of those new scissors.”
Huh? Why’d it stop?!
The girl’s eyes had gone round, and Vino answered her indifferently. His eyes were growing sharper and sharper.
“I don’t make fun of people because they’re women or kids. There are strong women out there, and I’m nuts about one of ’em.”
Starting a conversation that didn’t directly relate to the situation, Vino slid the scissors he was holding farther up the blade.
The katana was caught between the scissor blades, and she couldn’t move it sideways.
“I’m actually making fun of you because you’re weak.”
A Japanese katana, stopped by scissors? Impossible; she couldn’t let that happen. Even in her confusion, the attacker didn’t doubt her conviction. Quickly, the Latina let go with her right hand, supporting the katana with her left hand alone. In the next instant, she’d gripped the hilt of her other katana, and no sooner had she drawn it than she tried to slash through her opponent’s stomach.
Scree scree-scree-scree-screeee…
The sound of metal on metal.
Vino had taken out another pair of shears with his left hand. He was stopping both katana with scissors and nothing else.
“I see. That katana really doesn’t know how to behave.”
As the four—or, more accurately, six—blades struggled with each other, a figure was taking aim at the two combatants.
The guy in the long coat had taken two shotguns out of that coat and was pointing them at Vino. At this distance, the woman would definitely fall victim to the shot as well, but as if to say that wasn’t his problem, he began to squeeze the triggers.
In that instant, an immense shadow leaped in from the side.
It pressed on both of his arms, forcing the two muzzles downward.
A roar echoed through the room, and holes were gouged in the concrete floor.
The shot and ricocheting bullets chipped flesh out of the two men’s legs.
“AaaaaaaAAaaaaaaah!”
The guy in the long coat screamed and rolled around, but the guy who’d pushed the shotguns down—Berga—gritted his teeth and stayed on his feet.
“Ggaaah!— That hurt, you nutjob!”
In response to Berga’s shout, the guy in the long coat screamed back, eyes filled with tears.
“AAAaaaaAAAAwh-wh-wh-what the hell are yoooooou?!”
Even as he rolled around, the man took a pistol out of his coat and emptied all its chambers, not even bothering to take aim. He drilled several holes in Berga’s body, and blood pulsed out in jets.
The blood that fell on the floor immediately began to climb up his body again, but the guy in the coat completely failed to notice. He took out another gun right as he finished emptying the previous one, sending a constant stream of bullets into Berga.
Even then, Berga didn’t fall. As he took countless bullets, he clenched his fist and swung it high, high in the air.
“StooooOOooOOop!”
As the fist bore down, making an audible noise, a rifle bullet struck it.
Flesh burst, and the bones of his fingers showed through.
Even then, the fist didn’t stop, and a mass with Berga’s full weight behind it sank into his face.
The guy’s psycho.
That was his last thought before he blacked out.
“W-with scissors?!”
In the midst of the noise of metal on metal, the match came to an abrupt end.
After slashing at each other for a little while longer, the four weapons met again, and the six blades locked for a moment. The girl shifted her weight backward in a bid to get some distance, and in that instant, Vino lifted his leg higher than her head, then brought the heel of his foot down on her wrist.
“Ow!”
In spite of herself, she dropped one of the katana. Leg still in the air, Vino struck her other wrist with his heel.
Technically, there hadn’t been enough force behind either blow to make her drop her swords, but she’d been brandishing katana one-handed for too long, and her grip had reached its limit.
“I guess that’s it, huh?”
“Ah…”
With the air of someone finishing a game, Vino pointed the tip of his scissors at the base of her tanned throat.
Seeing that his adversary’s will to fight was evaporating, Claire directed a murmur at Gustavo’s subordinates, who showed no sign of moving.
“Well? What’ll you do?”
At those words, several of the men stepped forward, turned toward Keith, and clicked their heels together.
“All right, then. We’ll be leaving now.”
“Wha…?” At the unexpected response, Vino made an unusually dumb noise.
Keith nodded, and the lackeys left the room.
Several of the remaining men were muttering, their expressions bewildered. It was the group who’d been just as disconcerted as Gustavo when his betrayal had been pointed out earlier.
As Vino and the Mexican girl watched the men walk right out of the room, their faces held countless question marks.
“What’s going on?”
In response to Vino’s question, Keith was as silent as ever. But, apparently unable to just stand by and watch this, Berga piped up, sounding put-upon: “I guess we didn’t tell you, huh? Half of those guys are the moles that got us that agreement with Bartolo.”
“…Seems like too many,” Claire deadpanned.
Berga shrugged. “It means the guy was just that unpopular.”
“Ah, I—see !” Coming down a little harder on the last word, Vino leaped to the side, hurling the scissors he’d held in his right hand.
It happened so fast that the girl who’d just had those scissors pointed at her froze up.
At the same time, the dry crack of a gunshot rang out.
A deadly bullet had been fired from the opposite side of the room, heading straight for Vino, who’d been keeping the woman pinned with scissors.
The bullet passed through the spot where he’d been a moment before, grazed the young woman’s hair, and buried itself in the wall.
The scissors spun, parallel with the floor, and sank into the shoulder of the guy in the long coat.
The guy in the coat was still out cold. Another man had grabbed his collar and was using him as a shield.
It was the old guy with the liquor bottle, the one they’d thought had fallen way back at the beginning. He’d hidden his slight frame in the shadow of the guy with the coat, and the white gun smoke drifting upward clung to him.
“Ha-ha!”
Giving a little laugh, Vino tumbled across the floor, throwing the other pair of scissors as a diversion, and retrieved the gun he’d dropped a little while ago.
The moment he stopped rolling, a series of gunshots echoed through the room. The bullet tracks became lines, going back and forth between them, and the air grew thick with the smell of powder smoke.
Vino avoided all the bullets by twisting his body, and the bullets fired at the old man were absorbed by his shield, the body of the man in the long coat. They might have been blocked by the large number of guns in that coat; no blood seemed to be dripping from the man inside it.
When they’d both exhausted their ammo, Vino said, sounding entertained:
“Thought so. It seemed weird to get so little pushback from you, Gramps. When I saw you at the hotel on Wall Street, you seemed like the toughest of the three.”
In response, the old man laughed a little in a low, hoarse voice.
“It looks like the rumors about you aren’t just for show, either. That’s a relief: If I kill you now, my name will—”
“Hang on a second, Gramps. It looks like the guy who hired you is all washed up. His pals abandoned him, and I seriously doubt he’ll be able to pay you. You still want to go, even so?”
“I’ve got a personal interest in Vino’s head.”
“Ah, I see.”
Cracki
ng his neck, the young assassin produced another pair of scissors from his coat.
“Besides, even if my client is gone, I can’t very well betray him, can I?”
The old man was looking for agreement, but Vino stared at him, mystified. “Why not?”
The elder hitman seemed taken aback by this; he watched the youth on the other side of the room in amazement.
“You can just make tracks or give up,” Vino insisted. “You guys aren’t strong like I am. You’re weak, and that means if you sell someone out, there’s no help for it. That’s a natural law, see?”
“Boy… Don’t you understand? The pride of a hitman is—”
At that word, Vino began laughing as if a dam had burst.
“Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Aaah, you crack me up! That’s hilarious! You’re a real funny guy, Gramps!”
“Why are you laughing?”
Obviously annoyed, the old man took a knife from his coat. Even when Vino saw this, he didn’t stop laughing; he only warped his expression further and kept talking.
“Honor?! Pride?! Hitmen, like you and me?! What a joke! You’re a comedian!”
Looking at the old man and the Mexican girl in turns, he snorted scornfully.
Stung by his attitude, the young woman glared into Vino’s eyes—and then hastily looked away.
Vino’s eyes were clearly abnormal.
The color in his eyes was completely different from what it had been before he started fighting, a shade that seemed to have devoured all darkness.
His eyes were like twin holes in his face, and they seemed as if they’d engulf the soul of anyone who looked into them. They were obviously not what they’d been a moment ago. It was as if a demon had shown its true colors.
“The second we landed in the murder business, our pride was gone! Get a clue! Once you kill even one person, you’re lower than society’s lowest scum! Is this a battlefield? If you kill people, are they gonna give you a medal? Yeah, I’m strong. If you take me down, your name will probably jump pretty high. But that’s it. If you betray a client, you’ll lose trust? Nobody trusts you in the first place! You’re a hitman, a hitman. Like there’s anybody who’d put faith in a social outcast like that?”
1932 Drug & The Dominos Page 15