The Rolling Bootlegs

by Ryohgo Narita

  When he looked, all four men were watching him, red-faced. He didn’t think they were foolish enough to make trouble inside a Mafia hideout, but he couldn’t afford to be careless.

  “…Hey… You sure spout off enough. What do you actually know about us, huh?”

  “At the very least, I know one lone boy who seemed obviously younger than you beat you like rugs. Since you just told me so yourselves, I doubt there’s any mistake.”

  “Why you little—!”

  Dallas, the leader, made no attempt to stop his angry companion. They probably meant to show off their courage and skills, but that method was effective only when the minimum of courtesy was observed.

  “Fugwahah!”

  The one who’d made the first move fell to the floor with a loud crash. When he glanced over, Berga was standing beside him, fist clenched.

  “Berga.”

  “Luck… What’s with these mannerless scumbags?”

  After a little thought, the youngest brother answered:

  “I don’t know them.”

  “I see. You don’t know ’em, huh? Then they’re trespassing, right?”

  “I was very nearly killed.”

  “You were, huh? Then this is legitimate self-defense.”

  Confronted with Berga cracking his knuckles, the remaining three men were paralyzed for an instant.

  “There’s an idea, Dallas. If you manage to beat Berga, we’ll acknowledge your skills.”

  Berga was in a bad mood, and unlike Firo, he wasn’t about to stop beating them once they were down. His long, thick leg stomped on the face of the man who’d fallen first, over and over.

  Three minutes later… Four men who were even more tired—or rather, torn up—than they had been when they arrived were making tracks retreating from the office.

  After the four had been run out of the basement, Luck discovered something they’d left behind.

  “What’s this crate…? Liquor?”

  There were two liquor bottles inside the crate. Had they belonged to the men who’d just left? If so, they could throw them away or drink them with impunity, but if they were wrong, it would be a serious matter.

  I’ll ask whose they are when everyone’s here tomorrow.

  Luck set the crate on top of the safe, then began busily preparing to go out with his brothers.

  Quietly, the spiral of destiny turned.

  When I wake, the great man himself is standing before me.

  Master Szilard. My lord, and the one for whom I have the highest regard.

  I look around, and my surroundings strike me as familiar. That’s right: This is the members’ meeting place…near Grand Central.

  “Ennis… Why didn’t you kill him?”

  He doesn’t look at me. He seems to be reprimanding the female chauffeur, who is near the entrance.

  “Sir. I thought we could do that after we found out what happened.”

  The elderly members are lined up behind Master Szilard. Every face seems despairing. Although they are grown men, some are crying. Others are glaring at me with hatred in their eyes. The emotions, both despair and hatred, seem to gain in ferocity in proportion to their ages.

  Oh, I see. They’re grieving over the fact that I failed to protect the finished product. A politician who seems unlikely to last another year is actually bawling.

  “Hmph… Enough sophistry. You can kill strangers with no hesitation, but the moment it’s someone you know even slightly, you balk. ‘Find out’…?”

  Master Szilard’s hand is approaching my face.

  Oh. Then I am going to be killed.

  However, there’s no help for that. After all, I was unable to carry out my mission.

  To think that I let even the last hope—those two bottles of finished product—be stolen, and by ne’er-do-wells like those. I must consider myself honored simply to be executed by Master Szilard himself.

  “All we need to do to find out…is this.”

  Master Szilard sets his palm on my head.

  Immediately, “it” is snatched away from within me. If asked what “it” is, the only answer I can give is “everything.” I can feel all the blood in my body gathering in my head. It isn’t only blood, though. I can feel my muscles shriveling and drying up, starting at my toes. I feel the desiccated flesh crumbling, being drawn into my body. Ah, my legs are gone already.

  My memories… I can feel my memories being siphoned away. …Oh… Come to think of it, everything I am will become part of Master Szilard. In a way, does that not mean I will gain eternal life? But why was it I wanted eternal life?

  Oh, I’ve disappeared up to my stomach. Hurry, I have to hurry and remember. But why is my stomach gone? Oh, the man in front of me is Master Szilard. That’s right, Master Szilard is punishing me. But why am I being punished, I wonder… OH, THAT’S RIGHT, I WASN’T ABLE TO CARRY OUT MY MISSION. BUT WHAT MISSION WAS IT? I CAN’T REMEMBER NOW. THAT’S RIGHT, THERE WAS SOMETHING I HAD TO REMEMBER.

  OH, OF COURSE. I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER EVERYTHING.

  I WANTED ETERNAL LIFE BECAUSE I THOUGHT…

  …I COULD BECOME A HERO, LIKE THE ONES IN MYTHS AND LEGENDS…

  …AND PROTECT THIS LAND.

  NO, THAT’S WRONG, IT WASN’T THE LAND.

  MOMMY. IT WAS TO SAVE MOMMY. FROM THAT GUY, THE ONE WHO HIT HER EVERY DAY.

  WHO WAS THAT GUY? I CAN’T REMEMBER. I REMEMBER HE DIED IN AN ACCIDENT.

  HE DIED IN AN ACCIDENT. WITH MOMMY.

  WHAT’S A MOMMY? I CAN’T REMEMBER.

  WHAT IS REMEMBERING?

  AH…

  AH…

  …

  It was a grotesque sight.

  The moment Szilard placed his hand on Barnes’s head, Barnes began to shrivel up.

  No, the expression shrivel up wasn’t the right one. In the areas from which the moisture seemed to have disappeared, the flesh crumbled, and the pulverized flesh was absorbed into the remaining surface… In a word:

  He was eaten by Szilard’s right hand.

  That was the perfect way to describe it.

  Starting at the tips of his toes, Barnes’s body was erased from this world.

  In the end, his head—the last remaining thing—broke apart, crumbled, and disappeared into Szilard’s right hand as if it had been sucked into a vacuum cleaner.

  The faces of all the old men in the room were pale. There was no longer any crying to be heard. If they took one step out of this room… These men had substantial rank and honor, but right now they were no more than a group of old men dominated by the horror that had occurred before their eyes.

  “All right, gentlemen.”

  The one to break that silence was the author of that horror, Szilard himself.

  “I’ve read his memories, and until the very end… Yes, even as I killed him, he held me in high regard and pledged loyalty to me. …Truly magnificent! I encourage you gentlemen to follow his example!”

  The end result was a pile of clothes on the floor, complete with shoes.

  The line sounded like a very unfunny joke, but he’d said it in all seriousness, and of course no one was laughing.

  “…And rejoice: He appears to have managed to save two bottles of finished product from the fire.”

  After a moment’s pause, a commotion rose among the old men. The room that had been enveloped in terror and despair was about to take an abrupt turn into joy.

  “Although it seems they were stolen.”

  That joy faded instantly.

  “Well, I know where they were stolen, and the faces of the ones who took them. If we’re lucky, we should be able to reclaim them.”

  Once again, a commotion went up from the group of old men. To them, letting this chance slip through their fingers meant being forced to accept death. To Szilard, who was already ageless, it meant only that the completion of the elixir would be delayed, but to those who were hounded by old age and had already grown elderly, it truly was a matter of life and death.

  In fro
nt of the group of old men with glittering, hungry eyes, Szilard was thinking of other things.

  Even if the finished product has been created, there’s no sense in giving it to these good-for-nothings. For one with a heart as loyal as Barnes’s, I would have considered it, but in the end, he died, too. …Well, I did kill him myself, but still.

  What I want isn’t trifling rank or money. It’s absolute loyalty…and perfect knowledge. That’s all. As soon as it’s completed…I’ll have no use for them. They can vanish, go to nourish my knowledge. …Hmph. That said, I expect most of their knowledge is unpalatable, and I fear it may lie heavy on my mind.

  While he’d had his faithful “tools” create the finished product for him, Szilard had been engaged in his own separate, independent research. That research involved his own body, and through it, he’d learned several important things. Although, since he hadn’t yet fully verified them, they were still only in the realm of conjecture.

  First, regarding the reason my body regenerates. We seem to have died at the point in time when we drank that liquor. Or, no, not died… It may be more accurate to say we were reborn.

  As the result of a wide range of repeated experiments, he’d deduced that his immortal body resembled a colony of living organisms. Even if he was cut into pieces, each individual part tried to re-form the original, aggregate whole.

  More than on the cellular level… It’s as though each individual molecule—no, each atom—has been transformed into a living organism.

  Once, he’d burned an alchemist who’d come to eat him, but the smoke hadn’t been carried away by the wind. Instead, it had continued to envelop the man as he burned, and had disappeared when the fire went out and he regenerated. Considering the fact that regeneration occurred even from ash, the phenomenon seemed to extend beyond the molecular level.

  In 1897, the British scientist Thomson had discovered the electron; in 1911, his student Rutherford discovered the atomic nucleus, and knowledge of the existence of particles smaller than atoms began to spread around the world.

  At the rate they’re going, in two or three years they may discover another new particle. How deep and subtle is this transformation into living organisms, I wonder? …That said, even given another hundred years, scientists who dwell in sensible society will never be able to understand this immortality. I can clearly sense principles beyond the science of this world at work. …Regardless, I have serious doubts about whether science can be applied to power gained from summoning a demon.

  In that case, instead of inducing a scientific reaction, was that liquor a medium used to summon the laws of some other world into this one? He’d promoted the manufacture of the finished product based on the “knowledge” of a compatriot who’d been researching that angle… Since this distillation had succeeded, that inference seemed to have been correct.

  And another thing: The colony phenomenon itself was the reason behind both “eating” and “being unable to give false names.” These particle-sized living organisms that gathered around the “intellect” of an immortal were strongly attracted to one another. In other words, the act of eating was probably an act of fusion, based in one intellect and performed through its right hand. A colony of bees has no use for two queens. So too does only one intellect remain.

  Then there was the issue of false names. He’d been able to give false names to ordinary humans. However, when he tried to do so with immortals, or to write his name on documents…

  No matter what I do, I am unable to give a false name. The demon called it a restriction set on our spirits, but…it felt as though all the cells in my body, from head to toe, were giving me an order. I felt a pulsation, a “trembling,” not from my head, but directly from my body. …In all probability, every member of this colony of cells wants to fuse with others of its kind… Is that why they won’t let us hide ourselves completely?

  However, he had been able to grant a false name to temporary immortals to whom he’d given the failed product.

  Apparently they know the other is not the same species meant to be fused with, but simply “food”… Kuh-kuh-kuh… What a truly well-designed system.

  That said, many things were still unexplained, such as the question of where the mass of humans who were “eaten” went. Szilard was irritated that the gaps in the knowledge he wanted were not being filled in.

  If he’d known how to blend the finished product, at least, he would have been a little closer to perfect knowledge, but…

  …the man’s little brother had known only half the blending method.

  He’d come to New York this time around in order to eat the man who’d discovered the method, but in the end, it had been a wasted trip. Well, once he acquired the actual finished product, no doubt he’d be able to analyze the blending method on his own. He didn’t care about the order of events, as long as he ultimately gained knowledge and the finished product.

  Either way, if I acquire a complete body of knowledge, loyalty and wealth will follow. For that reason as well, first I need the finished product…

  The way to summon the demon, and the complete method for blending the liquor of immortality.

  Detestable stripling. You who know both these things—both pieces of knowledge I do not know—simultaneously…

  Where are you hiding?

  “…And by the way, Ennis. It seems there’s a man who’s looking for you.”

  Ennis was slightly bewildered by her master’s words. She had absolutely no idea who it could be.

  “Let’s see… I’m able to share knowledge with you as well, in reverse. I’ll show you now.”

  No sooner had he spoken than Szilard laid his left hand on Ennis’s head. Their audience’s eyes went wide, but Ennis accepted it silently. There was a brief pause, and then faces appeared in her mind.

  A group of four thuggish men. She also knew that they were the ones who had stolen the finished product. The face that appeared next belonged to the man who was looking for her. Who could he be? She felt as if she’d met him somewhere, but she couldn’t remember where it had been.

  “…In any case, look for that group of four.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Ennis left the room again. As he watched her go, Szilard grew a little concerned.

  He didn’t think it was possible, but could the man who was searching for her be one of his former comrades?

  No, it couldn’t be that. No one knows about Ennis. I ate everyone who knew what she really is. There are no longer any alchemists who know about Ennis, and if they attack her without knowing, it does me no harm. There was even one who thought she was a mere human, got careless, and was eaten.

  …Come to think of it, that was when it began. When Ennis grew hesitant to dispose of companions. She may have acquired some uncalled-for knowledge.

  Well, never mind. Either way, if she becomes an obstacle, I’ll simply get rid of her.

  Killing her was far easier than “eating.”

  Ennis disappeared through the hole in the ceiling.

  Szilard closed his eyes. His lips curved into a smirk.

  “Yes… I’m Assistant Inspector Edward Noah.”

  The salute Edward gave had more spirit in it than the one he regularly used for his superintendent.

  The pair in front of him were special agents from the Bureau of Investigation. It wasn’t that they outranked the superintendent. It was only that Edward would begin his training with them next week, and they would be senior members of his new force. This, in combination with the fact that he’d longed for this promotion, made the two men seem several times more dazzling to him than his boss.

  “Uh… Thank you for your service. Erm… I’m Bill Sullivan, and this is—”

  “Donald Brown here.”

  Brown, who stood beside the thin Sullivan, introduced himself while interrupting his partner. He had a powerful build, and the fist that lightly clasped Edward’s hand seemed twice as big as Edward’s own.

  His supervisor had told
him about this in advance. Apparently, these two had come in pursuit of suspects from a multi-state string of robberies. Edward had been ordered to cooperate with their investigation as a member of the local police force.

  “So… I think you’ve probably heard, but I’ll give you a brief rundown. Uh… Take a look at this photograph…”

  As a point of fact, all Edward had been told was that there was a string of robberies and thefts, which meant this would be the first time he’d heard any details.

  The photo he was handed showed a man and woman who were wrapped in bandages from head to toe. He knew one was a woman, because she was wearing a wedding dress over the bandages. Parenthetically, the one who was probably a man wasn’t wearing anything except the bandages. He was wrapped up so well that the only things exposed were his eyes and mouth, so in a sense, there was no real problem, but…

  “……………”

  For several seconds, Edward was silent.

  Was this a Bureau of Investigation–style joke?

  When he looked unsure how to respond, Bill gave a wry smile and explained.

  “Uh… How should I put this? Hmm… Those two really are the suspects. That photo was taken by a newspaper reporter, out of curiosity. Apparently they were quite happy to let themselves be photographed. Uh… And then, you see. I’m not sure how to put it…”

  Donald, seemingly unable to put up with his partner’s hemming and hawing any longer, picked up the explanation:

  “Right afterward, those two committed a robbery. When the police came running, all they found were the bandages and the wedding dress, dropped in an alley. The only thing all the witnesses said was ‘Bandages,’ see? They had no solid leads.”

  I see. It made sense; if they initially struck in flashy clothes then disguised themselves, their chances of making a successful getaway increased significantly. …If they managed to make their flashy outfits blend in a bit beforehand, that is.

  “They’ve also worn black masks and cloaks, and top hats and canes—Anyway, weird outfits. So far, they’ve committed more than eighty robberies and burglaries.”

  “Then…why hasn’t anyone been able to catch these jokers before now?”

  He thought it was a rude question, but he really had to ask it.