The two men behind him held new-model machine guns inside their coats.
“Hey… Who’re you?”
When they went downstairs, they found four members of the Gandor Family waiting there. They seemed to have been playing poker: All four were sitting at the table in the center.
Dallas answered, his face expressionless.
“Well… We forgot something here this afternoon, see. When we asked upstairs, he told us to go ask the guys inside…”
“Forgot something…? Oh, you mean that crate?”
The man glanced at a sturdy-looking safe. The crate was sitting on top of it.
“Yeah… That’s it, that box.”
“Sorry, fellas, but we dunno if it’s really yours. Wait until tomorrow when Luck’s back, wouldja?”
When he’d gotten that far, one of the other members muttered:
“Hey… Mike should know about that crate, too.”
Mike was probably the man upstairs with the slit throat.
The corners of Dallas’s lips curved nastily. He raised a hand, giving a signal.
The two behind him, who were smiling in the same way, produced the organ grinders from under their coats.
They were Thompson submachine guns, which gangs had affectionately dubbed “tommy guns.”
A raid. It couldn’t be… On a small outfit like this? That hesitation created a second’s delay.
“So long, nameless underlings.”
“…You bastards! What did you do to Mike?!”
Before the Gandor men’s hands could reach their hips, the tommy muzzles spat fire.
One after another, the Chicago typewriters punched several dozen holes into their bodies.
The massacre lasted only a few seconds. The roar that echoed through the basement room was more than enough to destroy three human bodies, the table, the radio, and the vases on the shelf.
“Ha, ha, ha… Ha-ha-ha, ha-ha-ha, ha-ha-ha, ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-haaa…ha-ha… What, that’s it? You go around calling people scum, and that’s all you’ve got…? That’s real nice. Nice and hilarious.”
As Dallas laughed maniacally, a red hole opened up in his forehead.
“…Huh…?”
Those several dozen bullets hadn’t quite been enough to kill the fourth man. He’d survived by using the other three as shields, and now, on his knees, the man struck back at his attackers with bullets. By the time he’d emptied his gun, one of the attackers had died instantly from a hole in his forehead, and he seemed to have nailed the other two in their guts: They were curled up, hugging their Thompsons.
The survivor picked up the gun of one of the comrades who’d served as his shield and emptied that one into them, too, without a pause. When he saw he’d blown away parts of the skulls of the remaining two as well, he drew a deep breath.
“What the hell was that…?”
The friends he’d been playing poker with just a few moments ago lay on the ground in front of him. One of them had had his fingers blown off. Even if he’d survived, he’d never have been able to play cards again.
“What the hell was that?! Damn it!”
As he screamed, he threw the gun he’d picked up at the corpses of the attackers.
After breathing deeply for a while, he stood, slowly. His knees were quaking, and he couldn’t walk well.
“…The phone… For now…I’ve got to tell Luck…”
The telephone hung on the wall on the attackers’ side of the room, so it hadn’t taken damage from the machine guns.
“I’m pretty sure…Luck and the others are…uh…”
A hand had come down on his shoulder.
“…………”
Terror enveloped him from head to toe.
“……Mike…?”
When he turned, fearfully, a knife was jammed into his forehead.
“…That hurt, fella.”
Kicking the man who’d already fallen to the floor, Dallas spoke cheerfully.
“We really are immortal. That’s awesome… I’m really moved… Yeah, really truly moved!”
The wound in his forehead had closed completely. Not a drop of blood remained to stain his clothes.
“Now, that’s a problem…”
“Yep, a problem!”
“They were real nice people…”
“Yes, really nice!”
Isaac and Miria were wandering aimlessly through the nighttime streets. They’d partied until their bellies were full, then said their good-byes and left… But not only had everyone in the place been sad to see them go, they’d even said, “Go on, have yourselves a souvenir,” and given them a jar of honey.
“I bet it would be a bad thing to take money from people that nice.”
“We’d be absolute fiends!”
And so, the pair had gone to scope out their other target, the Gandor Family, but…
“Ah, it must be that building.”
“Yes, that building!”
“It sure is quiet, though…”
As they watched from a distance, there was movement at the entrance.
Three men appeared from inside the building.
Hastily, Isaac and Miria hid themselves, then watched from the shadows.
The light from the streetlamps was unreliable, and they couldn’t make out the men’s faces. However, they could tell they were carrying a box of some sort as if it was important. They seemed to be standing around at the entrance and talking, and at this point they showed no sign of going anywhere.
“Aha… I bet I know what that is. It’s the syndicate’s black money.”
“Is it? Why are they taking it out? The group hasn’t sworn allegiance to anyone else, right?”
“It’s probably the other thing—bribes for the cops or something. What else would they carry out in the middle of the night, with three guys, real careful-like? It has to be money, doesn’t it?”
“I see. Isaac, you really are a genius!”
“Aren’t I? …In that case, there’s just one thing for us to do. We’ll take it now.”
“Why?”
“They’re transporting the cash today, you know. If we try to steal it tomorrow, the safe will be empty.”
“I get it! Isaac, you’re so smart!”
Quietly, the wheel of fortune began to roll down the spiral.
“Listen, if we take this back…you think they’ll actually give us money?”
“We’ve just got to believe ’em.”
“Yeah, but Dallas… You saw how easily they killed Scott. Once they get what they want from us, won’t they just ice us, too?”
“Forget about Scott. …Don’t worry. Those guys want this liquor. Right?”
“Yeah.”
“In that case, we’ll just hold a gun to it. We’ll tell ’em they won’t get it until after we get our money.”
“I see.”
They didn’t know that threat would fail to work on just one person: the all-important Szilard.
As the three men started off, a black shadow blocked their way. It was a tall man who wore a weird mask on his face. The strangest thing of all was that, on his head, he wore some kind of headgear with knife-like objects stuck to its front in a V.
“…Who’re you…?”
It was only natural that, even though he now had an indestructible body, Dallas looked taken aback at the sight.
“…For now, allow me to introduce myself as Professor Moriarty! Yes, I am Moriarty! …For unspecified reasons, I have returned alive from the depths of Reichenbach Falls.”
Apparently he really was a fan of the works of Conan Doyle. That said, Moriarty hadn’t spoken like that, and he certainly hadn’t worn anything as eccentric as that mask and helmet.
“Erm… As proof, this is honey I bought from Holmes, who kept bees.”
He took out the jar filled with yellow honey. It was the honey he’d been given as a souvenir a short while earlier.
“…Are you messing with us?”
“No-go? …Uh, all right
, let’s say Jack the Ripper.”
“Cut the crap!”
“You sure are a tough crowd… Who would you prefer, then? Uncle Tom’s evil master? Or would you rather have the Wicked Witch from The Wizard of Oz? …Except I’m male, so…”
Both were popular musicals on Broadway. Since he knew so much about odd things like this, it was possible Isaac had been born into a fairly good family.
“Shaddup! We don’t have time to screw around with loonies!”
They drew their knives, intending to threaten the stranger with them. Right then, the attention of all three hatchet men was completely monopolized by the newcomer in front of them.
“What about with me, then?”
A voice spoke up from behind. Quickly, the men turned.
The instant they did, something was thrown at them.
“Waugh!”
When they hastily turned back the other way, Isaac hit them with the exact same thing.
“My eeeeeeyes…hah…ga-gah…gaaah…koff…”
They’d been showered with a powdered mixture of pepper and lime. It had only been a fist-sized amount, but that was enough to do considerable damage to the eyes and lungs of three people. Parenthetically, because the pair had “borrowed” it from the dinner tables earlier, the amount of pepper had increased by quite a bit.
The coughing fit that ensued caused them to have rather a lot of trouble breathing. Although they’d gained indestructible bodies, they hadn’t been liberated from pain.
Unable to stand it, they drew deep breaths in spite of themselves. As a result, they again inhaled the powder that still hung in the air. They’d fallen into a barren cycle.
Dallas’s group didn’t even have the wherewithal to draw their weapons. All they could do was cover their mouths and throats and roll around.
Advantage won, Isaac and Miria grabbed the wooden crate and absconded.
In the end, neither group ever realized that the other party was the one they’d met earlier in the day.
Ennis ran. She was bewildered.
Szilard had given her an order: “In the unlikely event that those three drink the liquor, kill them.”
She’d been watching from a spot in the shadows about fifty yards away from the Gandor hideout, in the opposite direction from Isaac and Miria, but…
First their way had been barred by a tall shadow, and then, when a smaller shadow had circled around behind them, they were caught in a pincer attack. The next instant, Dallas and the others had abruptly seemed to be overcome by pain. The two shadows stole the crate from Dallas’s group, then bolted for the main street without a second’s pause.
“What’s going on…?”
Should she chase after the two who’d stolen the crate, or should she help Dallas’s group? Ennis hesitated for a moment, but, thinking that Dallas’s group wouldn’t die in any case, she decided to follow the crate.
She leaped over Dallas and the others, who were thrashing around on the ground, and made for the main street herself.
When she left the alley and looked around, although light still streamed from windows here and there, there were only a handful of people on the street. She didn’t see any that were walking together as a couple.
Ennis looked this way and that two or three times, then broke into a run again, heading for the nearest alley. There was a bit too much distance between anything else and the street she’d just left. If the pair was abnormally fast, or if they’d ducked into a nearby shop, she’d be out of luck, but she felt fairly safe as far as the latter was concerned: She couldn’t see any sign of a door having opened and closed.
Making a series of similar decisions, she ran from alley to alley.
Several minutes later, in the corner of a certain one, she found something strange.
They’d been tossed on a garbage heap, but they looked new—and expensive—for unwanted articles.
From the shape they were in, it hadn’t been that long since they’d been thrown away.
“A helmet and…a mask?”
A tuxedo jacket had been shrugged off and discarded beside them.
They were all far too familiar to Ennis. Come to think of it, the difference in the pair’s heights had been familiar as well.
“It can’t be…”
For a little while, Ennis was stunned by the conclusion she’d reached.
At that point, she temporarily broke off her pursuit.
“What in…? What the, what the, what the hell is this?!”
Berga raged at the destruction that spread out before him.
The Gandor brothers had gone straight home after their outing, and in the middle of the night, several policemen had shown up.
When they’d heard what had happened and come running, they’d found the corpses of the men who’d been their subordinates and comrades.
“……………………”
The oldest brother glowered silently at the horror.
“Who would…? Who did this…?”
The youngest brother’s habitual smile had vanished completely.
Berga roared with enough force to scatter the smell of blood and set the building trembling.
“I’ll kill ’em… Who goddamn cares who they are?! I’m gonna rip ’em apart!”
He’d declared an intent to murder in front of several police officers, but no one took him to task for it.
DAY TWO
As the sun rose, the town, with all makeup removed, exposed its face to the light.
Again, the day began bright and clear. The sky, which was rimed with an even stronger chill, had gone beyond crystal and now resembled transparent ice.
“That’s a problem…”
“A problem!”
Once again, Isaac and Miria were at their wits’ end.
“Who’d have thought it would be liquor…”
“Yes, it’s liquor!”
That crate they’d stolen the previous night. As they’d wondered what Mafia treasure it held, and whether its weight was the consequence of being jam-packed with Benjamins, their expectations had grown, and yet the result had been…this.
“Why would they have three guys carrying just two bottles of liquor, in the dead of night?”
“Maybe they just wanted to drink it at home and were taking it back with them?”
“Let’s not be pessimistic. We sacrificed the helmet, the mask, and the tuxedo to get this prize.”
In the end, he’d even discarded the tuxedo. Miria hadn’t been able to take off her dress, of course, but she’d changed into new clothes a little while ago, and the black dress was tucked away in her bag.
The two of them were currently dressed as a priest and a nun. Either way, they were bound to stand out in the middle of town.
“…That’s right, it must be high-grade liquor! I bet it’s a legendary liquor, the sort you can only get by defeating a dragon, the kind the gods drink!”
“That’s amazing!”
He wasn’t right, but he wasn’t far wrong.
“All right… What should we do with it?”
“Drink it?”
“Hmm…We could, but… Two bottles is a lot.”
“Sell it, then?”
“Do you think it would sell? We should probably get it looked at by a specialist first…”
Having gotten that far, Isaac seemed to hit on an idea.
“That’s it! Let’s give this to the Martillos, to thank them for that honey!”
“Oh, I see! Wow, I bet they’ll be thrilled! They said all they had there was honeyed liquor!”
“This is ‘a good thing’ for sure.”
“Yes! The dead children will be able to pass on!”
Making a variety of remarks of differing degrees of self-centeredness, the two turned their steps toward Alveare.
In the end, Ennis hadn’t returned to Szilard and the others. After thinking for a while, she’d decided to find those two and hear what they had to say, and she’d been looking for them ever since.
However, once you lost sight of someone in New York, finding them again was nearly impossible.
“If nothing changes soon, I’ll be… Master Szilard will…”
If she was much later in returning, Szilard might get suspicious and kill her. He’d be able to do it even if she was on the other side of the world.
When she gave up and started back home, she saw a priest and a nun in the distance.
Ah… Does God really exist? If he does, what would I need to do to get his help?
As she was thinking these things, she caught sight of the face of the priest up ahead.
His face was all too familiar.
If God really did exist and preside over all destinies…he was far too calculating…and cruel.
“Oh, good morning, Maiza.”
When it was just about noon, Firo stopped in at Alveare.
Even though they’d partied so much the night before, there wasn’t a trace of liquor or fatigue left on him.
“Good morning. You’ve made a new start today. What do you think?”
“It doesn’t feel real yet. …And actually, it technically starts tomorrow.”
He’d been given the day off today. They’d decided that, starting tomorrow, he’d be put in charge of a gambling den.
Firo had risen early and gone to introduce himself to the establishment’s employees. Then, with nothing in particular to do, he’d dropped in to have lunch here.
Just as he sat down to his meal…there was a noise at the entrance to the speakeasy—the door in the corridor that led to the honey shop.
At this time of day, all the liquor was hidden elsewhere, so there was no need to worry about a premises search. When Firo glanced at the opened door, he felt no tension whatsoever.
…But he hadn’t expected to see a priest and nun enter.
“Ah, there they are, that’s them. The good people.”
“It’s the good people!”
Words that didn’t match their appearances flew his way. Firo quickly recognized their countenances.
“Oh, uh… Isaac and…Miria?”
“Right on the money.”
“You’re right!”
“…I didn’t know you were a priest…”
“Huh? I’m not a priest. Why?”
The Rolling Bootlegs Page 13