1932 Drug & The Dominos

by Ryohgo Narita

  “People like our bosses and Mr. Bartolo could get pretty much any information without relying on that place.”

  “…But you sure couldn’t. I’d use that information broker as much as I possibly could, if I were you.”

  “At any rate, whatever you do, be extremely careful not to cause us trouble.”

  “Make sure you manage those drugs properly, too. Don’t let your new stuff find its way onto our turf.”

  “We’re conducting negotiations for deals for the new drug with a fella called Begg, so that’s nothing to do with you.”

  “Take care not to release more than a set quantity of those drugs.”

  “We won’t be getting our hopes up, but do your best.”

  “Don’t forget that Mr. Bartolo’s the one we want to be on good terms with. Not you.”

  “I think it’s in your best interests to consider the possibility that you’ve been demoted to this area.”

  “In short, well, you know. What we’re trying to say is—don’t push your luck. That’s what this is.”

  “Those scumbuckets… Make a monkey out of me, will they…?”

  He would have liked to give them a good makeover with a Thompson, but they were too far out of his league. Not only that, but they really did have genuine respect for Bartolo… So what were they doing, making such a fool of him, the man’s subordinate? Were they trying to say they didn’t acknowledge him as one of Bartolo’s men?

  If he lashed out unwisely, he’d be starting a war over his own personal grudge. If they’d at least talked smack about Bartolo, too, he thought, but even if they had, the result would have been the same.

  “You better watch yourselves… Once I finish off the Gandors, you’re next!”

  Even as he stomped down his ferocious anger at the messengers, Gustavo blazed with hatred for the Gandors.

  “I’ll have the Gandor pigs pick up the tab for my humiliation, along with everything else…”

  Thinking typical small-timer thoughts, Gustavo hurled a hotel ashtray against the wall.

  December 30, 1931 Night

  In an underground casino on Martillo Family turf, Firo, who had been put in charge of running the place, was listening to a string of complaints from a now-penniless Berga.

  “Firo, hey. Wouldja make it a little easier to score on the roulette wheels here?”

  “Berga, you come to someone else’s turf and ask for what?”

  As a rule, it would have been unthinkable for the boss of another organization to visit a place like this.

  Firo and the three Gandor brothers had grown up in the same tenement and were practically family. That said, when it came to the interests of their organizations, they never colluded.

  “Anyway, Berga, this is no time for you to be here, is it? I heard the situation with the Runoratas is a ticking bomb.”

  Apparently, news of the attacks the day before yesterday had already reached the Martillos.

  “Well, that’s why. If I hang around on our turf, they might take a shot at me, and I know for a fact the Martillos wouldn’t sign on with the Runoratas.”

  “Just stay home. Don’t drag us into it.”

  In the middle of that perfectly natural comment, Firo spotted a grifter and had him dragged into the back. He was talking with Berga only when he had a moment to spare.

  However, when a certain individual’s name was mentioned in the course of the conversation, Firo’s eyes lit up.

  “Claire? You mean the Claire?”

  “What other Claire would be Claire besides Claire?!”

  “I see… Well, that’s something to look forward to. So Claire’s coming… Then the Runoratas have as good as lost.”

  Firo nodded to himself, predicting the defeat of the Runoratas solely by the existence of this Claire person.

  “Nah, you don’t know that yet.”

  “No, I know. That natural-born contract killer is coming back. There’s practically no one in this business who doesn’t know the Vino name by now. If you manage to lose anyway, you’re complete idiots.”

  As they talked, a man approached them from behind.

  He took a long, thin needle from the back of his necktie and, with no preliminary action, thrust it at Berga’s back, right over his heart. However—

  “Anyway.”

  Abruptly, an arm slid in from the side, catching the man’s elbow in a viselike grip. While that hand was still on his elbow, the other hand caught his opposite shoulder. The next instant, the man’s body was flipped, and as he was looking up at the ceiling, he was dashed to the floor.

  As he involuntarily expelled the air from his lungs, a heel came down mercilessly on his solar plexus. The impact ran through him all the way to the backs of his eyeballs, and he didn’t even have time to scream.

  “We don’t need nitwits like this one causing trouble on our turf. Go home and take him with you.”

  “Oh, yeah. Right. My bad.”

  Scratching his head awkwardly in response to Firo’s words, Berga picked the guy up and left the gambling den.

  “Geez. I can almost see that Tick fella dancing a jig over this.”

  Remembering the torturer’s innocent smile, Berga felt just a little sorry for his attacker.

  Still, letting him go had never been an option.

  “You know where that bastard Roy is?”

  For a moment, Gustavo’s eyes shone, but in the next instant, they were clouded by dissatisfaction.

  “Then why haven’t you nabbed him already?”

  One of the men timidly answered his direct superior’s question:

  “Well, uh, the thing is, he’s on Millionaires’ Row. That’s not part of the Gandors’ turf.”

  “You morons! You’re telling me you took that threat seriously?!”

  “S-see, Mr. Gustavo… This ain’t good. When we spotted the junkie there, we started watching him… And, obviously, we were dressed to blend in, y’know? Anyway, about five fellas in black showed up and said, ‘Why don’t you quit playing around here and help us with our job instead? If you want money, we’ll pay you a kiddie allowance.’”

  “And you just clammed up and came back here.”

  “No, uh, we left one guard. It didn’t sound like Roy was working with the guys in that territory. But those fellas were real bad news! It sorta seemed like they knew all our faces, all the guys who came here, and they’re keeping their distance, but I swear they’re watching us! This ain’t good, they’re the real dealzubluplugaah!”

  The poor guy didn’t even get to finish his sentence before a heavy marble ashtray buried itself in his face.

  “So what? Hey, pal, you sound like you’re sayin’ we ain’t the real deal!”

  Gustavo kept kicking the man tenaciously, even though he was already unconscious.

  “Dammit… They’re all messing with me, all of ’em, every last one!”

  At the sight of Gustavo’s irritation, the eyes of his subordinates rapidly grew cold.

  The only one who failed to notice those looks was Gustavo himself.

  “Get the hell out of here, you bastards!”

  His men left the room, as ordered. They’d forgotten to report something essential.

  Either that, or they’d intentionally let it slip their minds.

  It was the fact that the place Roy had been watching was the second Genoard residence.

  December 31, 1931 Afternoon Near Pennsylvania Station

  In a back alley not far from the station, the three Gandor brothers were talking with a young man.

  “All right, let’s go. Who should I kill first? I only managed to get a little light exercise last night, and I’m feeling rusty. I want to do a job where I can go all-out for once.”

  The young fellow said this to the brothers without hesitation, even though they were technically mafia dons.

  Claire Stanfield. Although he was the Gandors’ sworn brother, someone who’d grown up under the same roof with them, he wasn’t affiliated with the Gandor Fami
ly. He was a freelance hitman, a force whose alias, Vino, was known throughout underworld society. In a way, a hitman whose name was well-known had a problem, but as far as he was concerned, the fact that his fame was spreading gave him no trouble.

  If he did have a problem, it was his eccentric personality. It was completely different from that of a murdering hedonist or pathological liar, a unique character that couldn’t be considered either normal or aberrant.

  Today, as usual, no sooner had he reunited with the brothers than he began saying incredibly weird things. The minute they met up, he started walking quickly, heading toward the Gandor hideout as though he was short on time.

  “Let’s get this finished up fast. I’ve got somebody to look for after this. It’s somebody who might marry me.”

  At Claire’s words, the three brothers looked at one another.

  “Wha—? Did you ask some total stranger to marry you again?!”

  “Close.”

  “Don’t gimme ‘close,’ you moron! Just how many dolls do you think you’ve gotten to give you the brush-off that way, huh?!”

  Berga sounded disgusted, but Claire answered him without seeming the least bit flustered.

  “Now, hang on. I don’t treat it like a pickup, and I’m not joking. I’m being serious, so there’s no problem. And I’m positive I’ve gotten dumped up till now because there’s an even better girl in my future. After all, this world is—”

  “—‘designed to work in my favor,’ was it?”

  With practiced timing, Luck got in a comeback. That was probably Claire’s basic mind-set. According to him, Even if I die, I bet this world is a dream, and I’ll just keep dreaming from the real world. For now, I’ll just assume that’s how it is. Naturally, Luck and the others didn’t understand a bit of it.

  If that was all you heard, he sounded like a mere escapist, but he also had the skills to put that thought into action, and he spared no effort in maintaining them. That was the most troublesome thing about this Claire guy.

  “In any case, Claire. You really shouldn’t trust the sort of woman who accepts an offer of marriage out of the blue.”

  When Luck abruptly said Claire’s name, Claire immediately went back to acting strange.

  “Claire’s dead. Or he will be on paper, anyway, as far as the government’s concerned.”

  Wearing his emotions on his face—There he goes again, making absolutely no sense—Luck hit him with a levelheaded verbal jab:

  “If you’re officially dead, you won’t be able to marry that woman, you know.”

  At that, Claire stopped in his tracks, then turned around.

  “Crap. What do I do? How much does it cost to buy an identity?”

  “You aren’t making any sense, Claire. In that case, what should we call you from now on?”

  As Claire started walking again, he said casually:

  “Well, maybe Vino… Or you could call me the Rail Tracer.”

  “Lame.”

  As he watched Claire and Berga, who’d begun to brawl violently in the alley, Luck sighed, looking mildly disgusted.

  They complain, but those two really do get along, don’t they…?

  Just as he thought this, one of Berga’s teeth flew his way. The tooth immediately zipped back to Berga’s body in order to regenerate, and so, as he broke out in a cold sweat, Luck pretended he hadn’t seen anything.

  “Laws a-mercy, there’re folks sluggin’ one on t’ other, right smack in da middle of da road.”

  Samantha tried to peek in from behind the rubberneckers, but Benjamin coughed and held her back.

  “Don’t concern yourself with such vulgar individuals! Come, come, miss, let’s hurry and move along.”

  “Hmm? Oh, yes, of course.”

  The butler’s words brought Eve back to herself with a jolt. She’d been lost in thought, and she hadn’t even noticed that a fight had broken out.

  Whatever can I do to meet the Gandors?

  “Never fear, miss.”

  “Ah—?”

  When the butler spoke, for a moment, Eve’s heart thumped. Had he read her thoughts?

  “The dishes Samantha and I prepare aren’t sufficient to restore your appetite, are they? I thought not, and so yesterday I contacted a chef of my acquaintance. I requested that he refer an available cook and bartender to us, even if only for the duration of our sojourn in New York. I am told they will be arriving by train today, so I expect they’ll present themselves tomorrow.”

  “O-oh, no, you really don’t need to do that! And in any case, a bartender…?”

  The butler answered this perfectly natural question with a mischievous, boyish smile.

  “In the basement, I discovered a wine cellar that predates the law. I’ve been searching for someone capable of setting those many bottles of wine in order. Simply possessing them isn’t a crime, you see. In addition, after all, the mansion is equipped with that bar. We’ve come all the way to New York, and I wanted you to enjoy the city’s atmosphere to the greatest extent possible. I’ll pay his salary out of my own savings. Do allow me this indulgence, miss.”

  “Benjamin…”

  “Don’tcha go forgettin’ I’m shelling out my own bread to employ the cook. See, Missy Eve, that’ll spare me the tahm spent in da kicchin, and then I kin put more zip into other jobs, so don’t you fret.”

  Samantha also smiled at Eve as she smacked Benjamin lightly on the back.

  “Would you desist?! Harrumph… In addition, if there are more people available to help with household chores, we’ll be able to concentrate harder on the search for Master Dallas.”

  These two were the type who couldn’t stand that sort of excess, and yet…

  It was clear that they were doing it for her, out of thoughtfulness. Feeling terribly grateful and apologetic, Eve desperately fought back the tears that were threatening to spill over.

  “Thank you very much. I truly am grateful to you, Benjamin and Samantha.”

  She felt wretched for trying to do something selfish right under the noses of her two benefactors, and she couldn’t forgive herself for it.

  Even so, it was too late for her to stop these thoughts…

  They’d finished their shopping and were on their way back to Millionaires’ Row when, in front of a certain general-goods store, they heard another commotion.

  “C’mon, buddy, sister, you’re really gonna buy all this?”

  “Sure we are! Load ’em into the flivver!”

  “We’re cornering the market! It’s a monopoly!”

  The proprietor of the general store was helping a guy in a ragged gunman outfit and a young woman in a bright-red dress.

  “Nah, I’m real happy you’re buying them, but what’re you gonna do with all of ’em?”

  “Knock ’em down!”

  “Clickclickclick, like that!”

  As Eve watched the couple who were engaged in this odd conversation from a distance, something about them tugged at her.

  Oh, I see.

  Abruptly, it hit her. They looked like that couple. The pair of burglars who’d come to the mansion a year before and brought her happiness.

  Then they were swallowed up by the waves of people, and she lost sight of them almost immediately.

  She didn’t know whether they really had been the same people, but in her heart, Eve offered up a small prayer.

  I’m sure they’re still spreading happiness around somewhere.

  As she recalled what had happened a year ago, memories of the happiest time in her life rose in her mind.

  Tearing up slightly, Eve quietly renewed her resolution.

  “It’s…been…a…long…time. You…seem…well. That’s…great.”

  In front of a passage that led to the station’s back entrance, two figures were conversing.

  “Mm-hmm. You look good, too, Begg.”

  Begg was talking with one of his old companions.

  “Did…you…meet…Maiza?”

  In response to this que
stion, the shadow nodded once.

  In contrast to Begg, who was smiling cheerfully, the other figure looked vaguely sad.

  “Begg, the thing is—”

  “I…heard. A freight…robbery, was…it?”

  “—That’s right. The explosives weren’t on board officially, so I can’t report them to the police, but…”

  “I…see. Well, of…course.”

  “I suppose this means the Runoratas are going to kill me, over and over…”

  The figure sounded a little uneasy. Begg smiled and shook his head.

  “Bartolo, my boss, isn’t…touching…this…one. I…was…planning…to pay…all…the…money…myself. You…won’t…have to…be…punished.”

  At that answer, the figure looked slightly startled.

  “Why—?”

  “I…heard…about…your…situation…from the infor…mation…broker. I wanted…to help…you…out…somehow, but…I…couldn’t…just…give…you…money, you…see?”

  On hearing that, the figure’s expression shifted into something complicated.

  “You’ve got a soft heart. You haven’t changed. Thanks, but—”

  “I…shouldn’t…have…bothered? I…know. But…I…abandoned…alchemy. I’ve…lived…without…it…all…this…time, and all…I…gained…was…money. I…haven’t…found…the…happiness…I…want…yet, either. The…only…thing…I…can do…is smile…at…you…this…way.”

  In the midst of his smile, only his eyes hinted at sadness.

  “That’s enough, all by itself. Thank you.”

  Moving slowly, the figure clung to Begg. Begg stroked its head with his left hand.

  “Thanks, Begg. For…not eating me.”

  Looking at the figure, which shed a couple of tears as it smiled, Begg cried a little, too.

  “Next…time…you…say a…thing like that, I’ll…get…angry.”

  “Hey, Berga, you’ve gotten pretty tough. Coming out of a fight with me without a scratch…”

  Claire raised his voice, sounding impressed.

  Even though they’d fought so spectacularly, both had emerged unscathed.