“What about the spit?”
“I’ll spit on it, too!”
If she could make amends for the hit-and-run with something like that, Ennis thought, she didn’t mind if they did it all day, but of course she didn’t say so.
“By the way, sister, what are you going to do with those four?”
“What are you going to do?”
“Huh…?” She certainly couldn’t tell them the truth. On the spur of the moment, Ennis lied. “Um… I’m planning to turn them in to the police.”
Drat! she thought, as soon as the words were out. The nearest police station was very close. These two were technically victims, and they might say they’d run behind her and follow her there.
“I see… Unfortunately, then, this is where we part.”
“This is good-bye!”
“?”
“Just between us, see… The police are a no-go as far as we’re concerned.”
“A no-go.”
Ennis studied the two of them. She really couldn’t imagine that they were criminals. They were probably runaways.
“Um… Have you done something?”
“Let’s see… What was the worst thing, do you think?”
“Umm… Probably killing all those children.”
Ennis thought they were joking. Of course, the two of them had arbitrarily convinced themselves that children had starved simply because they’d stolen chocolate, so it really was more like a joke than anything. Once you knew that, you might even begin to think their very existence was a joke.
“So I suppose you could say we’re on a journey of atonement.”
Isaac parroted a line he’d read in a novel that had struck him as rather dashing. …That said, coming from someone who’d stolen chocolate “because he wanted to be a villain,” it was an extremely eyebrow-raising statement.
“We did bad things, so now we’re doing just as many good things!”
Meanwhile, Miria was terribly serious. In this case, the “good things” were most likely stealing inheritances and plundering money from the Mafia, which meant, in the end, they weren’t noticeably different from “bad things.”
“Is… Is that right… You’re both very strong, aren’t you…”
“Huh? Oh, yes, I’m strong!”
“Strong!”
“Compared to you… I’m hopeless. I’m terrified of facing my sins…”
Why was she talking about something like this with people she’d just met? Oh… It was probably because…if she let this chance slip away, she’d never have another opportunity to tell anyone about it.
Ennis managed to convince herself of this, but even then, naturally, she didn’t say what it was she had done. If she told them that, she’d end up involving them in her fate. If that happened, it would probably mean their deaths.
“What, you’ve done something, too, lady?”
“Then we’re all bad guys together!”
Together. Oh, how nice it would be if that were true. …But it’s too late. I’ve sinned too much. Ennis was downtrodden.
When Szilard had created her, he’d given her the bare minimum of knowledge and common sense, no more than what she’d need in order to take care of him: all the languages Szilard knew, knowledge related to combat, how to cook meals and drive cars, and similar things. That, and the names and faces of people she had to search for. These were the faces of the alchemists who had been Szilard’s companions, and a young man named Maiza Avaro was at the top of the list.
He’d taught her nothing about ethics or religion. Even with regard to law, he’d only given her information concerning monetary transactions and driving the car.
Finally, there had been one important thing: the fact that Szilard could kill her easily. At the same time as the rest, he’d taught her to fear death.
Reading books was forbidden, and Ennis had never been allowed to listen to the radio (which had been invented after she was born).
Her turning point had come when she’d “eaten” a man who’d made an attempt on Szilard’s life. As a last resort when fighting alchemists—in other words, people who had the same power of immortality as herself and Szilard—she had been given the knowledge of “eating.” Of using her right hand to absorb everything her opponent had.
The first time she’d absorbed another person’s knowledge, she’d learned all sorts of things. Knowledge she lacked had poured endlessly into her mind. It was as though her world had abruptly opened up.
She had thought about the contents of that new knowledge for a little while, and had come to understand both the sinfulness of what she’d done…and the horror of the man known as Szilard.
…But what could she do about it now? Just being aware of her sin wouldn’t bring back the people she’d killed.
Besides… If he knew she was thinking these things, Szilard would probably dispose of her.
She’d learned, far too well, that that was the sort of man he was.
It wouldn’t be possible for her to eat him first. Ennis knew that better than anyone. That man would be able to end her life before she could completely absorb him.
When he learned she’d eaten an alchemist, Szilard had asked her a question.
“I see… What do you think of having gained new knowledge?”
“Sir. They are all ideas I am unable to understand.”
It had been the only answer she could give.
“…Hey, lady!”
“Lady!”
She came back to herself with a start. The man and woman were looking at her anxiously.
“…Oh…”
“Are you okay? You were spacing out.”
“You were.”
“It’s nothing… I’m sorry. I’m all right.”
“Well, look, I don’t know what you did, but you just saved us, didn’t you? That makes it even. Let’s call it even.”
“That’s right. No matter what sort of bad things a bad guy does, you know what? If they do even one good thing, everyone thinks, ‘Maybe they’re actually a good guy.’ That’s how the world works! Even Capone… I hear he’s killed lots of people, and he makes liquor, and he even evades taxes, but since he also did good things, he’s popular. He’s got a house in Miami. He’s friends with Dempsey. He’s got a pretty wife, too!”
On the other hand, they say that if a saint does even one wrong, they’re treated with more contempt than a demon would be. If the world turned on the general public’s opinion, her statement just might have been correct… But that said, Capone would later do time in Alcatraz.
“So there, you see? You saved us, and that was a real good thing, so you’ll get to be popular, and live someplace warm, and be friends with boxers, and get together with a swell guy!”
“That’s right, you’re even, even steven. If it still doesn’t feel like enough to you, just do more good things! Then you’ll be even!”
What they said sounded insane, but in their own way, they were probably trying to cheer up their benefactor. Just knowing that made Ennis feel worse.
“Thank you… I’ll be going, then.”
Somehow managing to force a smile, she got into the driver’s seat.
“Oh, I see… Yeah, that’s right… Erm… Listen, I’m Isaac Dian.”
“Um, I’m Miria Harvent!”
For a moment, she didn’t understand what they were saying. When she realized they’d given her their names, she hastily etched the words into her brain: Isaac and Miria.
“I…I’m…Ennis. I don’t have a last name… Just Ennis.”
“I see, no last name, hmm? That’s different.”
“I’ve got it memorized: Ennis. Ennis. Ennis, right?”
They were both smiling like little kids. In response, Ennis gave a curt wave, then began to drive away.
In the mirror, she watched them get smaller and smaller.
They were yelling something. Ennis strained her ears.
“See you later!”
“Let’s meet again, okay
?”
On hearing their voices, she had a thought:
She wanted to see them again, too. She probably wouldn’t be able to, but if it was possible, even if it was just one more time, she wanted to do it.
Their encounter had been brief, but those were two people she wanted to see as many times as she possibly could.
When she thought that, she truly…smiled, just a little. It was a natural smile, not at all forced.
It was the first time she’d ever smiled and meant it.
When she realized that, she cried. Just a little.
Twenty minutes later… The four young guys were lined up in the basement room where Szilard and the others were.
All four had their hands tied behind them, and their legs were handcuffed together as if they were about to run a three-legged race.
The four woke up, one after another, and began cussing at the old men who surrounded them. When Dallas, the last one, woke up, the other three stopped yelling for a minute.
“…What the hell is this? What’s going on?”
“Well, uh… See, it’s… Dallas, these guys won’t say anything.”
At that, Dallas looked around. Old men in expensive-looking suits sat near the back of the room, as if observing from a distance. The room was bleak, and except for the round table at the center of the group of old men, it held nothing particularly eye-catching.
“And hey, Dallas… While we were out, that lady shot us up with something.”
One of his guys spoke uneasily. The feel of the needle going in had woken him up, and he’d seen the other three get injected. At the word injection, a fierce anxiety welled up from the pit of Dallas’s stomach. Just what sort of weird stuff had they put into him?
“How are you feeling? …Ah, my apologies. There’s really no need to ask.”
As Dallas and the others broke out in a cold sweat over the strange situation, a voice suddenly spoke from behind them. When they twisted around to look back, they found an old man in a navy blue suit standing there. His mannerisms painted him as the most likely choice for the commander of their captors.
“From the way the other three act, I assume you’re the leader.”
“…Who’re you, geezer? What’re you gonna do with us?”
“Hmm? I’m Szilard. There’s something I want to ask you, and then I intend to kill you. Does that answer your question?”
Even as he spoke, he put out a hand toward the man next to Dallas.
“What the hell?! Kill us?! Yeah, go on and try it, you—”
The poor soul on whose head the hand had come to rest could see their captor over his shoulder; he began swearing at him…and then stopped moving.
“I will.”
Giving an unhurried answer, Szilard began to “eat.”
The only word for it was nightmare.
One of Dallas’s friends was disappearing, right before his eyes. Starting from his toes, as if his body were being folded up. First his shoes fell off. Then the handcuff that was connected to Dallas’s own ankle dropped with a clink. His brown trousers flattened, starting at the cuffs and traveling upward, like a balloon losing air.
“Hey… James…”
This guy’s name was James, right? Wait…huh? Didn’t we even know each other’s names? Was that all we were?
The bizarre sight seemed to have disturbed Dallas’s memory center slightly.
“No, hold it… Hey! I said wait! Hey! James is disappearing!”
He tried to stop Szilard with his words, but his body was rooted to the spot.
Even before he’d finished speaking, their group of four had become a group of three. Dallas felt cold air seep into the space that had opened up next to him.
“…Hmph. I don’t call that ‘decent living’…”
Having finished his meal, Szilard was slowly savoring the “knowledge.”
“Oho… That liquor… You don’t know whether it’s safe or not.”
At those words, a stir ran through the men at the back of the room.
“In that case, why don’t I have you go make sure…Dallas Genoard.”
Dallas was dazed. Szilard bent down and whispered in his ear.
“Do you feel like striking a bargain?”
He didn’t understand.
“…Still in shock, I see. We’ll finish this later.” Shaking his head, Szilard stood, turning his back on Dallas. “And by the way, his name wasn’t James.”
With that, he and the other old men disappeared into the next room.
The three of them were left behind. One of them muttered, gazing vacantly into space:
“Dallas… The guy who just disappeared was Scott. …James is…me.”
No one responded to the words. They only echoed, uselessly, among the three of them.
“Ennis… It seems there were others who saw you fighting.”
Szilard questioned her. According to the knowledge he’d absorbed from Scott, Ennis had appeared while the little gang was attacking a couple.
“Yes. I thought more people might gather if I simply stood by and watched.”
On the spur of the moment, Ennis lied.
“What happened to the couple?”
“They seem to have left immediately. I did check, and there were no signs that I was followed.”
“I see… That shouldn’t be a problem, then.”
“No, sir.”
Still expressionless, Szilard gave Ennis her next orders:
“Well, then… The finished product is in the hideout of a Mafia group known as the Gandors. It would be unfortunate if we attempted to negotiate and ended up leaking our information to them. Threaten those three… Or, no, tell them we’ll give them a reward of some sort, and have them steal it back. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir. Only, their companion has just been killed… Do you think they’ll do it?”
“There’s no need to worry about that. According to the memories I just ‘ate,’ that lot values personal interest over friendship and the like. If we say we’ll spare their lives and give them money, I expect they’ll work with a particular will.”
Tapping his own temple lightly with a finger, Szilard grinned.
“In any case, once they learn their bodies have been made immortal—even if it is an inferior immortality—they’ll be so moved they’ll forget about their friend on the spot. In other words, that’s the sort of men they are. There will be no problems.”
“…No, sir.”
Giving a mechanical bow, Ennis hurried from the room.
The old men—who had been watching—shrieked.
“Master Szilard!”
“Th-then that injection really was…the incomplete product…”
“Why would you bestow it on those vulgar ruffians…?!”
“Quiet.”
“…………”
One glance from Szilard, and silence fell as if by magic.
“Never fear. This may turn into a fight with the Mafia, that’s all. I’ve only made tools for us to use in the event that it does. Once this business is finished, I plan to ‘eat’ them immediately. …Or do you have the physical strength to win an all-out war with a gang? If so, I’ll just have you do it.”
The old men said nothing more.
NIGHT
The color of night had already come right down to the line between the sky and the ocean, and stars had begun to show through here and there. It was as though Manhattan’s blue-crystal sky had shattered and darkness had come to the city in its place. But as if to drive away that darkness, colorful lights bloomed up from the ground, radiating from the main streets outward. Reflecting off the red bricks that colored the buildings, the lights summoned a crowd that was different from the town’s daytime bustle.
New York’s unprecedented Great Depression. Its spirit might have taken a hit, but the city wasn’t dead yet.
As if they’d been waiting impatiently for night to arrive, New York’s 32,000 speakeasies woke up and began to stir.
Man
hattan swallowed up people’s desires, and was on the verge of revealing another face.
Alveare (“the Beehive”), one of the handful of nightclubs run by the Martillo Family, was located between Little Italy and Chinatown. Outwardly, as its name suggested, it was a specialty shop that sold honey. However, if you went back behind the register and through a sturdy door fitted with a peephole, you’d find yourself in a speakeasy, where those who’d chosen to duck the eyes of the law gathered. Both men and women came here in search of liquor. Sometimes even children visited. It was a watering hole set up in the space between the law and the town.
In New York at the time, disguised speakeasies like this one stood cheek by jowl with one another. These loopholes in the law were found everywhere—one in the back of a tailor’s shop, another in the basement of a drugstore, and even inside churches and funeral parlors.
Alveare was another sanctuary built inside one of these loopholes.
Even further underground, there was a spacious hall. Ordinarily, it was a forbidden room that no one was allowed to approach, but today about a dozen men were gathered there. Even with that many people, silence and an atmosphere of tension enveloped the room.
The electric lights were off, and the only source of light was a single flame: that of a lamp, in the center of a round table.
“Firo Prochainezo.”
Quietly, the silence was broken. The enormous table took up half of the already crowded room, and men were stationed around its edge at equal intervals. Only the man who had spoken was seated; the rest stood.
The owner of the voice was Molsa Martillo, current head, or caposocietà, of the Martillo Family. He was a man of over fifty, who impressed with a dignity befitting his age and a fine physique that belied his years.
He was flanked on either side by two upper-level executives: Kanshichirou Yaguruma, a Japanese man who held the position of elder, or primo voto, and Ronny Schiatto, the secretary, or chiamatore. Maiza, the contaiuolo, stood next to Ronny, two places away from Molsa.
Although he hadn’t ended up in the role of elder because he was elderly, Yaguruma was well past sixty and, at a glance, gave the impression of being the proprietor of a Chinatown herbal medicine shop.
The Rolling Bootlegs Page 10
