Baccano! - Volume 14 - Chapter 4.5

Interlude Tips—The Immortals

January 1932 Jane Doe, an underground tavern

The speakeasy, whose name meant “an unidentifiable woman,” was rather spacious.

There were lots of seats, but almost no customers.

This was only natural; this particular underground tavern was literally underground, and the land above it was occupied by one of New York’s graveyards.

The spooky décor—to match the graveyard—made it even harder to attract customers, and calling it a vampire’s lair would have sounded convincing.

The place’s black-clad owner had countless scars running across his face, and he proudly displayed a shotgun and an enormous machete behind him to discourage would-be robbers.

Most of the few existing customers seemed to feel as if they’d come to the wrong place. The rest were all as creepy as the owner.

One of the seats was currently occupied by a man who belonged to the “shouldn’t have come here” set.

He was a young guy with distinctive black hair that was slicked back, and he looked quiet and well-behaved.

A cool-faced reporter was sitting across the table from him. On his chest, he wore a badge from one of New York’s small newspapers, but he didn’t seem to be interviewing the other man for an article. He seemed to be listening out of personal interest.

The table stayed silent for a while, but when a gloomy waitress brought over their drinks and some jerky, the slender young man began to sullenly speak.

His tone was rougher than one would expect from his appearance, but from the way he talked, even an amateur would have known that he was bluffing.

He was describing the incident he’d experienced on the Flying Pussyfoot half a month earlier…

Upham’s Story

How far did I get yesterday?

…Oh, right.

Up to the part where I got nabbed by those delinquents.

I boarded the Flying Pussyfoot as a member of that group in black. I was helping with their terrorism.

Then a screwy group of young punks grabbed me…

Technically, I should be in jail—and if my luck was any worse, I’d be pushing up daisies.

…No, I guess it’s not about bad luck.

Even with ordinary luck, I probably would have been dead.

I think my luck was really good.

I didn’t get turned into hamburger by that nutjob in the white suit or the monster in red, and I even gave the cops the slip.

…

Don’t get the wrong idea. It’s not because I was ultra-committed.

When Nader asked me to flip, I hesitated.

I did want to get closer to Master Huey’s immortality; that was part of it. Honestly, though, I didn’t think Nader and the rest would believe me if I told them about it… Actually, I was surprised a journo like you knew about Master Huey at all… I’m assuming that means you’re not a cop setting me up. That’s the only reason I agreed to this interview.

Well, while I was hesitating, I just happened to hear some other guy go to Goose and snitch on Nader. I followed his lead, sang to Goose myself so I wouldn’t get snuffed out as a traitor. That’s all it was.

Guys like me can’t do anything special.

I wanted Master Huey’s immortality, too, but not enough to risk my life over it.

I’m not cut out for that sort of thing.

After what happened then, I’m sure of it.

The talk about immortals had absolutely nothing to do with me.

…I know they exist. I’ve seen Master Huey regenerate.

Still, even if it is true, it’s a fairy tale.

A guy like me wasn’t allowed to set foot in that world.

Even if I ended up over there, I’m not confident that I’d drink the elixir. I mean, there ain’t much point in having an immortal body if your mind dies.

Oh, right. Like I said, I was forced to see something.

…By the two immortals who were on that train.

…Two of ’em.

That’s right. There were at least two immortals on board—they were like Master Huey.

After that tattooed kid and the big Mexican lug grabbed me, they made me cough up everything about the Lemures’ objectives, tied me up, and slung me into a freight car.

Oh, it’s all over. I’m gonna die here.

I was just about to start crying—pathetic, I know—and then…

…along came that guy.

…What was he like?

Let’s see. He didn’t have any distinguishing features to speak of, and he was kinda plain, but…

Oh, right.

His smile.

I remember that mild smile perfectly.

No matter what happened to him…the guy never, ever stopped smiling.

And then, every chance he got, he’d tell me the same thing:

“Smile.”

If I had to sum him up, well…

…I guess I’d call him a smile junkie.

Millionaires’ Row

While the man was telling his story under the graveyard—

Immediately after Jacuzzi had headed for the warehouse, Nice and the others who’d been left behind were glumly gathered on the street.

“What do we do, Miz Nice?”

“Nothing… We’ll just have to believe in Jacuzzi.”

Nice was hanging her head, her fists clenched, but the delinquents understood.

If they took their eyes off her, she was bound to grab a ton of bombs, go after Jacuzzi, and blow up everything she saw without caring who saw it.

She was the one who most wanted to stop Jacuzzi, and she was also the one who’d most wanted to respect his wishes and let him go alone.

“Shouldn’t we have stopped him? Roughed him up if we had to?”

“With his injuries, he’d die if we did that.”

“Once Jacuzzi’s like that, he don’t stop.”

“It’s already been 129 seconds. If we’re going, we’ll have to do it soon, or else…”

“Besides, if we’d stubbornly gone with him anyway, Chané would…”

“Yeah, there’s no telling what that fella with the wrench might pull.”

“It’s still better’n not going!” “But Jacuzzi told us not to follow him.”

“Like I care?!” “Hya-haah!”

As the ruckus continued, a voice that was perfectly relaxed abruptly spoke to Nick. “Say, let me take a look at that letter.”

“? Yeah, sure. Here.”

“Hmm… I see. ‘Come alone’… Hmm,” said the young man as he checked the letter. “I have an idea. How about this?”

And he made a suggestion.

“ .  .”

In response to the smiling young man’s suggestion, the delinquents turned to one another and erupted in noise.

“That’s it!” “Oh, for cryin’ out loud!” “But it’s so simple! Why didn’t we think of that?!”

“We’ll be able to talk Jacuzzi into this one!”

“Then it’s just a question of whether we can get Chané out safely.”

In short, it had been a trigger.

Whether they’d used the method the stranger had described or had simply charged in without thinking, the results probably would have been the same. But since they trusted Jacuzzi, and their boss had told them not to come, they hadn’t been able to make a move. But what the young fellow said had made them realize that they could both respect Jacuzzi’s wishes and take action.

“Well, we’ll make it happen somehow!” “Hya-haah!” “Hya-haw!”

“Mgh, have to hurry—Jacuzzi’s in danger,” Donny urged them.

The delinquents smiled firmly, nodding to each other.

As the kids were about to break into a run, the young man called after them.

“I don’t know much about the situation, but I’m glad to see you’re all smiling now. I hope that Jacuzzi kid and your Miss Eve and the fellow with the wrench all end up smiling along with you. Well, I’ve got some business to take care of, so I’ll be on my way.”

With that, the young man vanished down Millionaires’ Row.

“Thanks, buddy!” “Hya-hoo!” “Hyah-hoo.”

The group watched the young man go—and then somebody muttered:

“…By the way, who was that guy?”

“Huh? Wasn’t he a friend of yours?”

“Uh, no. What about you, Nice?”

“No, I assumed he was an acquaintance of Nick’s or Jack’s…”

“Never seen the guy before.”

“Oh, him. I’m pretty sure he’s looking for somebody around here. I heard he was trying to hunt up this old guy, Quates or Quartz or somebody. He sounds like a real busybody, though. Rumor has it he’ll stick his nose in whenever he thinks someone’s in trouble.”

“Do you think we looked like we were in trouble?”

“Whoa, and here we just assumed he was a fakeloo artist or something.” “That wasn’t real nice of us.”

“Shouldn’t we go tell him thanks?” “Hya-haah?” “Hya-haw!”

“Mgh. Have to hurry, Jacuzzi’s in danger.”

When Donny muttered again, the kids decided that they would keep the issue of that stranger for later.

“Well, for now, let’s go with his idea! We’ll be able to stroll in and save Jacuzzi this way!”

Upham’s Story

…Anyway, that guy was an odd one.

I, uh… The second the ropes came off…I put my knife to his throat. I didn’t know what he was after, you know?

I mean, it was weird! Walking around wearing a dopey smile on a train full of corpses and untying me when I was obviously up to no good…

I thought maybe he was the red monster, and I…I was scared out of my skull.

But, but he…

He pushed his own throat into the knife.

Can you believe that?

His blood sprayed out right in front of me, bright red…

…

Well, you already know what happened after that, right?

Since you know what immortals are and all.

Yeah, his body did the same thing Master Huey’s did.

The blood turned into this thing, like a swarm of thousands, millions of red ticks… They surged up, crawling over our clothes and skin, heading back to the gaping wound my knife had made in him. It was incredible—disturbing. It was the second time I’d seen that happen after Master Huey, but you could show me the sight a hundred times and I don’t think I’d ever get used to it.

I saw it again right after that, and it got to me then, too.

I was also wounded and confused that second time, so that might have been part of it.

Yeah, that’s right. It’s hidden under my clothes, but I got stabbed in the arm a little.

It’s better than getting ground into hamburger meat by that red monster or having my head blown off by that white suit.

…You wanna know what happened?

The smiling immortal didn’t get me or anything.

I told you, remember? There was another immortal on that train.

And that other one was…

…

…

…I’m not sure how to explain it.

Maybe this is too abstract, but…

Okay. Say somebody walks into this place, pulls out a Chicago Typewriters and fills us all full of daylight. Just imagine it for a second.

You’ve got no idea why he’s doing it, but he’s trying to butcher everyone in the place. He starts with whoever twitches first and doesn’t stop until he’s hit us all. He’s twisted, wrong in the head.

Now, as another example, say there’s a guy standing behind that dangerous lead-slinger.

The shooter’s trying to kill everybody, but he doesn’t turn around to the guy behind him.

No, they’re not friends or partners. But the guy in the back has just been enjoying the show, confident he’s absolutely safe, even though he ain’t safe at all so close to a murder.

He’s… a spectator.

Yeah, a spectator. That guy’s the audience.

We’re living real lives, playing for keeps, but to that guy, everything that happens to us might as well be happening onstage.

The shooter swings that gun around all he likes, but the slugs are never gonna reach the audience.

But this spectator tries to get involved in the story anyway.

You ever watch a musical? You know how there’s always that one guy who talks real loud, making everybody listen to his opinion whether they want to or not? That’s a good play, that one’s a bomb, I woulda done it this way, et cetera.

This guy’s quiet, but his voice goes a long way. It always gets where he wants it to go.

It travels from one place to the next, on and on, reaches the players and the director, and starts cutting off their options before they even notice.

That’s how he manipulates the play from the safety of the audience. He’s trying to make the show he wants to watch.

It’s not as directly impactful as being the scriptwriter. He’s fine with being the only spectator. He never thinks about anybody else.

And going back to the first example… Once the lead-slinger’s finished massacring everybody, he hears a whisper in his ear.

“Didn’t you miss one?” the guy behind him says. “What about you?”

…That second immortal made my skin crawl.

I didn’t spend a long time with him or anything. Just a few minutes, tops.

When I say he got me during that interval, though, I mean he stabbed me and almost killed me.

…Yeah, that’s right.

That creepy bastard shanked me.

It happened when I went to the conductors’ room with the other immortal, the smile junkie.

I went along because I wanted to get to the bottom of what was happening—

—but what we saw in there were a couple of useless meat paperweights that used to be the conductors.

“Hmm. What do you suppose happened? One’s been shot, and the other was…eaten by a dragon from the looks of it. And it took off half his body in one bite. There were several corpses like this one in the freight rooms on the way here. What is all this?”

“…Th…that’s what I wanna know.”

“I wonder if these people had families. How should we break this to them…? How can we help their loved ones recover from their deaths as quickly as possible?”

He and I were having a conversation right there, in front of two corpses. It didn’t feel real, the stuff he was saying.

I tell you, his head wasn’t quite screwed on right.

Well, that aside… I was staring at those corpses and worrying about Miss Chané, and then…

…Huh?

C’mon, Miss Chané doesn’t matter now.

Anyway, as I was brooding…

…I heard this voice from the door to the conductors’ room, behind me:

“You’re in the way.”

That was all.

…

Just remembering that voice now gives me the heebie-jeebies.

It wasn’t hateful.

It wasn’t overpowering or demonic.

There wasn’t any feeling like that in his voice.

…

Yeah.

There was nothing in his voice at all.

No malice, no goodwill. Perfectly neutral.

When I turned around, with no clue what was going on, there was a guy standing there.

And he was bringing a knife down on me.

So I got stabbed, but I also whipped out my knife and stabbed him back.

I tell you, that was a close call. I don’t miss the Lemures, but who knows what would have happened if I hadn’t had that training…

Anyway, I ran him right through the heart, but…you know the rest, right?

I saw it again.

Just like the smiley fella, the blood spray turned into red bugs that went back home to their nest.

Apparently, those immortals knew each other.

They talked about a few things, but I couldn’t follow any of it.

Master Huey’s name came up and so did the names of other people who seemed to be their buddies, but…

Yeah, I couldn’t follow it.

After that, the second immortal almost killed me.

Yeah, just a few minutes after we met.

All he’d done was stab me.

But…I knew.

I knew we lived in different worlds.

For example, say you were reading Peter Pan, and Captain Hook started taking swings at you with that hook of his. He’d never hit you, yeah? It was like that. I was the Captain Hook in the book. He was like some snot-nosed brat who was reading me and laughing. I was sure of it.

Like I said before, he’s in another whole dimension.

So. If you don’t like Captain Hook, what do you do?

Usually, you just close the book, but what if the reader is an arrogant little brat?

Well, he’ll tear out the pages about Captain Hook.

Oh, I’m gonna get torn.

When that second immortal lunged at me with his knife, I didn’t think through that whole song and dance about stories and spectators. I could feel it, though.

I guess you could say I was helpless. I was so scared I couldn’t do a thing.

We lived in different worlds.

I sensed that from the very depths of my being, and it scared the hell out of me.

The smile junkie who’d saved me was about as scary as that second immortal. But…scary as he was, he saved me again. He saved a guy like me.

He got in front of me, and the knife disappeared into his gut, instead of mine.

Then he grabbed the other guy’s arm…and, little by little, he edged toward the rear of the conductors’ room.

The door was wide open.

You get it, right?

…That smile junkie dropped off the train and took the other fella down with him.

When that second immortal fell, I heard it.

The guy’s lips twisted—I think he was really enjoying it—and he muttered…

“Someday, I’ll make you pay for this.”

I heard him; I know what he said.

I know he was talking to the smile junkie.

Even so…just remembering it is terrifying.

When that guy takes revenge, the smile junkie won’t be his only target.

If he wanted to come after one single person, I bet that guy would break the whole world to do it. I dunno when I’m gonna get involved, but I won’t be the only one. It’ll be every person on the planet, you included.

…

Say, that’s about enough, ain’t it?

I don’t have anything else to tell you, particularly not about those guys.

I’ve got a few thoughts about the immortal who smiled the whole time…but I’ll keep those to myself. I shouldn’t be talking about that stuff with a stranger, and whatever I think won’t affect the facts at all.

And anyway…the guy told me to keep them a secret.

That’s why even though I remember their names clearly, I can’t tell you.

I’ve done some bad shit in my life, but I want to keep my promises halfway, at least.

Why halfway?

…Ordinarily, nobody would believe a crazy story like this one, right?

I don’t have the guts to live out my days with a thing like that locked up inside me.

That’s why I figured I’d at least tell it to an information broker like yourself.

Still, I never would’ve thought there was someone who’d want a wire on the immortals…

That said, if you let intel like this leak the wrong way, I bet you’ll end up with trust issues on your hands.

I’m planning to settle here in town awhile, but as you know, my hands ain’t exactly clean.

If we run into each other on the street later, we’ve never met, all right?

Okay, see you. The food at this place was pretty good.

I may turn into a regular.

After tomorrow, though, you don’t know me. Got it?

With that, the young man who’d introduced himself as Upham left the underground tavern.

The man with the DD newspaper badge stayed at the table for a little while, drinking liquor.

After about ten minutes, he spoke toward the seat behind him—

—to the man who’d been sitting back to back with him.

“Uh… Is that enough, mister?”

“Yes, that’s just fine.”

The occupant of the other seat spoke to the man with the badge without turning around.

At that, the man exhaled deeply in apparent relief—

—and then he struck up a cheerful conversation with the other guy.

“So was that about what you were looking for, mister?”

“Yes, it seemed like a very natural conversation.”

“Well, I’m much obliged to you for calling in an unknown actor like yours truly. I didn’t get any of that stuff about immortals and such, but… Once you complete this script, I’d settle for a walk-on part, so please do get in touch with me again.”

“Yes, gladly. Thanks to you, I’ll be able to polish my work.”

The man in the rear seemed to be smiling faintly.

The actor in the role of an information broker removed his badge and responded to his client with a fawning smile.

“Oh, I’m thrilled I was able to help you… You have some fascinating ideas. I’ve never heard of adding realism to a script by letting me and that kid improv off the original concept…”

The actor nodded, seeming impressed, but the supposed playwright didn’t respond to his comment.

“Still, the man who played the role of the criminal made one mistake,” he said, rather abruptly.

“Did he, now?”

“After he was stabbed by the second immortal, he didn’t launch a counterattack.”

“Huh?”

The counterfeit reporter looked perplexed.

The man who sat behind him still hadn’t turned his way, and an indescribably inorganic atmosphere drifted around him. It made the actor feel strange, almost as if he was talking to a painting, but the large sum of money he’d received as an advance payment had paralyzed his ability to recognize that feeling as danger.

“He rolled around on the floor, pathetically. After that, the immortal noticed the smile junkie’s presence, and the smile junkie took advantage of his momentary surprise and stabbed him. That’s the truth of it… Or rather, that was the scenario, but he is just starting out as an actor, you know, and I expect he wanted to embellish his role to make himself look better.”

“Oh, I see! Well, if he was a young actor, these things happen!”

“That aside, really, thank you very much. Let’s go someplace else, refresh ourselves mentally, and talk a bit more. I’d like to discuss an additional payment—and what will happen when this play is actually finished.”

On seeing his client begin to move, the false information broker hastily stood up as well.

“Yes sir, thank you ever so much! Oh… Uh, um… Sorry, mister, your name…?”

At that point, the actor realized the other’s name had slipped his mind.

He was sure he’d heard it several times, and yet he’d forgotten it. Why?

This struck him as strange, but he immediately thought better of it, deciding it was only natural.

After all, the man had practically nothing in the way of distinguishing features.

If he’d been forced to choose something, it would have been the way the man’s bangs completely hid his eyes, but the fact that his eyes never showed naturally faded the impression he made.

The man had said he was a Broadway playwright, and he smiled at the false information broker who’d forgotten his name, telling him not to worry about it.

“It’s Victor. Victor Talbot. Once again, it’s good to meet you.”

He recited that certain name in a brisk voice.

A few minutes later Somewhere in Manhattan

“Now, then…”

The “playwright” cracked his neck as he walked down the alley, accompanied by the fake information broker.

The sun was long set, and the surrounding foot traffic was sparse.

They were walking along that way, heading somewhere else, when—

—a lone figure blocked their path.

“Oh, ’scuse me, pops! Could you point me toward the warehouse district, please?!”

The individual who was standing in their way was a boy, a rough type.

He did say “please,” even if his manner of speech was a bit rough, and the false information broker responded to him.

“Hunh? The nearest warehouse district is down that street to your right, then straight ahead.”

“Thanks! I’m new around here, see! Thanks a ton!”

The delinquent expressed his gratitude simply, then dashed off.

“Dammit! Did they all go on ahead?!”

One of the men reacted to the boy’s yell.

“So something’s going on in the warehouse district…?”

The playwright watched the guy run off toward the warehouses, then murmured in a practically inaudible voice, like a mosquito’s whine:

“In that case, I suppose I won’t use the river.”

“Huh? What’d you say, mister?”

“No, I’m merely talking to myself. Let’s discuss the details at your apartment, then, shall we?” the playwright murmured with a breezy smile, and the fake information broker looked troubled.

“Huh? It’s, uh, it’s pretty messy in there, though.”

“It won’t bother me. In fact, it will be easier to talk of payment in a place that feels lived-in, won’t it?”

“…Well, yeah, you’re right about that! If I land a new job, I’ll be saying good-bye to my cramped little pad! Help me out, all right?”

“Ha-ha, it’s good to have dreams.”

The man smiled with a flattering reply, and the playwright’s lips quietly relaxed.

“Life is long, you see. If you have no dreams, you’ll soon tire of it…”