Baccano! - Volume 14 - Chapter 6

FINAL CHAPTER

THE RECOUNTED WORLD 2

A first-class train compartment on the continental railway

Smack, smack.

The first-class compartment was filled with the sounds.

As if fitting his words to that rhythm, the information broker stated the conclusion in a matter-of-fact way.

“Two years after that…Graham’s faction did well, but unlike Jacuzzi and the others, they caused too much trouble in the territory of a major mafia syndicate, which gradually began to mark them. Then, just when they needed it, they were contacted by an outfit with which they had an erstwhile connection: the Russo Family…”

The vice president, who had a gun concealed in his jacket, narrowed his sharp eyes and delivered his wares to his customer with perfect composure.

It was as if he was slowly engraving information, that formless product, into the other man’s brain.

“The Chicago-bound train they boarded had a slight problem with its security. After a certain point in time…if a robbery were to occur in the first-class compartments, it wouldn’t be discovered until the train reached the station. In a move to boost morale, their leader—no doubt inspired by the actions of Ladd Russo, a murderer whom he loves and respects—is considering attacking this train… In addition, I believe he’s heard a rumor to the effect that the occupants of first-class compartments are affluent individuals who are unpopular with the world at large. Well, I believed that the probability of his actually committing the deed was low, but I prepared an origami popgun just in case. Then, when I heard the sound of someone running in the corridor, I was convinced.”

Beside the vice president, the girl photographer’s clasped hands were trembling.

She knew that the man who sat in front of them wasn’t the sort of problem that could be solved with a single pistol.

However, the one wielding that pistol was the vice president, a man who’d instantly knocked out three intruders a moment ago, singlehandedly. She couldn’t even imagine how this situation would play out, but either way, if she got pulled into it, her life would be in an extremely precarious position.

Once she was sure that the vice president had finished his tale, Carol timidly turned her eyes to the man in coveralls who was sitting across from them—Graham Specter.

Unlike those of her boss, who was sitting beside her, Graham’s eyes weren’t sharp and piercing. Instead, they were heavy-lidded, as if he was half-asleep; they were also so very dark and dull. There was a weighty, disquieting pressure in them that seemed liable to crush everything.

As silence fell over the room, the smacking noises broke off.

On seeing that Graham had stopped moving, the vice president grinned.

“…Will that do, sir?”

When he heard those words, which were practically a taunt, the man’s formerly expressionless face underwent a dramatic change.

“Heh-heh, ha-ha, ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! AAAaaaaaAAAaaaaah, I get it! Yeah, yeah, I feel incredibly, massively refreshed! Man, oh man, to think you’d tell me all about stuff from two years ago, when you coulda told me that last bit without the rest! I got well and truly used, huh! You used me as an excuse to tell a long-winded yarn to that little girl over there!”

He didn’t sound particularly angry, though. He actually seemed to be enjoying the situation.

“No,” the information broker said. “That was a bonus for an esteemed customer. If you are bound for Chicago, I thought you would do well to remember the story I’ve informed you of.”

“Ha-ha…ha-ha-ha! That’s rich. Information brokers these days are way too good! How do you know all those fiddly little details? Yeah, you nailed it: I’m on my way to do a job in Chicago. And yeah, the Russo Family execs were spouting stuff about immortals and Huey Whatsitforet! I’m still on the fence about whether to believe that immortality stuff, though!”

The oppressively tense atmosphere of a few moments ago was completely gone. Graham’s mood was so bright, it made one worry that he’d laugh too hard and burst a blood vessel.

“Still, that story did cheer me up. It really took me back. That’s so true it’s almost too true. Ahh, wow, today is such an interesting day! The emotion that lets humans find all of creation interesting is both the biggest virtue and the biggest flaw God gave us! Ha! I hope that red-eyed, fanged-up fella they hired as a bodyguard the other day is as interesting as you and Jacuzzi and the rest of ’em!”

Twirling a rough industrial tool in a jaunty, carefree way, the man hummed, draining the cup of cold black tea he held in his left hand.

“Damn. That’s good. Tea tastes right when it’s cold, as I always say. Did you tell me that long yarn because you knew? Well, whatever. In that case, as promised, I’ll let you people off the hook. Actually, I don’t even feel like pulling a robbery anymore.”

As Graham stood, getting ready to leave the compartment, the Daily Days vice president took a sip of his own cold tea and added an unnecessary comment.

“Oho… In gratitude for the compliment you paid the tea, then, let me give you a bit of information, on the house. If you step into the corridor, in the next first-class compartment in the direction of the locomotive, there is a fat man with a little moustache… I hear that he always carries a large amount of cash and jewels around with him, so that he may parade his wealth in front of others. He is most likely the affluent individual of ill repute of whom you heard. How you utilize this information is entirely up to you…”

At the vice president’s words, Graham frowned for a moment—but he promptly smiled again and flung open the door to the corridor.

“Hunh… Well, it’s a wire I got for free. I doubt I can trust it, but…I guess I’ll go check it out. All right, it’s time you fellas got up, too! It was blindingly obvious that you woke up while that guy was talking,” Graham said to the men who’d been lying near the door.

They sat up slowly, wearing rather odd expressions. The one who’d gotten to his feet first rubbed the back of his head.

“W-we’re still gonna do this? Let’s just call it off, okay?”

His complaint would be considered by most to be the correct approach.

Still, the man in coveralls had issues that made social norms irrelevant for him.

“Nah, no worries. I’m not hurt yet.”

“What’s with that logic?! Uh, ’scuse me, Mr. Information Broker or whatever you are, let me have a cup of that tea, too.”

“You’ve got some brass balls yourself! Well, whatever. Finish that fast and catch up,” Graham said, wrapping up that extremely self-centered conversation as he headed out into the corridor, dragging his other two companions with him.

The lone thug who’d stayed behind poured himself some tea, directing a very bright smile at the vice president.

He hit his head very hard back there. Did it make him go a little funny? Carol thought as she looked at the young delinquent who seemed to feel no fear or animosity toward the vice president, but—

“Ah, I’m terribly sorry about that,” the thug said. “I never even dreamed you’d be on board, Mr. Gustav.”

—his tone was drastically different from what it had been a moment ago. He lowered his head deferentially, still holding the cup in one hand.

Huh?

The vice president’s eyebrows came together, and he regarded the delinquent who’d abruptly called him by name.

“Well, well… You’re…Sham, yes? You startled me. I wasn’t expecting to find you here, too.”

“Mm, well, don’t tell Master Huey.”

“…So you’ve finally begun to voluntarily expand your range of activity? There’s your side business of providing information to us as well… Do you intend to lead Huey Laforet and even Nebula around by the nose?”

“No, I’m grateful to Master Huey, and I respect him, too. I merely want to enjoy my freedom to the fullest. After all, Master Huey isn’t the only human I’ve taken a liking to.”

Huey? Is this the same Huey that came up in that story a minute ago? …The terrorist? Carol was terribly confused.

Meanwhile, the delinquent who’d been called Sham continued, still smiling.

“Mr. Graham is… Well, he’s a dangerous fellow, but he’s interesting. I mean, he really is scary, and I do not recommend ever taking a blow to the stomach from that wrench, but…to sum it up, he’s both good and bad, in a way.”

When he’d gotten that far, they heard Graham say “We’re done here. Let’s scram!” out in the corridor, and Sham hastily chugged the rest of his tea.

“He works fast, too… Well then, if you would, please do keep our little exchange of information a secret from Master Huey!”

Almost before he’d finished speaking, he opened the door, met up with the figures that were booking down the corridor—and they made for the rear of the train, their receding footsteps mimicking the way they had sounded when they’d first appeared.

During all these conversations, Carol hadn’t been able to do or say anything. Inside the first-class compartment, only stillness remained, as though nothing had happened at all.

“…Confused, are you? Well, encounters with new information are accompanied by more than a little confusion. The details about him…should probably wait until you are rather more accustomed to information.”

The storm had passed.

To Carol, it had been a storm of mysteries and terror.

She tried to make sense of the things that had happened there, but the more she thought about them, the more jumbled the inside of her head became.

Possibly because it was hard for the vice president to just sit by and watch her, he took a sip from a fresh cup of tea before prompting her, “If there is something you would like to ask, be my guest.”

“Huh?”

He’d addressed her abruptly, and besides, there were so many things she wanted to ask that she had no clue where to begin.

For some reason, she was struck by the illusion that she was being rushed, and what she did say was less a question than a direct verbalization of what she felt.

“A-are you sure that was all right?! Inciting a crime?!”

“Long ago, Turner—the man in the next compartment—scoffed at the information I gave him and refused to pay, then used that information shrewdly and made a killing with it. Therefore, while illegal, this was justifiable retaliation, and…well, it served him right.”

“I think that’s misusing your power!”

“All right, is there anything else you’d like to ask?”

They were hearing a man’s crude screams from the next compartment, but the vice president ignored both the yells and Carol’s retort, moving to change the subject by encouraging more questions.

“Um… Then, if Graham had gotten mad, Vice President…could you have beaten him?”

Who had that Sham fellow been? What were Huey and the immortals? There were all sorts of things she should have asked, but emotionally charged questions slipped out before the logical ones could.

In response, the vice president analyzed the earlier situation quite calmly.

“If he had assaulted us in earnest, I cannot speak for myself, but you would certainly have died. My field is intellectual labor. I leave the rough work to my capable subordinates.”

“…Just say, I’d protect you if it cost me my life, okay? Just lie.”

“The initial job of an information broker is to acquire an objective grasp of the facts. One may harbor illusions at one’s leisure afterward… Hmm. In that case, since we have calmed ourselves, let us bask in illusion: In order to protect you, a precious staff member, no doubt I would cast my own life aside. Probably.”

“Aaaaaaah, I don’t even know which part to pick on first!”

Carol had lost the desire to ask serious questions, and she turned her gaze to the window to stare at the rainbow. But there was no longer any rainbow to be seen, and when she was certain she’d spotted a cityscape bristling with skyscrapers in the distance, a new question welled up inside her.

“…What’s about to happen in Chicago?”

“I couldn’t say. We information brokers aren’t privy to future results. We merely think and speculate.”

Picking up the thread of the conversation they’d been having before the robbers’ intrusion, the vice president also gazed quietly at the approaching buildings.

“The surest thing is to confirm the facts with our own eyes. That is our job.”

“…Yes.”

“Your eyes, your camera, your skills: I’m counting on all of them.”

“—Yes, sir!”

There was no telling what had happened to the girl who’d been terrified of robbers a moment before.

Her childlike voice traveled through the window to echo clearly in the cloudless blue sky.

1934—the year after Prohibition was lifted.

Under the American sky, where society had taken its first steps into a new era, another train sped toward an enormous city.

Toward the stage of the next incident: Chicago. Or perhaps beyond it— San Francisco, the home of Alcatraz Federal Penitentiary.

Would they be onlookers to that incident? Or would they be direct participants?

No one knew their destiny, as the sound of the train’s vibrations clattered through the sky.

That warped, rhythmic noise seemed to be scoring the sound of her fate.

Clickety-clack, clickety-clack, clickety-clack…

To Baccano! 1934