Baccano! - Volume 16 - Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

The bookstore owner gives the ignorant boy a warning

Afternoon A certain used bookstore in New York

“Ice Pick Thompson Strikes Again! Culprit a Grotesque Long-Armed Phantom?”

With the hysterical newspaper as his pillow, the shop’s proprietor was dozing the lazy afternoon away.

The old bookstore sat between faded apartment buildings, and the man was currently behind the counter and slumped over his desk. He hadn’t even taken his glasses off, and a tiny trickle of drool from his mouth was creating a little stain on the newspaper.

“Fngha…” When he heard the shop’s door open, he slowly opened his eyes. “Oh dear, mustn’t do that…!”

Flustered, the elderly man shook his head, trying to wake himself up.

The customer who’d just come in was a boy no older than fourteen. “You should be more careful, mister.”

“Hmm…? Oh, it’s you, Mark. Sorry about that. I just can’t seem to win against the sandman lately… No telling what could happen while I’m asleep, so I’m as careful as I can be… Never mind that, what about you? Are you all right?” The man examined Mark’s face.

There were big dark circles under the boy’s eyes, and his color wasn’t good. His expression, too, was rather lifeless, as if he hadn’t slept in several days.

“What’s the matter?” the proprietor asked with worry. “Not feeling so great?”

“No, I’m okay…” The boy smiled, but even his smile seemed a little weak.

The proprietor was unconvinced, but Mark carried on regardless. Instead, he looked at the bookshelves. Despite his obviously poor health, he was studying the shelves quite seriously.

It wasn’t clear what the boy was looking for; his gaze traveled between medical books and volumes of folklore—and books filled with pulp occult stories.

If he was trying to find something, the route he was traveling made it difficult to guess. But the boy’s eyes were extremely focused.

The proprietor took off his glasses, rubbed the sleepers out of the corners of his eyes, then asked with some confusion, “Mark… What in the world are you looking for?”

“……”

The boy was silent for a little while, then turned to the proprietor, looking troubled. “Hey… Um, don’t think I’ve lost it, okay? There’s a story I’d like to tell you, but it may not make sense.”

“C’mon, don’t be so stiff. You’ve been coming here for ten years or so. If there’s something you want to discuss, sure, I’ll help you out. To be honest, ever since… Well, you’ve looked pretty down for a while now, so I’ve been wishing there was something I could do for you.”

The elderly proprietor directed a kind smile at him, but the boy looked as troubled as ever.

“So, uh…,” he timidly began. “I really do want you to assume this is all nonsense.”

“Sure. That’s fine.”

“Do you think it’s possible for somebody who was obviously fatally wounded…to come back to life right in front of you?”

The moment he asked—the proprietor’s expression changed. He didn’t seem worried about the boy’s mental state, or suspicious of a lie.

“Wh-what are you talking about, Mark?! Don’t tell me— Did you see something?!”

“Huh?”

“I’m telling you this for your own good. No matter what you saw around here…forget about it! Listen to me. Whatever you do, don’t spread that story around! Do you hear me?! Don’t tell a soul!”

The proprietor had raised his voice suddenly, and the boy was taken aback. The man wasn’t angry, though. He was seriously worried, and when the boy realized that, his confusion deepened.

“What do you mean?! Mister, do you know something?!”

“N-no! Nothing, I know nothing! Look, if you only get hauled off to the hospital, you should consider yourself lucky! You don’t wanna know what happens if you tell everybody what you just said! You’ll get yourself killed, boy!”

After that, the only thing the man would say was “Forget about it, do you hear?!” over and over, and the boy ended up leaving the bookshop without any new clues.

“Forget about it,” huh? Remembering what the proprietor had told him, he quietly closed his eyes. Boy, do I wish I could!

He screamed the words silently, and when he opened his eyes—

“Hi there.”

—the man he had to forget was standing right in front of him.

“So your name is Mark? I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but the guy who ran that shop was too loud to miss.”

“……”

There was a smile right in front of him.

It was a strong, kind expression that denied the existence of misfortune in the world at all.

The smile seemed to insist the boy would be forgiven no matter how evil he was, and when he saw it—

“…!”

—with terror on his face, he wordlessly turned tail and bolted.

An alley somewhere in New York

“Let me tell you a sad, sad story.”

As a cool wind blew through the shade, the young man who’d spoken let his gaze fall to the ground at his feet.

It was an unnervingly clear summer day in New York. The sun was evaporating the moisture that was left on the streets until the air was hot and humid, as if it were trying to erase all traces of the previous evening’s heavy rain.

In an attempt to avoid that glaring sunlight, several youngsters were hanging out in a back alley a short distance from Broadway.

However, the central figure of the group, a young man in blue coveralls—Graham Specter—had launched into a gloomy rant that was turning the cool shade into unpleasant darkness.

“Why are we here? Right, because it’s hot. When we avoided that openly hostile sunlight, where did we end up? Right here in the shade.”

“Uh-huh…”

It wasn’t clear whether his companions were listening to him. They were leaning idly against the wall, or pressing their cheeks against its cool bricks. Except for one of them, who was dutifully responding.

That young confidant, who’d been nicknamed Shaft by the others, was truly the axis on which his idling energy spun. But—

“In short…we turned our back on the sunlight and ran in here! What a sad, sad story! I bet the sun had no intention of picking a fight with us! The sun is huge; compared to it, we’re just space dust! The sun isn’t petty enough to pick a fight with dust, or that’s what I want to believe! And yet! And yet! We ran! From what? From the sun! We ran from somebody who didn’t even want to hurt us! If it wasn’t for the sun, we’d be dead!”

“Yes, yes, very true.”

“Dammit! Who do we think we are? Who the hell do we humans think we are?! The sun can become our enemy or our ally without even knowing it… If it was just a little hotter, mankind would be destroyed! If it was colder, we’d be destroyed then, too! We’re mere puppets in the sun’s hands… So the sun is the mastermind behind humanity! What a sad, sad story. The mastermind has brazenly stepped out from behind the curtain, and yet I can’t do a thing— What the hell can I vent this sadness on?!”

“Why not on your own brain?”

A trickle of sweat ran down Shaft’s cheek—perhaps it was the heat, or perhaps it was fear.

“……”

“Geez Louise. Don’t break even worse than you usually do just because it’s hot, all right, Mr. Graham? Think of us. We’re busy getting away from the heat, too, and we don’t have that kind of free time. Simmer down, give the sun your unconditional surrender, and lie on the ground over there or something.”

“……”

“Huh? Hey, Mr. Graham, what’s the matter? Why are you brandishing your wrench like that?”

Graham’s beloved giant wrench was as big as a child’s leg. As he raised it overhead, Graham wore a quiet smile reminiscent of the Buddha statues of the Far East.

“Useful… Yes, let me tell you a useful story.”

“Uh, wait.”

“A way to get cool… If you want to get the heat out of your body, what about reducing the amount of blood you’ve got?”

“Erm, Mr. Graham? Mr. Graham? That’s not a real solutio—”

Whether or not he could hear what Shaft was saying, Graham grabbed his friend’s neck with his free left hand and pushed him up against the wall.

“Whoa! Wai—! That ain’t—! That ain’t funny, Mr. Graham!”

“And rest easy. In my experience—”

Like a spring wound up to the breaking point, Graham’s wrench rose until it was behind his back and then stopped dead.

“—all corpses are cold.”

“Well, yeah, if their temperature is lower than your body temperature, of course they feel cold!”

Even under the circumstances, Shaft made a levelheaded retort, but it was so levelheaded that it fell flat. Watching him, Graham gave an angelic smile, and then—

“Yeah, I know.” The smile abruptly vanished, and his face became a cruel mask. “So?”

“Wa-wa-wa-wa-wa-wait-wait-wait-wait, please, wait, Mr. Gra-Gra-Gra-Gra-Gra-Gra-Graaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah?!”

As Shaft screamed, the tightly wound spring of Graham’s right arm was released—

—and the enormous rusty wrench sent a roar echoing through the alley.

“Aah…a-ah, aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah…”

Shaft was twitching, his eyes rolled back in his head.

The wrench had buried itself in the wall right beside his face. Yanking it free, Graham breezily asked, “All cooled down now?”

The wrench had punched into a brick wall.

It was clearly outside the bounds of common sense, but although the young men around him broke out in a collective cold sweat, they didn’t seem all that surprised. This was apparently a typical exchange for the pair.

Shaft’s knees were quaking, and his mind appeared to be somewhere else. Ignoring him, Graham stretched his arm out and began spinning and twirling the wrench in the shade.

He was still as high-energy as ever, but the polarity of his emotions had been completely reversed.

“Oh, this is fun! Let me tell you a fun story! And I’m gonna whether you like it or not! I’ll tell a fun story if I have to do it by force! From now on, it’s all gonna be fun time! Hot damn, I’m getting all wound up. I bet my brother Ladd feels like this before he heads out to kill somebody!”

Still spinning, he began twirling the wrench like a baton, turning it into a dangerous, unapproachable object and forcing everyone around him to take a step back.

…Both physically and mentally.

“That’s right, my brother Ladd! Even after he lost an arm and the cops hauled him off, he just doesn’t let us get bored! Right?!”

“Well, maybe he should!” Shaft had made a speedy recovery, and now he was glaring at the whirlwind weapon coldly. “I mean, he’s the reason they think we’re Ice Pick Thompson.”

“Indeed! And that’s exactly what I wanted to talk about today!”

Their leader’s sleepy eyes sparkled.

As he looked at him, Shaft gave a weary, heartfelt sigh. “Aaaaaaah, why couldn’t we have gotten here without knockin’ me out?”

“It’s your own fault. This stuff wouldn’t happen if you quit bellyaching. Yes… The one to blame is you, Shaft! Either that, or it’s me! I’m the violent one! The sun’s completely blameless!”

“You’re back on that again?!”

“The sun just sits there, neither good nor bad. It doesn’t have a heart, either! It’s just there, and yet it gives us everything! Including pain sometimes! The sun is truly incredible; no wonder it gets treated like a god all over the world! How fun is that?! And this god has an overwhelming attack: sunlight! And we’ve been seeking shade in an attempt to fight back… Has our adventure only just begun?!”

“Hell if I know,” Shaft answered listlessly. He sighed again, trying to steer the conversation back in its original direction.

“Anyway, you heard what that reporter said yesterday, right? Never mind this stuff—let’s just behave until they catch the killer.”

The day before In a certain speakeasy

“W-wait, what do you mean, we’re under suspicion?”

Journalist Carl Dignis had contacted Graham’s group, saying he wanted to ask them about something, and the first thing he’d told them was more than enough to leave everyone involved wide awake and sober: They suspect you of being the killer.

The reporter had dropped that bombshell on them, and a startled Shaft had responded in disarray.

Since the reporter had said he wanted to talk to Graham, the young men had figured he was writing an article about delinquents like them, and with the exception of Graham, they all looked completely confused.

Meanwhile, Graham almost appeared to be enjoying himself as he was toying with his wrench.

After stealing a glance at the young man in the coveralls, the journalist from the Daily Days began to speak. He lowered his voice so that only their group could hear him.

“I know about you, Graham Specter. You were originally a wrecker employed at a Chicago auto manufacturer. Breaking things down has been an interest of yours since you were a boy, and you’ve demolished more than three thousand cars with your favorite wrench. You’ve currently relocated to New York and are running a group of hooligans, young people who aren’t quite mafia… Does that sound about right?”

As the man gave the rundown on Graham’s background, the others with him watched him suspiciously. Graham himself looked even more entertained, and the wrench danced in his hands.

“Hoh-hoh… This is fun. I don’t even have to introduce myself. Convenient!”

However—

“You’re acquainted with a man named Ladd Russo, correct?”

“……”

Smack.

With a rather louder sound than before, Graham’s wrench stopped.

“When your group… Or rather, when you, Graham, were in Chicago, you often accompanied him.”

“Accompanied ain’t accurate. I was just nuts about how strong he was.”

“What about the rumor that he was the Russo Family’s top hitman?”

“Rumors are rumors.” Graham settled himself more deeply into his chair, placed both his hands and the wrench on his lap, and snickered a little. “My brother Ladd ain’t a hitman; he’s a murderer. Don’t assume he’s a cheapskate who’d take folks’ lives for money. He kills for the love of the game. He’s genuine, bona fide scum of the earth.”

“I give up… This guy’s done for…”

Ignoring Shaft, who’d buried his face in his hands, Graham went on with confidence.

“All that aside—he’s strong. Whether you’re a murderer or a hero, strength is enough to give you status. And in this world, it doesn’t matter if you’re a murderer or the scum of the earth. As long as you’ve got that strength, you’ll always find some poor bastard low enough to look up to you! Who’s that? It’s me! …Damn, this is getting fun. I’m the lowest? The lowest— That’s incredible. You can look up all you want! If there’s nobody below you, you don’t have to worry about anybody passing you up! Or about sinking to even greater depths… What the hell is God thinking?! Why’s he making things more fun for me than they already are?!”

“I’d imagine he’s lookin’ for the first chance to forsake you,” Shaft replied calmly, while Graham began spinning his wrench cheerfully—

—until he abruptly stopped, turning to the reporter with a somewhat serious expression.

“But anyway, let’s say nobody cares about that ‘rumor.’ Why does that make us killers?”

“At first, the police assumed it was revenge of some sort. The corpse was stabbed so many times with that ice pick—it’s not the sort of thing a sane person would do.”

“Oho…”

“But when the second and third victims turned up, there was nothing that linked the victims to each other, and the police began suspecting a serial killer… And they developed a theory that multiple people were involved. That’s how back-alley gangs like you ended up on the list of suspects. You have no alibis, and as long as it’s raining, there’s not enough people on the streets to witness you.”

As he calmly went on, the journalist sipped the black tea that had been brought to their table.

“Well, everything up till this point would only make you one of countless suspects, but the fourth victim is a little unique.”

“Unique how? Didn’t the papers say he ran a rental warehouse?”

“On paper, yes. You see, the current official stance of the U.S. on the mafia is that no such organization exists,” the journalist frankly explained.

Graham smirked. “So victim number four was mafia?”

“He was a Gandor.”

“……”

“I’m sure you’ve heard of them.” The journalist’s voice was calm.

The young delinquents glanced at one another, and Graham shook his head with a terse smile. “…That’s not a name I really want to hear at the moment. But this is getting even more fun now.”

“It’s not fun at all,” Shaft objected, and the journalist took that as his cue to continue.

“Right. You’ve tangled with the Gandor Family several times, on their turf. The victim seems to have been a new recruit, but the police view you as persons of interest,” Carl explained casually.

“No!” Shaft protested, his eyes round. “I mean— No! That’s not fair! Why would they suspect us just because of the fourth one?!”

“The first victim ran a speakeasy, and he’d recently relocated it onto Gandor turf.”

“……”

“The second was a Realtor, and lately he’d begun dealing with the Gandors due to trouble over land sales. The third was a police officer; the Gandors’ territory was his beat. He may also have been taking bribes of some sort.”

As the man listed more context around each victim, Shaft’s face paled visibly. The young delinquents around him were also listening intently to what the journalist said, looking bewildered.

“At first, they also thought it might be the Runoratas, who’d caused trouble for them half a year ago, or the Martillos, who almost went to war with them in the past. But even if it was a threat, there was no need to go to the trouble of stabbing them with an ice pick. If a Runorata wants to fill a guy full of daylight, he’ll use a real tommy. The Martillos are experts in ending a war fast, so they would have gone directly for the executives.”

“I see. Makes sense.” Graham had begun spinning his wrench again, and he gritted his teeth in a tense smile. He’d already predicted the rest of the story and was just dying to compare answers.

As Graham’s eyes shone like a child’s, the reporter took a small breath. Then, smiling back wryly, he told him the bottom line.

“At that point, the police began to focus on anyone who really caught their eye. I hear they don’t have any evidence, so they haven’t charged anyone for the crime yet, but… The Bureau of Investigation has sent out a notice to the effect that they’re zeroing in on the sworn brother of the murderer Ladd Russo, a man with similar eye-catching proclivities—

“In other words, you.”

Silence.

A cold, heavy air bore down on the table and the boys around it. The hubbub at the other side of the speakeasy seemed to go straight through them.

“…I’ve got a question,” Graham said.

At the unusual gravity in his voice, Shaft and his other friends shot him startled looks.

“Why are you telling us about this?”

There was a pause.

In that brief moment, the journalist picked up on what Graham was getting at, and he took a sip of his tea before he spoke. “Because I know you aren’t the culprit.”

“Oh yeah? What makes you so sure?”

“As far as I’m concerned, the Daily Days’ information network is rock-solid. You’re a dangerous character, but you’re no murderer.”

“You mean I haven’t been before? Maybe I got possessed by the ghost of Ladd’s left arm last month.”

He leaned in, challenging him, and poked the other man’s throat with the end of his wrench.

His eyes glittered behind his bangs, as if he really was repressing a murderous urge.

But with a chagrined smile, the journalist leaned away and ordered a second cup of tea from the owner of the speakeasy. “Beg pardon. I’m very particular about my tea, you see. This place is excellent. The liquor may be their bread and butter, but they use quality leaves.”

“Yeah, that’s because we gave ’em hell about it earlier. All the nonalcoholic stuff at this joint is top-drawer.”

“You have my gratitude… Oh, yes. Why I don’t suspect you.”

The journalist leaned toward Graham again, pushing the wrench away with his fingers—

—and lowered his voice.

“It’s because I have an idea as to who the culprit really is.”

The next day Noon In a certain alley

“So who do you figure the real killer is anyway?”

Remembering the previous evening, Shaft shrugged.

Graham was still spinning. “No clue!” he cried. “When we told him to spill it, he said ‘If I did, I’d be working as an information broker, not a reporter’! What a fun guy! If that’s how he wants to play it, we’ll just have to knock over the Daily Days and steal all their dirt!”

“What would we use stolen info for?” Shaft was exasperated, but he hadn’t given up entirely on the conversation.

Graham was still spinning and looking every which way. “…Well, you know. Say…which horse wins the next race! Hot damn, if we knew that, we’d be rich! We’re gonna need seed money… How much do you have on you, Shaft?”

“Enough to take you to a doctor, Mr. Graham. If we went to Dr. Fred, I think we’d even get a discount.”

“I see… A doctor, huh? Doctors are good. Professionals who demolish human bodies with surgery. Anyway, I’m getting dizzy. Couldn’t tell you why. Maybe I’m coming down with a cold.”

Graham kept on spinning, and once again, Shaft buried his face in his hands and groaned.

“Aaaaaaah, I give up. I knew it: He’s done for.”

Graham had spun around so many times that now he lay sprawled on the ground. His followers stood around him, but they stayed in the cool shade.

At the center of this strange picture, their fallen leader vented his emotions, which had turned negative again.

“Let me tell you a sad, sad story… I can usually do three thousand times easy, but today, my head started spinning after a measly two thousand three hundred and seventeen times.”

“You don’t suppose that’s because you’re stupid, huh, Mr. Graham?”

Shaft wasn’t even trying with the comebacks anymore, but Graham didn’t have the energy to move, either.

“Ghk! I can’t even work up the enthusiasm to demolish Shaft’s skull— It’s gotta be the sun! Is it because of this heat?! Damn you, sun— How can you make us suffer so much when you don’t have a will of your own?!”

“How does one person have so much drama inside him?”

“Argh, I can’t. My energy is flagging. Our adventure had only just begun, but we fell to our deaths before reaching Neverland. That’s exactly how I feel. Damn you, sun… I can’t wipe you from existence no matter how much I hate you, and even if I did, I’d go down with you… Dammit, the sun does whatever it wants because it knows it’s got an unshakable advantage. It’s like our ancestors, who brought all their weapons and laid waste to the continent… Don’t tell me— Is this the wrath of the Aztecs and Incas? Aw, hell… This whole ugly mess is because of Cortés and Admiral Pizarro! It’s Quetzalcoatl… Quetzalcoatl is coming…”

“You’re like an encyclopedia of weirdness, Mr. Graham.”

As their leader moaned about the god of an ancient civilization, his young followers fell into an animated discussion about the story the reporter had told them the day before.

“So I saw that fifth victim in the papers this morning. Do you think she was connected to the Gandors, too?”

“Dunno. The guy did say he had an idea about who Thompson is, though.”

“…Meaning he couldn’t stop him.”

“Yeah, all he asked us about after that was stuff like our past and our day-to-day, that kinda thing.”

“Gnrrrgh… Quetzalcoatl… Quetzalcoatl’s coming to get us…”

“Come to think of it, didn’t you say some other paper had asked for an interview like that, Shaft?”

“Oh yeah, now that you mention it, they said something about wanting to talk to us soon. Unlike the Daily Days, they’re one of the big guys, so they’ll be shelling out plenty of dough for our time. The sooner the better.”

“Who do they think they’re writing for?”

“The world just doesn’t make sense, does it?”

“Viracocha… The tsunami…”

“Man, nothing Graham’s saying makes sense, either.”

“He’s talking about Kon-Tiki, aka Viracocha, a god of the Incan empire.”

“…Look at Shaft. Always has the good stuff.”

“Speaking of things I don’t get, we haven’t seen that Dallas fella for close to two years now.”

“Maybe he retired to the country.”

“Those guys never met Graham, did they?”

“If they had, they’d probably retire to another country.”

“Uhnnn… Tezcatlipoca… Tezcatlipoca wants sacrifices…”

“Come to think of it, there’s that family—what’s the name? The Martillos? You heard about their pretty-boy capo?”

“I heard someone laughed at him and called him a dame, and the guy worked him over good. Then he stomped on his throat and crushed his balls and said ‘Who’s a dame again?’”

“Damn.”

“Aaaaah… Amaterasu Omikami… Amaterasu Omikami is going into hiding…”

“Hey, I think Graham’s busted.”

“He’s always busted.”

“You can’t… Don’t look at Izanami… She’s coming… Yomotsu-shikome is coming…!”

“Hey, Shaft? What the hell is Graham saying?”

“Why does this guy know so much about stuff that’s so useless?”

The delinquents kept talking, idling away the lazy summer afternoon. They’d spend the whole day like that, until sundown.

On a personal level, they’d almost given up and decided they’d be okay with that.

Until their apathy was shattered by an abrupt intruder.

“Whoa, whoa, I-I’m sorry! M-move it—outta the way!”

A boy had sprinted around the corner into the alley, slipping between Shaft and the rest of the gang to make for the other side.

“Oh, hey—”

Before Shaft could stop him, the boy dashed past them, and—

“Gwubloufuwah?!”

—stomped right on Graham’s solar plexus.

After a few steps, the boy realized what he’d done.

“Ah! Agh, oh, I-I’m sorry…! I-I’m in a hurry right now, so—! Sorry!”

Offering a flustered apology over his shoulder, the boy disappeared down the alley.

Shaft and the others looked stunned. Below them, Graham was rolling around and groaning.

“…! …! …Gwah…! Gahargh! Worgh…he got me! Dammit! What just happened to me?! Gwaaaaah! Did Odin run me through with the Lance of Longinus?!”

“You’re overreacting. Also, the Lance of Longinus isn’t Odin’s weapon.”

Ignoring Shaft’s coolheaded critique, Graham sat up, coughing violently.

“I remember now… That punk just stomped on me! Dammit… I’m furious! Right now, I’m full of rage! When you get down to it, what is rage? A sad story or a fun story?! Argh, the not-knowing is driving me crazy, Shaft! Answer me: Who’s to blame here?”

Graham was seething with emotion.

You, for lying smack in the middle of the road.

And Shaft very nearly told him, but he was positive that if he said it now, he’d be the one lying in the middle of the road next. Instead, he went with a safer answer.

“Blame whoever raised a kid to step on people and run off.”

“Yeah… That’s it! That’s exactly what I wanted to say. Stomping on somebody, then fleeing without really saying he’s sorry— How was that kid raised anyway? Dammit! It’s so very sad— Are you telling me our country’s children are stomping on people now?! Is this the curse of an ancient civilization, too?!”

“Aren’t you full of beans today.”

As they watched Graham try to blame an ancient civilization for a crime it hadn’t committed, his friends were relieved that he seemed to be all right.

On the other hand, Graham was swinging his wrench around with increasing gusto.

If he kept this up, he might run out onto the avenue and start taking apart every car he could get his hands on. Just as Shaft and the rest of the group started to worry again…

…another intruder appeared in the alley, on their turf.

“Um, could I ask you all a question?”

The delinquents turned around. A young man was standing in the mouth of the alley.

He seemed to be a little older than Graham’s gang. He was fairly well-dressed, and he didn’t look like a businessman—not that a company man would have entered a back alley at a time like this.

That said, he didn’t appear to be unemployed or a cop, or in any specific line of work.

The one peculiar thing was that he didn’t react upon seeing a bunch of ne’er-do-wells like Graham and his gang. He kept right on beaming.

The young man scanned the alley restlessly, then slumped in defeat and asked, “Did a boy about five years younger than you come running through here?”

Suddenly, with a clack, a wrench closed on the intruder’s neck.

“Let me tell you a sad…and fun story.” The man in the blue coveralls shook his head slowly, and his general demeanor was shifting in a disturbing way.

“I don’t know what’s going on here. I do know you were chasing that brat. Meaning the fact that the kid was in a hurry, and that he knocked the wind out of me, and that the sun is hot today— It all goes back to you. And in my sadness, in my joy, let me tell you one thing!

“You. You are the root of all evil!”

Night The bookstore

After bullying the people of New York for a day, the sun set, and a different kind of light took over the city. As darkness fell, the streetlights along the roads flickered on to drive it back.

And with that, Manhattan was dressed for nighttime.

However, its energy was a little more subdued than usual today. The avenues were still fairly busy, but there was almost no one to be seen on the back streets. Perhaps it was the fear of the killer.

“…I guess I could close up for the day.”

The proprietor of the bookstore, which was located on one of those back streets, sighed. He was about to bring in the shelf of old books that had been sitting outside the shop.

But just as he stepped outside, a figure loomed up in front of him.

“Yeargh!”

He yelped, but then he realized the figure was smaller than he’d assumed—and when he resettled his glasses on his nose, he saw that the face was one he’d seen just that afternoon.

“Mister.”

“O-oh, it’s you, Mark. Good grief, you shouldn’t scare old folks like that… I thought you were Ice Pick Thompson.” The shop’s owner smiled in relief, but the boy’s expression stayed gloomy. “What’s the matter?”

“I want to hear more about what you mentioned this afternoon.”

“…I told you to forget that.” The proprietor gave a troubled sigh.

But Mark stood his ground, his eyes serious. “Please. It doesn’t matter if I try to forget it. He’s following me around!”

“Wh-what? What do you mean, Mark?” the proprietor asked, startled.

For a little while, the boy didn’t say anything.

After some time, he explained, choosing his words carefully.

“I—I saw somebody die…and then come back to life. Ever since then, he’s been following me… This evening, I finally managed to shake him…but I’m sure he’s still looking for me.”

“……”

The proprietor fell silent, looking conflicted.

The idea of seeing somebody come back to life was nonsense. Ordinarily, you wouldn’t go around telling others about such an incident. The boy knew this.

But after the proprietor’s reaction that afternoon, he’d suspected the older man was the only person he could go to for help. That was why he’d chosen to tell him what he’d seen.

Mark only hid one key part of the story: the fact that he himself had been trying to die, too.

The proprietor thought hard for a while.

“Hmm…”

Finally, after glancing around warily and confirming there was no one else in the alley, he said, “Well, just come in for now. Come on in. Then we’ll talk.”

Once inside, the elderly man ushered Mark past the bookshelves to the counter at the back of the store. He took his place behind the counter, scanned his shop one more time, then began to explain.

“I—I guess I’ve got no choice… Listen, whatever you do, don’t tell a soul I told you this, all right?”

“O-okay.”

“The fact is…just six months ago, I saw the same thing myself. Someone coming back to life.”

“Huh?!” The boy gulped.

Still attentive to his surroundings, the elderly shopkeeper went on in a low voice. “I figured they’d put me in the hospital if I told anyone about it…but he muzzled me, you see, and I just kept it to myself. Didn’t even pretend it was a tall tale while I was out drinking.”

He’d seen it with his own eyes, but he still couldn’t believe.

“The thing is, that individual was somebody I knew well.”

“Huh… What, he was a friend of yours?”

As the boy grew more and more confused, the proprietor removed his glasses, pressed his fingertips to the inside corners of his eyes, and gave him the answer.

“He was…a fellow from the mafia group that runs this area.”

“Ma…fia…?”

“It doesn’t matter if they’re monsters or vampires or humans. You’re just a kid—you must stay away from them, no matter what.”