Baccano! - Volume 8 - Chapter 2.5

CHAPTER 2: BACK

FOR NOW, LET’S TALK

New YorkMillionaires’ Row

It had started with Carnegie.

In 1901, Fifth Avenue was no more than a Manhattan backwater. Then Andrew Carnegie—the “Steel King,” a man who’d made a huge success of himself through vertical integration of railways and steel mills—had built his mansion in a corner of it. In that moment, the avenue’s destiny had leaped into motion with a roar.

At present, the street was known as Millionaires’ Row. Many other winners had been drawn to it, following Carnegie, and like magic, the rural landscape had transformed into a city where grand mansions jostled one another.

Most of the people who built mansions here had amassed great wealth in the space of a generation.

The road itself changed shape like the American dream at the hands of those who had managed to achieve that very dream, and as “a dream made real,” it became an object of adoration for those who fantasized about success.

Even those who said money wasn’t everything couldn’t deny the fact that there were people who’d managed to succeed with it.

In a corner of that dazzling avenue, where it felt as if you could hear voices like those—

—someone was crying.

A young man, whose expression seemed as far removed from the word winner as it was possible to be, was crying.

On and on. Wailing and sobbing.

“Uu, waAAaaaaAAaaaah…hic…hic…”

“Come on, Jacuzzi, don’t cry. You’re going to make me sad, too.”

“Ugh… Eep… I-I’m sor— Hic… I’m sor…ry… Eep… Niiiice…”

In the hallway of a residence that was fairly opulent even for the ranks of splendid mansions, the young man had buried his face in a marble pillar and was making tearstains on the red carpet.

There was a large tattoo in the shape of a sword on his face, and at first glance, he seemed like someone who wouldn’t be caught dead crying. However, a closer look at his face revealed that his features were still quite childish, and tears did seem to suit his timid-looking eyes.

The individual who was comforting that young man was a woman who also wasn’t a typical resident of this neighborhood.

She was probably about the same age as him. She had symmetrical features, technically, but a huge scar ran across her face, covering her right eye, which was hidden by a jet-black eye patch. Over the eye patch, she wore a smart pair of glasses that gave her an intellectual air. You could say she was an unbalanced girl in several ways.

The pair weren’t the only ones in the hall. People who were obviously urban delinquents had taken up positions all through the magnificent hues of the interior, surrounding the odd couple as if they were watching over them.

“Uu…hic… B-b-but, Niiice… Graham… Graaaaaham…”

“Don’t be sad, Jacuzzi. If you cry, Graham won’t be able to cross over in peace. You see?”

On hearing that conversation, the delinquents around them muttered to one another.

(“Hey, what’s up?”)

(“Huhn?”)

(“No, I mean, what? Did somebody die?”)

(“Dunno. Jacuzzi was crying when I got back.”)

(“Y’know, I think that crybaby streak of his is getting worse as he gets older.”)

(“He might actually dry up soon.”)

(“By the way, do tears come out of your brain?”)

(“Oh, crap. Brain juice. Freaky.”)

(“Mrrg… Dying sad… Jacuzzi cry… Die. Nnnngh… Who dead?”)

(“Hya-haah.”) (“Ki-hyaah.”)

(“Dammit, you people are useless. Hey, Jon, what’s that idiot Jacuzzi crying about today?”)

(“Oh, see… You remember Graham, right? Graham Specter.”)

(“Whozzat?”)

(“Huh? Didn’t you know him? …Well, he was sort of the boss of the thugs around here. Back when we first came to New York, we tussled with him over this and that, and he took care of us sometimes, too… After that, he turned into our supporter. He looked out for Jacuzzi and stuff; we owe him a lot.”)

(“Huh. I didn’t know there was a guy like that.”)

(“Yeah, look, you know that warehouse on the wharf that we use as a hangout? Graham’s letting us use that place, too… Well, nobody’s got the property owner’s permission, but anyway.”)

(“Oho… So, what—did that Graham fella die?”)

(“Hya-haah.”)

(“No. If he had, Nice would be giving Jacuzzi his space for a while.”)

(“Huh? He’s alive? I mean, just now, Nice said something about how he couldn’t cross over…”)

(“Yeah, ‘over’ ain’t heaven. She meant Chicago. Chicago.”)

(“Chicago?”)

The moment Jon said the name of that city, the eyes of the surrounding delinquents lit up, and the word began to appear in their conversations. They were originally from Chicago; after picking a fight with the local mafia, they’d fled here, to New York.

(“What? Chicago?”) (“Glamorous Chicago, huh?”) (“Uh, that’s our hometown, remember?”) (“Man, that takes me back.”) (“Think things are still too hot for us there?”) (“Think the Russo Family fellas are still alive?”) (“I wonder when we’ll get to go home.”) (“I say we just stay here. We get to live in this huge house and everything.”) (“Geh-heeeh.”) (“Hya-haah.”)

Ignoring the people around them, who were engaged in that sort of rambling conversation—

“Ngh… But, Niiiice…Graham and the rest said that since we came to town, their territory got smaller…and so they stole turf from a big gang, remember? And so…that’s why they got ch-chased like that… What should I do…?”

“Listen, they ran to Chicago, so there’s nothing to worry about now.”

“But… But Graham said something about going to go help out a mafia group he knew… Hic… And that he might die, so take care and all… Hic… I, I, I couldn’t stop him, but I can’t go back to Chicago to save him, either… Aaaah, aaaaaaah, but what should I do…?”

Jacuzzi’s sorrowful expression didn’t falter in the slightest. Every word that came out of his mouth was pessimistic, and he was driving himself into a corner.

Nice continued to comfort him patiently, and everyone thought this was probably going to turn out to be a long struggle, but—

Bonk!

—something struck Jacuzzi’s head lightly, and he turned to look back with round, tear-filled eyes.

A girl with blond hair stood there with her cheeks puffed out, gripping a thick book.

“Honestly, Jacuzzi, you mustn’t do that! If you cry that hard, you’ll wash that pretty design right off your face.”

“M-Miria.”

At Miria’s unexpected words, Jacuzzi involuntarily held his breath and put a hand to his face.

After checking to make sure there was no color in the tears he wiped away, he turned to Nice, who was standing beside him, and asked an uneasy question.

“I-it’s not gone, is it?”

“It’s fine, Jacuzzi. I’ve never heard of a tattoo washing off with tears.”

“O-oh, good…”

Jacuzzi seemed to be particularly attached to that tattoo, and on learning that it was safe, he sighed, relieved. When that faint relief showed in his expression, Miria smiled.

“There! It’s much easier to see the big picture when you’re not crying.”

At the sight of Miria’s carefree face, Jacuzzi stopped crying, as if her smile had been contagious.

Miria was, by appearance, a little older than Jacuzzi. Still, when you saw that innocent smile of hers, it was impossible to tell who was older, Miria or the delinquents around her.

Seeing her childlike expression, Jacuzzi wiped his tears away more thoroughly and smiled back at her.

“Y-you’re right! You’re hurting too, Miria, so I can’t just cry on my own…”

The next moment—

—all of the surrounding delinquents shot sharp looks at Jacuzzi.

The looks seemed to be loaded with some sort of accusation. If it had been converted to sound, it would probably have been the simple, angry yell “You moron!”

For just a moment, Jacuzzi stood there looking dumb—and then he figured out what those gazes meant, and he hastily glanced at Miria’s face.

“Uh, um, Miria…?”

Miria had bowed her head completely, and he couldn’t see her expression.

However, her cheerful mood from a moment ago had disappeared in an instant, and she murmured a name in a voice so faint it seemed as if it might fade away.

“Isaac…”

She’d said the name only to herself, and naturally, there was no response.

Possibly because that immutable fact had saddened her, a rush of air escaped from the depths of Miria’s throat.

“Waah…”

Agh, she’s going to cry.

Sensing the helpless dreariness in that voice, the delinquents gulped, watching the situation unfold.

It wasn’t hard to imagine her face crumpling and tears beginning to well up in her eyes.

However—swallowing the sob that was about to escape from her lungs at the very last second, Miria bit her lip and set her hand on a nearby door.

“…I won’t cry.”

“Miria…”

“No, I’m okay. I’m sorry for worrying you. My crying won’t help anything, will it?!”

By the time she turned around, Miria’s usual smile was back.

However, the fact that she was talking more than she normally did made it obvious that she was shaken.

“Isaac said he liked to see me smiling. I liked it when Isaac smiled, too… So I won’t cry, no matter what!”

Miria shut the door with a thunk, disappearing from view. Jacuzzi and the others watched her go, then glanced at one another, looking uncomfortable.

“She won’t cry…? Didn’t she cry for three days straight when she first came here last month?”

“Yeah, and Jacuzzi caught it from her. That was rough.”

“Please refrain from talking nonsense!”

A few of the hooligans were chatting and grinning foolishly, and Nice scolded them, looking stern.

“D-don’t get all mad, Nice. We were just kidding…”

Ignoring his crew, who hastily ducked back from her, Jacuzzi’s expression grew gloomy again.

“Aaaaaah, it’s all because I said something that made her remember…”

“Don’t you cry either, Jacuzzi! We’re not going through this again!”

“Eep! I-I’m sorry…hic…”

As he watched the conversation go around in circles, Jon, one of the delinquents, spoke to the Asian young man who was standing beside him.

“By the way, Fang, it was Chané who first got Miria to stop crying, wasn’t it?”

“Right. I was surprised, honestly. I mean, they’d barely even seen each other before then.”

“Yeah, well… By the way, where is Chané? I haven’t seen her for a while.”

“Oh, Chané’s… She went out today.”

Jon was about to ask Out where? but it hit him almost immediately, and he didn’t ask after all.

However, as if to confirm Jon’s thoughts, Fang spoke, smiling a little.

“On a date. With Mr. Felix.”

New YorkMadison Square Park

In a park right next to Fifth Avenue, a young woman sat on a bench, lost in thought.

It was an unexpected green space in the center of the city.

The Empire State Building and other skyscrapers peeked through the leafless winter trees. The sight felt a little strange, and it enveloped everyone there in a dreamlike state.

This park was far smaller than Central Park, but it was an irregularity, like an oasis in the desert, and it caught people’s attention. Once inside, they immediately found themselves in a peaceful haven.

Some of the snow that had fallen the other day still lingered. As she watched children playing baseball in the distance, the woman—Chané Laforet—quietly immersed herself in her own world.

She was remembering something that had happened a month ago.

A woman who was friends with Jacuzzi’s group had come to stay, and she had been crying constantly.

The woman’s name had been Miria, and Chané hadn’t known all that much about her. All she remembered was that her relationship with Jacuzzi’s group was mutual and ongoing; she’d come to visit them from time to time, then either cause all sorts of trouble or help the others resolve the trouble they’d caused. She’d saved Jacuzzi’s life, apparently, and Chané felt no particular aversion toward the carefree girl.

She was always with an oddly fatuous man, and so when she’d shown up all by herself at the house where the group lived, Chané had felt very strongly that something was wrong.

The man who was always with her wasn’t there now. Even though Chané hadn’t been in contact with them for long, she must have begun to see the two of them as a single, inseparable being before she’d even become aware of it.

Had they fought?

If so, it probably wasn’t anything she should involve herself in.

On that thought, Chané had decided to just leave her alone, but…

…a few days later, she’d overheard Nice, who had heard about the situation from someone else, telling Jacuzzi about it.

“They say Isaac was arrested by the police…and they haven’t heard anything since…”

That fact had startled Jacuzzi, and Chané had begun listening to the conversation in earnest.

After giving it a little thought, she made for the bedroom where Miria was resting.

“Oh. Chané…”

When Miria noticed her there and turned around, Chané saw her eyes were red and bloodshot, and her eyelids were puffy. She’d probably been crying until just a moment ago.

“Are you all right?”

Chané couldn’t speak, so as a rule, she conversed by writing.

She held the paper out to Miria, and with a weak smile Miria answered:

“Yes… I’m sorry. I just barged in on you all of a sudden… Somebody told me the apartment where we lived wasn’t safe so I should go somewhere else… I’m causing trouble for you, aren’t I?”

Miria apologized meekly, and Chané slowly shook her head.

Personally, Chané didn’t think the girl was unpleasant, and she was sure Jacuzzi and the others weren’t inclined to be nasty to her, either. Jacuzzi seemed to have heard Miria crying and had begun to cry himself, and Nice was having a hard time calming him down—but she’d decided that was Jacuzzi’s problem and had nothing to do with Miria.

When she saw that Miria was comparatively calm, Chané’s pen raced across the notebook she held.

“Someone important to me is in police custody, too.”

“Huh? Oh… Is it the person you like?”

“He’s my father.”

She’d never conversed with her through writing this way before, but Miria understood the mechanics far more easily than Jacuzzi and the others had, and she responded naturally, even as her expression was listless and wet with tears. In the end, even though Chané was out of the ordinary, Miria had accepted her readily, and that made Chané feel more than a little well-disposed toward her.

“…Then you haven’t seen him for years and years?”

“It’s been about four years since I last saw him.”

“I see… Weren’t you sad, Chané?”

At Miria’s words, Chané’s pen paused for a moment, and she pondered.

Saying that she hadn’t been sad would have been a lie.

However, when her father had disappeared, all that had welled up inside her was pure anger.

Endless rage at the people who’d stolen her father.

Spurred into action by that anger, and by the feeling that it was her mission to protect her father, she’d helped terrorists who’d been his henchmen occupy a train.

Yet, the real sadness and loneliness had come…after she’d met Jacuzzi and his friends.

Jacuzzi’s group had diluted her anger, and in exchange, the sadness it had hidden had welled up. However, at the same time, they’d banished her loneliness.

As a result, there had never been a time when she’d dampened her pillow with tears like the way Miria had—but what would it be like now? If she lost her father forever, or if Jacuzzi or the man who was her lover disappeared from right in front of her…

She didn’t even want to imagine it.

Chané hesitated, not sure how to answer Miria’s question. Finally, she wrote something that wasn’t an answer at all.

“Even if I’m sad, it won’t bring my loved one back, so…”

“Oh, I see… You’re awfully strong, Chané!”

Chané wasn’t able to simply agree with that assessment.

Was she really strong? She’d never thought about it, and actually, weren’t people like Miria—who was able to be true to her feelings and cry when she lost someone special—stronger?

She didn’t know how to respond. Miria’s eyes were still filled with tears, but she smiled gently and asked her a question.

“You’re waiting, too, aren’t you, Chané? Waiting for him to come back home.”

That was a statement Chané could agree with wholeheartedly.

“That makes us friends, then!”

The words had been spoken artlessly, and although Chané’s face was still blank, her cheeks flushed slightly.

When she noticed the change in herself, she decided she wanted to talk with Miria for a bit.

After giving a little thought to what she wanted to talk about, she wrote the words down in her notebook in neat letters.

“Would you tell me about your special person? What is he like?”

“Sure!”

After that, Chané spent the whole night talking with Miria…and she found herself smiling as naturally as could be.

The next day, Miria stopped crying and appeared in front of Jacuzzi’s group as her usual self.

Sometimes she’d remember Isaac and begin to tear up, but even so, compared to the way she’d been at first, she seemed to have calmed down significantly.

But even as she was relieved by the change in the other woman, Chané kept thinking.

True, there weren’t many things Miria could do now. Since Isaac had been arrested by the police, waiting obediently for his release was probably the best choice. From what she’d heard, the crimes he’d committed didn’t seem to be very serious, and he might be free again soon.

However—her father’s situation was different.

He’d been arrested on the charge of plotting acts of terrorism against the country, but that was probably not the truth. The papers had reported “official” information regarding Huey and his career, but it was all false.

As an immortal, her father couldn’t have falsified it himself, but it would have been possible for someone else to go against his will and forge his paperwork.

The goal of the people who’d captured her father probably had something to do with the immortals.

He might not be released for years and years.

Another immortal might even make him disappear.

However—the people who’d appeared during the Mist Wall incident the previous year…the ones who’d claimed to work for her father…

If she could believe what they said, he was still alive and in a situation that allowed him to issue orders to people outside. The knowledge had relieved her, but there was no guarantee that those circumstances would continue. In the first place, what was the objective of this “research” her father was conducting?

All alone, Chané looked up at the trees that spread overhead, the buildings that were visible between the branches and sparse foliage, and the wan blue sky that covered all of them, as she thought.

Now that she’d met Jacuzzi’s group and her world had expanded, what should she do?

Should I try talking it over with the others when I get the chance?

With Miria.

With Jacuzzi and company.

And with the person she’d be meeting here—the lover who’d been the first one to expand her world…

There were still thirty minutes left until the time they’d said they’d meet.

Chané sat on the bench in a corner of the park, gazing absently at the scenery.

However, the next moment—

—her vision was filled with countless flapping birds.

It was a wild flock that had been milling around at the entrance to the park.

Was he here already?

She didn’t think that was it. Even so, although her face was still blank, Chané’s heart swelled with anticipation, and she looked toward the entrance—

But the moment she saw the individual who stood there, tension raced through her from head to toe.

The man was wearing a long black coat, and he clearly didn’t belong.

He wore a jet-black eye mask; it had gunsights embroidered on it in white, and it covered his eyes entirely. He held a long staff in each hand, and he was walking in her direction, his steps slow.

He was probably blind, but his footsteps were steadier than she would have expected, and he was headed directly for the bench where she was sitting.

…?

She didn’t know any men who wore eye masks, but she recognized his face from somewhere.

The old wound in her right shoulder ached, and as alarm bells rang in Chané’s mind, she desperately retraced her memories.

Until she remembered the man’s identity completely, she didn’t dare take the initiative and slash at him.

However, obeying the danger signals her instincts were sending her, Chané carefully reached toward the small of her back, outwardly remaining calm.

The distance between them had closed to five yards. Even if the man pulled a gun, under these circumstances, she’d be able to deal with it.

Tensely, she watched the man—

—and then he stopped suddenly, warping his lips up unpleasantly. When he spoke, it was sneering:

“…You just went for a knife, didn’t you?”

 !

“Hee-hee… Hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hya-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!”

At the sound of that coarse laugh, Chané knew for sure who this man was.

Why…? I thought he was dead!

Stroking the thin beard on his chin, the man faced Chané, opened his mouth wide, and sent vulgar words at her: “Well, how about that! The fanatic bitch, in a park, surrounded by greenery and lost in thought. Is this some kinda joke?”

…Spike!

The Lemures had been an organization created by Huey Laforet.

Chané herself had once belonged to that organization, and there had also been a man who worked covertly as a sniper. That was Spike.

She didn’t know whether that was his real name or not, and his past career was a complete mystery. As far as Spike was concerned, his sniping skills were the one solid thing by which he proved himself, and as a matter of fact, the only thing the group had needed was the results generated by the bullets he’d fired.

They’d worked together during the occupation of the Flying Pussyfoot, but in the end, the Lemures had betrayed Chané, and Spike had shot her in the shoulder with one of his vicious bullets.

“Well now… Just what sort of expression is Huey Laforet’s young lady wearing as she glares at me, hmm? Maybe you’ve fallen for me, and you’re gazing at me, blushing bright red, with tears running down your cheeks! Well, I’d never go for a frigid-looking little brat like you. I like broads who react violently in bed.”

Holding her right shoulder tightly, Chané hesitated. With her past suddenly materializing before her, she wasn’t sure what to do. He might have been sent by her father. If he had been, she couldn’t just cut him down, even if he was exasperating.

“Whoa there. Take your hand off that knife already, wouldja? We’ve got a bit of a history, you and me, but I’m not here for a fight to the death today.”

He was still holding the staffs in each hand, and he spread his arms wide to show that he didn’t plan to resist, but his taunting words didn’t stop.

Chané couldn’t tell what he wanted. It was also possible that those staffs had guns built into them.

Keeping her guard up, she waited quietly for the other to make his move.

“Tch… You don’t trust me, huh? Well, that’s fine. I’m here today on an errand from my master. Find Huey’s daughter—that’d be you—ask her a couple of questions and get the answers, he told me.”

“……”

Chané narrowed her eyes.

This man just…

He called me “Huey’s daughter.”

And then he said, “an errand from my master.”

Judging by the way he spoke, she thought that “master” couldn’t be Huey.

—Meaning this man wasn’t currently carrying out Huey’s will.

In that case, it doesn’t matter.

As she calmed her breathing, Chané decided that, for now, she’d slash the tendons in his arms and legs.

Having made a cruel resolution in an instant, she slowly brought the tension throughout her body under control, watching for an opportunity.

Whether or not he’d noticed how she looked, Spike gave a mean-tempered smile and continued spitting out words.

“Well, I can tell you to answer, but you can’t talk and I can’t see. How’re we supposed to communicate in a situation like this?”

Chané was already through listening to him.

Spike drew a big breath, and the moment he began to say his next words—

“Well, there are probably ways to do it, braille and such, but the easiest thing would be…”

—Chané launched herself off the ground and charged at Spike with the momentum of a cannonball on a horizontal trajectory. On the first step, she drew a knife with her right hand; on the second, she grabbed a second knife with her left. On the third, she intended to carve Spike up with motions that hadn’t dulled at all since she’d come to stay with Jacuzzi’s group—

“…to call an interpreter, right? Hya-ha-ha-ha-ha!”

Chané flew through the air.

“ ?!”

It had been abrupt.

Without even feeling an impact, she realized she was spinning through the air, and she hastily righted herself, slamming the soles of both feet into the ground.

Her balance and breathing had been shaken badly, but she had managed to avoid falling by the skin of her teeth.

When she whirled around, Spike was standing behind her. He hadn’t moved a step from his original position, and it was as if nothing had happened.

However, one thing was different from before: A lone black figure stood beside him.

It was a man with blond hair who wore what looked like mourning clothes: a black coat, black shoes, and a pitch-black suit. He had a hunting cap pulled low over his eyes, and she couldn’t see any part of his face above his nose.

Unlike Spike, she’d never seen this man before, but it seemed likely that he’d done something to her and had flung her to where she was now.

Chané’s wariness jumped by several levels. Glancing at her, Spike whistled appreciatively and complimented the man.

“Yowza… Was that the sound of you throwing that unruly frail broad all the way behind me? That’s just like you, all right. It’s you all over, Mr. Felix.”

Felix…?

She knew that name.

In a way, she heard it practically every day.

It was the name of the lover Chané was waiting for. Felix Walken was the name Claire Stanfield used for himself with everyone except her.

However, this man didn’t look anything like Claire. He was a completely different person. If there was one thing about him that seemed similar, it was the aura of danger that seeped from his entire body.

The man in mourning clothes was silent for a while. Then he gave a weary sigh, turned to Spike, and corrected him.

“…How many times do I have to say it before you get it?”

“Hunh? Is this the ‘I sold the Felix Walken name to somebody else’ thing? Aw, who cares? There’s nothing else to call you, and you sold that name because you wanted to ditch your past, but here you are still doing this job, so there’s not much point to it, is there?”

Ignoring Spike, who was smiling as if he was having fun, the man soundlessly turned back to Chané. Then, in an indifferent tone, he said something that was very easy to understand.

“We want to ask you one thing, Chané Laforet. If you answer, we’ll let you go right away—”

“And we’ll let your precious little pals get away, too, see? Hya-ha-ha-ha-ha!”

 ?!

“I tell ya… When I heard about it, I couldn’t believe it. To think you fell right in with the tattooed brat who messed up our plan! Well, personally, I don’t have beef with that guy. Thanks to him, I met up with a good employer who pays a lot better than Huey!”

“You talk too much.”

The man in black shut Spike down, then asked Chané, who was shaken, the rest of his question.

“All right. We have one question for you, Chané Laforet.

“What exactly is your father, Huey, planning here in New York?”