Baccano! - Volume 8 - Chapter Pr4

PROLOGUE IV

THE USUAL

New YorkInside Alveare, the honey tavern

In an establishment whose air was thick with the scent of honey, a man and woman were talking loudly.

“And so I said, ‘O Romeo! Wherefore art thou, Romeo!’”

“Yes, my Romeo and his Hamlet!”

“And then the security fella said, ‘Uh, my name’s John,’ and I said, ‘Apologies, I mistook you for somebody else,’ and we just turned on our heels and walked away.”

“Yes, it was much ado about nothing!”

As the pair boasted proudly, the surrounding audience laughed and heckled them.

“C’mon, that was seriously all it took?!”

“Was that guard already gaga or something?”

Despite the teasing jeers, the indefinable something that shone between the couple didn’t so much as flicker.

“Heh-heh! He came after us the second we started to run, but we were faster!”

“Yes, a victory for youth!”

As the two related their story, their eyes full of confidence, the drunks kept up with the verbal jabs.

“Don’t that mean you just ran away…?”

“I see! You could put it that way, couldn’t you! All we did was run, and we got away… Isn’t that amazing?!”

“Yes, it’s a natural gift! Beginner’s luck!”

“…Nah, never mind. My bad. You guys are amazing in all kinds of ways.”

Smiling with mild chagrin, the customers ordered more drinks. The stories this pair told just left ordinary people confused, and they knew that the best way to enjoy them was to listen with a glass of booze.

It had already been close to a year since Prohibition had been repealed nationwide.

In 1929, when the Great Depression began on Wall Street, opposition to the Prohibition Act had cropped up all across the nation. The United States teemed with people claiming the government stole work from their country and demanding the return of liquor brewing and sales jobs.

In addition, the Prohibition Act had ended up creating a hotbed for mafia growth in the form of bootleg liquor, and at the time, the government was beginning to take another look at all sorts of laws, hoping to weaken the enemies of the state.

On top of that, a variety of other doctrines and arguments had accumulated and overlapped. As a result, in 1933, the Prohibition Act was repealed, and the speakeasies—taverns that had gone underground—confidently appeared in the public eye again.

That said, naturally, many of these taverns had prospered precisely because of bootleg liquor, and speakeasies disappeared one after another when the light struck them.

This place, Alveare, was a venerable old establishment that had survived the harsh struggle, and it had continued to expand its sales as a restaurant that offered unique, popular dishes made with honey, in addition to liquor. The restaurant had new tables, and it was even grander than it was during its speakeasy days. It had more employees now, and five waitresses—including Lia, who’d been there for years—bustled around among the tables.

In the midst of this was a singularity: a couple who were regular customers—who practically lived here.

Isaac Dian and Miria Harvent.

Everyone at the tavern knew their names, but aside from their names and current behavior, people knew surprisingly little about them.

Almost no one knew the details of their backgrounds, and even among the restaurant’s proprietress and the camorristas who hung out there, not many knew about their pasts. However, no one was suspicious of them or disappointed by this. Contrary to the intentions of the people in question, the daily tales of their heroic exploits were treated as hilarious anecdotes and were oft discussed at the restaurant.

“Well, that’s really something. Tell me more about the capers you youngsters have pulled off.”

The couple had given a general account of their story and had started drinking honeyed juice when an unfamiliar voice spoke to them.

The speaker was a whiskered man in late middle age, and he was smiling at them mildly.

“You know, every day, you two talk as if you’ve committed robberies all over the country… You wouldn’t be somebody famous, would you?”

The tavern customer teased them as if they were children, but Isaac and Miria responded without seeming the least bit annoyed.

“No, no! Our disguises were excellent! I’m sure nobody knows it was us!”

“Yes, they were perfect crimes! Edgar Allan Poe!”

Cryptic words, cryptic interjections. It would have been hard for anyone who wasn’t used to talking with them to even follow what they were saying, but the elderly man actively joined their conversation, still beaming.

“Ha-ha! Disguises, eh? That’s really something, son. Say, just between you and me…a few years back, there was something in the papers. ‘Bizarre Mummy Robbers!’ they said. That wasn’t you two, was it? You know…there was a man wrapped in bandages from head to toe, and a woman who wore a wedding dress over her bandages, and they robbed a bank. Got away with an absolute mountain of tissue packets.”

The man’s description had been detailed, and Isaac’s and Miria’s eyes widened.

“Huh? Did we get into the papers that time?!”

“Come to think of it, that strange person did take our picture!”

“Wow… They made us think they were just a photographer when they were actually a journalist—this is big, Miria. There’s a master of disguise who’s better than us out there!”

“Yes, a phantom thief! Arsène Lupin!”

Ignoring Isaac, who’d started being impressed over something dumb, the older man asked more questions about their heroic exploits.

“Then what about that other time? The ones who got into the Genoard house in Newark and stole a whole safe’s worth of money…?”

“Heh-heh-heh… We can’t tell you that!”

“Yes, we’re taking the Fifth! We could even call a lawyer!”

“Hmm… Setting aside the question of whether you stole it or not, then, what were you wearing at the time?”

The man was smiling as he spoke, and Isaac abruptly frowned.

Then, looking grave, he spoke to Miria, who was next to him.

“Say, Miria. What were we that time?”

“Indians! Native Americans!”

“Oh, right, that’s right! Indians, Indians!”

“Yes, the will of the great land!”

Seeing Isaac’s and Miria’s smiles as they continued their carefree conversation, the elderly man also smiled comfortably.

However, his smile was more of a smirk.

“Then what about when you scattered money around New York?”

“Oh, I remember that time real clearly! I was a priest then.”

“Yes, and I was a nun!”

“Ha-ha-ha… Is that right? I see…”

The elderly man went on listening to Isaac and Miria’s opaque conversation while asking about this and that. The story about stealing the doors off a museum. The one about pilfering a sack full of chocolate. The one about filching all the men’s underwear they could find and the one about hitting home runs with the heads of some mafiosi in Chicago—

The elderly man listened to all this with a genuine smile on his face.

It really was more of a smirk.

“Well, that’s amazing. You two really are something.”

The man applauded, and in response, Isaac and Miria flushed red.

“Ha-ha-ha! You’ll make me blush, mister. This is embarrassing; don’t let us do all the talking. You say something, too!”

“Yes, it’s only fair! It’s equivalent exchange! It’s depreciation!”

Isaac and Miria smiled as they spoke to him, and when the elderly man responded, his expression and tone were as mild as if he was talking to good friends he’d known for a decade.

“True. Well then, I’ll tell you about me, so c’mon down to my place.”

“Huh? You run some kind of a shop, too, mister?”

“Wooooow!”

“Yes, but it’s nothing impressive.”

The conversation had taken a rather odd turn.

With a dazed air that brought that characterization to mind, the customers who’d been sitting nearby—particularly the ones who stood out less than the Alveare’s regulars—watched the elderly man, keeping their gestures natural.

However, Isaac and Miria, the intended recipients of those words, didn’t seem bothered by them in the least.

Isaac patted at his jacket, then looked troubled and spoke to Miria, who was sitting beside him.

“Drat. I went and left my wallet in the storehouse when we were helping them clean this afternoon.”

“Eek! We’re penniless?!”

“I think it’s probably still there. Could you run out real quick and get it for me?”

“Okay! Hang on just a minute, Isaac!”

Miria jumped from her chair and ran off lightly, disappearing into the back of the restaurant. As he watched her go, the older man smiled a bit wryly.

“You could have just gone to get it yourself. That was pretty lazy.”

“Was it?”

Isaac’s response was unexpectedly short. He was gazing after Miria.

About ten seconds passed—and then Isaac said something odd to the elderly man.

“So, erm, well, let’s go to your place, mister.”

“Hmm…? What’s this? Don’t we need to wait for the young lady?”

The man looked dubious. Isaac grinned and thumped him on the shoulder.

“Well, mister, you’re a cop, right?”

“!”

“!” “!” “?!” “?!” “!” “?!” “?!” “!” “!”

“!” “!” “!” “?!” “?!” “!” “!” “?!”

“?!” “!” “!” “!” “!” “!” “?!” “!” “!” “!”

The moment Isaac said that, startled looks and gasps went up all over the restaurant, sending a grim ripple through the air. The elderly man was reacting to the fact that his cover had been blown. The people in the restaurant—particularly the camorristas—were genuinely startled: We had him pegged already, but, man, who’d have thought Isaac would figure it out?!

“…You knew?”

“Well, I’m used to being questioned by policemen, see. Usually I just throw pepper bombs at them and skip out, but I would’ve felt bad about, you know, causing trouble for this place…”

“I see… Apparently, you haven’t gotten away this long on luck alone. But what did you send the young lady to get? Those pepper bomb things? Or it wouldn’t be some kind of pistol, would it?”

The elderly man sounded suspicious. Isaac looked around uneasily, seeming to be at a loss—but as if to throw him a rope, an extraordinarily fat man and an extraordinarily thin one walked over from the back of the restaurant, calling to him.

“Hey, Isaac. Did you fight with Miria or something?”

“She just went tearing hell-for-leather out the back door.”

“!”

The young man who responded to those words was sitting a little ways off from the elderly man and had looked as if he’d come to the restaurant by himself. He was probably another cop. Hastily, he tried to dash outside, but the older man stopped him. “Don’t bother,” he said sourly.

Still looking irritated, the elderly man handcuffed Isaac.

He’d probably assumed that Isaac was just an idiot, too. He’d had a fast one pulled on him by somebody he’d completely underestimated, thinking he’d be an easy mark. The camorristas, the people on the gangsters’ side of the law, guessed what was going through his head, thought Serves you right, and smiled.

Smirking, of course.

“I see… You let the young lady escape on her own. That’s real admirable. But—”

Possibly because he’d picked up on the mood now pervading the establishment, the elderly man briskly put the scene of the arrest behind him.

As he went, he spat a warped parting shot at the man he was hauling away with his right hand.

“…We’ll make you want to cough up her hiding place soon enough.”

A few minutes after Isaac had been marched away by the two men and left the restaurant…

…Miria returned through the back door, looking perplexed.

“Say, Isaac? I can’t find your wallet anywhere. I wonder if somebody stole it… Hmm? Isaac?”

Miria looked around the room. Her expression was calm, and upon seeing her, everyone from the camorristas who’d put on an act to the waitresses and customers who’d seen the whole thing looked uncomfortable and said nothing.

“H-hello? …What happened? Where’s Isaac? The bathroom?”

Miria must have felt the energy of the place and realized that something big had happened. Uneasy, she gazed around the room—and her expression gradually clouded.

“Isaac…? Um… Where is he? Where…?”

On that day—Isaac Dian was taken in.

He’d been arrested by a plainclothes policeman who’d been hearing rumors about the couple, who’d been telling tales of their larcenous exploits, for a while. He had been near retirement and wasn’t given much work and, as a result, had had too much time on his hands—but, strangely, the incident wasn’t reported in the papers, and nothing about trial arrangements ever leaked out. Time simply flowed on.

This happened about a month before Firo Prochainezo was brought in for questioning concerning property damage.

And thus, quietly, everything began.