The Rolling Bootlegs (21 page)

“…Look, don’t call a jerk like him master, all right? What are you to him?”

Darker shadows crossed Ennis’s face.

“…I’m… You might say I am Szilard himself.”

“And anyway… Why do you want to know how to make the elixir of immortality? You’ll only increase the number of people who can kill you.”

Maiza asked a perfectly natural question. As he did so, he kept a regular distance between himself and Szilard.

“…Paracelsus’s homunculus could not survive outside its flask.”

“……?”

Maiza had heard Paracelsus’s name before. Homunculi were beings made by human hands. Paracelsus, the world-famous alchemist, was said to have created one. It had been a little person, small enough to fit inside a flask, and had been unable to leave that prison.

That said, after the death of Paracelsus, the homunculus had vanished as well, or so the story went.

“A perfect homunculus, born of knowledge, is in possession of
all
knowledge from the time of its birth. Originally, we attempted to create artificial life in the hopes of gaining that perfect knowledge. …This isn’t your field, but you do know that much, correct?”

In contrast to Maiza, Szilard remained obviously relaxed as he spoke.

“It was outside my field as well, to begin with, but… Some of the knowledge I ‘ate’ had made significant headway in that research, and so I put it to use.”

Maiza hadn’t known that one of the alchemists on the ship had progressed that far in his studies.

In any case, more than that, Maiza couldn’t forgive the fact that that knowledge—or rather, the life of the comrade who had had that knowledge—had been consumed by a man like Szilard.

Disregarding the hatred in Maiza’s eyes, Szilard cheerfully continued his explanation:

“A homunculus: a tiny, artificial life, born inside a flask. Not only that, but if not provided with a steady supply of human blood, it dies. It sounds like a very fragile creature, does it not? And so, as I am quite merciful, I had an idea: I would give these fragile beings the power of immortality.”

Abruptly, a leg fell off a mutilated chair. At the clatter, Szilard’s gaze shifted slightly.

Taking advantage of the opening, Maiza closed the distance in one sprint, thrusting his right hand out.

“Simple-minded fool.”

As if he’d anticipated the move, Szilard quickly twisted around. He was still holding the machine gun. Maiza’s right arm was caught up in that rotation…and a sound not often heard in everyday life echoed through the room.

Snnnap.

“Among the knowledge Szilard acquired was information related to homunculi… To artificial life. In simple terms, it’s, um…the creation of a person without intercourse between a man and woman. Two types of cells were used as catalysts in my creation: Szilard’s own immortal cells…and cells from a woman. Apparently he kidnapped one about my own age. It seems to have been quite different from the original production method the man called Paracelsus used…”

At that point, Ennis paused for breath. She turned to Firo and went on:

“Technically, those cells should have returned to Szilard immediately, but… Possibly because he used the failed product as culture liquid when he created me, I grew to the same age as my ‘mother’ inside the cultivation tank. Then, as my physical nature was the same as Szilard’s, I stopped growing.”

“…Uh… In other words?”

“As an independently mobile colony, I am able to receive knowledge from Szilard. Conversely, Szilard can separate the composite elements of the woman’s cells inside my own cells from the composite elements of his immortal cells—”

“Wait, wait, wait. I’m not a smart guy… Use short words, all right?” Firo begged, putting his hands to his head.

“If Szilard is the company’s main store, I am a branch store. Think of each colony’s intellect as the managers of those respective stores. The main store can fire my intellect, the manager of the branch store, at any time.”

“…Meaning…what?”

“…Meaning, if Szilard wills it, I’ll die very easily.”

At that, for the first time, anger flashed across Firo’s face.

“What’s up with that? That’s the most selfish thing I ever heard!”

“I think I’m something like a daughter as far as Szilard is concerned.”

“What kind of parent can kill his daughter anytime and uses that as a threat to work her like a slave?! Don’t worry, you’re way too pretty to be the daughter of a crafty old guy like him. You don’t look a thing like him. I’ll vouch for that… Well, anyway, don’t worry.”

“Huh? …But…”

“It’s fine, just don’t worry! Besides, Maiza and the other guys are probably beating that geezer like a rug right about now…”

At that point, their conversation trailed off.

“Wow. Dating in broad daylight… Punks sure do things differently these days.”

When Firo and Ennis turned, they saw a familiar face.

“Oh… You’re from yesterday…”

“Dallas… Why are you here?”

Like Firo, Ennis also seemed surprised.

“Well, well… You’re here, too, huh, doll? …That’s great. Real convenient.”

When they looked, the two behind Dallas were holding tommy guns at the ready.

“…What the hell?”

“That should be pretty obvious. They’re machine guns. Ha! Ha-ha…”

The two gunmen beside Dallas smiled wryly.

“Well, uh, just so’s you know, doll: We’re cutting ties with that guy Szilard. And as our last big event in this town, we came to rub out that punk. …Only, you did a real number on us, too, remember? So we’ll plug you while we’re at it.”

Dallas’s group had heard that Ennis was immortal as well, but they’d decided that as long as they made their getaway before she regenerated, it wouldn’t be a problem.

“Got any last words, punk?”

“I’m curious as to how you gentlemen got those guns…Dallas.”

It wasn’t Firo who’d spoken.

When Dallas turned, cautiously, toward the voice behind him, he found a gun pressed to his head. Keith and Berga had their pieces trained on the other two cronies.

“Uh… Hey, c’mon… Luck… Gimme a break, mister.”

“Just answer the question, if you would.”

Luck’s gun dug into Dallas’s forehead, right between his eyes.

What were they doing here? Without the slightest suspicion that it might be because they’d killed four people, Dallas desperately tried to think of a way to break out of the situation. If he got blown away here, Ennis might fetch Szilard while he was regenerating. That meant his advantage of immortality might as well not exist.

“The guns were… That Firo punk over there was hiding them. We found them.”

On the spur of the moment, Dallas decided to lie. He went on, talking fast, so that Ennis wouldn’t have time to deny it.

“To tell you the truth, we were watching that kid last night, planning to hit him with a surprise attack…and the punk headed over to your place with a machine gun! After that, we heard all this gunfire from your hideout…”

Dallas was trying to pin last night’s massacre on Firo. They’d catch on to the lie right away, of course, but all he had to do was distract his opponent for an instant. If he could get that muzzle to shift down slightly… If he got shot in the head, things would get nasty, but he could probably take a shot to the body without passing out. If he grabbed that chance to slash the other guy’s throat with his knife…

“…How do you know about the incident last night? It hasn’t been in the papers yet…”

“Huh? L-like I said, we followed Firo over there to…”

“…Are you under the impression that we’re on bad terms with the Martillos?”

“Huh?”

“Last night…the three of us were
with
Firo.”

“Wha…?”

“We grew up in the same tenement. Our precious sworn brother was being promoted, so we attended the celebration. …That’s right, until quite late… While Mike and the others were getting killed!”

A shot rang out, and part of Dallas’s head was blown away. Immediately afterward, Keith and Berga also fired. The remaining two crumpled to the ground, heads blown off, Thompsons still in their hands.

“We’re not letting you shoulder that on your own.”

“…………”

As his two older brothers grinned at him, the youngest spoke, sounding troubled:

“I’m sorry, Berga, Keith… I was the least calm of any of us…”

“…Don’t worry about it.”

Keith used his vocal chords for the first time in about a day.

Firo, who’d been watching, spoke to the three of them:

“Thanks. You saved us.”

“No… We heard machine gun fire, and when we came around back, we found this. Firo… We have no idea what’s going on here. Could you explain what happened?”

“I absolutely will, but later. Right now, I’ve got to go find my boss, and…this…”

When he’d gotten that far, Firo realized he didn’t know her name yet.

Meanwhile, Ennis wasn’t sure what to do. Who were these three? Should she tell them about the regenerating bodies? In the first place, Firo was an enemy, too, and yet…

…Ennis was already unable to think of him as an enemy.

“Hey, Keith. How’re we gonna hide these bodies? …Hold it… Say, Luck, these guys have machine guns. Couldn’t we call it straight-up self-defense?”

“Wait, please! …First tie up those three men on the ground…”

Without thinking, her mouth went on ahead of her.

Firo and the others looked at her curiously.

“They’re also… They’re imperfect, but they are immortals.”

“…What?”

“? Hey, what’s the dame saying? These guys are perfectly
dead
…”

As he spoke, Berga looked over at the corpses. Then his face tensed.

“…What the…?”

The head he’d blown away had been neatly repaired.

…And its eyes were wide open.

“Wha…?”

The next instant, a huge shudder ran through Berga’s body. A storm of bullets blasted up from below, punching through him.

“Uooooh…ou…”

Gushing blood from his bullet-riddled torso, he crashed to the ground.

“Berga…?”

“…Berga!”

No one—not the other two brothers, not Firo, not even Ennis—understood what had happened.

“Why…? How can they have regenerated so quickly…?”

Ennis didn’t know it, but they’d already had their heads destroyed once, and their bodies had gotten proportionately used to regenerating. In addition, it was also possible that since their bodies were younger than the old men Ennis was used to seeing, the basic speed of regeneration was faster for them.

Maybe because they hadn’t had time to shut down the fuses in their brains (even though their heads had been cleanly blown off), Dallas and the others were conscious as soon as they regenerated.

Without the luxury of smiling, Dallas’s group turned the weapons they held on the remaining four.

A deafening roar echoed through the alley.

“You’re weak… Is that all you’ve managed in two hundred years?”

Maiza lay on the floor. His broken arm was quietly regenerating.

“You seem to have trained on your own. I used a more rational method. I gave powerful men the failed product… Ah, which is something I made based on the half of the production method you told your brother. In any case, if you give it to someone, they’ll still age, but they won’t die. And here’s the important part…”

He took one step, then another, drawing nearer to Maiza, who hadn’t yet finished regenerating.

“…They can be ‘eaten.’ Only by those of us who drank the finished product; it doesn’t work the other way around… In other words, I give that to someone powerful, and then I ‘eat’ him. Could any training method be faster or more reliable? Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!”

Szilard opened the crate that sat on the table, checking to make sure the amount of liquor inside hadn’t gone down.

“So you really hadn’t given it to anyone…”

“…? What are you talking about?”

“…Oho, didn’t you know? This…is the elixir of immortality, the same one we once drank. I finally managed to complete it on my own.”

The blender he’d hired had been the one who’d actually completed it, but Szilard declared he’d done it himself anyway.

“…That’s impossible!”

“I don’t know how you got this case, but I suppose I’ll find out when I ‘eat’ you. Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha…”

Laughing mechanically, Szilard looked down at Maiza, lying at his feet.

“Still… They were quite a pack of fools here, weren’t they.”

He looked around at the corpses of the executives that littered the area.

“Or did you ask the demon and manipulate their souls?”

“…You’ll…probably never understand it…”

“No, I will. In a moment, after I ‘eat’ you, I’ll understand it as a matter of course.”

Szilard bent down, slowly stretching his right hand toward Maiza’s head.

Just then, he heard a deafening roar from outside.

“What’s that…?”

He didn’t recall giving Ennis a machine gun. He’d heard three gunshots a moment ago, but he’d assumed the boy or his companions had fired them. Had reinforcements arrived, bearing machine guns?

For one brief moment, Szilard was distracted by what was happening outside.

Taking hold of the chance, Maiza grabbed both of Szilard’s ankles and simultaneously jumped to his feet. It had been sudden, and Szilard’s body made a half turn, crashing to the floor.

Maiza found himself face-to-face with his enemy’s moment of vulnerability, but he calculated he wouldn’t be able to grab Szilard’s head. Instead, using a nearby table as a step stool, he broke a window that was rather high up and leaped through it. At night, when they brought the liquor out, it was closed with a shutter, but during the day, the glass was the only barrier.

A transparent shattering sound. Maiza escaped from the speakeasy in the midst of a blizzard of glass fragments.

“You won’t get away!”

Szilard followed him, leaping out through the window.

…And was hit by a car.

“Ha-ha-ha! That was a cinch… Let’s beat it before the dame regenerates.”

Thinking that the main street would probably be in an uproar over the gunfire, Dallas’s group decided to slip out through the back of the alley.