The Rolling Bootlegs (24 page)

Grab more money, faster, more tightly… It was a battle royal in an arena governed by simple rules. Confronted with surging waves of happy hysteria, the horses were unable to overcome the murderous intent of the combatants. …Even if they had been able to overcome it, it was doubtful whether they would have been physically able to disperse that crowd.

Watching the dismayed policemen out of the corners of their eyes, Isaac and Miria kept running toward the station. Among those who robbed banks, the fact that you scattered money as you made your getaway was basic knowledge. It was effective precisely because everyone knew it… Or at least that was what Isaac believed, and in fact it had worked.

If there was any problem at all, it was that they’d scattered most of their total earnings (99 percent of which had been the Genoard legacy) by the time they reached the station.

That said, these two weren’t the type to care about something that important.

“Now, then… Where shall we run, Miria?”

“Anywhere!”

“Well, let’s see… Want to head back to LA and try digging up some gold?”

“A gold rush! But that isn’t robbery… Are we turning over a new leaf?”

“Uh… Well, no, it’s the other thing: We’ll be filching a fortune from the earth!”

“That’s
amazing
!”

Even as they kept up their usual sort of conversation, one thing bothered the pair:

“…We didn’t get to say good-bye to Ennis and everybody, did we?”

“…No, we didn’t.”

At the entrance to the station, the two thieves looked back once.

As they gazed at the kaleidoscopically shifting city, Isaac murmured quietly:

“This was an interesting town, wasn’t it.”

“Yes, really interesting!”

“Let’s come back again, to see Ennis and the rest.”

“Absolutely!”

Taking the last bundle of bills out of the bag, Isaac stepped into the station to buy two tickets to California.

“This is all we’ve got left.”

“Uh-huh… But we gave it away to everybody, so we did something good! I know we did!”

“I see… Yes, you’re right. I bet the late Mr. Genoard is happy, too, don’t you think?”

“And all the dead children!”

“Then let’s split the difference and wish for happiness for Mr. Genoard’s children.”

“Yes, let’s! They won’t fight over the inheritance now, and I bet they’re all living happily together as we speak!”

The two held fast to their self-serving proclamations right up to the very end. With that, the couple who had been the guests of honor at this
baccano
, this crazy ruckus, disappeared from New York.

Just before they boarded the train, the pair spotted a sign with W
ELCOME TO
NYC! written on it.

To commemorate their departure from the city, on his way out, Isaac left a certain mark on that sign.

It was graffiti of a big bite mark, drawn on top of the picture of the apple that stood for New York.

When Dallas Genoard woke up, he was in a dark warehouse.

“Are you awake?”

Right in front of him were three men he was positive he’d shot to death earlier.

For his part, he’d been put into an oil drum, and his hands and feet were bound. His head was the only thing outside the drum, and he looked around, nervously. When he did, he discovered that his two buddies were in the same state.

“Ah, this place is a bit like a summer home for us. The police are prowling around our house and the hideout, you see…”

“Wh… Why… Why are you alive?!”

Luck answered Dallas’s scream, speaking for his brothers.

“That’s a very good question. Firo just called and told us a few things… But we’re under no obligation to tell you any of it. Worry about it until your lives run out.”

They’d been at that party as well. Meaning, since they’d drunk
that
toast, they’d also joined the ranks of the immortal. Of course, Dallas and the others had no way of knowing this.

Before Dallas could speak, Keith came up and put something into the drum.

It was a deck of cards.

“………?”

“You’re a real nice guy, Keith…,” Luck offered. “He says you’ll probably be bored on the ocean floor until you die of old age… So.”

When the meaning of those words sank in, Dallas’s group was assailed by desperate terror.

The fifty-two jokers that had been dropped into the oil drum sneered coldly at Dallas’s fate.

“You’ll be able to drown perpetually for another seventy years or so. That’s phenomenal. …It’s probably a world record, you know. Unfortunately, no one’s going to document it…”

“See, I wanted to just finish you off here and now, but you won’t die even if we slug you or drill you, so there’s no help for it… Hey, how about a radio to help kill time?”

Berga spoke, sounding entertained.

“Ha-ha-ha, the battery will die.”

“Oh, yeah. …What about a chess set, then?”

“The board will float up through the water. A Conan Doyle novel, perhaps?”

“The paper’ll get all wet.”

“Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha.”

“Gah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!”

“………Heh.”

After laughing a bit, all three looked into Dallas’s eyes.

Their gazes were terribly cold. Cold enough to bring Dallas to tears.

“Go on… Choose. Which do you want?”

The members’ meeting place. When night fell and the old men assembled, Szilard was nowhere to be seen. Instead, five or six policemen were waiting for them. Edward, Bill, and Donald were among them.

“Wha… What are you?!”

“Erm… We’re the police.”

Bill gave a terse explanation to the old men, who were howling blue murder.

“Uh… You’re under suspicion for illegally distilling liquor, so we came to investigate.”

“Wha—? On what grounds?!”

“Well… There was a fire yesterday, you see, and this turned up in the ruins.”

He took out a soot-smeared bottle. It was, beyond a doubt, one of the bottles Barnes had been in charge of.

“Hmm… It’s nothing to do with you? …Well, then.”

He moved as if to dash the bottle to the floor. The old men screamed in unison.

“Haaa… You’re terribly easy to read. That’s nice.”

“Quit playing around, Bill.”

Donald picked up the conversation:

“The Bureau has been aware of your organization for quite a while now. We knew about Szilard, too, and about the liquor you were trying to make.”

A stir ran through the old men.

“Wh…why would the Bureau know about Master Szilard…?”

“Uh… Well, you see, one of our higher-ups is extraordinarily long-lived as well… To be honest, we came to New York on orders from above…to dispose of this liquor.

“‘Never close a case.’ That’s our motto at the Bureau. According to our boss, that goes for unscientific incidents from two hundred years ago as well.”

“H-hey! Edward!”

Someone called his name. It was the man at the top of his list of irritating bosses: Police Superintendent Veld. That meant even high-ranking police officials had been among Szilard’s followers… But at the same time, it also meant Szilard hadn’t managed to grab any more power than that.

“Edward! Do something! Stop them! If we have that liquor, the world can be ours! We’ll be evolved humans! You want that privilege, too, don’t you? So… Hey, Edward! Say something!”

Edward was so exasperated that it actually calmed him down.

He even began to smile. Really, there was nothing to do but laugh.

“Superintendent… If you’d at least said, ‘We can rid the world of disease and accidental death,’ I might have thought about it, but… Frankly, you’ve disappointed me.”

“E-Edward!”

“Superintendent… If it’s a choice between personal eternity and eternity for our country, I choose the country.”

Edward took the bottle from Bill.

“And since I am a police officer, I can’t overlook something made in violation of the law.”

With no hesitation, he hurled the bottle into the corner of the room.

As the old men shrieked, the bottle smashed to bits.

Some of the old men tried to lap up the liquor spreading across the floor, but as if he’d seen this coming, Donald struck a match and tossed it to the ground.

The alcohol blazed up, illuminating the despairing faces of the old men with a beautiful, fleeting light.

The detectives splashed water onto it from a bucket one of the police officers had been holding, and both the fire and dreams of immortality disappeared in the blink of an eye. They’d intended to break the bottle in front of the men all along.

“Erm… Well, then… Do your best at your jobs until you die of old age, gentlemen. Depending on how you work, your honor may live eternally as the foundation of this country. And… Oh, and by the way, Mr. Szilard won’t be coming back.”

Saying their good-byes to the old men, who were busy fainting or bawling, Edward and the others left the basement.

As they swayed in the car Donald was driving, Edward muttered resentfully:

“…You tricked me.”

At first, he’d been unable to swallow their story of the liquor of immortality. However, when he saw the rat that had been discovered at the scene of the fire—the rat that had survived even as it burned—he’d had no choice but to believe.

“Erm… Sorry.”

“But why did you tell me everything?”

Donald answered that question briefly.

“Our boss… He isn’t at the top of the Bureau of Investigation, but he’s fairly high up. He heard you were stubborn but had a strong sense of justice, and that you wouldn’t bend to bribes or violence, and apparently he took a shine to you.”

“…How did he know about me?”

“You applied to the Bureau. We vet our applicants much more thoroughly than you’d imagine.”

“…………”

“Erm… We’ll look forward to working with you in the future.”

Bill and Donald gave sly grins.

Edward shook his head and smiled wryly, responding to the two who were slated to become his senior colleagues.

“…When that happens, no more secrets.”

Afterward, Edward became one of the leading agents at the Bureau of Investigation, which would later be known as the FBI. At this point in time, he didn’t yet know that Firo and the others had become immortal, but once he found out the whole story, he fell into the habit of declaring, “There are some fellas I have to put away for life and turn
into permanent jailbirds.” …They say that he’d laugh and repeat those words whenever he remembered Firo and Maiza.

“…Oh…”

After Edward and the others had gone, Maiza slumped to his knees.

“Wh-what’s wrong, Maiza?!”

“I’ve… What have I done…?”

Now that he’d heard everything from Firo, Maiza was on the verge of being swallowed up by guilt. Because of him, his companions, Firo included, had been pulled into the eternal cycle.

“Huh? Wait… Maiza, what are you saying?!”

“The pain of living for eternity… And to you, all of you, of all people…”

“What are you talking about?! We don’t care! And actually, it feels more like, ‘We don’t have to die, yahoo!’ Right, guys?” As Firo hastily contradicted Maiza’s thoughts, he turned to Randy and the others, who were beside him, for support.

“Huh? I-I don’t really get it, but ‘yahoo.’”