1931 The Grand Punk Railroad: Local (3 page)

“He seems to have fainted. How unfortunate for you.”

The woman with the eye patch spoke coolly.

He was completely out of ideas. All that was left was to try to force his way through. On that thought, using his left hand, the mafioso reached for the gun he’d just thrown down—but failed to pick it up. The giant’s foot, clad in a thick leather boot, stomped down on his hand, gun and all.

“Dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit! Little punks like you— Dammit, dammit, dammit, as if we’d let you punks make fools out of us, damn yooooooooou!”

Completely cornered, he dragged his left hand and the gun out from under the boot by force. He felt the pain of skin peeling off, and of divots of flesh being dug out here and there.

Even so, he paid it no attention. He turned the gun on the weakest-looking part of the human fence: the woman with the eye patch. Entrusting all his remaining chances to the index finger of his left hand, he loaded all his hopes into the bullet.

However, in the end, the bullet was never fired, and his chips ran out right there.

He saw the woman throw something. Something small and round that hissed and smoked.

Then, with an abrupt noise, the thing burst.

“
A bomb?!”

By the time he caught on, it was too late. In terms of force, it wasn’t much more than a firecracker with chest hair, but at the roar, he involuntarily covered his eyes.

Through the space between his arms, which dripped with blood, the last thing he saw…was countless silver flashes flying from the men who stood on either side of the woman. The knives reflected the moonlight, and their trajectories were all converging on him. Ahh, how lovely and terrifying and hideous.

It was the most—and the last—emotionally moving thing in his life.

Gazing at the man, whose body had sprouted countless knives, the woman heaved a deep sigh and muttered:

“You should have just begged us for your life directly.”

Then, as if she’d lost interest, she turned to look at Jacuzzi, who had been woken up by the giant.

“Wah,
hic
, they’re dead, they’re all
dead
, and the blood’s red, and their faces are white, and it’s creepy…”

Ignoring his whimpers about the mafiosi’s corpses, the woman directed words of appreciation at her boss. In a complete change from what she’d used with her enemies, her tone was casual and friendly.

“Great work, Jacuzzi. It happened just like you said it would: They walked right into our trap.”

“Wah, but, but, but, you didn’t have to kill them all!”

“There was no help for it. From where we were, it looked like they were going to kill you any second. Besides, all the survivors said these were the exact same men who killed Kenny and the others. That, and I couldn’t forgive them for hitting you.”

“Isn’t that just a personal grudge…? I’m a little happy, though. Thanks, Nice.”

Jacuzzi smiled quietly at the woman he’d called Nice, creating a mood that seemed to ignore the corpses. However, as if he’d remembered, he turned back to the bodies, and tears spilled from his eyes yet again.

“What’s the matter? What are you afraid of now?” Nice asked. She sounded worried.

Jacuzzi circled around behind her; he was shaking like a leaf.

“No, it’s just, well, I felt sort of like, you know, like the corpses might get up and come to kill me. I-I mean, a little while ago, I read about it in a book. It said corpses get up and drink the blood of the living and kill them…”

“You’ve got to learn to tell reality from fiction, Jacuzzi. That could never happen.”

Just then, suddenly, a roar went up behind them.

“Rrraaaaarrgh… Corpses, get up, drink blood, trouble, scary.”

“Oh, you think so, too, Donny? I’m glad it’s not just me…”

“Luh, leave it to me.”

The big guy he’d called Donny thumped his chest. His brown skin and halting English marked him as an immigrant who’d just come up from Mexico.

“I-I’ll, kill ’em, real good.”

No sooner had he spoken than the big man’s foot stomped down on the pile of bodies. Dull sounds and sharp sounds formed a weird ensemble that echoed across the area. At the impact, the corpses bounded up almost as if they’d been alive, and the knives that had been stuck in them all fell out at once. In time with the impact of the next few stomps, blood geysered out from the holes left by the knives.

“Waaaaaaaaugh! D-Donny, stop it! You’ve got to treat dead people politely!”

Jacuzzi hastily checked his subordinate. As if trading places with him, Nice walked up to the pile of corpses. Then she took several long, thin cylinders from inside her shirt and began to dress the strings that sprouted from their tips.

“Um, Nice? What are you doing?”

He had a truly awful premonition. The unease was clearly audible in Jacuzzi’s question. In response, Nice—smiling—took out a Zippo lighter.

“No, don’t tell me, you wouldn’t really, would you? Nice. …Nice? Niiiiiiice!”

Before he could stop her, Nice had set fire to the fuses. They began to spark vigorously.

Gazing raptly at those fireworks, as though they were a lover she hadn’t seen in a hundred years, Nice quietly laid the metal shells attached to the other end of those fuses atop the mountain of corpses.

Then, with a smile so pleasant it was startling, she turned to address her companions.

“Now, then. If you don’t run fast, you’ll be in danger!”

A roar echoed through the alley. Red flares repelled the moonlight, and then the alley was enveloped in a violent flash.

Even after that had died down, smaller lights burned here and there throughout the corridor. Fragments of something that had been sent flying by the exploding dynamite had turned into kindling, and they cast a dim glow over Jacuzzi and the others, who’d taken cover at a distance.

As she got up slowly, Nice comforted the shaking boy.

“There, there, don’t cry. You see? The corpses are all in pieces now, so you don’t have to worry. They won’t be able to come back, so don’t cry. I did it for you, Jacuzzi.”

As he calmed his rough breathing, the boy glared at Nice with tear-filled eyes.

“Th-th-that’s a lie. Y-y-you just wanted to use explosives, didn’t you, Nice? You just wanted to see an explosion, right?”

“Actually, yes.”

She answered without compunction, giving her very best smile with the only eye she had.

“Nuh, N-N-N-Niiiice, I’m going to hit you later!”

“You couldn’t. You never could. You couldn’t do anything that barbaric, could you, Jacuzzi?”

“Wah…”

“There, you see?!”

Watching the triumphant Nice out of the corner of his eye, Jacuzzi spoke to the one man who hadn’t taken cover during the explosion.

“Then, Donny, you hit her instead.”

“Mm, got it. I hit Nice, Jacuzzi happy, then I happy, too.”

The brown-skinned giant swung his arms around happily.

“I’m-sorry-I-won’t-do-it-again-I’ll-never-go-against-you-again-so-forgive-meee!”

Holding her head with both hands, the one-eyed woman ran around among the flames.

As they watched this exchange—which happened once every three days or so—their other companions laughed: “Hee-hya-ha-hee-hee!”

“O-o-okay, guys, let’s hurry and, um, get away from here. I mean, we’ve g-g-g-got to run!” Jacuzzi panicked, his steps unsteady.

Mystified, his friends inquired: “Huh? Why?”

Giving up on fleeing, Jacuzzi ran in place and raised his voice:

“L-l-listen, do you know why I told you not to use g-g-guns today?”

His friends said whatever they wanted: “Wasn’t it ’cos you’re scared of gunfire, too?” “Because it was a waste of bullets, right?” “Hya-haah!”

Weeping and raging at the same time, Jacuzzi stamped his feet even more furiously.

“Because if we made too much noise, the police or the other Russo Family members would catch on! A-a-a-and you went and detonated a bomb… Hurry,
hurry
, we gotta get out of here! Everybody hurry!”

No sooner had he spoken than he took off into the depths of the alley, running for dear life.

“Oooooooooohh
”

A general cry of admiration went up.

“Huh! Was
that
why!”

“Jacuzzi’s awesome! What a smart guy!”

“That’s our boss for ya!”

Praising Jacuzzi, they all took off after what was probably the worst crybaby delinquent boss in Chicago.

Illuminated by the flames, he looked for all the world like a poor little lamb being pursued by a horde of demons.

“B-b-by the way, Nice. About the train tomorrow…Jon says there’s only room for about five people in the cheap compartments. So that’s me, you, and Donny, and then you pick out two more likely-looking guys.”

“Will that be enough?”

“Y-yeah. It’s not as if we’re going to do anything with the train itself; we’re just helping ourselves to the treasure in its freight room, so it would be more unnatural to have a lot of people, wouldn’t it? Besides, Fang and Jon will be on board already.”

“Okay. Tomorrow afternoon at four o’clock, then, at Chicago Union Station.”

After saying good-bye to Nice and the others, who were going to get ready, Jacuzzi felt great unease and anticipation about the following day’s plan.

“I wonder if it’ll go all right. I wonder if it’ll be okay. Still, to think we get to ride the transcontinental limited express, the
Flying Pussyfoot
… I’m already looking forward to that. I haven’t seen Fang and Jon in a while, either; I hope they’re doing well.”

As he looked up at the starry sky, Jacuzzi thought about the friends who’d be on the same train with him, and the plan they’d be forcing through the next evening.

The plan for their first-ever train robbery.

December 29, 1931
Noon

In a wasteland a few dozen miles south of Chicago, an abandoned factory stood quietly.

Inside, in one of its larger halls, a group of more than fifty people stood in well-ordered rows. Each of them had an appearance that was completely different from ordinary people, and their bold, cunning eyes produced a tone halfway between the military and the mafia. Surrounded by the ash gray of the floor and the dull gray of the walls, their ranks were enveloped in abnormal silence.

Breaking that silence, one man spoke. He stood in front of the assembled, his sharp gaze holding a dark, quiet flame.

The man—Goose Perkins—delivered a line that was truly popular in that era, the golden age of the mafia—or at least, that would seem so, given the portrayals that would arrive from the movie industry in later years:

“Gentlemen, I regret to inform you
that there is a traitor in our midst.”

The silence of the ranks was unbroken. Paying no particular heed to this, Goose loudly continued his speech.

“A short while ago, our great leader, Master Huey Laforet, was apprehended by the government’s swine. Our great master is about to be judged by the benighted masses’ chaotic law!”

His tone was gradually growing stronger, but there was no change in the dark light in his eyes.

“However, that is an issue of no consequence! Through the maneuver which will be executed tomorrow evening, we will retake Master Huey without fail! The problem lies in the existence of the traitor who has made our master crawl through the land of humiliation!”

Even after he’d said that much, there was no change. Not in the light in Goose’s eyes, nor in the expressions of the fifty men who listened attentively.

“I investigated the existence of the traitor personally. However, even so, Master Huey is merciful. It is my intent to emulate him.”

Clasping his hands behind him and turning his back on the ranks, Goose asked a question. A quiet, simple question.

“Let me ask the traitor. If he has realized his error, let him take one step forward, without saying a word. If he does not have that courage, know that neither sophistry nor lament will reach me any longer.”

At that, for the first time, expressions appeared on the faces of the ranks of men.

The face of one man who had been standing at the head of a line twisted into a smirk, and he took a step forward.

Then, the instant they saw that gesture, every remaining member of the ranks
smirked
, and
all fifty men stepped forward together
.

“Well, Goose? How does it feel to be betrayed by everybody?”

With an ironic smirk, the young man who’d taken the first step drew his gun.

“After you tried to trick us with that painfully obvious bluff, too. My apologies. Still, you couldn’t have anticipated this outcome, could you?”

However, Goose was unruffled. The dark glint in his eyes merely writhed, understated.

“Let me ask you one final question, foolish Nader.”

Possibly, he’d taken those words as surrender. Nader’s face twisted into happiness.

“What might that be, Goose? Just so you know, if it’s about how you can be saved, I’ll tell you—there’s no way.”

“So you dislike Master Huey and myself. Very well. However, on what sort of ideals do you intend to base your revolution? How will you bring it about?”

As he posed his question, Goose’s expression was solemn. The traitors sneered at him with truly relaxed attitudes. Not even bothering to speak politely anymore, they answered him in tones mixed of pity and scorn.

“Ha-ha, revolution? You’re well aware of the answer to that… It’s not even possible! Listen, we’re not gonna follow either you or Huey. We’re going to go sign on with Chicago’s Russo Family. With this many of us, all skilled fighters, we just might be able to take over the whole outfit one of these days. Actually, now that the feds have pinched Scarface, we could grab all of Chicago! From now on, the times belong to power, Goose, not ideals! At the very least, I’m more fit to use this group’s strength than you, who got booted out of the army,
or
Huey, who’s a total enigma.”

Giving a faint sigh at that reply, Goose shook his head and told Nader:

“Your answer is one I’d anticipated, but to think you’d try to join the mafia’s movement at this late date… What utter foolishness. Capone’s fall is an opportunity, you say? On the contrary. It’s robbed the Chicago mafia of any opportunities for the time being. Besides, without instructions from Master Huey or myself, do you imagine that greenhorns such as yourselves could last a single day in the shadows of Chicago?”

“…Thanks for the warning. Is that all you had to say?”

“No, there’s more. You called my words a bluff, but I wasn’t lying.”

As he spoke, Goose lightly raised a hand.

“Hmm?”

“I told you, I’d investigated all the traitors. …As well as the friendly members who’d had enough of you.”

As he brought his hand down, a ferocious roar rang out. It was the sound of several dozen guns firing at once, and after the roar had repeated several times, silence returned to the factory.

“Wha…?”

When Nader turned around, fearfully, the ash-gray floor had been stained a murky red.

The men at the front of the ranks had acquired ventilation holes here and there on their bodies and lost their lives and were lying in the sea of red.

The thirty or so men who were still standing had smoke-wreathed gun muzzles trained on the stunned Nader.

“Y-you!”

“What did I tell you, Nader? I said, ‘There is a traitor in our midst.’ However, I meant that
you
had been betrayed.”

As Goose spoke, he was expressionless. In contrast, possibly because he hadn’t been able to process the sudden turn of events, Nader said nothing, but he was visibly bathed in cold sweat.

“Each of these thirty men brought me reports that you intended to betray us. It seems they were unable to follow you. What a pity.”

Maybe because he’d finally managed to get a handle on his situation, with his jaw chattering, Nader suddenly reached into his jacket and pulled out a glossy black handgun.

A sharp, hot pain ran through his right hand.

Thunk.

The piece he’d just pulled fell quietly to the floor. It wasn’t until he saw the woman who’d appeared in front of him, unnoticed, that he realized his hand had gone with it, from the wrist down.

“Cha…Chané…”

Chané the Fanatic. The woman, who wore a military uniform, always followed Huey’s orders to the letter and was the best assassin in the organization. They said the assassins of Asia paralyzed their senses with drugs; she had paralyzed her entire body with ideas, to the extent that one wondered if she’d forgotten she was a woman, or even a human being.

As Nader fought the pain in his arm, he desperately scanned the woman in front of him.

“I-I thought you were dead. Didn’t you die when they caught Huey?!”

Even at Nader’s scream, Chané stayed silent from beginning to end. Goose answered the question in her place.

“She lived. She regrets it more than anything. I expect that’s precisely why she feels she must remove anything that threatens to obstruct the operation tomorrow evening.”

Still silent, without even nodding in agreement, Chané quietly raised her weapon, which was dripping with blood. It was a thick, sharp military knife. The one that had just severed Nader’s hand.

“Wait, Chané.”

At Goose’s voice, they turned; Chané’s face looked questioning, while Nader seemed to be clinging to hope.

And then Nader learned: Hope was something he should never have expected in the first place.

“It would be boring to kill him easily.”

“You sure about this, Goose? If you settle him like that, he might come back alive.”

From the covered bed of a military truck, a subordinate spoke to Goose, who was in the driver’s seat.

After the failed coup, Goose had tied Nader up, welded shut all the doors that led to the outside, and left the factory behind him. They’d stopped the bleeding from his wrist, but they’d destroyed all the vehicles except the ones they were using. This meant that, in order for Nader to be saved, he’d have to get out of the factory, then reach a town that lay several dozen miles away.

“That isn’t an impossible distance to travel on foot, and it’s not as if he doesn’t have food.”

“That’s true. You’re right. Right about now, he’s probably worn through his ropes by scraping them against a post and is trying to break down an exterior door.”

“In that case…”

“By the way, Spike. I trust your sniping skills haven’t deteriorated?”

Stopping the truck when they were about three hundred yards from the factory, he interrupted his subordinate with a question.

“Uh…”

“Shoot the white box beside the building entrance.”

“…Ah. Roger that, Goose.”

Responding with understanding, the man named Spike unfolded a bundle that had been in the back of the truck.

Inside was a jet-black sniper rifle. It had been specially manufactured, and its barrel was longer than normal. Cheerfully, the man set it up in the back of the truck, took careful aim, and—

“Annnd kaboom.”

With those anticlimactic words, Spike pulled the trigger.

A few seconds after the shot rang out, they saw the white box beside the entrance burst into flames. After Goose gained visual confirmation, he wordlessly set the truck in motion again.

After another minute had passed, the factory exploded from the inside, shooting ferocious flames and pitch-black smoke into the sky. Seen from a distance, it looked almost like a miniature, but the delayed roar that followed echoed in their stomachs, eloquently telling of the scale of the explosion.

“‘I might be saved.’ Dying in an instant while harboring that hope is a truly happy thing, wouldn’t you say?”

“That’s just like you, Goose. How benevolent.”

At Spike’s ironic comment, Goose smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. Joining in, the terrorists riding in the truck bed burst out laughing.

All except one: Chané, who was in the passenger seat.

“All right: Tomorrow evening’s plan must not fail. Once you’ve finished your preparations, make for Chicago Union Station.”

Goose went over the next day’s plan with his group of more than thirty elites.

“This country needs a rest. In order for that to happen, Master Huey is indispensible.”

With the dark light in his eyes at maximum brightness, Goose made a quiet declaration:

“To that end, let us make the passengers on the
Flying Pussyfoot
the valuable foundation…under our grave marker, the headstone of the Lemures.”