The Rolling Bootlegs (11 page)

What I want isn’t trifling rank or money. It’s absolute loyalty…and perfect knowledge. That’s all. As soon as it’s completed…I’ll have no use for them. They can vanish, go to nourish my knowledge. …Hmph. That said, I expect most of their knowledge is unpalatable, and I fear it may lie heavy on my mind.

While he’d had his faithful “tools” create the finished product for him, Szilard had been engaged in his own separate, independent research. That research involved his own body, and through it, he’d learned several important things. Although, since he hadn’t yet fully verified them, they were still only in the realm of conjecture.

First, regarding the reason my body regenerates. We seem to have died at the point in time when we drank that liquor. Or, no, not died… It may be more accurate to say we were reborn.

As the result of a wide range of repeated experiments, he’d deduced that his immortal body resembled a colony of living organisms. Even if he was cut into pieces, each individual part tried to re-form the original, aggregate whole.

More than on the cellular level… It’s as though each individual molecule—no, each atom—has been transformed into a living organism.

Once, he’d burned an alchemist who’d come to eat him, but the smoke hadn’t been carried away by the wind. Instead, it had continued to envelop the man as he burned, and had disappeared when the
fire went out and he regenerated. Considering the fact that regeneration occurred even from ash, the phenomenon seemed to extend beyond the molecular level.

In 1897, the British scientist Thomson had discovered the electron; in 1911, his student Rutherford discovered the atomic nucleus, and knowledge of the existence of particles smaller than atoms began to spread around the world.

At the rate they’re going, in two or three years they may discover another new particle. How deep and subtle is this transformation into living organisms, I wonder? …That said, even given another hundred years, scientists who dwell in sensible society will never be able to understand this immortality. I can clearly sense principles beyond the science of this world at work. …Regardless, I have serious doubts about whether science can be applied to power gained from summoning a demon.

In that case, instead of inducing a scientific reaction, was that liquor a medium used to summon the laws of some other world into this one? He’d promoted the manufacture of the finished product based on the “knowledge” of a compatriot who’d been researching that angle… Since this distillation had succeeded, that inference seemed to have been correct.

And another thing: The colony phenomenon itself was the reason behind both “eating” and “being unable to give false names.” These particle-sized living organisms that gathered around the “intellect” of an immortal were strongly attracted to one another. In other words, the act of eating was probably an act of fusion, based in one intellect and performed through its right hand. A colony of bees has no use for two queens. So too does only one intellect remain.

Then there was the issue of false names. He’d been able to give false names to ordinary humans. However, when he tried to do so with immortals, or to write his name on documents…

No matter what I do, I am unable to give a false name. The demon called it a restriction set on our spirits, but…it felt as though all the cells in my body, from head to toe, were giving me an order. I felt a pulsation, a “trembling,” not from my head, but directly from my
body. …In all probability, every member of this colony of cells wants to fuse with others of its kind… Is that why they won’t let us hide ourselves completely?

However, he had been able to grant a false name to temporary immortals to whom he’d given the failed product.

Apparently they know the other is not the same species meant to be fused with, but simply “food”… Kuh-kuh-kuh… What a truly well-designed system.

That said, many things were still unexplained, such as the question of where the mass of humans who were “eaten” went. Szilard was irritated that the gaps in the knowledge he wanted were not being filled in.

If he’d known how to blend the finished product, at least, he would have been a little closer to perfect knowledge, but…

…the man’s little brother had known only half the blending method.

He’d come to New York this time around in order to eat the man who’d discovered the method, but in the end, it had been a wasted trip. Well, once he acquired the actual finished product, no doubt he’d be able to analyze the blending method on his own. He didn’t care about the order of events, as long as he ultimately gained knowledge and the finished product.

Either way, if I acquire a complete body of knowledge, loyalty and wealth will follow. For that reason as well, first I need the finished product…

The way to summon the demon, and the complete method for blending the liquor of immortality.

Detestable stripling. You who know both these things—both pieces of knowledge I do not know—simultaneously…

Where are you hiding?

“…And by the way, Ennis. It seems there’s a man who’s looking for you.”

Ennis was slightly bewildered by her master’s words. She had absolutely no idea who it could be.

“Let’s see… I’m able to share knowledge with you as well, in reverse. I’ll show you now.”

No sooner had he spoken than Szilard laid his left hand on Ennis’s head. Their audience’s eyes went wide, but Ennis accepted it silently. There was a brief pause, and then faces appeared in her mind.

A group of four thuggish men. She also knew that they were the ones who had stolen the finished product. The face that appeared next belonged to the man who was looking for her. Who could he be? She felt as if she’d met him somewhere, but she couldn’t remember where it had been.

“…In any case, look for that group of four.”

“Yes, sir.”

Ennis left the room again. As he watched her go, Szilard grew a little concerned.

He didn’t think it was possible, but could the man who was searching for her be one of his former comrades?

No, it couldn’t be that. No one knows about Ennis. I ate everyone who knew what she really is. There are no longer any alchemists who know about Ennis, and if they attack her without knowing, it does me no harm. There was even one who thought she was a mere human, got careless, and was eaten.

…Come to think of it, that was when it began. When Ennis grew hesitant to dispose of companions. She may have acquired some uncalled-for knowledge.

Well, never mind. Either way, if she becomes an obstacle, I’ll simply get rid of her.

Killing her was far easier than “eating.”

Ennis disappeared through the hole in the ceiling.

Szilard closed his eyes. His lips curved into a smirk.

“Yes… I’m Assistant Inspector Edward Noah.”

The salute Edward gave had more spirit in it than the one he regularly used for his superintendent.

The pair in front of him were special agents from the Bureau of Investigation. It wasn’t that they outranked the superintendent. It was
only that Edward would begin his training with them next week, and they would be senior members of his new force. This, in combination with the fact that he’d longed for this promotion, made the two men seem several times more dazzling to him than his boss.

“Uh… Thank you for your service. Erm… I’m Bill Sullivan, and this is—”

“Donald Brown here.”

Brown, who stood beside the thin Sullivan, introduced himself while interrupting his partner. He had a powerful build, and the fist that lightly clasped Edward’s hand seemed twice as big as Edward’s own.

His supervisor had told him about this in advance. Apparently, these two had come in pursuit of suspects from a multi-state string of robberies. Edward had been ordered to cooperate with their investigation as a member of the local police force.

“So… I think you’ve probably heard, but I’ll give you a brief rundown. Uh… Take a look at this photograph…”

As a point of fact, all Edward had been told was that there
was
a string of robberies and thefts, which meant this would be the first time he’d heard any details.

The photo he was handed showed a man and woman who were wrapped in bandages from head to toe. He knew one was a woman, because she was wearing a wedding dress over the bandages. Parenthetically, the one who was probably a man wasn’t wearing anything except the bandages. He was wrapped up so well that the only things exposed were his eyes and mouth, so in a sense, there was no real problem, but…

“……………”

For several seconds, Edward was silent.

Was this a Bureau of Investigation–style joke?

When he looked unsure how to respond, Bill gave a wry smile and explained.

“Uh… How should I put this? Hmm… Those two really are the suspects. That photo was taken by a newspaper reporter, out of curiosity. Apparently they were quite happy to let themselves be photographed. Uh… And then, you see. I’m not sure how to put it…”

Donald, seemingly unable to put up with his partner’s hemming and hawing any longer, picked up the explanation:

“Right afterward, those two committed a robbery. When the police came running, all they found were the bandages and the wedding dress, dropped in an alley. The only thing all the witnesses said was ‘Bandages,’ see? They had no solid leads.”

I see.
It made sense; if they initially struck in flashy clothes then disguised themselves, their chances of making a successful getaway increased significantly. …If they managed to make their flashy outfits blend in a bit beforehand, that is.

“They’ve also worn black masks and cloaks, and top hats and canes—Anyway, weird outfits. So far, they’ve committed more than eighty robberies and burglaries.”

“Then…why hasn’t anyone been able to catch these jokers before now?”

He thought it was a rude question, but he really had to ask it.

“Uh… How should I put it…? Because the damage they did was, um, what it was…they hadn’t made it onto the Bureau’s investigation list until now. Uh… The first one was clocks, if I recall. Then chocolate and candy… Once they stole the doors from a museum. Just the doors.”

Edward sighed inwardly. Did the Bureau of Investigation detectives have to run all over the country chasing nuts like these?

“However, as you’d figure, the one they pulled in New Jersey last month was a problem. They stole the millionaire Mr. Genoard’s legacy, down to the last cent.”

Edward hadn’t heard of that particular incident.

“…But that wasn’t in the papers, was it?”

“Mr. Genoard’s relations wouldn’t let it be made public. They said it would bring shame on their entire family.”

What a selfish lot. Criminals threw their weight around in the world because people like those existed. Edward very nearly fumed, but, considering that keeping the papers silent hadn’t really changed anything, he suppressed it.

“Still, weren’t any of the previous heists in the news? Granted, what they stole was… But even so.”

“Yeah, ‘Scarface’ and Luciano are all everyone’s been talking about lately.”

Scarface. Alphonse Capone’s famous nickname.

“Ah… Scarface, hmm…? When he moved to Chicago, and everyone thought he’d risen to the top… He wasn’t even thirty yet, you know. He’s only about thirty-one now. A kid from Brooklyn becoming this big boss, Public Enemy Number One, before you know it… I tell you, American history doesn’t have many legends like the one he’s built.”

“Let’s not talk about that lowlife.”

It was true that Capone had raced up through the ranks of the underworld at a young age. In that sense, he’d had innate talent, and he may also have been a hard worker. However, Edward refused to acknowledge either talent or effort in criminals.

“Mm… In any case, it seems as though the preferred stance of both our muckety-mucks and the ones in government is that ‘the Mafia doesn’t exist,’ you know… They say even Capone is ‘just a thug’… It’s always us little guys that get stuck with the real trouble. Ah… What a hassle.”

As his partner criticized the higher-ups with a wry smile, Donald mildly admonished him. “Bill… Watch what you say. If those ‘muckety-mucks’ decide they don’t like you, they’ll ruin your life just like that.”

“Ooh… Scary, scary. I’m not sure it’s a good thing to have bosses that are scarier than Capone…”

Donald laughed, just a little. Then he sobered up again and spoke to Edward.

“Well, we’re not Capone’s only enemies. I doubt the New York Mafia thinks very kindly of him… He’s done too much killing.”

That was a fact. The several huge Mafia syndicates that controlled New York weren’t pleased with Capone’s heavy-handed methods. They’d even begun to talk about having the moderate Johnny Torrio control the underworld. Capone had begun a war against both the daylight and shadow faces of America at the same time.

Abruptly, Firo’s face appeared in Edward’s mind. That guy was about to become an executive at a young age, too. Was he a similar
case? Was he the type who’d be able to force his way up through underworld society, like Capone?

No, I won’t let him do that. I’ll dump him in jail before that happens; count on it. I’ll wipe out the Martillo Family, too. Sure, he’s young, and that’s a fact… For that very reason, if we act now, we might still be able to straighten him out.