EPILOGUE

THE WOMAN IN COVERALLS

After that, the Flying Pussyfoot’s journey continued without incident, and it neared the area in Manhattan in which steam engines weren’t allowed.

At this point, they would be switching the lead car for an electric locomotive and—smokeless and clean—would head for Pennsylvania Station. However…

Waiting for them at the switch point was a veritable horde of police officers.

The train was immediately occupied by the police. Ironically, they did it much more briskly and efficiently than either the black suits or the white suits had.

Subsequently, the surviving black suits and white suits on the train were marched away, and after a two-hour investigation, the passengers were released. Finally, they were told that they would be generously compensated by the train’s sponsor, the Nebula Corporation, on the condition that they were to speak of this incident to no one. For some reason, the government and the corporation didn’t seem to want the incident to become public knowledge.

Rachel’s ticket was half-dyed with blood, but the police and the station employees seemed to accept that the blood was her own.

Ironically, it was an excuse she was able to use precisely because her leg was injured.

They’d finished the first aid treatment for her shot-up leg, and with nothing to do, she was sitting in a chair when a man with a dignified air approached her.

“I hear you helped my wife and daughter. You have my thanks.”

At first, she had no idea what was going on, but apparently, this was the husband of the mother Rachel had saved. In other words, he was Senator Beriam. Even though she was a low-level worker at an information brokerage, she hadn’t picked up on Mrs. Beriam’s identity until after she’d saved her. As she listened to him, thinking she still had a lot to learn, she was abruptly handed a thick paper envelope.

When she looked inside, it held a bundled stack of hundred-dollar bills.

“There. That’s yours.”

“Wha…?!”

Senator Beriam turned his back on Rachel and walked away. He hadn’t even asked her name.

It wasn’t as if she didn’t need the money, but this was just too infuriating. It felt as if he thought she’d done what she did in order to get a reward, and Rachel flung her hand up, preparing to lob the money at his back.

However, someone gently clasped that hand. It was Mrs. Beriam herself.

“My husband’s been very rude to you. Even so, please do take that money from him.”

“You don’t have to apologize.”

“No, it’s all right—he’s clumsy, that’s all. Money’s the only way he knows to express his gratitude. It often causes misunderstandings, but…”

She couldn’t very well throw the money at him after hearing something like that. She wanted to tell her she shouldn’t have married that sort of guy, but she kept the words shut away inside.

“Besides, I really should have been the one to say it first. I truly can’t thank you enough.”

At that, Mary peeked out from behind the woman and thanked Rachel as well. The girl had been very shy earlier, but as she looked at Rachel now, her eyes were shining openly.

“Miss Rachel, really, thank you very much! I’m going to be as good a person as you are!”

On hearing what this slightly precocious girl said, Rachel finally felt uncomfortable. The fact that she’d been stealing a ride made her feel as if she was tricking the girl, and it pricked her conscience.

After that, in the end, she did take the money. Once they reached Pennsylvania Station, she went straight to the ticket window. After giving it a little thought, she took half the money from the envelope and bought as many tickets as she could. Then she took her bushel of tickets and left the station.

She’d already decided how she was going to spend the other half of the money. For now, in order to get her leg treated properly, she set off for a local surgeon’s. The pain was the same as ever, but she walked firmly, as if she’d been set free from something.

EPILOGUE

COSTUMED BANDITS

New York Pennsylvania Station

The doors of the train opened, and the passengers were finally released from their long, turbulent journey.

They hadn’t been able to send on the cars that had served as the stage for the incident as they were, and so a different train had taken them to Pennsylvania Station.

Shadows stood on the lively, bustling platform, quietly searching for the people they were waiting for:

Firo and Ennis, waiting for their friends Isaac and Miria.

Maiza, waiting for Czes, his old colleague.

And the three Gandor brothers, who were waiting for a hitman who happened to be a family member—Claire Stanfield.

The people they were waiting for didn’t appear, and the figures exiting the train were growing few and far between.

Finally, a woman in coveralls with an injured leg disembarked.

After her came an individual dressed in gray from head to toe, and a man who seemed to be his assistant. Then a guy with a tattoo on his face, a girl with an eyepatch and glasses, and a big guy who was over six feet tall.

Their eyes were drawn to the odd group, just a little, but Firo and the others kept right on waiting.

Then, the very last ones to emerge from the train were—

—A western gunman in badly torn clothes, and an equally tattered dancing girl.

“Hey! Ennis and Firo and Maiza! It’s been a long time, my good people!”

“Yes, you look well. I’m so glad!”

At Isaac and Miria’s voices, the party felt relieved, but they did get in an apt verbal jab:

“What’s with those clothes?”

“Heh-heh, right now, I’m a western gunman! Call me the Belle Starr of the East!”

“But you just said you were western…”

“Wasn’t Belle Starr a broad?”

Ignoring Firo and Berga’s comebacks, Miria also introduced herself with a random outlaw’s name:

“Okay, then I’m—! I’m the Edgar Watson of the North!”

“Uh, that’s the guy who shot and killed Myra Maybelle Shirley…aka, Belle Starr.”

“Whaaaaaat?! I’m going to kill Isaac?! Oh no, I couldn’t stand that!”

“Nah, it’s all right, Miria! I can die for you!”

Seeing that the pair hadn’t changed a bit, Firo and Ennis smiled, as if relieved.

“Gah-ha-ha! You guys are as dumb as ever.”

At Berga’s jeer, the two flung their arms into the air and protested. The way they waved their arms around made them look like wind-up toys.

“What?! Make fun of me if you want, but I won’t let you make fun of Miria!”

“You can make fun of me, but don’t you dare badmouth Isaac!”

“In other words, we’ve got enough anger for two here!”

“And two people times two is four people!”

“In a majority vote, we’d win!”

“Yes, it’s one against four!”

“Huh? Hold it, wait a sec…”

In response to their absurd, rapid-fire logic, Berga began folding fingers down, muttering under his breath.

“That’s embarrassing, Berga. Stop.”

While this was going on, Isaac cried out as if he’d remembered something:

“Oh, that’s right! We’ve got a present for you, Ennis!”

“A really good one!”

“What, you do?! Thank you very much!”

Ennis thanked them happily. Isaac and Miria turned their backs on her and, for some reason, boarded the train again. Before long, as the group watched, mystified, Isaac came back, accompanied by the “present.”

At his right hand stood a boy who’d changed clothes.

As Firo and the others looked on, wide-eyed, Isaac and Miria introduced him. They seemed truly delighted. Apparently, they’d been concerned about that letter this whole time. The one they’d gotten from Ennis in California.

“This boy is Czes!”

“Take him as your little brother, Ennis! That’ll be perfect!”

EPILOGUE

ALCHEMIST

Ah, there’s Maiza, right in front of me. The man who summoned the demon, the one who knows everything about immortality. That’s right: I came to this city to eat this guy. What a fool. I bet he thinks I’m still who I used to be. That’ll be his undoing.

All right, Maiza’s close enough now. This is it: Scream “You fool!” at him and put out your right hand.

“Maiza…”

Uh… Huh? That’s strange. No, that wasn’t what I was going to do; why did I call his name?

Stop it, Maiza. Don’t pat my head. I’m over two hundred years old already. Dammit, Maiza, I know you’re right-handed. Why are you using your left hand? Don’t be considerate when nobody asked you to, blast it.

Squeeze those words out: Scream “You fool!” and thrust your right hand out at Maiza!

“I missed you.”

No, it’s “You fool”! Dammit, pull yourself together! Just how many times do you think you’ve fooled people who looked like adults, and been fooled yourself?! Trust no one! You know Maiza’s probably planning to eat you, too; he’ll start gnawing away at you, just like that guy did! Dammit! Dammit! It’s their fault! That red monster and this weird gunman couple drove me insane! But, no Say “You fool!” He’s different I missed him Stop it I was always alone I was always lonely No, I wanted to be alone. Say “You fool!” I wanted to see him. Somebody from the past No— Put your right hand—

I wanted to see somebody, anybody; I just wanted to see someone who knew who I was back then. To meet someone who knew me then. I just wanted to dream, to dream about that time, back on the ship, before I knew anything.

“Maiza. I missed you, Maiza!”

Tomorrow, I’m sure I’ll wake from this dream, and I’ll go back to being my spiteful, cunning self. However, I’ll probably never think about eating Maiza again. I know if I did that, I wouldn’t be able to see anything but nightmares anymore. Right now, I only want to stay in this dream, just a little longer. I want to cry, clinging to someone who knows who I used to be, just a little longer, just a little longer.

Just a little more, a little longer…

On the station platform, a young-looking immortal huddled into the chest of his old friend and cried, and cried, and cried.

On and on.

EPILOGUE

THE RAIL TRACER

“Excuse me, sir. Are you Mr. Gandor?”

“I am. What is it?”

A station employee approached Luck and handed him a single envelope. After they read its contents, Keith and his two younger brothers left the station.

When they did, on his way out, Berga apologized to Firo:

“Sorry, Firo. It sounds like Claire’s waiting outside. We’ll be back.”

The man was waiting in the corner of an alley.

“Claire, you’re the conductor. What’re you doin’ out here?”

“I’m not Claire anymore.”

Ignoring Berga’s question, he just spoke about himself, briefly.

“All right, let’s go. Who should I kill first? I only managed to get a little light exercise last night, and I’m feeling rusty. I want to do a job where I can go all-out for once.”

Saying this, Claire—who’d changed clothes—took the lead and started walking. Keith and the others were mildly appalled, but they followed him and set off down the alley.

“Let’s get this finished up fast. I’ve got somebody to look for after this. It’s somebody who might marry me.”

At Claire’s words, the three brothers looked at one another.

“Wha—? Did you ask some total stranger to marry you again?!”

“Close.”

“Don’t gimme ‘close,’ you moron! Just how many dolls do you think you’ve gotten to give you the brush-off that way, huh?!”

Berga sounded disgusted, but Claire answered him without seeming the least bit flustered.

“Now, hang on. I don’t treat it like a pickup, and I’m not joking. I’m being serious, so there’s no problem. And I’m positive I’ve gotten dumped up till now because there’s an even better girl in my future. After all, this world is—”

“—‘designed to work in my favor,’ was it?”

Luck had probably heard those words several hundred times before. He’d responded with a simple question.

“That’s right,” Claire continued. “Anyway, I might get a good answer this time. Besides, if that one doesn’t work out, I found another peach. If I get dumped this time, I think I’ll try my luck with her next.”

“You’re as faithless as ever, too.”

“Applesauce! I’ve never two-timed anyone, not even once. I’ve never gone out with a girl in the first place. I tell her I’m in love then and there, and if she says no, I move right on to the next one. If I get a yes, I’ll be true to that girl the whole way. There’s no problem with that.”

In response to Claire—who’d delivered what was, in a way, a sound argument—Luck sighed, half in resignation.

“…I wish Firo would take a page from your book with regard to energy.”

At the unexpected mention of his friend’s name, Claire smiled nostalgically.

“Firo, huh? I’d like to see him. What about him?”

“He’s been living with a girl he fancies for more than a year, but he hasn’t told her he loves her or even kissed her yet.”

“That’s nuts… Is he actually human?”

Despite Claire’s astonishment, his pace didn’t slow at all.

“In any case, Claire. You really shouldn’t trust the sort of woman who accepts an offer of marriage out of the blue.”

Claire’s response was to argue about the part of it that didn’t matter:

“Claire’s dead. Or he will be on paper, anyway, as far as the government’s concerned.”

He thought he’d come off sounding cool, but Luck jabbed him with a practiced comeback:

“If you’re officially dead, you won’t be able to marry that woman, you know.”

At that, Claire stopped in his tracks, then turned around.

“Crap. What do I do? How much does it cost to buy an identity?”

“You aren’t making any sense, Claire. In that case, what should we call you from now on?”

As Claire started walking again, he spoke casually:

“Well, maybe Vino… Or, you could call me the Rail Tracer.”

“Lame.”

In one of New York’s back alleys, Berga and Claire began a violent brawl. Even as Keith watched them, his thoughts were with the struggle that was bound to grow fiercer from here on out.

This brawl was probably the last peaceful sight they’d see for a while. Still silent, Keith continued to gaze at the fight.

EPILOGUE

HOMICIDAL MANIACS

Edward the federal agent was receiving a report from a local police officer.

“I hear there were survivors.”

“Yes, a man and a woman… We think they’re probably members of the gang of robbers.”

Information on the survivors was beginning to trickle in.

“And? How are they?”

“The woman’s neck is hurt, but her life isn’t in danger. The man is seriously injured; Bill is interviewing him at the hospital.”

Next to the place where the survivors had been discovered, several police officers were standing around a certain object.

“So why is this pole broken?”

“I’d guess the survivors slammed into it.”

“…Look, don’t you think he punched it? I bet he did.”

“I’m telling you, that’s not even possible!”

“Yeah, but… You saw the man’s arm, didn’t you?”

“I saw it, so I can’t completely rule it out. Is that guy a monster?”

“Either way, you know the only thing they’ll be able to do for that arm is amputate it.”

Remembering the horrible sight of the man’s left arm, a few of the men felt sick again.

From the elbow down, all that remained of the surviving white suit’s left arm was bone. The bones alone had stayed neatly behind, while the flesh had been blown clean off. His condition had been incredible to begin with, but there was something even more incredible than that:

The man was currently responding to an interview as though nothing had happened.

In a hospital a short distance away, Bill Sullivan was interviewing Ladd.

“Nn… Then you admit your crime?”

“Yeah, sure. Oh, just so’s you know, all the guys I killed were in self-defense. I’ll cop to everything about the attempted kidnapping, but make sure you get that bit down.”

“Uh… Well, talk that over with the prosecutor and your lawyer.”

As Bill was about to leave, Ladd tossed a question at his back:

“Do you know Huey Laforet?”

“Eh…… Mm. He is famous, after all.”

“What pen are they putting him in?”

“Nn… That hasn’t been settled yet, but I’d imagine it’s going to be the Alcatraz military prison.”

“Is that so? Thanks, pal.”

“Ah… Take care of yourself. I’ll introduce you to a prosthetic arm craftsman before the trial.”

With that, Bill left the room.

Alcatraz, huh? That’s a pretty decent opponent. I wonder how I can get ’em to put me in there, too. Keh-heh.

Imagining the pleasure he’d feel when he killed an immortal, Ladd fell asleep, an expression of ecstasy on his face.

EPILOGUE

TERRORIST GROUP

The new assistant to Fred, the doctor in gray, muttered quietly:

“Ahh, Ladd and Lua never did come back. I mean, it’s those two, so they’re probably alive, but…”

He’d been one of the white suits, but when the police had boarded the train, he’d asked Fred to make him his assistant and had escaped the long arm of the law that way. The delinquents beside them had glared at him, but they were criminals, too, so they didn’t turn him over to the cops.

Afterward, he’d contacted the friend who’d been negotiating with the railway company on the outside, only to hear that the company had flatly vetoed their demands. Apparently, the black suits had been threatening the government, and some sort of pressure had been exerted on the railway company from that direction. He hadn’t expected the strategy to succeed in the first place, but the idea that the black suits had been the cause of their failure made it particularly frustrating. Of course, not only was he still alive, he hadn’t even been arrested. One would have had to admit that he’d been the luckiest member of the white suits.

He’d had nowhere to go, and in the end, it had been decided that he’d do odd jobs at Fred’s hospital.

Having heard the former white suit’s mutter, Fred answered, smiling quietly.

“Never mind. If they’re alive, you’ll see them again someday. As long as you all stay alive, someday, without fail… Come to think of it, that man was looking for someone, too.”

“That man?”

“Yes, I ended up having to take a later train because I was treating him… Thanks to that, I wound up paying a lot for tickets. The treatment took quite some time, you see, and then the police put in an appearance as well.”

“The cops?”

“Mm. When I was on my way to Chicago by car, I saw a tremendous explosion in the wasteland, off in the distance—”

Goose was alive.

Even enveloped in that hellfire, he’d miraculously escaped with his life.

I refuse to die in a place like this. I’ll survive, and the secret of Huey’s body will be mine—

Clinging to what little vindictiveness he had left, he crawled along the path by the tracks.

I should have comrades on this side. The ten who negotiated with the government, who weren’t aboard the train. I saw the signal rocket go up when we reached the river. In other words, the government accepted our negotiations. Dammit, I was so close! Still, I’m not finished yet. With ten men, I’ll be more than able to regain my balance—

Just then, over his head, a figure blocked his way.

“We’ve been looking for you, Goose.”

I’m saved. Have my comrades found me?

When, thinking this, Goose raised his head, the spit that the figure had hocked up struck him in the face.

“Wha…?”

Goose was stunned. Standing there was a man with a huge burn on his face. It wasn’t the only one. Large burn scars were visible on his neck and remaining hand as well, and on top of that, one of his hands had been cut off. It was an individual Goose knew all too well.

“…Nader…!”

It was the man who’d attempted to betray Goose before the operation, the man he thought he’d disposed of instead. A man who’d been caught up in the flames of the blast and who should have been burned to cinders by now.

“Yeah, I used the others’ corpses to shield myself and managed to avoid dying instantly, but if a doctor hadn’t been passing by just then, things could have gotten ugly… Although, even now, it’s all I can do to stay on my feet.”

Nader had handcuffs on his one wrist. A closer look revealed the figures of several police officers in the area. The officers didn’t seem to have noticed Goose yet; they were searching the brush at random.

“It’s a field inspection, Goose. I cut a little deal with the cops, see. In exchange for telling them about the plan and the negotiators’ location, I get off with a suspended sentence. They can’t make that public, of course. It sounds like they won’t be making much about this incident public, period.”

“Why…you…”

“Y’know, I hear those ten negotiators you were counting on just got arrested. My sincere condolences.”

The burned man crouched down on the spot, putting his face close to Goose, whose expression was a mask of despair.

“You should’ve just killed me right there. You really weren’t cut out for the military.”

Those words were loaded with all of Nader’s hatred and pity.

“You’re completely pathetic, you failure.”

Nader looked down on him, coldly. In response, Goose silently lowered his head. And then—

“Don’t wander around on your own, Nader! We’ll treat it as an escape attempt! …Hmm? Is that a survivor?!”

Hastily, a police officer came running over. Nader sighed and answered him:

“Looks like he’s dead. It just happened.”

Goose’s body had fallen facedown. A mixture of lots of blood and small fragments of flesh was flowing from his mouth.

Turning his back on the unmoving black suit, Nader walked away as if he’d lost interest.

“Ah, dammit, I’ve had it. I can’t follow a guy who rushes to his own death like that. It looks like I’m really not cut out for this sort of thing. Maybe I’ll go back to the country and help my dad with his cornfields…”

The young terrorist couldn’t even visualize Goose’s face anymore.

In the end, apparently, that was all Goose had been.

Exposed to the freezing winter wind, the pitiful man’s corpse was rapidly growing cold.

EPILOGUE

DELINQUENTS

The investigation had settled down, and the Flying Pussyfoot had been put in storage for a while.

Several figures stood quietly in the cars, from which the police had temporarily withdrawn.

“This ain’t good.”

“No, it really isn’t.”

Jon, the dining car bartender, and Fang, the cook’s assistant, were the men who had told Jacuzzi’s gang about the train. Technically, according to the original plan, they should have reached New York without anyone discovering this fact, but the situation had turned ugly on them.

“Think we’ll get the boot?”

“We just might.”

When Jacuzzi had recaptured the dining car from the black suits, the two of them had taken control with guns in their hands, as large as life. It had been glaringly obvious that they were used to using guns and, on top of that, that they were friends of the young guy who’d said he was occupying the train. Fortunately, because the cargo robbery that Jacuzzi’s gang had pulled off hadn’t been discovered, they’d managed to avoid a trip to the police station, but after everything was over, they’d been called out by the head cook. At the very least, that was what the two of them thought.

“If they fire us, what are you going to do?”

“My big sis is a waitress at a honey shop. Maybe I’ll see if they’ll hire me as a cook.”

“What’s this ‘honey shop’ business? And, anyway, didn’t you cause trouble and get yourself run out of Chinatown?”

“They ran my sister out later. They said it was ‘collective responsibility.’ Then the Italians picked her up. From what I hear, there’s a speakeasy in the back of the honey shop they run, and that’s where she works.”

As his pal spoke pragmatically, Jon murmured, gazing into empty space:

“Ah… A speakeasy, huh? I wonder if they’re looking for bartenders, too.”

With his listless voice as the last sound, a heavy silence pressed down around them.

A mouthwatering aroma drifted through the area around the counter seats where they were sitting. All they could hear from the depths of the kitchen was the sound of the head cook stirring a big pot of stew. It echoed in the silence, further amplifying Jon’s and Fang’s anxiety and appetite.

Abruptly, the noises from the kitchen ceased, and the head chef’s bearlike voice resounded, quietly.

“You boys won’t need to board this train tomorrow.”

At those words, Jon and Fang sighed. In a way, their expressions seemed relieved.

“We’re fired?”

They’d half expected that answer. Since they’d been prepared, the shock wasn’t that great. However—

“Fired, hell. The whole dining car’s being eighty-sixed.”

“Huh?”

“Sir?”

At this, conversely, the two looked bewildered. The head cook paid no attention to them; his dispassionate voice just went on telling them the facts.

“The almighty company that gave us room as tenants is going to make it so this train never existed. In other words, their cheap trick to hush up the incident is costing you fellas your jobs. That goes for me, too, of course.”

At this unexpected development, Jon and Fang looked at each other. In that case, why were they the only ones who’d been called here?

“I’m getting to that. I’m acquainted with some wealthy folks by the name of Genoard, and they’re looking for a cook and bartender. I’m going to badger the owner of the main store into letting me go back there, so you two go work for the rich folks for a bit. They’re flush enough to be hiring their own bartender. No complaints there, right?”

Jon’s and Fang’s eyes were round. Without even attempting to ask what they thought, the head cook forced the conversation ahead.

“I don’t care what sort of gang you run with, or what kind of reprobates you are. You’ve got solid skills as a cook and bartender, and I’ll vouch for those. Besides, you were the only duo with a bartender that I could think of. From what I hear, they’re in their second home in New York right now, so head over and introduce yourselves tomorrow. Got it?!”

His tone brooked no argument, and Jon and Fang nodded in spite of themselves. However, deep down, they were also happy to hear they were trusted.

“Stew’s ready. Eat up.”

For the first time, the two responded in unison to the voice that came from the depths of the kitchen:

“Thank you, sir! We’ll take it!”

However, at the head cook’s next words, their smiles froze.

“Is that right. It’s enough stew to feed a hundred people, and I was just worrying about how it was going to go to waste. That’s a load off my mind. You said you’d eat it, so you better eat all of it. If you leave any leftovers, I’ll stew your hands from the wrists down and make bouillon out of ’em, and don’t you forget it.”

“…And so we brought you a get-well snack. Eat. It’ll give you energy.”

“Not only that, it’s delicious! If you don’t eat this, you’ll die! Because we’ll curse you.”

Behind a huge pot that contained easily over twenty-five gallons, Jon and Fang wore patently fake smiles.

“G-gimme a break.”

On the other side of the pot, Jacuzzi was lying in bed, looking as if he was about to start crying in earnest.

Jacuzzi’s bed was in a room of the hospital Fred ran. For now, they’d decided to admit him, but it sounded as if he’d be able to leave in a few days.

Jack was in the bed next to Jacuzzi, and Donny was asleep in the bed beyond that one. Both were snoring loudly. On Jon and Fang’s orders, Donny had helped them carry the pot over, and while he was at it, he’d polished off enough of its contents to feed about twenty people.

Even so, the pot showed no sign of running out of stew. They’d been told it was enough for a hundred people, but they wondered if it might not actually be more than that.

Nice and Nick were there, too. In other words, all the friends who’d been on the train were here together. As they were discussing what to do about the stew, there was a sudden commotion outside the room.

“What’s that? Something smells real good.”

“Hey, no fair hogging it all for yourselves. Give us summa that, too.”

At that, Jacuzzi’s companions began to stream in through the door, one after another.

“Guys!”

Jacuzzi’s voice was cheerful. Several of them were people who’d gone out in boats as the recovery team, to retrieve the explosives that had been dropped into the river.

“Yo, Jacuzzi! Those explosives! We got friends of ours, this old guy with a mine and a Hollywood movie tech, to buy them off us under the table. We sold ’em for sky-high prices! We’re rollin’ in dough! A hundred thousand dollars, man, a hundred thousand dollars! Don’t that beat all?!”

“The clay shells from those grenades, too. With the contents taken out, those went for two hundred dollars apiece.”

Jacuzzi loved his straightforward friends, who gave him a report on their finances before they worried about his injuries.

“Is that right? That’s great!”

“But listen, Jacuzzi. You can’t go back to Chicago no more.”

Stuffing his face with the stew as if it was delicious, one of his friends told him the facts, pragmatically.

“Huh?”

“The mafia knows about all your rooms, and they’ll fill you full of daylight just for going near one.”

“O-oh no!”

Jacuzzi’s face went white.

“Well, we’re in New York already. Let’s just stay. The other guys are on their way over.”

“Nn, don’t say that like it’s easy…”

Jacuzzi’s eyes had teared up, and his friends abruptly switched to a cheerful topic.

“Hey, by the way, Jacuzzi. Would you believe us if we told you a looker came falling down out of the sky?”

“Was it suicide?”

“No, you idiot! Look, we were picking up the cargo you guys dropped, right?! She was floating along, hanging on to one of those crates! She had a wounded shoulder, but she’s a total stunner! She said, if we were gonna be in New York, she’d join up! She’s a quiet, real polished doll, see? She just got the doc here to look at her injury.”

“Huh. Really? I wonder if she got hurt during the train robbery.”

After thinking for a little while, Jacuzzi artlessly warped the tattoo on his face.

“I’d like to meet her.”

“Yeah, I’ll introduce you. C’mon in, Chané!”

On seeing the beauty in the black dress who came in through the door, Jacuzzi welcomed his new friend with a bright smile—and Nice and Nick dropped their bowls of stew all over the floor.

EPILOGUE

THE FLYING PUSSYFOOT

A few days laterSomewhere in New York

“…And what did you gain by using half of that money to buy tickets?”

Somewhere in Chinatown. A voice spoke to Rachel, mixing with the sound of the ringing phones.

Rachel also answered in a shout that rivaled the voice.

“I don’t know, sir. I was just very tired somehow.”

Unusually for her, she was speaking politely. The listener was the president of the information brokerage with which she did business.

There were stacks of documents in the way, and she couldn’t see his face. However, she was convinced he was smiling.

“Well, it’s up to you whether you make use of that experience in the future or forget it.”

“More than that, I regret that I didn’t get to punch that whiskered pig myself.”

Hearing the frustration in Rachel’s voice, the information broker, whose face couldn’t be seen, asked her a question:

“I have a little information regarding how the aftermath of that incident was dealt with. Would you like to hear it? —I won’t charge you.”

“I won’t stand for it! I swear I’ll take you to court! Over the security on that train, of course, and also over that business with the damned hick and the yellow monkey!”

The fat man with the little mustache was blustering. Once he’d come to after getting his shoulders dislocated by Claire, he’d spent the whole time in the bathroom, shaking with pain and terror. He’d been discovered by a squad of police officers after everything was over. When they’d popped his shoulders back into place, he’d bawled, and the passengers in the dining car had laughed at him.

He was an executive at a major railway company, and the humiliation had been hard for him to bear. As payback for that anger, he’d started to bring legal action against Nebula, the corporation that owned the train. However, someone had blocked that action at the last minute.

The person who had received the mustachioed man in the Nebula reception room was a middle-aged executive with a contradiction—an expressionless smile—plastered across his face.

“I’m afraid that won’t do, Mr. Turner. We’ve paid sufficient reparations, and damaging the image of railway travel would prove unfortunate for you as well.”

“That’s irrelevant! This isn’t about money for me—it’s a matter of pride…”

Just then, the reception room telephone rang.

“I apologize for interrupting our discussion, but the call seems to be for you.”

As he spoke, the executive remained expressionless. The mustachioed Turner grabbed the receiver away from him.

“It’s me! Who the hell are…you…?”

On answering the telephone, Turner’s expression changed dramatically. His face went pale, and as he continued the conversation, he broke out in a cold sweat. Before long, he put the receiver down, then glared at the executive with a fatigued expression.

“That’s dirty. Bringing in politicians…”

“It seems that Senator Beriam also wants to keep the incident as quiet as possible. In this day and age, it’s impossible to cover it up completely, but we can dilute its existence. There were no fatalities among the passengers during the incident, so we’d prefer not to draw too much attention to the matter.”

“B-but…”

“Mr. Turner. I hear you once pinned the blame for your own mistake on a technician. We don’t mind asking those technicians to testify again. If we tell them we’ll hire them away on favorable terms, I’m sure they’ll speak honestly.”

Whiskered Turner went dead white, then left the room, unable to say another word.

The executive sent the final blow at his back:

“What goes around comes around, Mr. Turner. The senator has his eye on you. Unless you work very hard, your company will turn you into a sacrificial pawn…”

“…And that’s how it is, or so I’m told. Does that make you feel a bit better?”

“How do you have information like that, sir?”

“I’m the one who sold the information on our whiskered pig’s past to the executive. It was a trade.”

In the midst of the ringing telephones, the voice spoke to Rachel quite casually:

“If you don’t use information, it rots away. It’s just like a craftsman’s skills. Though I do feel bad about using information about your past without permission.”

Rachel was silent for a while. Then she spoke, addressing the far side of the stacks of paper:

“May I bill you for travel expenses, starting next time? I’m not quite sure why, but I’ve decided to stop stealing rides.”

“I don’t mind in the least. That’s fine. ‘Not knowing why’ is important. I think trusting your own senses is a very good thing.”

Saying something quite unlike an information broker, at the very end, the voice from behind the documents added:

“Just don’t forget your receipts.”

Senator Beriam’s political clout and the railway corporation’s financial muscle were gradually making it as though the Flying Pussyfoot incident had never occurred. There had been one victim among the general public. A conductor had been discovered in the Chicago sewers, and his killer was still at large. The police weren’t putting much effort into the investigation and had concluded that it was unrelated to the events on the Flying Pussyfoot.

The culprit had already left this world behind.

The faceless corpse that had been found in the conductors’ room was assumed to be Claire Stanfield.

The train itself was scrapped, except for the locomotive, and its cars stood quietly in a public park on the outskirts of the city.

Strangely, there was one bit missing from those cars. After they were put on display, someone had taken a piece from the roof of the last one.

Then came December 5, 1933.

On that day, when the Prohibition Act was repealed, people danced for joy on the train and smashed it up, after which it mingled with the scrap iron in the junkyard and vanished.

The Flying Pussyfoot—or “flying prohibition enforcer”—had swaggered across the whole of America along with the Prohibition Act.

In contrast with the demise of the act, its end was far too lonely.

The stage of the incident was covered up, going from darkness into darkness, and no one ever knew what had become of it.

…Except for one piece: the message that had been cut out of the roof.

Baccano! 1931—The End