Somewhere in New York
“We’ve got nothing to do until night falls, amigo. Hey, why don’t we go cut up some mafiosi from other families while we have time to kill?”
As Maria Barcelito walked, her two Japanese katana clinked at her waist.
Luck heaved a deep sigh. “Maria, it isn’t clear who our friends and enemies are yet. Why would we make more enemies for ourselves now of all times?”
“But…”
“No buts. That’s enough.”
Maria wasn’t the only one guarding Luck Gandor. In addition to the Gandor Family’s regular members, Gunmeister Smith and his young apprentice were keeping the perimeter secure. So was Alkie, who already stank of booze, even though it was early afternoon.
“Heh-heh… Exposing your life to the guns around you while rousing yourself to action. You’re quite insane. And after our previous battle, we’re now allies. Who’d have thought? I suppose it means lunacy knows its own kind.”
“Master, you would leave a stronger impression if you guarded him in silence.”
“Hmm… I see. I’ll be silent, then. Silent until the moment time is saturated with insanity.”
As Smith and his apprentice talked, Alkie was knocking back liquor from a hip flask. Maria, the one who stood out the most, was dressed as a saloon girl. With her at its center, the group was walking down a major street.
Luck was intentionally showing the people around him that the Gandors had hired dangerous hitmen.
The ordinary folks in his territory would have thought, Maria’s one thing, but it’s rare to see Luck with a posse that size.
However, a different thought would have occurred to people who knew about their situation.
The Gandors are walking around with hitmen—and they’re the button men the Runoratas once hired…?
Technically, this could be seen as a way of taunting the Runorata Family.
In order to distinguish their friends from their enemies at the casino, Luck was intentionally bluffing the surrounding organizations—specifically, the Runoratas.
“What if those are hitmen, not guards? Who’s the target?”
“What outfits are hostile toward them? That would be us, the Runorata Family.”
“Don’t tell me they’re planning to take a shot at the boss…”
Just a little bit would do.
Simply putting that doubt into their minds would restrict what his opponents said and thought.
They’d made peace with Bartolo Runorata concerning the 1932 incident. Despite that, in light of what Melvi Dormentaire had done, Luck had judged that cracks were developing in their treaty.
How much of Melvi’s actions did Bartolo Runorata know? How much freedom was he giving his head dealer? One of the objectives behind this taunt was to draw out even a little of that information.
As the group walked along, they began to hear a certain sound—and their fate very slightly shifted course.
✦ ✦ ✦
“Hmm. What’s that noise? It’s annoying, amigo.”
“It’s echoing off the buildings. I can’t really tell where it’s coming from…” Luck tried to determine what the mysterious sound might be, but nothing specific came to mind. There wasn’t enough variation in the noise for it to be a code, and it had been going on too long to be some sort of signal.
Just then, Alkie stopped gulping his liquor and hiccuped, his shoulders jumping. “Oh… Thash fruhm Central Park.”
“You can tell?”
“If I cudden tell a thing like ’at, it’d be time fer me to retire.”
“Hmm…”
Luck found himself presented with two choices.
Should he go check it out, or should he assume it was a trap, return to the office, and tighten his security?
No. Right now, if something in the city isn’t right, even if it’s a little thing, I want information.
If it were something completely unrelated or some sort of malfunctioning siren, it wouldn’t be an issue. He’d been a mafia boss for more than five years, though, and his instincts were sounding the alarm.
They told him something was about to happen in Central Park.
“…I’ll go see what it is. Maria, Smith, Alkie—come with me, if you would. The rest of you, return to the office and tell my brothers to be on the alert.”
“But…are you sure you’ll be all right with just them?” one of his men asked, sounding worried.
Luck nodded firmly. “You know I don’t die.”