Free The Rolling Bootlegs by Ryohgo Narita

Family associate.”
    He gave a casual self-introduction, paying them minimal courtesy.
    “Martillo? Never heard of ’em… What about you guys?”
    The boss’s cronies shook their heads, mocking smiles on their faces.
    “…Huhn! Must be a pretty dinky group… Or, what, is it some schoolyard gang?”
    “…I think we’re about the same size as the Gandors, the fellas you work under.”
    He’d thought he was turning their taunt around on them, but even though it was true, it didn’t appear to have riled them up.
    “Huh? Who’re we under, again?”
    Weren’t they connected with the Gandors? If not, they were swaggering an awful lot… Processing this, Firo waited for them to make the next move.
    “Don’t go lumping us in with those two-bit posers. We don’t answer to nobody. Teaming up the way you guys do just proves you’re weak, get it? Just look—even though we’ve been throwing our weight around here, the Gandors ain’t complained even once!”
    Ah, so that was how it was. Firo had the gist now.
    These guys really were just thugs, in the truest sense of the word. It wasn’t that they hadn’t joined an outfit. At their level, no one even paid attention to them.
    “I see. Never mind, then. Get lost.”
    At Firo’s tone, the toughs’ smirks vanished.
    “……Say what?”
    “I said you’re free to go. I had something I wanted to ask you, but it doesn’t look like you’ll tell me, in which case it’ll be a lot easier tolook around on my own. Matter of fact, I’m pretty annoyed I wasted any time on you at all, but I’ll let you go without decking you, so beat it. Do I really have to spell it all out for you?”
    He told them off, all in a breath.
    As Firo turned to walk away, one of the men quickly slipped up behind him.
    “You little punk! You think you’re some kinda big shot?!”
    He grabbed Firo’s collar, hauling him in.
    The boy heaved a small sigh. Then, as if that sigh had been a signal, he went on the offensive.
    Swiftly, his left hand went for his assailant’s throat. The man had grabbed his collar with his right hand and was unable to react quickly enough to stop it.
    Hand at the thug’s neck, Firo plunged his index and middle fingers into the base of his throat, just below his Adam’s apple.
    “!!”
    A mute scream went up. The tough released Firo’s collar and clapped both hands to his throat, collapsing to his knees.
    “That’s what you just did to that old guy, remember?”
    “You sonuva—!”
    Another man came swinging at Firo from the side.
    He dodged, twisting his upper body lightly, then trapped his opponent’s outstretched left arm. At that, the thug hastily tried hitting him with his free hand. However, his stance was unstable, and he couldn’t put much force into the blow. Firo grabbed that arm as well.
    Both of his arms trapped, the would-be brawler struggled in an attempt to extricate himself from the situation, considered unleashing a kick…but it was too late.
    In an instant, still holding the man’s arms, Firo had turned away from him. His arms were crossed at the elbows and stretched over Firo’s left shoulder.
    Then, adjusting his center of gravity as he moved, Firo leaned forward, fast. He thought he heard the elbows crossed on his shoulder creak. Unable to stand the pain in his arms, the tough had forgotten to resist his opponent’s move in spite of himself.
    Feet off the ground, his equilibrium somersaulted.
    In the next instant, a shock ran through his back… Or rather, through his whole body. A numbness seemed to wash over him. The sensation gradually turned into a gnawing pain.
    “Whoa… So that’s what happens. I’m kinda impressed.”
    Firo—the one who’d done the throwing—looked more startled than his victim, who only writhed in pain. It was a move he’d learned from a Japanese man in his syndicate, and he’d never managed to throw anyone that well before.
    “Gakh…aaah…”
    Looking at their companions, who were emitting short