Free The Rolling Bootlegs by Ryohgo Narita Page B

hurried on, all interest in the old man forgotten.
    As Barnes watched him go, he wondered: Why was the young man looking for Master Szilard’s chauffeur? The thought distracted him, and that distraction kept him from noticing something important: Why hadn’t Firo been all that upset by the way he’d spoken to him?
    If Barnes had only caught on, the destinies of Firo and the others might have changed dramatically (his own not withstanding).
    Unfortunately, Barnes never did catch on.
    Quietly, the tracks of destiny began to spiral.
    And now, Barnes was walking through the alleys alone.
    If he’d kept to the main streets, he would have attracted fewer troublemakers, but he didn’t have time to take the long way around. He had to make his way to the building where the great man waited as quickly as possible. Once eternity was his, he’d promptly have that group of ruffians meet with a lethal accident.
    Or rather,
will
I obtain eternity, in the end? While it was an accident, I was only able to protect two bottles of the finished product. As punishment, I may be killed by Master Szilard. No, in all probability, I will be killed. There’s no help for that, though. After all, I was unable to fulfill the mission his exalted personage entrusted to me.
    However, just perhaps
    That desperate hope was all that kept Barnes’s feet moving.
    He didn’t have to think about anything anymore. He simply had to reach his goal.
    But heartless destiny had taken the form of a human hand, and it was closing in on Barnes’s back.
    It grabbed his collar from behind, yanking him backward.
    He was spun around roughly, and a voice loaded with anger sounded in front of his face.
    “You alone, old fart?”
    Standing there was the group of four he’d intended to have meet with a fatal accident.
    “You must really want us to drink that liquor for you.”
    With both arms and legs broken, unconscious from the pain, Barnes was thrown away in a garbage dump.
    When Ennis found him, his bones still hadn’t completely regenerated.

    Not far from that garbage dump, there was a jazz hall. Its basement held an office that could be considered the headquarters of the Gandor Family, who ran this territory.
    Jazz from the establishment upstairs filtered through the ceiling. With this as their background music, a dozen raucous men drank liquor, laughed, and raged.
    The participants were obviously not upstanding citizens, and they were doing whatever they pleased across the cramped space.
    However, there was one solitary spot where discipline reigned.
    Four men sat at a round, central table while ten men stood aroundthe perimeter, watching the action on the table. They seemed to be playing poker.
    Of the game’s seated men, three looked as if they were peacefully enjoying the mood, but the fourth wore an oddly tense expression.
    Trembling slightly, the man spoke.
    “Uh…um… This, uh, this is rare, Boss… All three of you playing poker, together…”
    Jorgi, who was responsible for managing some of the syndicate’s money, had spoken as if gauging the mood of the three brothers who sat at the table with him.
    “………”
    Across from him to the left, Keith Gandor—the oldest of the three Gandor brothers, the syndicate’s bosses—said nothing. Jorgi had been part of the outfit for five years, but he’d never seen this man open his mouth.
    “Shaddup, Jorgi! When you’re playing poker, you yak
silently
!”
    The one sitting directly across from him and saying impossible things was the second oldest, Berga Gandor. Although he was the middle brother, he had the sturdiest build of the three, and he was twice as big as his older brother, Keith. He also had a short fuse that was lit often.
    “Calm down, Berga… They say yelling chases your luck away. I’m sorry about that, Jorgi.”
    The calm fellow on his right was Luck Gandor, the youngest. Although he was only twenty or so, he handled a number of important duties due to his natural foresight and