Baccano! 1934 - Alice in Jails - Prison Episode: Chapter 3 Back

I deserve to die a thousand deaths for taking so long on this. Sorry. Maiza and Ronnie were boring, what can I say?


Alice in Jails - Prison Episode
Color Pages & Epilogue I
Prologue I
Prologue II
Prologue III
Prologue IV
Chapter 1 Front
Chapter 1 Back
Chapter 2 Front
Chapter 2 Back
Interlude I
Chapter 3 Front
Chapter 3 Back
Chapter 4 Front
Chapter 4 Back
Chapter 5 Front & Back, Connecting Chapter, Remaining Chapter

Alice in Jails - Streets Episode

Peter Pan in Chains


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Somewhere in New York
Division of Investigation Temporary Office


"Alright, my faithful underlings! Let's hear whatever scraps of information you managed to scrounge up while I wasn't there to babysit you!"


Victor clapped his hands together as he returned from his catnap, announcing his intent to get back to work.

The ponderous voice that greeted him as he strode into the old office, however, almost seemed intent on putting him to sleep again.


"Sir, if I may. We do most if not all of the work here, so why are you taking all the credit?"

"Now, now, Detective Sullivan. I know that you want to feel appreciated, but I believe in giving credit only where credit is due. Keep it up, though, and someday you'll be as talented as I am."

"Whatever, sir. The report's right there, on your desk."


Victor nodded shortly and sat down, silently flipping through the word from Alcatraz. At length he set the papers down and looked toward Bill and Edward, looking for once serious and grim.

"Looks like the time for fun and games is over, gentlemen. Huey's cronies are poised to make their move. Be ready for anything. I wouldn't be surprised if everyone in New York disappeared overnight."

"Hah. Wouldn't that be something, sir."

"That wasn't a joke, detective," Victor snapped, cutting Edward off mid-chuckle. "That mad scientist is an anomaly even amongst us immortals. He doesn't care about other people at all. Nothing catches him off guard. He'd use himself as a specimen for his own experiments if he deemed it necessary. He's just like Maiza, dabbling in magic along with alchemy."

"Ahh. Does that make Mr. Laforet a magician, sir?"

"Nothing quite so fantastic. He's a hopeless researcher, a madman with an insatiable appetite for knowledge! The moment he reaches a goal that goal becomes nothing but a stepping stone! For Huey Laforet, the ends always justify the means, because to him they're the same thing! You can tell what he's thinking but you can't tell how he'll do it! If you try to cut him off, he'll just note it in his experiments and account for that factor the next time around! Dammit, I can't tell whether he's insanely creative or just insane..."

"Hmm... Sorry, sir. Were you cursing him or admiring him? I can't tell," Bill remarked dryly.

Edward seemed to take his boss' words more seriously, though.

"But sir, there's nothing we can do when we don't even know what he's after right now. Did the report from Alcatraz say anything? Did Prochainezo come up with something?"

"No, no. I don't think he's made contact with Huey yet..."

Victor frowned briefly as the camorrista's name brought up unwelcome memories of his visit to the Alveare, then shook his head and put it out of his mind.

"Doesn't matter. The brat was never anything more than a gamble; I didn't expect anything from him. If he even finds out how Huey makes contact with the outside I'll consider it a rousing success... But now that you mention it, Misery did say that a few prisoners made the trip with him. Looks like someone else is interested in this business too."

"Someone else..."

"Ah. Nebula, again," Bill sighed, and Victor nodded wearily.

"They're probably looking to get something from Huey, by force if necessary Either way, we'll try to do whatever we can to stop them, but... Hmm? What is it, Detective Noah?"

Victor adjusted his glasses and looked toward Edward, noticing that the detective seemed rather nonplussed.

"Looks like you have something you want to get off your chest."

"Err, no, sir. It's just, you said that you didn't expect much from Prochainezo..."

"Huh? What, are you about to tell me that you're feeling sorry for him because you know him and we're just using him as a distraction?"

"No, no, that's not it. Just-"

And then, before Edward could make his case, the phone rang and stopped the flow of time dead in its tracks.

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The Same Time
The Alveare


Half past noon in the restaurant meant the lunch rush, and the Alveare's waitresses darted to and fro amongst customers from all walks of life. The members of the Martillo Family, who more or less owned the place, retreated discretely to the shady corners of the restaurant in deference to the incoming flow of normal civilians.

Sitting alone at one of those secluded tables was a man who gave off an air decidedly different from those who walked the straight and narrow, absently holding a glass of liquor in one hand as he lost himself in reflection.


...I have to say I'm surprised. I didn't expect that you'd even figure out what I am.

This is why choosing not to know makes life so interesting sometimes.

Hmm? No matter. I was just talking to myself.

...So that's why you're asking me for aid.

Are you sure about that?

I have to remind you that there's nothing actually keeping me from exercising my power.

That's why I decided mostly to use it only for the Family. To keep things interesting.

And, well. I've never quite broken the rules on this scale, even for them.

A few tricks with the clouds, and maybe finding some people, certainly, but...

Breaking somebody out of prison? That's breaking the law, no doubt about it.

Granted, I've visited the place in secret to meet an acquaintance, but that's that, and this is this.

No matter. Just know this. Rescuing him using my power means that he'll truly cross the line and become one of us.

Are you prepared to accept that?

...You're not, are you. Hah. No matter.

I'm guessing that he's everything to you...

But that's exactly why you're hesitating, wondering if it's alright for you to decide his fate for him, isn't it?

I'll give you some time to think it over. I've got all the time in the world.


...What's that? You're not going to do it after all?

I see. So that's your decision. That's fine, too. Believing in him and waiting is alright.

It's man's lot in life to decide his own fate, after all, though others may try and lead him astray.

One last thing before you go. A word of advice...

Something tells me that the police may have staked out your apartment.

It might be wise for you to stay with someone you know for a while.

Maybe cry a little, or a lot, to let it all out.

True, what he did might have been selfish...

But that's part of what drew you to him, isn't it?

Don't smile like that. You're even making me embarrassed.


"Hmph..."

Ronnie Schiatto found himself smirking as he recalled the events of a month before.

Maiza stared at him, looking quite taken aback for some reason.

"Dare I ask what's going on, Ronnie? It's a bit unnerving to see you smile like that all of a sudden."

"Hmm? Oh, this. It's nothing. No matter."

"No, no, I think it very much does matter. It's not like you to get lost in thought like that."

"I was just pondering human love for a moment."

The word "love" sounded so strange coming from the mouth of such a man that Maiza actually flinched and sat back, blatant curiosity making itself apparent on his features.

"From that look on your face, I'm guessing you're itching for a fight, Maiza."

"N-no, of course not!"

"Hmph. No matter. Anyway, it looks like you're worried about Firo."

"...Well, yes. I've heard my share of rumors about Alcatraz, just like everyone else." Maiza glanced around and took care to lower his voice, whispering so that nobody but Ronnie could hear him through the ambient chatter. "Even immortals aren't immune to death of the heart, after all..."

"Don't worry. He'll be fine."

"Well, yes," Maiza said pensively. "I do believe that, but still..."

Perhaps allay Maiza's fears, Ronnie offered his own appraisal of Firo Prochainezo. Not through the eyes of a demon, or the eyes of an alchemist... but through the eyes of a gangster, a member of society's underworld.

"Firo is a camorrista of the Martillo Family before he's an immortal. Our capo-società didn't choose him on a whim."

Maiza nodded and smiled bitterly at his old friend's words.

"Ours is a demanding business, is it not."

"Do you wish you were still an alchemist?"

"...No. No, I don't. There was a time when I regretted ever summoning you on that boat... but I do not for a second regret my place here right now."

"Hah... The same goes for me."


They stayed there for a while, talking amicably and taking sips of their drinks.

Around when the rush of customers coming in for lunch had slowed to a trickle... 

Something out of the ordinary happened.

The radio set on the store's counter brought them sudden and strange tidings.


"...bzzt... zzz...erefore...vestigati...ossible links betwee..."


"...police have...ese acts are...ly the work of a criminal organization..."

"...Huh?"

A number of the men left in the restaurant stopped what they were doing and looked up, suddenly concentrating on the words that filtered through the static.

One of the nearby waitresses caught on to the radio report's urgent tone and turned a knob on the radio, adjusting the frequency.


"...Once again, authorities suspect that Mr. Placido Russo may have had a hand in the explosions and mass kidnappings in the Elsen's Hill, Illinois area, and are currently investigating..."


Randy and Pecho continued wolfing down their lunches even as they turned an ear toward the words coming from the radio.

"Elsen's Hill? Ain't that near Chicago? Explosions and kidnappings, eh? Nasty business."

"Wait a sec... Placido... That's the Russo Family's don, right? He's not even famous like Capone, and they're mentioning his name on the radio?"

"Yeah, it's strange. It's been a while since the name Russo meant anything, even in Chicago. Wonder why they decided now to talk about 'em. And they're supposed to be automobile dealers, dunno why the news'd pick now to let the cat outta the bag."

"Yeah... Still. Explosions and kidnappings... Wonder what's gotten into 'em."

They shrugged and moved on, already putting it out of their minds.

But then the radio came on with a new report, and the air in the restaurant froze solid.


"Authorities are as yet unable to give an estimate on casualties from the approximately three hundred explosives detonated in the area. The unexplained disappearances in and around the Chicago area, however, have been estimated to number approximately two hundred people, and the people of Illinois continue to express their concern regarding..."


"Three hundred bombs?!"

"Two hundred people?!"


"Senator Manfred Beriam, who is currently visiting Chicago, released the following statement regarding these troubling events..."


The voice from the radio droned on, but the people in the Alveare were no longer paying any attention.

Maiza frowned, ignoring the excited chatter that had suddenly filled the restaurant.

"Seems something serious is going down in Chicago."

"Mmm."

"...Elsen's Hill... Isn't that Nebula's town?"

Nebula was a huge conglomerate, one of the country's largest. Though the company had its headquarters in Chicago, it also held many offices and factories in the nearby town of Elsen's Hill.

"It's a strange place. I've heard rumors that even the mayor there is working with Nebula."

"And I've heard rumors that over half of the townspeople there are connected to Nebula in some way or another. Hmm. Something tells me that this isn't just a matter of a small argument with Mr. Russo..."

The news of explosions and kidnappings in Chicago did nothing to affect the New York camorristas directly, but nevertheless the sharp light of anxiety seeped into Maiza's eyes. If Placido Russo and his Family really were behind the attacks, there was a chance that the government would pour more resources into stamping organized crime. And in that case, small Families like the Martillos would no doubt be deeply affected.

Maiza focused on the words coming from the radio, but beside him Ronnie merely raised a finger to his lips, his eyes growing unfocused as he thought the matter over.

Hmm... I'd thought it'd be either there or New York, one or the other...

Perhaps Ronnie suspected something, for he sat there for a while, matching the information from the radio to the knowledge in his head. At length, he seemed to come to some sort of conclusion, and he smirked as he threw back the last of his liquor in one gulp.

"No, I think this actually might be... Hah. Well. No matter," he murmured quietly.


"Show me what you've got, Huey Laforet. And the same goes for the rest of you... the mortals involved in this game."

---

Madison Square Park


"So now that you know how things are, Miss Chane," Spike said, "we'd much appreciate it if you would follow us without causing any trouble."

He leered at her, and Chane grit her teeth as she reevaluated her situation.

Alone, Spike would have posed no problems. She didn't think for a second that the blind, unarmed sniper could overcome her.

But the man who'd showed up to aid him was another matter entirely.

The man who Spike had called Felix Walken was obviously on a different level from that of normal human beings. She didn't know whether it was natural talent or the product of practice and effort, but the tremendous sense of presence that rolled off of him like a palpable thing and the way he'd effortlessly thrown her through the air had Chane's nerves on edge. And then, most alarming of all, was his name.

Felix Walken.

She'd heard from Claire, once, that the name he'd taken had once belonged to another assassin.

Said assassin had been one of the greatest even in the dangerous streets of New York, practically a legend of the underworld. She also remembered that even Claire had acknowledged that Felix Walken was the strongest person he'd ever met. After Claire himself, of course.

If the man standing before her now was indeed that Felix Walken--the original Felix Walken--then she was probably in very, very dire straits.

Still, even as she processed the fact, fear never entered her heart.

It never occurred to her, even for a second, to run away. In fact, the thought of losing track of the two men before her, perhaps leaving them free to cause harm to Jacuzzi and the rest of her friends, worried her more than anything. It would be faster to beat the name of their employer out of them before they could do something harmful. And besides, even setting all of that aside, there was no way she could possibly ignore or run away from people who obviously meant her father harm.

"...Defiant to the bitter end, I see," the former Felix sighed, and removed both hands from the pockets of his coat. He rolled his shoulders lightly and took a single step toward Chane.

Here he comes.

Chane tightened her grip on her knives and tensed, prepared to burst forward and take the initiative. Several dark shadows entering her field of vision, however, made her hesitate.

Who?!

She focused on them properly and saw that the shadows were in fact men--roughly ten of them, in fact, walking toward her from the entrance to the park. Half of the men were burly and heavyset mountains of muscle, while the other half appeared at first glance to be normal, but all of them were dressed in dour black suits that wouldn't have looked out of place at a funeral, and all of them were glaring in Chane's direction. Perhaps it was the black suits, but they reminded her of the Lemures.

"Oi, over here. She's the one we want," Spike called. He'd probably heard the sound of their footsteps as they approached.

Spike's grin widened; he was probably feeling even better with the arrival of reinforcements to back him up in an already advantageous situation. But the new arrivals, didn't seem to share his good humor for some reason.

"Mr. Spike. There's a bit of a problem."

"Eh? A problem?"

"We heard on the radio that-"

"Hold that for a sec." Spike held up a hand, the smile now completely gone from his face as his brow furrowed in consternation.


"That's one pair of feet too many."


The former Felix was the first to realize what that meant, casting his gaze about to the shadows.

His cold eyes settled on a man soon enough.

He was standing in their midst. Had been, actually, for some time.

It was just like when Chane had noticed the former Felix. By the time they caught sight of him, he was already among them, standing beside Chane as though he'd always been there.

Spike was the next to notice, and he frowned at the unexpected intruder.

"Who the hell are you? You're not on our side, are you?"

The man merely opened his mouth to reply, totally unconcerned.

"You want to know who I am? Sure, I'll give you an answer."

The man looped an arm around Chane's shoulders and spoke, his voice overflowing with confidence.


"I'm... me."


Silence fell over the park.

So brazen and yet so unexpected was his answer that Spike and the rest of his men were momentarily struck dumb.

"...Who the hell does this joker think he is? You think you're some kinda hero from a movie, dashing in at just the right moment to save the damsel in distress?"

Spike sneered, looking to get a rise from the unknown man.

It seemed to have no effect. The man just looked to Chane and smiled sheepishly.

"Well, of course it was the right moment. I was watching this whole time."

"What?"

"You see, I actually looking forward to this so much that I got here early. Real early. But then I saw Chane lost in thought, illuminated in the sunlight filtering through the trees, and she just looked so pretty I couldn't butt in on that."

Chane glared him, blushing bright red.

"Hahaha. Aww, don't say that, Chane. I swear I'm telling the truth. You were beautiful, honest."

If anything, Chane's glare just intensified.

"This isn't the time for that? What're you talking about? There's no way schmucks like these'd be more important to me than how pretty you are."

Spike strained his sense of hearing to the limit, but of course there Chane's voice didn't reach his ears. He knew that she'd never put her knives away, so it wasn't likely that she was using sign language, either. He decided that he was being toyed with and bared his teeth in a snarl.

"This really isn't the time for that, dammit! Hold on and stop talking for just a goddamn second, you asshole!"

A vein stood out on Spike's forehead as he forcefully slammed the cane in his right hand against the ground.

"Who the hell are you? You know what'll happen to you if you don't scram now? This ain't a matter of a few bruises and wounded pride, asshole. We'll kill you!"

"Whoa, whoa, buddy. I know you're angry but now you're tripping over your own words. You meant to say that I'm going to kill you, right?"

"The hell..."

Goddammit, who the hell is this guy?

Spike grit his teeth and would have glared toward where the man's voice had come from if circumstances had permitted. He wasn't used to being matched bluster for bluster.

But... That's not everything. I don't know what it is, but... He's dangerous. I hear fucking sirens in my head just at the sound of his voice.

He waited for the others to make the first move for him, feeling himself break into a cold sweat...

But the former Felix only stayed where he was, his eyes cold and sharp, and the others around him seemed to hesitate, waiting for orders.

Spike decided that he would have to calm down and take the initiative. With a massive effort he pushed down the unease he felt and spoke to the intruder once more.

"Fine... Whatever, I don't even care anymore. At least tell me your name so we can talk."

He wasn't really expecting a straight answer, but the man surprised him by promptly replying.

The answer that came from his mouth, however, only served to confuse everyone even more.

"My name's Felix. Felix Walken."

"...Huh?"

The completely unexpected answer had Spike and his underlings all turning to stare at the man that they knew as Felix, but the man only frowned and looked away, refusing to meet their eyes.

The intruder--Felix Walken, also known as Claire Stanfield--continued to speak calmly and confidently.

"I'm Chane Laforet's fiancé."

---

Division of Investigation Temporary Office


The phone rang.


"...Brown?"

Victor paused, staring at the phone. The call had come at a strange time, and he hesitated a moment longer before exhaling deeply, once again becoming a calm and collected professional as he picked up the receiver.

"Talbot. Ah, so it was you, Detective Brown. What is it?" Victor said, relaxing slightly as Donald's voice came over the receiver.

He tensed abruptly the next moment, though, as Donald gave his report.

"What...?"

Victor stood up, his ear still to the receiver, and with his free hand he pointed once to Edward and then to the radio, making a turning motion.

Reading the gesture for what it was, Edward hurried over to the radio and turned it on, reaching over to adjust the signal.

He needn't have bothered, for the radio immediately launched into an emergency broadcast, the sound coming through loud and clear.

"Authorities are as yet unable to give an estimate on casualties from the approximately three hundred explosives detonated in the area. The unexplained disappearances in and around the Chicago area, however, have been estimated to number approximately two hundred people, and the people of Illinois continue to express their concern regarding..."

Edward froze as he processed the words, his expression twisting with shock and dismay, and even Bill stopped what he was doing to listen, his normally droopy eyes wide and alert.

"So... tell me," Victor managed to say, his shoulders shaking with ill-concealed fury. "How the fuck were we completely in the dark about this until a goddamn public news station saw fit to tell us?"

He paused, listening to Donald.

"Ah... Alright. Fine. I understand, detective. I'll call you back right after I talk to headquarters and find out what's going on."

Victor set the receiver down slowly, almost delicately. It looked like he was exercising the utmost control, and if he let it slip for even a second he'd probably end up breaking something. His normal cold and arrogant façade had vanished, replaced by quiet rage.

"So us Bureau agents aren't even worth your time, huh, Nebula."

The eerily calm tone of his voice had his subordinates subtly shying away.

"And Huey Laforet... Were all those underlings you had moving in New York just a ruse?!"


Just then, the doorknob turned, and the door opened, and a man poked his head inside the office.

None of them had ever seen the man before. From the manner of his dress he appeared to be a vagrant, jobless and homeless thanks to the long depression, but the sharp, lively expression on his face was so at odds with his appearance that the detectives had to hesitate.

What sort of homeless man would have entered their office, anyway?

"Who are you?"

It wasn't like they had anyone standing guard outside, but still. Nobody could have entered by accident...

"Greetings," the homeless man said, before they could gather their wits. His cultured tones once again threw them off, being so completely at odds with his looks. "Pleased to make your acquaintance. Again, perhaps I should say. Well. I must say it's a pleasure to meet the esteemed detectives of the Bureau of Investigation... Though I see that there are only three of you here at present."

"Wha... Who are you?"

"It seems you've heard the news over the radio, so without further ado, allow me to pass on Master Huey's message to you."

The detectives tensed, the unexpected name more than enough to have them on edge.

"Ahem. Master Huey says, 'I'm sorry for all the trouble I've caused you, Victor.'"

A messenger?!

The way the man had suddenly appeared at just the right moment, together with the words coming from his mouth, made it clear that this was no joke. It meant that a vital clue to Huey Laforet's intelligence and communications network had just shown up on Victor's doorstep, right when he needed it most.

But even as he processed that fact, Victor could hear warning klaxons going off inside his head.

Why now, of all times, he asked himself.

"Well... Alright, then. I don't know what you're talking about... But stay right there and don't move a goddamn muscle."

Victor fixed the man with a glare that was positively glacial, but he shrugged it off easily, even smiling slightly as he continued.

"Master Huey also had this to say: 'I'm also sorry to burden you with this when you're already busy, but since I can't drag you into this fight between Nebula and I...'"


"'Forgive me for occupying you just a little bit longer,' is what he says."


A small thud alerted them to something falling at the man's feet.

It was a small sphere with a dull copper shine, a thin length of what looked like string protruding from it. Fitful hissing filled the suddenly silent room as the small flame on the end of the string continued to burn down, emitting tiny wisps of smoke as it went.

Victor blanched as he realized just what it was.

"Everyone get dow-"

Bill and Edward dove behind nearby desks before he even finished his sentence.

"Ack! You dirty cowar-"

Again he was cut off, this time by a flash of light from the sphere. He didn't have any time to run.


And the office shook with a thundering roar.

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Chapter 3 Back End

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Chapter 4 Front