The Elderly Couple is in a Desperate Situation, and… (1/2)

Not dead yet, just a chronic procrastinator and overall terrible at punctuality. All and any impatience is completely justified, I’m afraid, but hopefully I’ll have the next half up in a someone reasonable manner!

Chicago

Dolce

 

Chicago: a city of skyscrapers. Yet in an area conspicuously lacking in them, several people now gathered.

Within the spacious but empty bar, the elderly  couple who ran the place were using the moments before opening to talk.                     .

“Hey, old girl, didya hear? Looks like there’ve been more bombings.”

“Yes…the newsboy who just came up says there’ve been happening all over the city now…I guess we can’t open today again…”

“Hey, now – isn’t that being a little too cautious?”

At her husband’s words, a strained smile crept onto the wife’s face.

The worry in her face, however, showed no sign of her abating.

“I just have a bad feeling about this..,”

“That again…look, whenever somethin’ like this happens, you always get like this. Coupla years ago, with that train that was in New York, it was the same thing. The one we were going to board, too –  what was it called again? ‘The Flying Pussfoot,’ I think? All of a sudden, you said the same thing then, too, and we had to miss our trip to the springs, didn’t we?”

“Yes – and even now, I’m convinced my hunch was right.”

“What’re you talking about? Flipping through all the papers, there wasn’t anything about nothing bad happening to the train.”

“But right after that trip, wasn’t the train taken out of service?”

At his wife’s unwavering tone, the bartender of the bar could only sigh as he shook his head.

In actuality, the old woman’s hunch had been right. And with the bombings currently occurring, who wouldn’t help feeling worried?

But today also marked a momentous occasion: the thirtieth anniversary of the Dolce‘s opening.

The couple hadn’t planned any special parties or events for the occasion, nor had they advertised the occasion anywhere. Their only plan, in fact, had been to go on as normal – perhaps feeling a small sense of pride, a quiet sense of accomplishment. Nonetheless, it was still a day fully worthy of commemoration.

Starting several days ago, the bartender had anticipated this day. Now, however, he was stuck patiently coaxing his wife to even let them open.

“Oh yeah, and those explosions happened yesterday – one of Nebula’s people had to be behind it.  But ten years ago, wasn’t it the same thing? Except it was that Nice girl then always causing things to blow up – same one that always looked so sweet, ya’d hardly suspect she could do so much damage. Well, it looks like same thing’s happenin’ again.”

“…that’s right, isn’t it? These last few years, we haven’t seen those kids around…”

“Uh-huh – since two, three years ago, no one’s seen ’em around. Right now, that group of punks has to have just about grown up, right? Who knows, by this time, maybe they’ve found regular jobs and moved to some other city.”

As they talked, the bartender suddenly saw a response to his wife’s objections, and subsequently tried it –

“Hey – so we don’t worry these kids when they eventually come back, we can’t close because of such a small thing, can we?”

“You’re trying to get us back to the question, aren’t you?”

Bluntly confronted with his intentions, the bartender could only shrug and answer:

“Yeah, well, it can’t be that bad, right? So look, if we just don’t let in suspicious people or anyone with weird suitcases, we should be fine, right?”

“…you really need to pay more attention to news.”

Eventually, however, his wife relented, returning inside to prepare food. And seeing her there, the bartender couldn’t help but give a cry of triumph as he returned to the front to open the bar.

All in all, however, this was a fairly quick task – a simple matter of flipping the sign outside from “Closed” to “Open.” Thirty years since the day it had first opened, the bar’s routine was still the same.

Except –

Today, when the bartender opened the door, two figures were already waiting in the doorway.

“Oh, apologies! I’m opening shop right now!”

To have two customers already waiting now, when the sun was just starting to come up, was an extraordinary occurrence.

Of the two figures, one was a bearded man, eyes heavily shaded by the brim of his hat, while the other a stunning young women in an elegant dress. Although they didn’t look like lovers, it was difficult to tell what type of relationship they had – whether they were parent and child, brother and sister, or simply acquaintances.

And what was more – the bartender felt that he had already seen these two distinctive faces.

“Huh? My dear guests…weren’t you here yesterday, too? Well, do come in! We’re always ready to welcome familiar faces.”

“…”

“Oh, oh…how can I even begin to voice it, the joy now etched into the corners of my brain? Our image of eternity, comprising a series of disparate moments strung together, is eternally blocked by images of the wheel of fate…If a clock’s face truly binds the eternal wheel of time, then perhaps it would not to be wrong to speculate that it is the gaze upon the world that binds the wheel of fate.”

The old man quickly welcomed them into the bar. The woman entered without a word and the man with the hat, recalling several particularly beautiful lines, followed after her.

Such a strange man, still muttering to himself as he entered –

The bartender pushed his curiosity away, though, choosing instead to focus on the blue sky as the bar officially opened for business.

A decision that, in the aftermath of what, would set this bartender and his shop on their fate.

—

Chicago

Roadway

Underneath a vast and cloudless blue sky –

Graham Specter stood, practicing his usual routine.

“What a sad, sad story…difficult to notice anything but its tragedy when you first hear it. But listen closely, and you shall notice how the riddle is also an inconceivable mystery…but then, listening again, it truly is a sad, sad story…”

“Too long. Can you cut to the chase?”

“How truly sad…let me tell you a sad, sad story.”

“Hey boss Graham, you ever thought of why other people have to listen to you do this intro? I mean, you’re asking ’em to give up a chunk of their lives to listen to you talk – but when you talk, it doesn’t seem like you’ve considered that at all! In fact, do you even know what the word “considerate” means? If you don’t, well then, looks like the most tragic thing here is you, boss.”

In addition to several youths behind him, a man stood next to Graham: Shaft, his second-in-command.  And it was Shaft  who now spoke these words with no regard for his life.

Yet despite the increasing sourness of the words, Graham merely spun the giant wrench in his hand as he tranquilly received Shaft’s remarks.

“Listen to me…for what I have to tell is such a tragic, tragic tale –”

“The way I see it, you’re not making yourself seem more sincere by saying that  – hey, you’re not angry, are you?”

“Angry? – oh, hardly. No, what fills my heart right now is nothing but sadness, sadness and sorrow and sadness and anger – oh, anger? How sad that makes me! Right now, it seems I can hardly sort my own emotions – and to combat such sorrow, what should I do? What should I do, so that I can finally know my own emotions? Should I move around? Is that it? Or perhaps…if I perform three actions of sorrow and one of anger, surely I will convey my feelings to the world! So be it! I shall declare the sadness of the world three times, then give my angry action to Shaft. Oh, how sad! Oh truly, human existence is truly so tragic!”

“Hey, hang on…that hardly seems balanced  – oh, oof –!”
As he continued to declare his sorrows, Graham simultaneously stuck Shaft in the stomach. The blow took his breath away, leaving Shaft clutching at himself as he staggered away.

Graham’s face, however, reflected none of his partner’s pain, only a carefree expression as he alternated between elation and sorrow.

“Alriiiight! Those of you who have so far patiently kept silent, these tragic and incredible events can be delayed just a little longer! For now, onward to other, more pleasant topics! Today, Shaft has proposed to show us a truly magnificent yet sadly obscure restaurant…and since he is the one who proposed it, naturally he’ll be taking full responsibility! If the food is awful, then he says he’ll accept responsibility for that, too – by paying for all of it, naturally!”

At these extravagant promises, a soft murmur of approval arose among the crowd behind.

Shaft, however, was a different matter. Still clutching his stomach, he broke out in a cold sweat at these words.

“…! H-hey, wait! I never said that!”

“Oh, you’re talking again already? It looks that blow I gave you a moment ago wasn’t deep at all. It almost makes me want to do it again, just harder…oh, but I do hate violence, so I suppose not. Oh, but no mistaking it! In truth, that blow I gave you was out of vengeance for your words about my mind…oh blue sky, I swear to be more honest! I apologize, Shaft! I acted out of rash, awful anger!”

“… never mind. I don’t even care anymore. But next time you want to get back at me, use words instead, okay?”

“I’ll put my best effort to it! But for now, ah, where exactly is this bar?”

Shaft glared for a moment at Graham, whose expression showed not a hint of remorse. Then, sighing, he reluctantly lifted his chin and pointed ahead –

“Just ahead, actually.”

“It’s actually a restaurant that just starting selling alcohol recently, but the food’s pretty good. Called Dolce, you heard of it before?”

—

Chicago, outskirts

The interior of a car

“Turn right, then just drive straight ahead.”

“O-okay, got it!”

To the cold order from beside him, the red-eyed driver gave this enthusiastic reply.

Humming as he drove, the man glanced over at the child calmly sitting next to him and grinned cheerfully.

The smile exposed a row of straight teeth – teeth that, oddly enough, were all unnaturally sharp.

“Ricardo, what’s up? Ever since this morning, you’ve been acting real distant.”

“Christopher…about yesterday’s bombings…what do you think about them?”

“I’m a hundred percent sure it’s Rail – it’s written all over it. Quite interesting, huh?”

“I hardly see what’s so interesting about that.”

Sighing, Ricardo Russo addressed his driver, Christopher Shouldered, a man whom she nonetheless also considered her friend –

“Christopher, if you are sure it’s Rail, then how do you really have no opinions about this?”

“Hey, I told you I thought it was interesting, didn’t I? But if you insist on askin’, I’d have to say I think he’s doing a good job of it.”

“You’re not planning on stopping him?”

“It’s his choice. Besides, it’s Rail’s way of trying to save Frank.”

After Christopher’s tranquil reply, silence fell within the car.

Ever since yesterday’s uproar, the two had driving aimlessly around the city without any thought of returning.

You only had to flip the paper, after all, to find the name of Ricardo’s grandfather everywhere. According to the reporters, Placido Russo was the mastermind behind the recent bombings and disappearances – and although Placido was currently missing, several of his accomplices had already been arrested, with several more simply unaccounted for.  Traces of explosives been found inside Placido’s mansion, but when it came to Placido himself, there’d been little progress in finding him.

“Come to think of it, those people in the white coats haven’t even made the news…

“A group that powerful, they’re almost like the president’s own armed forces.”

“Hey, I don’t think this place’s in such bad shape that the president would need a bunch of weirdos like that.”

In the silence that followed, it was now Christopher’s turn to face Ricardo – this time, with question of his own.

“And you, Ricardo – your boring existence’s finally come to an end, huh? How’s that feeling?”

“…I haven’t had yet had the time to completely sort that out.”

Although this question was thoughtless in the extreme, Ricardo showed no sign of anger. It seemed that, after a year of knowing him, Ricardo understand that this was the type of person Christopher was, and had already become accustomed to such behavior. And while Ricardo had stated that he was still in the middle of dealing with it, he had already quietly accepted the  situation.

“I don’t know why, but it feels as though Grandfather’s already died. With the Russo family heading towards its end, I don’t see why you’ve decided to still follow me, Christopher.”

“Hey there, what reason d’you need among friends?”

“To say such embarrassing things so boldly – it truly is something.”

With this cold reply, Ricardo once again turned the conversation to Rail.

“In that case, do you also consider yourself friends with that boy, Rail?”

“We’re more like family, but yeah.”

“Then you ought to treat him a little more like a friend. Even if you don’t plan on halting anything, you could still save him.”

“Heeey, I’ve already said if Rail wanted to come with me, I won’t say no. Plus, if I tried to help Rail right now, I don’t think it’d be good for him.”

“When it comes to helping friends or family, you shouldn’t have to think so much.”

“Was that the type of person your grandfather was?”

At this yet another thoughtless question Ricardo fell silent, a deep feeling of discomfort in her chest. It seemed Christopher’s straightforwardness, his lack of hesitation to spare feelings, was what let him spark self-reflection in others. Feeling thus a little more self-aware, Ricardo modified her tack –

“I admit it’s a little strange for me to say that, but the way that boy is right now, he needs someone at his side to watch over him.”

“Ricardo…if that’s the way you really feel, then why don’t you trying being a little less cold toward Rail?”

“…that’s not true. I treated him the same as everyone else. In fact, are you sure he isn’t the one who dislikes me?”

Christopher hid his amusement at Ricardo’s blank expression, opting instead to respond calmly.

“Oh, no no no. You know, you guys are really alike – even when you guys are arguing, it’s ’cause you’re so similar.”

“Stop talking nonsense. What in the world do I have in common with that person?”

“Oh, lots! For starters, you both think the other’s trying to take me away, and so you’re jealous of each other!”

“…you really are conceited beyond belief.”

Paying no attention to Ricardo’s words, Christopher continued –

“Another thing – even though both of you hate the world, you can’t bring yourselves to completely reject it.”

“I certainly haven’t been trying to reject anything.”

“You know what’d be interesting? – you getting red in the face and screaming, “of course not!'”

“Producing such a senseless noise – the only thing that would accomplish is make a person hungry. Speaking of which, I think we ought to eat while deciding where to afterwards.”

As if on cue, Ricardo’s stomach choose that moment to gave a loud gurgle.

“Uh huh. I can see.”

“…”

“Hey, right then, you actually looked kind of shy..”

Huh, it’s almost like she just acted like a girl…

In a rare display of consideration, however, Christopher managed to keep himself from saying this observation out loud.

At first glance, Ricardo looked like an ordinary boy- and in everyday life, she often acted like one, too. She had no personal reasons for doing so, but from the view of those few people who knew her secret, it seemed that her grandfather, Placido, had put pressure on her to behave this way. Christopher, however, chose to make no judgment on the situation. And as Christopher said nothing, Ricardo had never brought the subject up. Between them, it had been simply regulated an unimportant matter, a situation continuing all the way to this day.

Stomach grumbling, Ricardo was silent for a moment, then resumed giving directions –

“Turn left here, please.”

“Okie-dokie!”

“Drive a little farther, and then we’ll be there.”

“Hey – come to think of it, this is the first time I’ve come this way. Is the food at this place really that good?”

Although strange in many other aspects, Christopher had high standards when it came to food – particularly when it came to pastries or sweets, his especial loves. Christopher was so picky that he couldn’t stand the taste of commercially prepared madeleines – he had to make his own, which had already won the approval of Ricardo and Rail. If given the opportunity, it would have certainly also won over aloof Huey, too.

It was with the taste of Christopher’s madeleines in his mouth that Ricardo now replied, “it’s not very well-known, but the food is quite good.”

With these few expectations, Christopher was now driving toward the place Ricardo had picked out for him.

Pondering his companion’s question, Ricardo’s expression uncharacteristically softened.

“Ah, well, yes – it’s all very delicious, actually. The restaurant is run by an elderly couple, and it’s been there for thirty years. Their apple pie is particularly good – it’s the reason I want to go there today.”

“Okay, but there’s one more thing I still don’t quite get: why today?”

“Because, after today, I’m not quite sure what will happens…

“So there’s a possibility this could be our last meal in Chicago.”

—

The bar Dolce

“This so-called sensation of taste – is it not just the tongue’s eyes, brain, ears, and soul? From the tongue’s dew, I can envision the dreams of the brewers; closing my mouth, the savory taste spreads, giving me visions of the past and future of its creators. Violence releases the tastes within; biting down, I hear the moans overflowing from the heart of my dishes before all leaves to the throat, to be pondered there. A savory taste? A delicious flavor? For the sake of such, tens of thousands of guilty deeds I would not hesitate to perform. And all the while, my tongue would express but one sentiment: how delicious.”

“Please just shut up and wait for your food in peace.”

As this exchange passed between the woman and the man at the bar, a mysterious mood settled on the store.

Besides the bar, six other tables were set up in the wooden interior of the store.

From its size and interior, it could have been just another one of the small stores popular in America at the time, albeit slightly smaller than most establishments. The wooden floors and other decorations, however, gave the place an atmosphere that, if still not quite fashionable, was distinctly modern. And with only two guests currently inside, it seemed far more spacious than it was.

In addition to the two at the bar, there was another person inside, standing next to the man quietly muttering to himself – the owner of the bar, who only smiled amiably at everything the odd man said. Continuing to wipe the glass in his hand, he said:

“Huh, I must not be too smart, since I didn’t understand half of you what you just said. But whatever you’re saying, it’s too much, really – I’m flattered, but you don’t have to go on like that.”

I don’t think he was trying to compliment you…

Hearing the owner’s words, the woman sighed. Putting down her menu, she turned to him.

“Please just prepare two of whatever dish you want, so long as it’s filling.”

“Then how about trying some barbeque ribs?”

In addition to being emblematic of America, barbeque ribs were a food that were also particular to Chicago.

In the past, a man who could truly be called a poet, Carl Sandburg – who, in addition to winning the Pulitzer Prize, had also counted note-taking and singing among his many talents – had bestowed upon Chicago a variety of nicknames. Among these was the title “Hog Butcher for the World,” a reference to the prosperous livestock industry there.

Made from garlic, tomato sauce, and vinegar, barbeque sauce was smeared on pork ribs and, depending on how it was cooked, gave the meat a unique flavor. Against the city’s backdrop, the wafting smell of barbeque was made all the more distinct.

Although the ingredients used were the same, the technique and temperature used to cook the meat gave rise to many different variations. In this way, it was dish perfect for displaying the cook’s skills.

“Alright then…two orders of Kansas-style ribs, then.”

“Alright, right away!”

Though he was caught off-guard by the masculine authority in the woman’s voice, the owner continued smiling at her as he left to give the order.

Seeing the owner disappear into the kitchen, the woman turned towards the man next to her, his hat shading his eyes.

“Okay, Poet, what are you planning to do? We’ve already waited a night, and Sham and Hilton still haven’t gotten in touch with us. So: what now?”

“Approaching a scene of darkness, the scales of the snake gleam gold and copper. If you can gently tap against the scales, a soft ra-ta-ta-ta results. Perhaps life is like that sluggish reverb which, in its passing, leaves gold pieces among the strawberries…”

“Alright, I get it. You don’t know what to do, either.”

Seeing the woman’s confused expression, the man called ‘the Poet’ shook his head vigorously.

“The white grasses in the water – their whispering creates the sense of an unknown language, but it will be revealed as but an illusory lie. The crows flying towards the dusk compel us forward with their cries, for we must ourselves crawl from this darkness. Sickle, is there not truth in these words?”

“There’s no need to think about it so much – what we should do right now is to find Rail and Frank.”

Saying this, the woman named Sickle tightly gripped the glass on the bar counter.

Among the homunculi created by Huey Laforet, these two were part of a group called “Lamia.” And it was because of her membership in this group that the last few days had been such a headache for the woman at the bar.

The trouble had started when they had, as per Sham’s instructions, arrived at Chicago. Their arrival had gone smoothly, but soon after that, a series of circumstances had  surfaced that they were wholly unprepared for.

The first was when they had discovered a group, seemingly belonging to the mafia, carrying wanted signs and out to capture them. They had fought with a member of this group, a man in workman’s clothing – and had been forced to retreat.

After they had lost Rail, they had realized that the men after them were members of the Russo family. But when while breaking into the Russos’ base, they’d been attacked by a mysterious group of figures in white coats – and in the ensuing chaos, Frank had been gone missing, too.

They had returned to the Russo mansion the next day, only to find that not was the Russo leader nowhere to be found, the place was surrounded by cops after bombs had erupted at the mansion the previous night.

This explosion..it seems like Rail’s doing…

Right after Sickle had reached this conclusion, the next day had followed with an even larger explosion. And although she was certain that it was Rail’s work as well, Sickle could only wait to see what happened next.

Although Sickle and the other homunculi had gone to Chicago in order to help advance Huey’s experiments, now not only could they do nothing, they had no information on the experiment at all.

Normally, Sham, Hilton, or Leeza would have conveyed information to them by this time, but so far, there had been no news from anyone. It made Sickle uneasy as she sat there, quietly draining her glass.

Sickle stood up, then briskly kicked her chair in.

“I’m going to the bathroom.”

Saying this, she left the table.

Wordlessly, the Poet watched her leave, then continued waiting for his food in silence.

And in the moment after the women’s bathroom door closed –

Several men walked into the bar.

Lost in his own thought, the Poet paid little attention to the identity of these men – a decision that, in the wreckage afterwards, would ultimately seal not only his fate, but that of the bar itself.

Chapter Three, Part 2/2