Ch.15Ch.2 – No Country for Young Boys (3)

They were pale-faced nuns wearing long black tunic-like skirts, white headdresses, and brown leather belts around their waists.

Of course, they might just be waitresses dressed as nuns. What kind of nuns would wear skirts with such long side slits?

Their garments fluttered with each step they took. I caught glimpses of their thighs and bare legs, which had rather thick leather straps tied around them for some purpose I couldn’t begin to fathom.

“Order?”

A pale-faced nun tossed the question at me. Before I could respond, she pointed to a wall. There was a menu posted there. I ordered cranberry juice. The nun stared at me blankly.

Crash!

All sounds ceased at once. Everyone in the hall glared at the unfortunate woman who had dropped her glass on the floor.

“I’m sorry!”

Just as the woman was about to reach for the broken glass, nuns rushed in from all directions.

They covered her with an enormous sack they’d produced from somewhere, hoisted her up, and rushed toward the exit. Other nuns swept up the broken glass with brooms and dustpans.

“Didn’t hear you. What did you say?”

I ordered cranberry juice. Again.

The nun exhaled sharply through her nose as if I were completely insane, then disappeared.

Only then did I have the leisure to look around this bewildering secret bar.

It was less like a bar and more like an enormous playroom.

On one side of the vast hall stood pool tables, on another numerous regular tables, and on yet another was a bar where people could stand and drink.

Leaning against the wall and observing slowly, I could distinguish who belonged to the White Hand Mafia, who was part of O’Malley’s gang, and who were ordinary civilians.

The civilians were dressed more colorfully. The White Hand Mafia members generally wore suits and kept their coats on, speaking in low voices.

O’Malley’s gang talked loudly among themselves, not caring about others.

In a confined, narrow space, voices would normally echo, but the ceiling was quite high and the walls seemed to be wooden, which appeared to absorb sound well.

Or perhaps this place was much larger than I thought. Evidence of this was that despite people smoking everywhere, the smoke dispersed in all directions. Proof that there were ventilation ducts somewhere.

There were two exceptions. One was a man leaning against a wall like me. He stood in a slightly shadowed spot next to a cabinet, wearing a caramel-colored fedora and a black raincoat over his angular jaw.

And he was alone. Like me.

No one else in this place was alone. Everyone else was in groups of two or three. Yet he stood silently in the shadows, watching everyone as if he never had companions to begin with.

And the other exception was a nun who had been staring “intently” at me for some time.

Unlike the other nuns, she just sat in a chair in the middle of the hall.

Her silver hair, which fell to her shoulders, fluttered slightly. She wasn’t wearing a headdress.

She had a black cloth wrapped around her eyes, suggesting she couldn’t see.

Yet she was looking “directly” at *me*.

I thought it might be coincidence and moved to another spot, but she continued to stare.

“Here. Cranberry juice.”

The pale-faced nun held out a tray with my drink. The beverage was served in an unnecessarily heavy silver cup. The nun shook the empty tray. After I placed money on it, she disappeared.

Again, I continued my tedious and repetitive investigation.

I grabbed anyone who looked like they belonged to O’Malley’s gang and asked about O’Brien.

Most sneered, some looked hostile, but they were clearly conscious of the silver-haired nun.

It was incomprehensible. What was so special about that woman?

“Hey.”

A burly man in oil-stained work clothes called out to me.

“Name’s Paul. I’m a dock worker. Why don’t you sit down?”

There was an empty seat, but it was surrounded by O’Malley’s gang members. I felt like an envoy entering enemy territory.

“So. What are you so curious about that you’re stirring up our boys? Even those White Hand elders are keeping quiet.”

I briefly explained my identity and purpose. The man stroked his chin with thick fingers. The flesh bulged over his short-cut nails.

“O’Brien. O’Brien, is it? The diligent worker at Burroway’s General Store, right? Yes. We’ve been watching him for a very long time.”

He said nothing more. Following custom, I took coins from my pocket and placed them on the table.

Paul and those around him burst into laughter as if I were ridiculous, but I paid no mind.

“Ah. You’ve been well-trained by that blabbermouth Crayfield. Fine. Fine. I’ll tell you what you want to know. We don’t know where O’Brien went either. Is that enough?”

I placed more coins on the table and asked how they knew he was “missing” if they didn’t know where he went.

Paul raised an eyebrow.

“Ha! You’re a smart one. Yes. We were watching Burroway’s General Store. That stiff-necked boss refused O’Malley’s polite request three times.

What’s so difficult about bringing in a box or two with your inland shipments? So we were preparing a little lesson.

But it fell through at the final stage. O’Malley’s orders.”

A lesson, huh. What could it have been? Terrorism? Or arson? I placed more money on the table. But he wouldn’t say more.

“That’s all the information you need, kid.”

Instead, he leaned forward. His eyes turned exceedingly sinister.

That was the signal.

In an instant, Paul’s subordinates surrounded the table. I couldn’t see outside through the wall of people. Countless hands fidgeted.

“Kid. Seems like the amount is a bit short for the information. How about taking out some more money?”

His subordinates all snickered. Someone had already placed a hand on my shoulder. I nodded emphatically and put my hand in my pocket.

Then I quickly aimed my revolver at Paul.

“Are you crazy?”

Just as expected. The hands pressing down on my shoulders disappeared.

The people in this hall fear seeing blood spilled. Why doesn’t matter. What matters is how to use that knowledge.

“This… bastard…”

“I’m curious too.”

The crowd dispersed. The silver-haired nun was standing there. Two other nuns were assisting her.

“I’m also very interested in O’Brien. That good boy used to volunteer at the free lunch distribution every Sunday. But now he’s gone. It’s sad.”

The silver-haired nun gestured, and another nun brought a chair.

“By the way. You’re quite bold, aren’t you? Not content with breaking the taboo already. Do you really need to see blood spilled?”

I declared that I wouldn’t leave until my safety was guaranteed and I got what I wanted. As proof that this wasn’t just talk, I pointed my revolver at my left arm.

“Whoa, whoa. No. No. That’s a very bad toy. Very. Very. Bad.”

The silver-haired nun playfully waved her hands. Then, forming her left hand into the shape of a gun,

“Bang.”

She shot at me. Nothing happened. For some reason, the crowd was shocked. The silver-haired nun tilted her head in confusion, then,

“Bang.”

She shot her finger gun at a man nearby.

Surprisingly, the man fell backward. Other men caught him. Fortunately, he seemed to be breathing.

“Strange. Strange. I’ve been watching since you came in, but you’re truly unusual. ‘You.’ Bang bang!”

I still had no idea what game this silver-haired nun was playing, but nothing happened to me. Instead, the two men who had been pressing on my shoulders fainted.

“Alright. Gentlemen. It seems we need to send this person on their way, so if you know anything, say it now.

But keep your voices down. Look, the White Hand followers are paying attention to us.

And… that man against the wall too.”

The silver-haired nun growled. Indeed, the White Hand Mafia and the angular-jawed man were watching us.

Fortunately, information poured in from all directions.

Thus I learned that O’Brien had come from Ireland as a stowaway with two friends, red-headed boys named O’Co and Butler.

Unlike O’Brien, who easily found work thanks to his sturdy build, his two friends spent empty days until they robbed a bakery run by one of O’Malley’s subordinates.

They were beaten nearly to death but were accepted into the family by O’Malley’s decision.

“Those two were a bit stupid. Unreliable and forgetful. O’Brien, that guy was the real deal.”

“Talent gets recognized anywhere, doesn’t it? Even the mid-level guys had their eyes on him. Diligent, no tricks, even stubbornly honest. Exactly the kind of talent an organization wants.”

“I heard he got several recruitment offers. From the White Hand and from our side too. But he refused them all.”

It was a sad thing. In the world of light and rules, the boy’s diligence was taken for granted, while the world of darkness valued him more highly.

“Things got so serious that discussions about terrorizing Burroway’s General Store were suspended.

Instead, O’Brien was going to be given a choice. If you come over to us, we’ll leave the store alone.

But if you don’t, your job will disappear.”

The silver-haired nun made a displeased face.

“That’s sad.”

The enthusiastic speaker hesitated.

“But, Mother Superior, we had an ‘agreement,’ I believe…”

“That’s why it’s sad.”

The nun’s voice was sorrowful.

“If it had been in my territory, I could have done something. But the surface is your domain, and I have no place to interfere. Please continue.”

“There’s nothing to worry about.”

The blabbermouth breathed a sigh of relief.

“O’Brien disappeared. Those two stupid sidekicks disappeared too. No one knows where they went. They just vanished.”

“No one knows?”

“Really, no one knows, Mother Superior. Truly.”

“Is that so?”

Now the nun looked at me.

“Well then. Crayfield’s assistant. It seems you’ve gotten what you wanted? The exit is that way.”

Paul’s subordinates cleared a path. I nodded and walked toward the staircase. The nuns looked at me with hostile eyes. I also made eye contact with the angular-jawed man, but his expression was hard to read.

Just a clue. That was all. I had hit a dead end, and now where should I go? At least it was a small comfort to know that O’Brien hadn’t succumbed to corruption.

Where had those three friends gone?

Opening the exit door, I saw the night street. It was a back alley in the entertainment district. The streetlights that should have illuminated the street were off. All the houses along the alley had their curtains drawn. There was no light to be found.

I had a bad feeling. Malice and hostility could be felt from all directions. As I quickened my pace, the footsteps behind me grew louder.

I rolled behind a metal trash can to hide.

Sure enough.

Armed men were gathering from all directions. Monkey wrenches, hammers, guns. Three thugs just beyond the trash can.

“Did you think you could mess with O’Malley’s family and leave unscathed? This isn’t neutral territory. This is our turf, you rat.”

Someone I didn’t know barked at me. There was no way back. If I turned around, O’Malley’s gang would surely rush out from the neutral zone bar.

But what of it? If there’s no path, I’ll make one. Slowly. Through the trash cans. I remember their positions.

The one with the gun is priority one. The one swinging the monkey wrench is second. The one with the hammer is third. I glanced up at the night sky. The not-quite-full moon glinted. Calmly. Waiting for the moon to be obscured. Now!

I fired my revolver. With a scream, bang, bang sounds followed. I hadn’t delivered the killing blow. I leaned my head around the trash can and shot at the man rushing from the front. He fell. Behind me, I heard a door slam open and someone running.

I jumped over the trash can. I hit the man with the hammer squarely, knocking him down. I fired another shot at the man who was clutching his knee and groaning. I’ve fired four shots, so only two remain.

I ran down the street. The footsteps behind me quickened. Ahead of me, the road split in two. No way to tell which was a dead end.

Instinctively, I dashed to the right. Behind me, I heard the pursuers’ confusion and then a jumble of footsteps.

The back alley’s discord. They seemed to have split into two groups. I tried every doorknob I could see, but all were locked.

The footsteps and commotion grew louder. Muttering a curse under my breath, I pressed myself against the street wall. I planned to shoot the first one who came close.

If I wanted to die peacefully, I’d need to save one bullet.

“As I thought. Interesting.”

Suddenly!

Headlights turned on from a corner of the alley. Vroom, vroom! The sound of a motorcycle engine revved, and without warning, it charged forward.

I rolled to the side in the nick of time. Screech! The motorcycle made a wide turn and stopped.

“I’ll confiscate this for now.”

As if forcibly pulled away, the Colt revolver in my hand flew through the air. The figure on the motorcycle snatched my gun.

It was the silver-haired nun. The black cloth she had worn as a blindfold was now firmly tied to her left sleeve.

Her silver-gray eyes glinted ominously in the moonlight.

She dismounted from the motorcycle and reached into her nun’s habit through the long slit.

It was a Thompson submachine gun. The barrel was short, but it was clearly a shortened Thompson model. The nun skillfully attached a drum magazine she took from the motorcycle seat.

“You know what? There are many useful sayings in the Bible, for example, ‘Knock, and the door shall be opened unto you.'”

The nun recited the verse casually and opened fire with the gun. In bursts of three. With just one hand.

“Get down! Machine gun!”

“Run! Run away!”

The subordinates fled in a rush. The nun, with a broad smile, got back on the motorcycle.

“The Word has been fulfilled. The path has truly opened!”

The motorcycle roared like a nightmare of the night.

“Get on, Mr. Crayfield’s assistant.”

I had no other choice. I climbed on behind her.

Vrooooom!

The motorcycle sped through O’Malley’s subordinates. We had completely escaped the encirclement.

“Like a gazelle escaping the hunter’s snare, like a bird from the fowler’s grasp.”

Just as the Bible says.