Lucky Dog 1 translations 02-07

Part 1: Prison

Chapter 2

Ivan

     

I call Ivan to my room.

After arriving, Ivan quickly glances around him before suddenly opening his big trap.

Ivan: How the fuck did you suddenly get to be boss?!

Gian: Hey!  Keep it down!

The first thing he does is zoom straight to top family secrets…?  Somehow, seeing this, I lose confidence in the amount of importance he places in the code.

We scoot a bit closer so no one outside can hear us.  Putting my face close to his, I berate him in Italian.

Gian: What the hell’re you gonna do if someone hears you?

Ivan: Whaa?  I’m no good with Italian!

Damn young’uns nowadays…  How did he reach capo in the first place?

Ivan: How the hell did you get on the Boss’s good side?!

Face full of discontent, Ivan switches languages.  His Italian is horrible in the strangest ways…  Well, at least he can speak it?

Gian: Hell if I know.  I’m just a normal goodfella to the old man, nothing more.

Ivan glares at me with narrowed eyes.

Ivan: …You’re not the Boss’s bastard son, are you?

Gian: The fuck?  I grew up in an orphanage, but I had two legit parents, you know!

Ivan: Your parents … oh.

Ivan looks as though he remembered something.  …And then he sneers.

Ivan: I remember…  Your family was the one massacred by a loaded guy…

Just over twenty years ago, a man high off heroin broke into the house of a middle-class Italian family and butchered the young couple.

This happened to the family I was born into, and I know I’m their only son and the lone survivor, but I was too young at the time, so I don’t remember a thing.

Gian: Before you get your hopes up, I don’t remember a thing about my parents or what happened to them.  You’re not gonna get anything out of me even if you keep egging me on.

He’s trying to put the pressure on me, so I deliver the killing blow before he even gets started.

It’s true that that incident is one of the main reasons why my nickname is the Lucky Dog.

But I really don’t remember anything.  After I’d gotten out of there alive, I’d led a fairly happy orphanage life surrounded by Sisters who’d kept me alive, but … that’s a topic for another day…

Ivan: Hmph.  You’re boring.

Looks like he’s already lost interest.  But the furrows in his eyebrows immediately make a comeback as the spit starts flying again.

Ivan: If you’re not his bastard son then how the hell did you fly past us and become the next boss?!

Ivan: I’d never even heard that old grandpa Cavalli was retiring in the first place, let alone naming you as the next captain!

Gian: Then you and I are in the same boat!  But, it looks like everyone but you doesn’t care.

Ivan: And why not?!

Maybe … because you’re the newest capo and because of that personality of yours?  …But I keep my thoughts to myself.

Despite his whole Ivan-ness, he is someone the Boss and the Administration’d acknowledged as captain.

…But, to tell the truth, I wonder how he managed to climb so high when he’s not even Italian in the first place…

Gian: I told you!  Go.  Ask.  The.  Boss!

Ivan: I can’t when I’m trapped in here!

Gian: Hell if I know!  Stop turning all green just ‘cause you worked hard to claw your way up to capo!

Judging from Ivan’s expression when the words fly out, it looks like I hit the nail on the head.

Ivan: Shut up!  I’m not gonna acknowledge you!  Ever!

…Why are we fighting over something so pointless?

Gian: Jeez, it’s not like you’re a kid here…

I mutter this to myself.  I hear another whisper reach my ears, too.

Ivan: I’m gonna become the boss no matter what…

I can’t resist shooting back a retort.

Gian: Ooh?  So that means you’re confident you can just brush aside Giulio and Luchino and Bernardo?

Ivan: Shut up.  Don’t forget I’m your senior here.

I feel a nerve twitch at the overbearing expression smeared across his face.

Ivan: You haven’t forgotten the code, have you?

Of course I haven’t.  Putting it into words would annoy the fuck out of me, though, so I keep quiet.

Absolute obedience to those above you in rank.  Blatantly violate it, and you are awarded with the punishment from hell.  Of course, superiors who give absurd orders are also censured.

It’s like the two of us are sniffing around for the line that separates what’s all right and what’s going too far.  What a wonderfully dangerous stroll along a tightrope, whoo!

A pointless glaring contest stretches between the two of us.

Gian: …Agh, fuck, what a waste of time!  I took all this effort to call you here for a favor, too!

Ivan: Huh?  A favor?  What favor?

Gian: Mr. Ivan’s probably never done anything like it before anyways.

Ivan: What’d you say?  Come on, hit me.  There’s nothing I haven’t done before.  …You’re talking preparations necessary for our escape, right?

Gian: Yep, absolutely positively super-duper necessary.

Ivan: Just tell me already.

Looks like the idiot might be useful after all.

Gian: For example, information on the guard schedule, or perhaps weapons or tools…

Ivan: Tools?  Like what?

I give my fingers a crook, indicating that I want lockpicks.

Gian: Without these, we can’t even get out of these cells.

Ivan: Where the hell would I even…

I shake my head at Ivan’s confused expression.

Gian: If it’s too hard, forget it.  What’s impossible’s impossible.

I shake my head again and leave for the hall.  Then, an irritated voice comes from behind.

Ivan: Agh, screw this!  I’ll find them!!

What a simple guy.  He’s so easy to manipulate.


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