Lucky Dog 1 translations 08 Bernardo route 04
Part 3: Daivan
…There’s something in the air. Some kind of spice or something…
I’d completely thought we’d be taken into a synagogue – like a church or a temple or something – but I was wrong. We walk through a completely normal building…
How to put it, the room’s got the air of a gloomy white collar office building.
Inside the room is a line of Jewish merchants, completely identical in appearance to the ones I’d seen outside. Behind them, behind a desk with nothing but a pen stand and a phone set…
Benjamin: …What is it this time…?
A voice sounds, gravelly like a scratched-up record.
It’s an elderly man with black clothes, black hat … his chin a garden of pepper-white. A barrel-like sturdy body, and an imperious, authoritative face.
…If you gave him a crown and a sword, he’d fit right in with the trump set Kings. His grey eyes goggle at me, scrutinizing me up and down.
|Gian: …I am the CR:5 captain, Giancarlo. I believe you’ve received the call that I’d be coming. I am the representative for our family.|
I swallow my irritation and tell him this in English.
Benjamin: I have heard from Mr. Ortolani. …So, you’re Giancarlo… I hear you’re del Salto’s favorite.
A spike of annoyance at the old man’s tone. …He’s probably doing it on purpose.
|Gian: Head Captain Ortolani was the one who sent me. How about we move on to the main order of business?|
The Trump King’s grey owl eyes move.
Benjamin: …It is a large sum of money, you know? It isn’t paltry allowance for children to play with. …Besides, originally…! Kgh, kah…!
The man hacks and chokes with a nasty sound clearly of some kind of lung disease. When the coughing calms down…
Benjamin: ….We have an alliance with the Cosa Nostra.
…Not with the CR:5, but with the entire Mafia body, huh. …So he’s saying that we’re equal … no, that they’re above us?
Benjamin: Originally, the Toscanini Capo should have personally come and gone through the proper procedures. Am I wrong?
…They’re right. He is a difficult man to deal with.
|Gian: The Boss, Capo del Salto, is currently unavailable. That’s why I am here to meet with you as a captain.|
|Gian: …Are you unsatisfied … no, unsettled … by someone because of their age? You? Someone who is said to be in charge of the Jewish in Daivan?|
‘…Did I screw up?’ I think, but my instincts told me we’d get nowhere at this rate.
…I’ll give it a shot.
Benjamin: …You underestimate us. Do you think such a bluff would work—
Before the Trump King can finish his monologue, I take a few silent steps forward. A rush of black-clothed men move forward, their hands reaching under their clothes…
I stop, my feet halting right in front of his desk, and open up my jacket wide with both hands. …Showdown. I show him what’s underneath my jacket – no gun, no holster. Clean as a whistle.
Benjamin: Hm? …You’re…?
…At first, I’d sweat cold when I remembered I hadn’t packed, but … now, the careless mistake’s my best chip.
|Gian: …I may be a youngster, but I, as a captain, came unarmed. Either way, if this talk doesn’t go down, I’m out. The crawfish down the river don’t have an appetite for pistols, after all.|
|Gian: I apologize for the Boss’s absence. But, you should know without being told that if word gets out just how far backwards we Mafiosos are bending for this, it’s dirt on our name.|
…The silence continues… Actually, the silence ends quicker than I’d thought.
Benjamin: …Hmph… Dealing with young people tires me more than usual… …Wait there. I’ll have them bring it from the room.
…Did it work…?
The Trump King throws some words in a language I don’t know at the black suits still standing on edge nearby. The men shift, slither away silently like shadows…
…and, from a different room, haul in several extra large travel bags, the kind you go on vacation with. One … two … three… Eight of these heavy-looking bags are taken out and set in the middle of the room.
…Is this the hard cash Bernardo’d talked about?!
While I’m still feeling a chill, one of the black suits opens up one of the trunks for me to see. Inside … are blocks of bills wrapped up in plastic.
|Gian: …Cold cash, eh…|
My mouth, on the verge of opening, clamps shut. …Huh? This… These aren’t dollars…?!
Luchino’s Subordinate A: …They’re francs. French francs.
One of guards behind me whispers behind me. …French tender – probably the first time I’ve laid eyes on it. …There’s a 500 on it, so that would make it 500-franc bills…?
…No, there’s other numbers on the bills, too. …The well-worn, much-used francs, on the verge of crumbling apart, were probably rolled up in to bundles before getting stuffed into the trunks.
…How much is 500 francs in dollars? …I haven’t got a clue.
Benjamin: We have already checked the contents. They are all real, authentic franc bills. …So? Are you going to check it yourselves?
|Gian: …No. If the merchants with the toughest iron fist in the world say so, then there shouldn’t be a problem. It’s impossible for you guys to count wrong.|
Then, one of the black suits brings over what looks like an account book with some scribbles in it to me. …Crap, I’ve got no idea what the hell it’s saying…
The cold sweat starts up again as one of the guards standing by behind me accepts the book in my place.
Luchino’s Subordinate B: …Indeed, everything is in order.
|Gian: Grazie. Then … we the CR:5 have certainly accepted this now. Are we good?|
The Trump King moves his head up and down a little. And, in that interval, he coughs again before…
Benjamin: It is in your possession now. …Tell your Capo del Salto this: after dealing with the damn young brats, I’ve lost my appetite for drink.
With just that … like everything’s all dandy and over, he opens up his drawer and starts pouring over some documents.
…Boss, you sure are popular.
|Gian: …Let’s go. Call the others here.|
The paper – or rather, bills – are heavier than I’d imagined. I leave the bags for the guards to handle as they pull up.
The newly-recovered speakeasy is simply crawling with our soldiers, inside and out.
Both the phone lines inside the establishment and the ones dangling outside were meticulously combed by Bernardo’s communication ops(?) for any possibilities of bugs.
Inside the empty store, devoid of bartender and damsels…
Bernardo: …And he gave it to you without any problems…?!
…I’d just given Bernardo a report over the phone.
The cargo we’d accepted just earlier is laid out on the store floor, getting sorted out by the soldiers ordered to do so.
Here, there, everywhere, the flip flap of the bills getting shuffled around and the chaang of the calculator turning and spitting out an answer fills the dimly-lit room.
|Gian: Yeah. The gramps looked like the kingpin of a trump card gang, but we got the goods – eight big trunks and a book.|
Bernardo: …Yes, I heard. I see … so it went well…
|Gian: Was it that problematic a deal?|
Bernardo: It wasn’t exactly a … deal… But, just as I’d expect, Lucky Dog. Ever since discussion has become complicated, our discussions have become troublesome.
|Gian: But … judging from your voice, it sounds like the deal’s not over yet… Am I wrong?|
Bernardo: …That’s about right. …I’ll tell you the rest in person. Leave the rest to the men and come back to the hotel.
|Gian: You’re about tired of hotel food, right? I’ll buy something and bring it back…|
I set down the receiver and retrieve my remaining five cents.
I tilt back a mini-mini Cola bottle when the men counting the contents of the trunk, all those wads of bills, rush me all at once.
Luchino’s Subordinate B: We have finished checking. The bills are free of scraps of paper or false bills. We have also finished calculating the aggregate sum.
|Gian: Good work, boys. …Now lemme see…|
The man hands me the board on which the number’s written. …Mm … that’s a lot of O’s … zeroes… …Um, that’s 5 … 6… …Huh? Wait, what?!
Luchino’s Subordinate B: There are approximately 12,000,000,000 francs.
|Gian: …Ack?! B-Billion?!|
Luchino’s Subordinate B: Yes. It matches the value cited. We will now proceed immediately to the airport to ship it to New York.
Bernardo’s Subordinate A: Please leave the rest to us. Please take this ledger to Don Ortolani.
|Gian: All righty. …But man, that’s awesome… Billions…? …He planning on buying out the Yankees or something?|
Bernardo’s Subordinate A: …We don’t know anything about that… We were just told by the Comandante to wait there.
…Something smells fishy, or rather, it all seems really bothersome. Plus … just how much is 12 billion francs in dollars anyways? We have to exchange it, right? If we convert it…
Rather, why are the French’s bills here on America’s East Coast, in a speakeasy in Daivan?
…Just who is that Jew King…?
Bernardo’s Subordinate B: Then, signor Giancarlo, we will drive you to the hotel.
|Gian: Huh? Oh…|
Right, the cash and the guards are going to fill that truck up to the seams… There’s a few sedans, but they’re also for the guards…
|Gian: …You guys all right with not … um … watching the truck with the cash so it gets to the airport safely?|
Bernardo’s Subordinate B: We … were ordered to guard you.
…I see. He’s the driver who drove me here. But…
It doesn’t sit right with me that I’d have to take out manpower from the guards transporting such a large hunk of money just for myself. …There’s still the remnants of the GD lurking about in the city…
…What to do…