Lucky Dog 1 translations 08 Ivan route 03 best
Part 3: Daivan
Chapter 8 Best
Ivan’s Day Job Pt 1
Ivan brings me and a few of his men along outside the hotel. We head around to the lot out back where an ordinary black sedan’s sitting.
|Gian: Huh? I didn’t think your car’d be something so plain.|
|Ivan: There’s someplace we’ve gotta sneak into. Come on, get in.|
For a second, I think he’s letting me drive, but no. One of his guys plays chauffeur and revs up the Ford Model A or B or something or another.
Ivan seems to be mulling something over with a frown. …I find it really hard to take a smoke like this, for some reason. Instead, I keep myself occupied trying to work a bubble out of my gum…
When the car pulls out of one of the main roads and heads straight towards the east city, I pop in a new gum. It’s around then…
|Gian: Hey, what do you do again?|
|Ivan: Anything that makes dough. …Right now, a lot of sweat’s going into smuggling goods. After that … there’s the girls. You know, prostitutes.|
…Ah, yes. Mr. Pimp.
|Ivan: Did booze, too, but… Well, that didn’t go over so well.|
Aah, now that you mention it, that plan got shot, didn’t it.
|Gian: So, this smuggling thing… Basically, you stick your neck into the legal transportation, right?|
|Ivan: What other kind of smuggling is there? If you’ve got money and men, then you’ve gotta get your foot in on the business.|
|Gian: …Don’t tell me you’re saving up for a way out of crime?|
|Ivan: You stupid? It’s because we’re crooked that we’ve gotta barge in on the crumbs’ business. It brings you up in everyone’s eyes. Sheesh, this is why brats are…|
|Gian: Eh, yeah, yeah. My apologies, bossma—|
Suddenly, I … realize something.
|Ivan: Wh-what?! The fuck’s wrong with you, you idiot?!|
|Gian: I just realized just now… You’re … you’re younger than me!|
|Ivan: Huh? So what?|
|Gian: No, I mean, I just almost paid respects like you were my senior…|
|Ivan: Oh whatever. I’ve pushed around geezers old enough to be your dad, so you’re nothing more than a brat.|
|Gian: Plus, I’m the next boss. At the very least, some respect’d be nice.|
|Ivan: If you want my respect, then why don’t you do something worth respecting first? Then we’ll talk.|
|Gian: Yes sir.|
Shouldn’t have brought it up.
The car passes by countless small ports. I watch the fishing ports filled with Italian fisherman pass by the corner of my eye.
Our car pulls into a shipping port filled with huge cranes standing like colossal skeletons.
|Ivan: This is the place. We’ll have to walk a bit from here.|
|Gian: What should I do?|
|Ivan: Just daze off behind me. Don’t say anything.|
|Gian: Uh huh.|
We’re … at a cargo port, lined with gantry cranes. Kerclank, kerclank, the sound of metal ringing against metal echoes through the place like it’s some ironwork factory.
The putrid smell of salt, rust, oil, grime, sweat… Surrounded by this filth-filled air, the macho workers hurry around the harbor as they do their job.
Worker 1: Don! Good morning!
Worker 2: Boss, it’s nice to see you!
Worker 3: Good morning!
For a moment, I expect them to pick a fight, what with the way they’re shouting and running our way. Ivan just waves a hand in their general direction and ignores them…
Every now and then, a man comes up and picks up a conversation with us, bellowing angrily at us in garbled English. And Ivan actually looks like he’s on the same wavelength as them.
…Me? Forget it.
Ivan: Where’s that fucking cargo from Canada?!
Worker 1: …Still at … Pier Five!! Those nickel-nose bastards keep getting in our way no matter where we—!
Ivan: Got it! I’ll deal with them! Get on with your work…!!
I have no idea what the hell they’re talking about.
As this goes on, I follow after Ivan… I sort of get a feel for what he’d meant by a “legit racket.”
…It’s true that if you have muscleheads like them, and you’re working in cargo and shipping, the power that comes with being part of a gang can mean everything.
Ivan: If your balls get just a bit thicker, I could spare a port and leave you in charge. The guys’ll probably shit all over you in a second, though.
|Gian: Shut up. …’sides, no thanks! No way I want a racket where I have to be surrounded by gorillas who only get pissier and pissier after getting shot!|
Ivan: Wuss. Eh, whatever, the nightlife might suit you better anyways.
We slip through the troops of enormous containers, dragged along by the flow of cranes and rails.
|Ivan: Now then, chow time! We’re getting something to eat!|
Ivan seems to be in high spirits for some reason. I don’t feel like asking why, so I just walk behind him…