Lucky Dog 1 translations 09 Ivan route 03 best

Part 3: Daivan

Chapter 9 Best

Disposal Pt 2

Gian: Ugh…  Shit…  What the fuck’s…?

Ivan: Th-The idiots…  Wh-Why…  Shit!  Shit!  Fuck!  Shit!!

…There’s no helping either.  Their necks’ve been completely snapped, their bodies just dangling there.

One’s a brunette, and the other’s got chestnut hair…  The nightgowns they’re wearing are ripped into threadbare tatters.

Gian: Wh-What is this…?!

An answer comes from the living room.

Gentleman 2: Th-Then we’ll just leave the rest to you.  …I’ll pay the charge to your gang afterwards…

Ivan’s teeth grit with a tight snap! at his voice.

Ivan: You fuckerrrssss…!!

I barely manage to hold Ivan back, just as he’s about to charge at them like a beast.  …My head’s also filled with the sound of something clanging, something ringing.

Gian: …Hold it.  We need to talk to you.  Get in here.

Even I can’t believe how calm I sound.

Gentleman 1: What did you bastards say?!

Potbelly’s threats come from the living room before he enters the dark room, stomping like he can’t control his anger anymore.

Gentleman 1: Who do you think you are?!  You can’t give orders to me!!

Gian: We’re the Mafia.

His face turns into a red balloon in an instant.

Gentleman 1: Watch your mouth, you brat!  All of you bastards could be tossed out of Daivan at any second!  Or…

Gentleman 1: …would you rather be mixed in with concrete and tossed into the ocean?!

Gian: Don’t get so excited by just one sentence, mister.  …Would you care to explain this?

There’s no question Potbelly and the others have something to do with the awful scene in this room…

Ivan: You fuckers…!  What’d you do here?!  Don’t tell me you closed these women in here and…

Potbelly and White-collar screw their faces like they’d bitten into a pebble.

Gentleman 1: Th-This has nothing to do with you!!  All you have to do is just hurry up and get rid of them!  You don’t want to cause any trouble, right?!

Gian: And we’re saying we want to hear the reason.  We won’t call for the cleaners without knowing what’s going on.

…Gramps and the other higher-ups in the family would’ve probably just skipped the arguing, kept quiet and called the cleaners…

…but it looks like that’s impossible for me.  For us.

Ivan: Don’t tell me you were prostituting them out here…?!

At Ivan’s roar, they grimace again … and then, with an expression like they’d found a fly in their soup, they look at us, and then at the bodies.

Gentleman 2: Th-They … um … they weren’t prostitutes.  Ultimately, it was of their own free will.  We weren’t hindering your prostitution business at all.

Gian: Free will, you say?

…This?!  Free will?!  Aah, because it’s suicide.  Free will.  Hah, what a funny joke.  Not.

Gentleman 1: I was taking care of them!  Their owner caused me a huge amount of damage!

Gentleman 2: Well … the owner here, um, caused an accident at our company and died … and the machines at the plant stopped working…

Gentleman 2: This caused an enormous amount of damage at our company.  And, so, those girls … were shouldering some of the debt.  I mean, in the end, it was their choice, though!

Gentleman 1: And then, as a final insult, they go and hang themselves!  They and their owner, the whole lot of them are a pestilence!  Damn, just how much time have they wasted us…?!

Ivan: …So you were prostituting them.

Gentleman 1: …Y-You don’t know what you’re talking about, stupid brat!  We weren’t paying them any money … so we weren’t intruding on your prostitution business!!

Gian: …So you raped them to pay away their debt.

Driver: I-it’s not just us.  I mean … they caused trouble for everyone at the company…  So, I mean … it’s OK, right?  Who cares.

…These people.  This world.  Everyone in it is a rotten fucker.  …Even without the Mafia around…  In the end, even the “respectable” world is rotten, too.

Ivan: …Hey, is it all right if I kill them?

Ivan mutters this towards my neck.  I can only shake my head.

Gian: Calm down…  The only thing we can do is call the cleanup crew.  There’s … no way we can call the cops now…

‘Please don’t explode here,’ I beg with my eyes.  If he does anything here … Ivan’s standing in the family’ll be in big trouble.

Gian: …We’ll call the cleaners.  But, because you’ve treated respectable women as whores, you’ll be the ones paying.

Gentleman 1: Hmph!  S-So you’re extorting us for money now?!

Gentleman 2: If we’re working outside the law, there shouldn’t be a problem!  B-Besides, who will be the witness?

Wow, I want to just flip off the control switch in my head.  …But, what they’re saying is right.  The law can’t judge them, and neither can we.

…If only the girls were still alive…

As I grit my teeth, Ivan cuts the rope hanging the bodies and lowers them to the ground.

Their necks hang at an inhuman angle.  Their faces and bodies are covered in bruises.  From his words, one of them’s probably the mother, and the other’s the daughter…

Ivan: …Fucking pigs…!

Ivan lowers the fairly small body of the chestnut hair to the bed, placing her next to the brunette.  Just as he’s doing so…

Ivan: U-Uwah!

Gian: What … ah?!

Ivan winces, like he’s touched the sharp end of a knife.  And I … I see the very thing he saw.

…At Ivan’s touch, the sheets piled on the bed had moved, and underneath…

Gian: Ugh—!  …That’s awful…

Ivan: …

…is a child, one even younger than the chipmunk.  Her bruised face is soiled, stained by the dried blood that’d spilled from her foaming mouth…

…and … the smell of pesticide hits my nose as one of the blood bubbles pop.

Gian: You bastards … don’t tell me…

I’ve never known my throat could make this sound.  In front of me, fucking Potbelly looks away, and White-collar fidgets.

Gentleman 2: W-We don’t know anything!  I didn’t…

Gentleman 1: Hey!  Call the lawyer, and that man from the Toscanini…

The men start discussing something in Italian.  …My eyes hesitatingly travel back behind me … and I catch a glimpse of Ivan’s eyes as he strokes the child’s face.

Ivan: …You must’ve suffered so much…

Ivan whispers this in a horribly quiet voice.  And I…

Gian: Vaffanculo…!!

I curse … and Potbelly, his pale face flushing crimson, glares daggers at us and curses back in Italian.

Gentleman 1: …Figlio di puttana.

…At that moment…

…Ivan’s body suddenly explodes.  That’s what it looked like.

The dully shining Colt 45 is in his hands…

     

A hole opens up in the middle of White-collar’s face across from me.  Blood and grey bits fly and scatter behind his twisted expression.

Gian: !

Before I can wince and wipe the spray from my face, before Potbelly can raise a scream in surprise…

     

Bang! and a burst of bloody fluff blossoms in Potbelly’s high-quality suit near the abdomen.  The man hunches over onto the floor, his mouth open like a fish, and screams…

     

Gentleman 1: Ee!  Uaaaah!!

     

Gentleman 1: Ugh! Uwaah!

Ivan whacks the screaming fatty in the temple with the grip of his pistol.

     

Potbelly pitches forward and starts convulsing unpleasantly.  The air becomes mixed with the odor of fresh blood and shit.

Driver:  E-Eeeek!!

The man, standing in shock at the sudden scene of violence before him … the single man left standing alive turns tail and tears into the living room.

Driver: Ngh!  Aaaaaggh!!

The man’s left knee explodes like fireworks, and his body crashes to the floor.  Screams of pain gush from the man when…

     

One in his body.  One in his ass.  The 45-calibur fires twice.

     

The silence suddenly returns.  Ivan pants as he vacantly curses.

Ivan: …Even I understand ‘son of a bitch,’ fucking wop…

Gian: …Jesus.  Fuck, shit, shit…

I curse again and again at the blood-stained floor.

Ivan: Sorry…

I want to punch myself more than I want to punch Ivan, so … instead, I just turn my eyes away from him.

Gian: …You stupid idiot…!

I lift up the curtains to the window and peek outside.  I search for people outside, for anyone panicking from the sound of gunshots, for eyes staring back at us … but I don’t see any.

Gian: …Let’s move.  We can’t get reported to the police.

Ivan: Y-Yeah…

Ivan gently strokes the child’s face and hair.

…Just what kind of despair would make a little girl drink pesticide and yearn for death…?  …I shake my head, not wanting to even imagine it.

Gian: …There’s nothing we can do.  We’ll have to leave it to the cleaners.  Hurry…!

I grab Ivan and practically drag him along.

     

I shove Ivan into the shotgun of the Chevrolet parked out front, and I grip the wheel.

Ivan: …Hey, Gian…

Just as the engine starts up, I hear Ivan’s quiet voice.

Ivan: …What should I do now?

Gian: Wh-Why this all of a sudden?

Ivan: …At this rate, I…  I screwed over the CR; 5, and if it’ll be easier for you if I leave Daivan, I wouldn’t mind…

Gian: Wh-What’re you saying?!

I understand what Ivan’s saying about as clear as a knife stabbed in my gut.  The guys he’d just killed were influential people of Italian blood.

…And since I was at the scene too, I won’t be getting away scot-free either.  If it were just my seat as future boss in question, that’d be fine, but at worst…

…Fuck!  What kind of depressing shit am I thinking about?!

Gian: What kind of future boss am I if I can’t even cover your ass for this much?  Leave it to me, I’ll get the rest of the captains on our side.

Ivan: But…

Gian: Just shut up, stupid-head.

…At worst, even those old retired grandpas would become our enemies.  …What we just did was that bad.

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