1931 The Grand Punk Railroad: Local Read Online Free PDF Page B

suddenly spoke up from behind. When he hastily turned, his nephew, Ladd Russo, was standing there.
    Hair that was neither long nor short, and the dark suit that was standard among the mafia. He was a bit on the tall side, but none of his features particularly stood out. He was a genial-looking young man, and the word
normal
seemed to fit him like a glove. In contrast, the way he spoke was incredibly flippant, and he had no concept of manners.
    “Oh, it’s you, Ladd. I don’t have time to deal with you today. Scram!”
    “Hmm? What’s this, what’s this, what’s this? That’s pretty cold, ain’t it, Uncle? What makes you think you’ve got that kind of leeway, hmm? It’s money, you know, money,
money
, the almighty money that you value right next to your almighty life, and some almighty somebody else took off with it. So this is what you really want to say, ain’t it, Uncle? Leave no stone unturned— Nah, burn the jungles to ash if you have to, find the criminals, and choke ’em, choke ’em, choke ’em until they foam at the mouth and keep choking ’em until their eyes pop out and then keep right on choking ’em—”
    As his nephew kept talking, his derisive tone never wavered. Placido shouted at him, his face bright red.
    “Don’t put me on your level, you murdering hedonist! Do you have any idea how much money and manpower I’ve spent cleaning up the guys you kill for fun?!”
    Murdering hedonist.
There was really no better way to describe Ladd.
    His true nature wasn’t his appearance or his words. It lay in the pleasure he sought, and in his greed for it.
    He lived purely to kill. What distinguished him from hitmen, who killed for a living, was that he killed for fun.
    Even so, Ladd had been kept in the family because he was incredibly skilled at finishing off enemies during disputes. It certainly wasn’t his job, but it was true that as a result, he was known as the best killer in the Russo Family.
    That’s right: He was a crazed, murdering hedonist who lived to follow his desires. Placido was sure of it.
    At least he had been, up until this moment.
    “Hey, there’s no problem. I brought you some good news, Uncle.”
    “Say your piece. Then get out.”
    His uncle brushed him off coldly, and Ladd gave an exaggerated shrug. Then he said something far too abrupt.
    “See, I hear you’ve got money problems, Uncle, so I’m gonna go cause a little trouble tonight. If I pull it off, I’ll lend you some of mine. My dough.”
    Because the way he’d phrased it had been unnatural, for a moment, Placido didn’t understand what his nephew was saying. Anticipating this, Ladd kept speaking.
    “It’s that, that thing—the limited express leaving from Union Station tonight. The
Flying Pussyfoot
, I think it was. The nonstop that goes straight to New York. I’m gonna hijack that a little and run it right into the middle of Manhattan.”
    At those words, the inside of Placido’s head went pure white for a while.
    “…And that bit’s a bluff. First, I threaten ’em with that, see? Then, if they don’t pay up, I turn it into a passenger kidnapping on the spot. Well, then, see, if I kill off about half the passengers, I bet the railway company will probably cough up for me. I get to kill people, I get money… Sounds like a plan, right, Uncle?”
    “Get out.”
    That was all Placido could say. His reason had finally begun to work again. Whether the guy was joking or serious, he couldn’t waste any more time on him. Where were the guards, where had the servants gone to?
    “Hey, somebody toss this idiot out.”
    As Placido called for someone, the half-open door slowly opened farther, and several men and a woman came in.
    They were all strangers to Placido. Disturbingly, all of them were dressed in white. The men wore white suits or sweaters, and the woman wore a pure-white dress. Their outfits were too much for a wedding; it looked as if they were headed to a costume party.
    At that point, for the first