The Rolling Bootlegs Read Online Free PDF

who was clearly in a foul mood, but possibly because the man was beaming, Edward didn’t really feel as if he’d been the target of sarcasm.
    “…Huhn… Should’ve known. Unlike the brat, you at least know how to greet people properly.”
    “No, no. I won’t be able to call you ‘Assistant Inspector’ for much longer, you see.”
    “……?”
    “I hear you’ll be ‘Agent’ Edward, starting next week.”
    At that, the assistant inspector’s eyes went wide, and his mouth flapped several times before he responded:
    “What…are you talking about…?”
    “Oh, was I wrong? There’s a little rumor going around town.”
    Edward’s eyes flared with hatred. It was true that, next week, he’d begin his training period with the Bureau of Investigation (which would, five years later, be renamed the Federal Bureau of Investigation…the FBI). He hadn’t even told his sweetheart or his colleagues, so why were the sort of people who really shouldn’t have been in the loop in the know?
    Resolving to track down the source of the information leak, the young assistant inspector turned his gaze back to Firo out of sheer embarrassment with himself.
    “…Anyway, Firo, listen up. It doesn’t matter who you give handouts to. Nobody’s gonna see you as anything but a phony. Quit doing useless nonsense and either get yourself out of town already or get ready to do time.”
    The conversation had shifted back to him abruptly, and for a moment, Firo was bewildered. Before long, though, he answered as though it was a pain in the neck.
    “Like I care? Even if I’m posing or doing it to make myself feel good, it’s all the same to whoever gets the dough. Who exactly am I bothering with this so-called phoniness, huh? Where are they?”
    “Don’t think everyone will be happy to get that dirty money you bring in.”
    “…That makes donating to community chests and organized charities a real nice system, doesn’t it? There’s no way to tell which money came from where.” Firo didn’t deny the part about dirty money. “Not that I make a habit of giving handouts.”
    “That again… What is today to you, anyway?”
    Just as Edward asked his question, Maiza broke in:
    “Firo, we should be going. …That’s all right, isn’t it, Assistant Inspector?”
    “…Uh, yeah…”
    “Oh… I’m sorry, Maiza. I did keep you waiting, didn’t I?”
    The two of them prepared to leave. Watching them go, the young assistant inspector mulled.
    A skilled up-and-comer in a syndicate and one of its senior executives. A special day.
    Something occurred to the detective, and he called at the boy’s back.
    “Firo, don’t tell me you’re…”
    The lad stopped. His back remained turned as he faced the broad street.
    “…Don’t tell me… An executive? …Are they promoting you?
You?
One of the associates?”
    He frowned as he asked the question, as if doubting his own words.
    Edward had lived in this city a long time, too. He admitted thatFiro was a capable foot soldier in his syndicate, but he was too young to be promoted to executive. The “boy” wouldn’t be twenty for another year and a half, and he looked three or four years younger than that. The idea of this kid being made an executive of even a small underworld organization—no, of any organization at all, even a daylight one—was inconceivable.
    Still, he’d heard there was a special ritual that accompanied promotions. Firo had said he was meeting a senior executive—one who, as a rule, would never allow an audience—at a hat shop… He knew that on “special days” a central figure of Firo’s syndicate always visited a milliner or tailor. Just knowing this wouldn’t get Edward anywhere, but it was a good way to gauge who the players were.
    “Hey… Is that really it?”
    The boy didn’t answer. He didn’t deny it, either. Without a word, he started walking again.
    Edward took that attitude as affirmation. With an appalled smile, the sort he would have worn