A/N: Do not own me any Baccano! It is a sad thing.
In Which Things Are Made Convenient
1924:
It was a routine sort of thing. Choose a name, get on a train, head to the destination. Then, do the job, get back on a train, and head to the next one. Or just stay in that city, until he got another job. It was a day-to-day existence. But it was exciting, and it paid well. It was something he didn't regret; well, why bother, when he was the only real person, right? He didn't need any sympathy for the people he hunted. Most of them should have learned when to not get involved in such things… Or when to stop thinking they were too good to lose. To good to get caught double-crossing people they shouldn't. Too good to get past him. But none of them ever were. Well…
He'd only been doing this for a year; but it seemed ok enough, the way things worked. The way he, as an assassin, worked. Maybe. But what if there was a way to make things easier? A way to make his life more convenient. Less expensive. And to make him less noticeable. It would be getting suspicious, if he was seen on the same railways so much. He had to keep himself discreet, and it was annoying to go through so much trouble. He needed a better way to do things. Something that would get him where he needed to go without all the fuss.
And as the conductor passed by, Claire stared at him. Conductor… That was…
That was a wonderful idea. Wasn't it…
He could travel all over the country on the rails, without it seeming suspicious at all. After all, trains needed conductors, right? So if he could just… Then he would be ferried all over the country at no charge. In fact, he would be paid for his 'trouble'. And that was very good. Amazing, in fact. He almost surprised himself with the ideas he could think up, sometimes. And then…
He could go back and see the Gandors. If he wanted. Maybe not.
They'd been separated so long… Claire knew the brothers wouldn't hate him for that; being flighty was how he was. Still, he couldn't quite bring himself to return to New York City. Not even for a job.
And though he had no family, no one to really worry and no one to miss, he couldn't shake that the Gandors were something like that. Weren't they? But what was family, anyway. He would see them if they had a job for him. Maybe. But that time hadn't come, so he preferred not to think about it too much.
In any case, so… Maybe he could be a conductor then. Well, he'd have to find a good station; one that sent trains everywhere, all over the country. Somewhere in the center of America. Somewhere big…
Like Chicago.
He was on his way to Los Angeles, at the moment.
But… He could probably make his way to Chicago. Once the job was done. Once nothing remained of his target except a mist of blood at the back of an alley. Once the man had been so utterly erased that no one would ever have cause to think of him again. Yes, to Chicago, once this man, this one man, had been sent to whatever maker he had. If he had any. Because if a man was his own god, and he died… He was surely not the god he thought himself to be. Just a weak, reckless human, made of such fragile skin and bones, of blood pumping through delicate veins and arteries. And soon, they wouldn't be pumping anything…
But that was a little gory of a soliloquy for a train ride, huh.
It wasn't a thing Claire really usually dwelled on.
Killing, that is.
He wasn't gonna be a freak, just because he was an assassin. He did what he did for the money, the satisfaction of a job well done, and… Something else. It was a something he couldn't really describe. But.
It was a fact that Claire Stanfield was really good at what he did.
Still, he wanted a permanent alias. Something that described the assassin, not the man.
There was a difference after all.
But he had no ideas. Not yet.
Maybe he would think of one after this next job.
Illegal… Something illegal, right? That's what he was. Like alcohol.
How funny…
It didn't stop him from drinking it. Claire liked a good red wine.
Red.
Like blood. Hm.
Wine, red wine.
'Vino'.
Wine.
It was… An interesting possibility. He could think of something else, if he decided he didn't like that later. But Vino… It had a nice ring to it. Claire would decide later.
And when he became a conductor… If he became a conductor. That would be… It was an issue that really wasn't very important at the moment. All he needed to focus on now was his jobs.
On the things that were absolutely necessary.
So he relaxed and watched the landscape blur by, thinking and wondering and waiting.
A conductor.
It sounded nice.