Ch.110The Third Entanglement – Clichy and Ragtime (9)

# The Detective

Ironically, what the detective was about to do was exactly what the Followers of the Forest’s Firstborn always did. It was their standard procedure when starting what they called an uprising.

The first action leaders he would visit were brothers. They were identical elf twins, with two families living in one house. Between them, they had six children. The detective checked his watch. They should all be home now.

Usually when doing detective work, he would wait until families were away and handle things quietly, but this job required making a statement. One can of gasoline would be enough to burn down their house.

He had never forgotten a path once traveled. The detective drove straight to their house in Motherwood. It was fairly large, probably with about eight rooms. The family was still scattered throughout the house.

He had no intention of searching the house. Since it would soon be dinner time, he decided to wait a bit longer while checking his can of gasoline and shotgun. He would shoot with his pistol, but having the shotgun as intimidation would be helpful.

After waiting about 30 minutes, two female elves, presumably the wives of the action leaders, began gathering children from various rooms. The two families gathered in the kitchen, filling a large table.

Only then did the detective grab the gasoline can and the shotgun wrapped in packing paper, heading toward the house. From the kitchen, no one would be able to see someone approaching the front door.

Even a human walking around Motherwood would attract attention, so he waited until there were no passersby before getting out of his car and walking to the house. As he walked, he pulled on a mask from his duffel bag.

Approaching the front door, the detective set down the gasoline can, gently gripped the doorknob, and then yanked it with enough force to rip it out along with the locking mechanism on the other side. He kicked open the now-unlocked door and entered.

The two elves who had been approaching the door—the door that should have kept their home safe—made eye contact with the masked human. They wouldn’t be able to tell who he was.

While they might be accustomed to becoming masked intruders themselves, facing one was unfamiliar territory. As they hesitated in shock, he unwrapped the shotgun and aimed it at them.

“Someone asked me to send their regards to the Forest’s Firstborn. But we’re not barbarians, are we? Send your wives and children out.”

Though it sounded like an act of mercy, it wasn’t. The implication was clear: these two elves would die here, and it was a warning that the women and children, left without protection, could be killed too if necessary.

Among thugs and fixers, pride and honor had never existed. It was mostly deception, and what wasn’t deception was intimidation. Reflexively raising both hands, the older twin shouted.

The older twin wasn’t skilled at shaving. He never had talent with blades. The one with what looked like many shaving cut scars was the older of the two.

“Honey, sister-in-law! G-get out. Take the kids and leave, but don’t call the police. Go straight to ElvenHaven on 4th Street…”

When he said “ElvenHaven,” something changed in the elf’s eyes. It was a code. Not wanting to get his head blown off, the detective moved his free hand toward his coat.

One of the wives was trembling at the sight of the masked intruder who had burst in during dinner, but the other remained calm. The trembling one would be the one to shoot. It was always like that in these situations.

The women gathered the children and brushed past the detective. They didn’t dare try to grab the gun. However, after walking a few steps, their footsteps stopped.

There was a clicking sound near the wooden shoe rack, as if someone was trying to retrieve something. Kids watching their parents die wouldn’t help their upbringing.

Then again, maybe it would. The Clichy Corporation’s president had lost his parents before his eyes and still became self-made. The detective turned around while entertaining these idle thoughts.

Worried the detective might look back but still trying to retrieve a shotgun hidden in the shoe rack, the woman who had been trembling raised her eyes to glance at the detective, and their gazes met.

“…Hiccup.”

Having already given them a chance, the detective immediately pulled out the silenced pistol from his coat and put a hole in her forehead. She seemed to try raising her hands to block the bullet, but it cleanly pierced between her eyebrows.

The gunshot didn’t ring out properly. It would be heard next door, but only as a dull sound that didn’t resemble a gunshot. There was a certain satisfaction in the sound of a bullet passing through a new silencer.

The elf’s body, which had shrunk in terror during that brief moment, collapsed forward, and her children burst into tears. This story wouldn’t evaporate. Everyone has such memories.

It was beyond the detective’s responsibility anyway, not his concern. As the remaining woman stood there hesitating, the detective raised his gun toward her.

“I already made an offer. If you hadn’t reached for a gun, I wouldn’t have cared if you ran out and called the police or screamed or whatever. So, choose. Will you grab a gun? Or will you take the kids and leave now? You knew this would happen eventually. It’s an eternal truth that if you do shitty things, you’ll eventually get fucked.”

Despite her fear, the woman didn’t reach for the weapon that might protect her. Even in her terror, she gathered the children she needed to protect and ran out of the house. The crying children had no choice but to follow her.

Not wanting to leave a corpse at the front door, the detective threw the fallen body inside, brought the gasoline can in, and closed the door.

Then he removed his mask. He showed them that his was a face they knew. The younger brother, who had been the more trustworthy of the two, shouted with a voice full of hatred.

“No matter how many times I told the Forest’s Firstborn that you’d betray us for money, he wouldn’t listen… Who paid you? Was it the orcs, huh?”

The elf who had just lost his wife stood dumbfounded, not knowing what to do. Trembling, his face wet with what could have been tears, snot, or sweat, he stood with his mouth and eyes wide open.

There was nothing to hide now. The detective sneered and told them the truth. Having removed his mask, there was nothing left to conceal.

“The old man’s daughter asked me to send her regards. After I’m done with you, I’ll probably do the same to the other action leaders’ homes. By tomorrow morning, there will be a lot of orphans.”

The detective sneered as he set down the shotgun. After removing the round in the chamber, seven shells remained. He placed a spare magazine within easy reach and continued.

“Oh, don’t worry too much. Since I happened to take care of those bastards who were trafficking children from orphanages, the kids will be safe. They’ll just end up living in different homes under different names.”

Though the guarantee of not shooting if they raised their hands had already been broken, neither of the two elves tried to move toward the detective or grab the gun he had thrown.

They knew elves were strong when they gathered. However, by constantly repeating this mantra, they had developed delusions about how weak one or two elves actually were.

If both rushed him, they could grab the gun. They’d get bullets in their foreheads while reaching for it, but that would be a peaceful death compared to what they had been doing, so it wasn’t a bad trade.

Even as the detective had these lengthy thoughts, neither of them moved, so he leisurely lowered his gun and pulled the trigger, aiming at the knee of the older brother who still hadn’t regained his senses. Another dull noise rang out.

The sensation of losing someone you love is sharper than any bullet. The elf who collapsed after being shot in the knee was still reciting his wife’s name like a spell or prayer. Only when the pain in his knee registered did the reality of her death seem to hit him again, and he began thrashing on the floor, pounding the wooden floor with his fists and wailing.

Realizing he wasn’t being targeted, the younger brother immediately threw himself toward the kitchen. There wouldn’t be guns stored in the kitchen. That was something only redneck elves would do. The detective walked toward the kitchen.

He didn’t bother hiding his footsteps. Proudly making noise—the creaking of wooden floorboards and the metallic sound of his iron-plated shoes hitting the hard surface—he approached the elf’s hiding place.

The younger brother was definitely capable. He didn’t curse, didn’t tremble… he just took a deep breath all the way to the bottom of his lungs, and as the detective turned the corner, he lunged with a kitchen knife, putting his entire body weight behind the attack. This should be included in field manuals as a model answer.

The problem was that the body of an Argonne Invincible couldn’t be pierced by a kitchen knife. No, that wasn’t the real problem.

The real problem was that despite pulling his hand toward his body to avoid having his wrist grabbed, the detective caught the elf’s characteristically thin wrist much faster than the elf could lunge at him.

A look of unfairness flashed in his eyes. Failing despite making the best choice gives people a sense of despair. The detective, still gripping the wrist, threw the elf to the floor.

As his face scraped against the rough wooden floor, the elf dropped the knife and grabbed his face, screaming. It didn’t matter if the neighbors heard. The job was almost done anyway.

After putting a bullet in the back of the elf’s knee as he lay face down, the detective finally returned with the gasoline can. He poured gasoline over both the raving older brother and the younger one. With bullets in their knees, it was obvious how far they could escape. At best, they might reach the backyard.

By the time he had thoroughly soaked the walls and floor with gasoline to ensure the fire would spread well, the air reeked of fuel. The older brother was still thrashing, but the younger one seemed resigned.

“In the name of our kin, I’ll wait for you in Hell, you… you fucking bastard…”

The detective rummaged through his pocket with an air of indifference. He took out a matchbox from Iris, struck a match, and tossed it between the two gasoline-soaked elves. He sneered.

“Do your kin know you’ve been selling their name all over the place? And stop saying you’ll wait in Hell. It shows you’ve never read anything but cheap magazines.”

With that final insult to even his last words, the detective’s first job was complete. But it wasn’t the last job of the night. There was still plenty of gasoline left, and he had brought several spare magazines.

Ah, he should have found out where their meeting place was. He could get that information at another house. The detective left the house and got into his car without any thought of looking for the missing children.

That day had an unusually high number of fire reports. It was very similar to when the Followers of the Forest’s Firstborn rioted in the southern states and there were many fires that were “absolutely unrelated to the Followers.”

Most of the reports were similar. Wives and children were outside the house while only the husbands burned inside. Nevertheless, the police didn’t suspect the wives and children.

It was just the beginning of the uprising. Angels flew in to handle the situation, but only the emotionless regular angels seriously examined the scenes.

When those emotionless angels insisted on conducting investigations according to strict principles, the other angels would respond:

“Oh, please. Don’t act stupid. These bastards were burning other people’s houses just days ago or will be days from now. All we need to say is this: Thank fucking god we have one less street to patrol all night. I don’t know who did it, but it’s a fucking blessing. How about that, good right?”

That day, the detective’s house also burned down. Someone had poured gasoline into the filing cabinet, bedroom, and closet, as if trying to suffocate them with fuel, and set it on fire.

One stupid follower who didn’t realize he had poured too much gasoline and lit the fire from inside was reduced to charcoal. Fortunately, the fireproof safe was intact, and the detective had no particular attachment to anything outside that safe.

The only regret was that he had quite a few canned soups in the cupboard. He had stored enough for a week’s meals, and the fact that they had all burned was a bit of a waste of money.

It was just a joke, an idle thought. Returning to Ysil’s mansion at dawn, the detective heard from Yehoel over the phone that his house had burned down and the fire had spread to his neighbor’s house, burning down the home of neighbors whose names and faces he didn’t even know. He steadied himself with such idle thoughts. Idle thoughts always helped sharpen his mind.

Despite having received all the necessary information, Yehoel didn’t stop talking.

“Besides that… Oh, that woman you asked about seems fine. They don’t seem to be touching her at all. If I just check on her once in a while… would that not work? Yeah, yeah. I know. I’m just asking you to consider my position, doing overtime without getting paid. Buy me a drink at Eden this time, you bastard.”

Last time, he had only handed over the results without actually buying drinks. Thinking he might have to go to Eden with Yehoel one more time after this job was done, the detective answered with a laugh in his voice.

“If nothing happens to Levi until the end, I might fill your stomach with that tree of life liquor or whatever it is. Anyway, thanks.”

“Ah, don’t mention it. But this woman isn’t an ex-girlfriend, right? Damn it, since my friend has probably slept with half the bartenders in New York, I can’t help but be suspicious.”

“Hanging out with Levi might be fun, but you couldn’t date her either. The disconnect is indescribable. And thou shalt not commit adultery, you bastard.”

He wondered for the umpteenth time this month whether he should reconsider using an angel obsessed with women and alcohol as his police connection.

“In some scripture of the God-President, it says thou shalt commit adultery.”

“Why don’t you go ask him directly? ‘It’s written like that in the book, so is it okay to commit adultery?'”

Laughter came through the phone line, followed by silence as if he was seriously considering it, which drew another sigh from the detective.

“Ah, fine. I’ll definitely get chewed out by my superior again. I won’t do it. Anyway, if there’s anything you can include in my performance record while you’re working, let me know. Thou shalt help thy neighbor’s workers. Well, it must be written somewhere.”

By the time the call ended, the clock in Ysil’s mansion struck three in the morning. It was time to go out again. Having visited the action leaders’ homes and discovered their meeting place, he needed to make preparations.