Ch.129Request Log #013 – Dealers’ Day (2)

The meeting between the gangsters ended in broad daylight. These days, even daylight belonged to them, so no one feared walking out in the brightness.

The detective received information from the goblins attached to the Matriarch. The location of the house, secret entrances, even the homeowner’s schedule… Those betrayed by their bodyguards typically met their end this way.

It was then that he discovered which goblin had planned this operation. Not that it mattered. Any goblin smarter than the gambler Arnold would have switched sides long ago.

However, Gancan had to move first. The Morrígan had happily assigned the role of finishing this job to the Nolls, so she should take the role of starting it for the deal to be fair.

Gancan hadn’t prepared anything special. Though it was no longer his main occupation since coming to America with The Morrígan, he simply needed to do what had originally been his profession.

He rides a carriage to announce death. The only difference now is that his carriage no longer has horses attached. Gancan picked up his head as he did every day.

Fairies and gods weren’t much different. They simply received far less worship and possessed far less power. Thanks to this, even after The Morrígan set aside her power, the fairies could preserve a small portion of their abilities.

The same was true for Gancan, though what remained was, of course, minimal power. He couldn’t create unscheduled deaths; he only received a little help when delivering death notices.

The morning after the meeting, Gancan dressed in formal attire. He observed all proprieties. He wore a black suit without a single wrinkle and tied a black tie around his neck, which was all that remained of his body.

His severed head wore a fedora without decoration. With his head tucked under his arm, he put on expensive Oxford shoes. For Gancan, death wasn’t a job but a mission. He had to observe every courtesy.

He didn’t carry a gun. He knew that since he was delivering a predetermined death, no one could interfere with him. Once he put on clean gloves, he was ready to work.

He emerged from the door of a high-rise apartment in Little Eire. His branch members had gathered in front of the door, but none were shedding tears.

Banshees wail only before sad deaths. They don’t wail when enemies are about to die, especially when they’re dying as a consequence of their own actions.

They showed Gancan three well-laundered suits. The oldest banshee spoke in a voice that seemed both whispering and sobbing.

“Yesterday afternoon, a laundry in Queens sent work to our laundries in Little Eire, saying we’re the best at removing bloodstains. A banshee has washed blood-stained clothes, Branch Manager Gancan.”

Gancan looked at his branch member and placed his hand on his chest, on the left side where his heart would be. It was a signal that since death had been foretold, Gancan would now go to announce it.

He held nothing in his hands. As always, he got into his car, where a thick blackout curtain separated the back seat from the driver’s seat, and pressed the pedal to start the engine.

Usually, it would take longer, but this time the engine started moving immediately after pressing the pedal once. Holding his head with one hand, Gancan moved the acceleration lever and departed.

It was a morning street in New York, but there was no traffic. Being able to drive this smoothly on a weekday morning was almost Gancan’s exclusive privilege. “I was used to this in the age of horses and carriages, but I didn’t know such luck would continue in the automobile era,” Gancan thought as he lifted his head to look around.

Though his head wasn’t facing forward, the car didn’t tilt, nor did any animals or children suddenly dart out. Gancan continued driving. No other cars accompanied him.

After turning one corner, he suddenly heard a stray dog barking hoarsely. The dog, as if suddenly struck with madness, charged behind a wall overlooking the road.

“Damn it! You crazy son of a bitch! Ah, ahhh!”

A goblin’s scream echoed from behind the wall. A goblin who had been hiding there to monitor the Irish mafia’s movements screamed and rolled on the ground as the suddenly appearing dog bit him.

Though the goblin had a pistol, the dog was biting his wrist, preventing him from firing. Gancan could continue driving without interruption.

Another goblin was hiding in a street tree planted for landscaping in the wealthy neighborhood, but as Gancan passed by, the thick branch broke, and the goblin fell to the ground. He didn’t die but couldn’t shoot at Gancan.

Gancan boldly headed toward the goblin mafia’s stronghold. It seemed he had done well to get information from reliable traitors. The air smelled of goblins. Gancan quietly got out of his car.

He still held only his own head. The fairy walked through the goblins’ street. He wasn’t fast as he checked addresses while walking. Nevertheless, he was getting closer to his destination.

Finally, Gancan reached the address. It was a row house with a large wooden door firmly closed. The door surely opened inward, and someone would have blocked it from the inside to prevent entry.

Despite knowing this, Gancan approached the front door. The hinges of the firmly closed wooden door couldn’t withstand the weight of the bookshelf placed against it and fell off with an unpleasant metallic sound.

The door fell forward, and the bookshelf blocking it also toppled, opening the front entrance. Gancan quietly climbed the stone steps, stepped over the fallen bookshelf, and entered the row house.

This was the first time he was doing his job since immigrating to America. Nevertheless, Gancan’s rights hadn’t rusted. These things didn’t happen because he honed his skills or abilities.

He had the right to find the goblins for his work without being hindered by doors. Gods could exercise this right freely, but Gancan received it only occasionally, when banshees washed bloodied clothes and when conditions he himself couldn’t understand were met, requiring him to deliver death. He couldn’t even control whether he received this right or not.

When The Morrígan was a worshipped goddess, she gave him the register of deaths, but since she gave up being worshipped, no one gave him the register.

He vaguely felt that the God-President might be handling that job now, but even Gancan couldn’t be certain. This country belonged to people, not to gods and fairies.

He didn’t know how long it would be after this job before he could fulfill his calling again. There was no principle to the abilities of gods and fairies. Only rights.

Entering without any resistance, Gancan looked around. There was a space called the common basement, and if the goblin mafia were gathered, they would be there.

However, from the second floor of the apartment, a goblin carrying a shotgun came running down. He aimed the gun at Gancan and pulled the trigger. The hammer struck the back of the bullet with a crisp sound, but it didn’t fire.

“Damn it, what’s this! Why won’t it fire! After luring away our members, you have the audacity to come here, you filthy fairy! Stop!”

Gancan continued walking. Only after he passed did the gun fire, shotgun pellets spraying into the corridor, bouncing off walls and floors with a clattering sound. None hit Gancan.

Going down the luxuriously carpeted stairs, there was a glass door that seemed to be the entrance to the basement. As Gancan approached, cracks began to form in the sturdy glass door. It crackled like breaking ice.

When he stood in front of the door, it completely shattered. Once again unharmed by glass fragments, Gancan stepped over the remains of the door and entered the corridor beyond.

The corridor was as quiet as a coffin, and only Gancan’s footsteps echoed inside, like someone buried alive knocking on the coffin lid. He opened the door at the end of the corridor and entered.

In fact, the address provided by the traitors was just the address of one of the goblin mafia’s safe houses. It was unknown whether Gancan’s target, the goblin mafia’s consultant, would be there or not.

No, it was known. As Gancan opened the door and entered, there was a small study. In the center of the study, sitting in a comfortable chair with velvet cushions, was an elderly goblin.

Around him were two young goblins with submachine guns. They squeezed the triggers, but no bullets came out. It was an irrational phenomenon, almost like magic or sorcery.

Only the old goblin seemed to understand the situation and spoke calmly to Gancan.

“The phone lines are clearly connected, yet no calls go through. Would it have been better if we had left New York?”

Gancan quietly shook his head. Looking at the old man who was trying to face death calmly, he explained:

“The train would have stopped due to a sudden engine failure, and the car would have rolled onto the shoulder after a tire burst.”

The goblin didn’t deny it. Gancan didn’t need to prove his words. The fact that not a single bullet had hit him was proof enough. Normally, he could be injured or killed by bullets.

“Yes, that would have happened. When will I die, then… Death Messenger, sir?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t preserved my power either. Now I can’t even postpone death, I can only announce it. I’m protected only while announcing. And I’ve come here not as one of the fairies but as The Morrígan’s contractor. You won’t die immediately, so if there are any of your compatriots involved in this matter, tell them. From today, nothing will be an unfortunate accident, nothing will be a coincidence.”

Gancan raised his head wearing the black fedora. The mouth that had been speaking until now opened wide, and decayed blood began to pour out. Gancan sprayed the blood on them.

The first assassination ended with this. Though they were disgusted by the decaying blood, it didn’t kill them. Not immediately. Even as Gancan turned to leave, the guns still didn’t fire.

However, someone was spying on his work. It was the very goblin who had welcomed him with a shotgun. Gancan hated when someone spied on him working.

It wasn’t something that could be dismissed as simply disliking it. He abhorred it. He even drove with a blackout curtain because he didn’t want anyone to see him driving.

Let alone driving, he couldn’t speak kindly to someone who had watched him fulfilling his calling. Gancan raised his head again. His blood-stained mouth opened unpleasantly wide again.

The decayed blood poured onto that goblin too. They say that the stagnant water from decomposed bodies in the no man’s land during the Great War could blind you just by touching it. The goblin who had spied on Gancan covered his eyes and collapsed.

“Ah, ahhh! My eyes! My eyes! I can’t, I can’t see!”

Ignoring him, Gancan walked out. Once again passing through the door opened by the fallen bookshelf, he headed to where he had parked his car. Now the road Gancan had taken was filled with cars, typical of a New York morning.

He sighed, but there was nothing he could do about it. Due to the morning rush hour, the journey that had taken forty minutes on the way there took an hour and thirty minutes on the way back.

Barely returning to Little Eire, Gancan headed to Bar Mare where The Morrígan welcomed him. She wore a mischievous smile on her lips.

Those who had properly been called gods, like The Morrígan, often longed for the times when they were gods, even after pledging to the God-President to become unworshipped gods. The Morrígan was no exception.

The era when Gancan knew not just how to announce death but also how to postpone or hasten it was the era when The Morrígan was a goddess. That’s why she spoke with such excitement.

“It’s been a while since you did real work, Gancan. And… it took longer than expected.”

It was almost a joke. The Morrígan knew that while he would be protected on his way there, he wouldn’t be protected on his way back. Nevertheless, Gancan answered politely.

“The road was blocked on the way back, Morrígan. I did it my way, so they’ll warn each other… but it won’t matter. Have the other contractors departed?”

The Morrígan nodded briefly. When she talked about the detective, her voice was full of confidence and power. Gancan thought she must be thinking of Chulainn’s hound.

“Yes. The detective left from Little Eire, and I received word that the contractor prepared by the Nolls has also departed. Now we just have to wait, Gancan. Rest easy.”

The job would probably be finished within the day. Gancan had handled things in the old fairy way. The detective would probably handle things in a contractor’s way.

However, they still didn’t know about the Noll contractor. If it was a massive Noll who couldn’t speak English and could only communicate through Noll sign language, he would probably use a beast-like method.

What mattered was how beast-like the method would be. Whether he was a stupid beast who relied only on thick fur and claws to charge into a hail of bullets, or an intelligent beast, made a significant difference.

Though they had temporarily joined hands, The Morrígan and the Noll Matriarch knew they would be enemies again in about a month. They had too many similarities to become friends.

So, being able to learn about the best contractor prepared by the Noll Matriarch was a great fortune for The Morrígan. The Nolls also thought it fortunate to directly observe Gancan’s work.

Eventually, balance, cooperation, and peace would all break, but not today. Just one day had passed since the two organizations resolved to dispose of the goblins. One of the three targets had been killed.