Ch.13Ch.2 – No Country for Young Boys (1)

# “Don’t come any closer.”

April 4, 1929, 8:53 AM

22 Gorde Street,

On the stairs leading up to Crayfield’s office.

This story begins with a nail head.

I believe you, dear readers, have seen that damn nail head at least once.

In truth, it did nothing except tear my shoe on my first day of work. Yet Crayfield would sing about being careful of the nail head at every opportunity.

After hearing it so much, I’ve even started to find that nail head charming. A metaphor for an inconvenience that one can tolerate and move past.

So imagine this.

How much I praised Crayfield when that nail head was quietly sitting in its place.

And how bewildered I was when Crayfield rummaged through his drawer, grabbed a claw hammer and compass, and rushed out.

“Oh dear.”

Well. It seemed we’d need a carving knife to dig into the wall to remove that nail head. It was stuck in so firmly that even the tip of the claw hammer couldn’t catch it.

“Hey. Do you think I went on about the nail head without reason? It’s a kind of gimmick. When a major change happens in this world, the nail head gets stuck in place like this.”

Contrary to expectations, that “major change” wasn’t about trivial issues like regime changes, Nazi rise to power, Capone’s arrest, or the latter part of the Great Depression.

“An update, my friend. It means content has been added to this world. For minor version patches, a swing or two of the hammer would get it out. But since it won’t budge, it means there was a very big update. Like a quest addition or a new chapter. How do I know? Because I’ve tampered with the code!”

Even as he said this, he kept scratching at the wall. Still, it wasn’t enough to pull out the nail head. Because of this, he missed the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs.

“Mr. Crayfield.”

It was a young lady with bold bangs and sapphire eyes. Her cheeks still had their baby fat, which made her bangs seem all the more daring—there’s no other way to describe it.

The reason she looked fine despite this worst combination wasn’t because of the blue headband around her head, nor the clearly deliberate black beauty mark on her left cheek, nor the pitch-black lipstick as dark as a frozen cherry atop a cheap cake.

It was simply innocence. The innocence of a girl wanting to look like a woman that made it all beautiful.

“I’m Crayfield. This fellow is my assistant.”

The reason Crayfield treated her with unusual politeness seemed to be for the same reason.

Of course, he unnecessarily rolled up his sleeves. The folded shirt compressed his arms, revealing his veins.

Perhaps he was a follower of the ignorant theory that ‘women like protruding veins and lean muscles.’ Naturally, the lady made no effort to hide her disgust.

“I see, ‘Assistant.’ I came with a request. How much should I pay you?”

“We don’t take ordinary requests.”

This time Crayfield rounded his shoulders and arms. He even lowered his voice, but it didn’t make him look cool at all.

“But I came because I saw your advertisement?”

The woman pulled a newspaper clipping from her bag. It was from the advertisement section of the Pollard Times, and surprisingly, there was an ad titled “Crayfield Detective Agency.”

“Officially licensed private detective Crayfield awaits your requests. Background checks. Tracking. Protection. Specializing in obtaining evidence of infidelity.”

“Look, I never placed such an advertisement. And I’m not a specialist in obtaining evidence of infidelity.”

Crayfield rubbed his forehead.

“But I came specifically because of that part. If you’re good at such unsavory business, there’s nothing you can’t do.”

“Is your husband having an affair?”

“I’m not married! I don’t have a boyfriend either!…Not yet.”

“Ah, I see. This is maddening. Who on earth placed such an insane advertisement?”

A creaking sound echoed through the corridor. The color drained from Crayfield’s face. It was a sight I’d never seen before. What could have terrified him so?

Creak… creak… crack… creak… After the sound resonated for a while, a majestic woman appeared.

Honestly, I’m still not sure how to describe her properly. Magnificent? Overwhelming? Breathtaking?

She was at least two heads taller than me. Due to the narrow staircase, she had to slightly tilt her body. Her skeletal structure was so massive that she didn’t appear clumsy or fat.

You might see many fat cats, but have you ever seen a fat elephant?

I was simply amazed that there was a pharmacist’s coat that fit her. Crayfield instantly became respectful.

“Oh, Mrs. Margaret Graham, what brings you here? I believe I don’t have to pay rent for the time being.”

“I know.”

Crack. Snap. Crack. The sound came from her left hand. Between her thick fingers, though hard to confirm, two walnuts seemed to be colliding with each other.

“Josie made that decision about the rent without consulting me. I won’t be petty enough to ask you for money. Instead, I’ve decided to manage Josie’s wages.”

The landlady’s thick hand clenched. Crayfield squeezed his legs together.

“And I placed that advertisement on your behalf. Is there a problem?”

“Of course there’s a problem. You’re the building owner, not my master!”

“Oh, Crayfield.”

The walnuts in the landlady’s left hand screamed as if begging him to reconsider.

“I can tolerate your atheism, but I simply cannot abide your laziness. You have infinite potential. Potential for a great future. Be diligent, even if just the size of a mustard seed.”

“Get me a bullet the size of a mustard seed. I’ll shoot my foot. Then I can legally take a break from work.”

“And this young lady is a future asset of Pollard Island.”

Is there anything more violent than an elephant placing its front paw on a small rabbit’s shoulder?

“She’s scheduled to enter Miskatonic’s Economics Department, but she’s deferred her admission to help her father and gain practical experience. Her father is a very solid church worker.

I simply couldn’t ignore this fragile girl’s concerns. Especially not with an idler dancing right above my head.”

“May I speak for myself?”

The rabbit was braver than expected. She didn’t even tremble.

“My name is Audrey Burroway. I co-manage Burroway General Store in the commercial district with my father.”

“Burroway. Burroway. Groceries and daily necessities, right? Your father is known for traveling throughout Massachusetts to select good products. A man of perseverance.”

Crayfield scratched his side.

“You’re quite accurate. It’s my father’s principle to provide customers with the best products at reasonable prices.

Now that I’m an adult, I’ve decided to help with my father’s work. I’ll learn and master everything so that someday we can expand our trading network even to the old continent.”

“Yes, good luck with that. It’s not my business.”

“No, it’s about to become ‘your business.'”

The arrogant young lady declared.

“My precious ‘worker’ has disappeared. Someone essential to my plans has vanished. A diligent person who hasn’t taken a day off in 10 months.”

Crayfield sighed.

“I haven’t read much of the Bible, but I believe even God rested one day a week?”

“He seems to be resting too often these days. To take such a person without a trace.”

“This is maddening.”

But there was no time for further comment. Margaret was fidgeting with her hands again. If only she hadn’t been holding walnuts, there would have been no need for terrifying imagination. Crayfield squeezed his thighs tighter.

“He’s not the type to disappear without a word. His name is Becket O’Brien. Burning red hair with moderate freckles. Strong build, tall, but with a delicate heart. Diligent.

And… I wish he were a bit more daring, but he can’t be. But how can anyone be perfect?”

Looking at the girl who was blushing up to her neck, Crayfield held back his laughter.

“We already have two such people here, miss. And for such matters, you should go to the police.”

“I did. They say they don’t look for people who’ve been missing for only a day. And…”

Margaret answered on behalf of the hesitating girl.

“The child is an illegal immigrant. Do you understand, Crayfield?”

“Italian?”

“Irish.”

“Then O’Melly might know something.”

“Indeed, you’re the right man for the job.”

“I’m busy. This isn’t a joke. I’m really busy. I have a lot of work. Right, assistant?”

Crayfield raised both hands. Margaret’s face deeply furrowed, but she restrained further reaction as the girl stepped forward.

“Where does this O’Melly person live? I’ll go ask him myself.”

“Do you know who O’Melly is?”

“You’ll tell me, won’t you? Surely you can do that much, Mr. Infidelity Specialist Detective?”

“This is maddening.”

Instead of Crayfield, who muttered something that could have been either admiration or criticism, the benevolent landlady stepped in.

“My child, your courage is something all of America should admire. But a person cannot do everything.

Anyone can find O’Melly and O’Brien, but only you and your father can handle Burroway General Store. And your father is in Arkham, isn’t he?”

“That’s true.”

The girl puffed her cheeks. The landlady looked regretful, then glared at Crayfield.

“If you’re too busy, I’ll hire your assistant.”

“He doesn’t even have a license!”

“Josie will take care of that.”

In an instant, the landlady’s arm muscles bulged. There was definitely a ripping sound from her pharmacist’s coat.

“If that can’t be done.”

Pop.

When the landlady opened her hand, walnut powder scattered like sawdust. Crayfield tightly squeezed his legs.

“Alright, alright! I won’t charge anything. Just write me a ‘prescription’ instead. Assistant, come into the office!”

* * * * *

Well. Despite what he said, Crayfield is all smiles. From the beginning, he had no intention of refusing the request.

He would have had to search all of Pollard City anyway to find out what had changed. Yet he acted that way to get a prescription—no, that’s not right.

“Remember. We’re proceeding with a quest without a ‘hero’ present. The doomsday clock isn’t ticking, but we can’t use ‘Chekhov.’

If it looks like there might be a confrontation, retreat to safety. Gather as many clues as possible and learn how the situation unfolds.”

And that wasn’t all.

“More importantly, completing this quest might bring some reward.

Quest items, you know? They can be unique items, one of a kind in the world.

How disappointing would it be if our hero can’t receive the reward when performing the same quest later?

There’s no guarantee something will drop, but sometimes you hit the jackpot. I got ‘Chekhov’ that way too. Here, take this notebook and pen.”

[You have acquired the item: Guidebook. The Guidebook automatically updates quests. Check it regularly.]

“And we can’t forget this.”

[You have acquired the weapon: Colt Model 1917. It’s a powerful pistol using .45 ACP rounds. Bullets can be purchased at nearby gun shops or sporting goods stores. Current ammo: 6/6]

“Got any money?”

[You have acquired $5.]

“Good. Now you’re ready to be a dapper detective. Off you go.”

What happened next is exactly as you might imagine. The three of us—myself, Margaret, and young Audrey—took a taxi to the Pollard City Police Department.

Poor Josie Graham waved his hands in protest, but when Margaret pulled out her walnuts, he issued a temporary certificate in terror.

It was only valid for three days from the date of issue, but it seemed sufficient to solve this case.

After sending Margaret and Audrey out, Josie looked like he was about to cry, but after hearing about my and Crayfield’s situation, he encouraged me in my first mission as a detective.

“There’s actually a report from the cemetery area. Someone left a long trail of blood along the path, and a white handkerchief was found there.

There was no body, so we just let it go, but keep it in mind, just in case.”

…My first solo mission didn’t seem like it would be too difficult.