Ch.149The Fourth Entanglement – Elegy for the Vigilantes (10)

“You know, you really have a habit of going all out without thinking things through.”

The detective pulled a gun from his coat. As naturally as taking out a cigarette from an inner pocket, he removed a silencer and attached it to the muzzle. Even at the docks, it was better to have a silencer.

The reporter finally smiled again at those words. It was closer to an expression of relief than actual humor.

“I only take risks when I know I have you as my backup. Anyway, Leonard knows we’ve found his hideout. Are you really planning to walk in through the front door?”

“Do I really need to go? If I miss them somehow, you’ll be the only one left here with that old detective, and you’ll be the one in trouble.”

The detective thought there was no reason for them to wait at their hideout until he arrived. With a police uniform, it became quite simple to roam the city freely or knock on people’s doors.

If this vigilante was the same police officer who had taken the children, the detective had a reason to meet him. For him, this was still personal. So he needed to choose a method that would guarantee an encounter.

At that, Willem showed his revolver. The revolver was heavier than a piece of steel the same size. Added to the weight of the gun was the weight of trust.

“An old dog doesn’t always need new tricks. Sometimes the ones we already know are enough. Go ahead. I’ll look after the young reporter lady.”

There was no real reason to worry. The fact that he had lived to that age while carrying the title of detective was reason enough to trust him. It wasn’t uncommon for detectives to die like trash in back alleys.

After checking his spare magazine, the detective put his gun back in his shoulder holster. Only then did he look at the reporter.

“Well, someone who takes three days to kill one person probably wouldn’t handle this quickly either. What exactly do you want me to do? I assume you don’t just want me to go say hello.”

“Subdue them. Kill as few as possible while subduing them. If there are four of them and you have to kill all four, that would be unfortunate but necessary. But if possible, I want the serial killer captured alive. He was so proud of what he did—I want him caught and made to confess.”

The detective knew the reporter was deliberately avoiding saying the police officer’s name. She wanted to deny it. She wanted to say that the police officer was dead and only a murderer remained.

The reporter knew the detective was the perfect person to handle this. He would scoff at it. He would coldly sneer at their fanatical beliefs as if they were utterly ridiculous.

And yet he would thoroughly destroy them. He would terrify the Inspector to the point where he could no longer speak of justice and purification. Fear made people come to their senses.

“If you’re going to expose them, you’ll need evidence. But do you have any? All you have is the ramblings of a madman you heard in conversation. Even if he’s caught, the only evidence will be the ledger, and that will make them heroes. The city will be split in half. One side will listen to you, but the other half will be screaming about why we’re trying to lock up heroes.”

“I suppose we should assume there won’t be people who just watch silently? People who don’t speak up don’t count as people, after all.”

The detective nodded briefly. The rest was up to the reporter’s abilities. Convincing people that these vigilantes weren’t heroes was the reporter’s job, not his.

She was particular about the truth. The detective remembered how she hadn’t reported on Congressman Edward Collins’s death. So he left the house without worrying, without saying goodbye.

Goodbyes were for when you were parting. Since he would be back anyway, probably within two or three hours, he wasn’t the type to say goodbye. The reporter sighed and headed to her typewriter.

The reporter immediately created a headline: “The Identity of New York’s Inspector Revealed.” She made it sensational. This serial killer would be caught the day he was named. The detective started the engine.

The detective headed to the familiar docks. After parking his car near the docks, he grabbed his gun while looking at a warehouse where light was still leaking through the windows. The reporter began writing the introduction.

Even villains whom the law cannot judge must be judged. But is it right to hide criminals who could be brought before the law’s judgment and judge them ourselves? The introduction seemed quite good.

That ledger was evidence. It was very intuitive, and if they had just identified the names in it and sent the police after them, it would have taken only two days to lock up the worst scum in New York.

But the Inspector had stolen the ledger with the intention of dealing with them himself. He had prevented them from receiving swift judgment, and in the end, instead of proper punishment, he had only put a lead bullet in each of them.

This was the reporter’s justification. Willem nodded with satisfaction as he watched the words flow naturally onto the page. He was someone who needed justification for committing violence, so he liked this.

The detective didn’t know what was being written. But it didn’t matter much. He was in a position where he could throw punches and shoot without justification, so there was no need for him to be by Rose’s side right now.

The detective once again muffled his footsteps and climbed up the warehouse wall. Standing at a second-floor window at a height where no one would think a person could enter, he leaned against it and scanned the interior.

Two people came into view. The Inspector was whispering in conversation with a police officer by his side. His most trusted officer. It would be better to deal with that officer first.

The reporter began searching through reference articles. She referenced an article about how the police prohibition unit had conducted a major crackdown for just one day and arrested one hundred and fifty bootleggers and illegal bar owners.

If they could arrest one hundred and fifty bootleggers in a day—people who had their own communication networks and were likely armed—then they could have arrested those who used that terrible brothel in a single day as well.

Unless someone had monstrous abilities or was untouchable by the police, punishment by vigilantes was not only cruel but also slow and inefficient.

So perhaps sending the detective was a good thing after all. She desperately wanted to show the Inspector someone he could never catch up to, no matter how hard he tried.

Though she didn’t know it, the Inspector also wanted to meet the detective. Although what he wanted was to look in the same direction as the detective, not to face him.

Had two people already left the hideout? The detective, who was looking inside the warehouse to confirm the exact number, caught a clue. The officer talking to that policeman called someone.

“Oscar, get your gun. We’re going to take care of the reporter. He said he’d send someone here, but I’m not sure if he really will. We might miss each other, so he probably didn’t actually send anyone, but stay alert. No matter who comes, the Inspector will handle it, so you, Oswald, just need to provide backup. Understand?”

Two people answered. The number matched the police officers he had seen in the car last time. The detective quietly removed his hands from the window frame and came down along the wall. A small sound echoed as he touched the ground.

Even to elven ears, it wasn’t a sound worth worrying about. Elves tended to fear opponents they couldn’t detect with their sensitive senses.

Inspector Lee rushed out of the warehouse. It wouldn’t take long if he got into the police car hidden behind the warehouse. The moment they got into a police car, citizens would think what they were doing was official business. It wouldn’t be difficult to deal with the reporter…

Suddenly, it went dark in front of Inspector Lee’s eyes as he turned the corner of the warehouse. Someone seemed to be hiding there. An inhuman, brutish hand wrapped around his face, squeezing with the force of someone splitting an apple.

Still, they were better trained than others he had dealt with before. Seeing Inspector Lee immediately reaching for the gun at his waist, the detective grabbed his arm. Inspector Lee felt a chill run up his spine.

Though frightened like a cornered animal, his mouth was still not covered. He gathered his voice from deep in his stomach and shouted.

“Oscar! G-get your gun and shoot! Inspector! He’s here! The reporter sent someone!”

The detective didn’t particularly enjoy fighting four armed people simultaneously. Anyone would feel the same, except for dragons and angels. He also had no hobby of getting shot, so he used Inspector Lee as a shield and charged forward.

It would be better to check for hidden people when turning corners. The police officer following him did draw his gun, but all he could see was his superior struggling in someone’s grip.

He should have pulled the trigger. These creatures, connected by some strange bond or sense of camaraderie, couldn’t shoot. It was strange that friendship could sprout between people who masturbated together to the word “justice.”

Rose trusted the detective and began writing the main text of her article. She wrote that although the mistress of Pandemonium had clearly said she had handed over the ledger to the police, the police claimed there was no evidence and closed the case.

She added that the ledger had been found with one police officer. Since Pandemonium was innocent, she boldly wrote the speculative statement that the police officer who had responded to the report must have stolen the ledger.

The detective threw Inspector Lee at Officer Oscar. It was a very light motion, as if throwing an empty sack rather than a person.

Without hesitation, the detective pulled the trigger over the two police officers tangled on the floor. A bullet pierced through the side. Another hit the thigh. One seemed to hit the stomach, as Inspector Lee’s expression unnaturally contorted with both the heat of the bullet and the coldness of bleeding. He fired four shots. With one already in the chamber, four remained.

The remaining officer’s name was Oswald. In this situation, there was no way to distinguish voices, and both Inspector Lee and the detective were young humans, so they could be confused. The detective shouted.

“Over here, Oswald! We’ve got him, come quickly and help! This bastard has monstrous strength…”

The officer inside rushed out without even checking who was shouting outside. The front of the warehouse was bright, but the side was dark, so he couldn’t see the detective’s expression. The detective could see his.

He first shot at the ankle of the rushing officer. His step seemed to float once, and then the dwarf officer who had rushed out from inside couldn’t control his heavy body and fell face-first onto the ground, his gun bouncing away.

Inspector Lee, clutching his stomach under the detective’s foot, saw hope. Although he had lost his gun because his holster was unfastened, it was still within crawling distance.

He held his stomach, and despite feeling blood seeping through his fingers, he pulled his body with his other hand.

He believed that if he could just grab the gun while Oswald distracted the intruder’s attention, he could do something.

Although it was so painful that even his fingernails trembled, pain could be endured. He reached for the gun handle. It seemed almost within reach. But no. The metal-reinforced heel of the detective’s shoe stomped down hard on Inspector Lee’s hand.

The pain didn’t come immediately. It was like rinsing one’s mouth with water before enjoying a new food, preparing to savor the taste. After the sensation was delayed until pain could be felt, it rushed in all at once.

“Ah, ugh, AAAH! My, my hand! Inspector, h-help, help me! Hurry, come out and…”

Inspector Leonard would not come out. In this brief moment, he had once again reverted to his original powerless self. He had returned to being an elf accustomed to things he couldn’t resist.

The reporter continued writing calmly. What needed to be said was clear. She dryly acknowledged that although she had the excuse that the day of killing was approaching, perhaps she had become a vigilante just like that police officer.

She could have added more after that. She could have made more excuses. But she didn’t. The last sentence was simple: Perhaps this was a case of vigilantes catching vigilantes.

The judgment was left entirely to the reader. The writer could only hope in the reader. She decided to be satisfied with having defended others but not herself.

Officer Oscar was just trembling with his hands covered. His reliable senior was curled up with a shattered hand, and his fellow officer was crawling on the floor with a bullet in his ankle. Soon that body flipped over.

Seeing him curling up like a beetle and acting as if he were vulnerable, the detective picked up Inspector Lee’s revolver from the floor. Although it was a short-barreled weapon, it would hit accurately at this distance.

“You feel guilty, Officer Oscar. If you were as confident as when you were doing vigilante work, I could do my job with a clearer conscience.”

It was a revolver with six bullets fully loaded, so after firing two shots into the curled-up officer’s back, he pulled the trigger four more times into the air and then threw the gun away. Even at the docks, the gunshots would have echoed to the surrounding area.

Officer Oscar, who could no longer curl up and was now rolling on the floor with his back arched in pain, no longer held the detective’s interest. He was still looking for the Inspector who had not yet come out.

Elven senses were incredibly sensitive. Leonard could hear the footsteps of the only person still standing properly outside the warehouse. He wanted to hide under a desk, but it was clearly meaningless.

He could see a shadow falling through the open warehouse door. To escape this terror, he would do anything, and he had a gun in his hand. He slowly drew his gun and brought it to his mouth.

He heard the detective’s footsteps. Leonard still didn’t know who those footsteps belonged to. But it seemed like pulling the trigger would allow him to escape. Yet he wanted to live.

The Inspector died at that moment. He died the moment he feared the visitor coming to the warehouse, and when he wanted to escape through death out of fear, he was executed.

His fanatical will had long disappeared, and only the weak, powerless, and incompetent police officer remained in that shell. It might not have been so, but the detective had no intention of understanding him.

Just as he was about to pull the trigger in anger, his hand stopped. While he trembled, the footsteps crossed the warehouse door and entered. Leonard felt another seizure-like trembling coming on.

This time for real. No, I can’t. This time for real… Even as he made up his mind, the trigger seemed too heavy for his finger to pull. The detective didn’t hesitate when pulling the trigger. Two muffled gunshots rang out.

The trigger wasn’t pulled. It wasn’t because of the weight. His finger wouldn’t move. The detective sneered at the sight as if it were pathetic.

“It might seem like something you can do in the heat of the moment, but it’s not as easy as you think. Even after drinking four bottles of whiskey, maybe one or two out of ten men could properly pull the trigger. And suicide is a sin, isn’t it? You devout man. A man who keeps the God-President’s scripture in his marital bedroom—why are you acting like this?”

Leonard could instinctively feel it. He could feel that it was this detective who had destroyed that brothel. His teeth chattered against each other. He began to tremble as if he would shatter.

The detective removed the now-empty magazine and inserted a new one. Now he had seven bullets left. Still sneering, he approached Leonard, who could no longer even pull the trigger.

“Please, don’t try to find your self-esteem by shooting any criminal just because you’ve never properly acted like a man in your life. It’s bad enough dealing with vigilantes who kill people while talking about justice, but having to deal with those who can’t even do that properly is too much.”

Now the detective had approached the desk where Leonard was sitting. Leonard, trying to contain his fear that felt like it would drive him mad, spat out his voice.

“I, I had a calling…”

It was at that moment that Leonard realized it wasn’t a hammer that had smashed the brothel’s doorknob. He could only realize it when he was clutching his shattered nose and mouth with both hands, making unintelligible wails.

The detective shook his wrist. The sound of angels’ wings fluttering could be heard from outside the warehouse.

“Don’t talk as if the God-President has ever cared enough about our lives to give us a calling.”

Whatever ideology they held didn’t hold the detective’s attention for long. As the reporter had said, he had kept all four alive, so he wondered if he could get extra money per head. That thought was more prominent.

It would be better to get it from Madam rather than from the reporter. It was clear that there would be a limit to what he could extract from a reporter who had just become independent and was living in that cheap apartment.

As the reporter had predicted, the detective scoffed at them. He thoroughly trampled them and easily dismissed them without remembering them for long.