Ch.166Request Log #015 – Even a Single Drop of Blood Calls the Sharks (1)

“Got any newspapers about gods who aren’t worshipped? Even something brief would be good.”

Today I went down to the newspaper stand early, though normally it only opens when the sun is high in the sky. The lizardman owner who stacks and sells newspapers from across the city began slowly selecting one.

“Where was it? I think there was something… Ah, here it is. Golden Age Press. This paper’s been running some decent articles lately. The article… here it is. I’ll fold it for you.”

So he actually reads what he sells. Many newspaper vendors don’t even glance at the papers they sell except for the one they personally like. The orc who ran this stand before this lizardman was like that.

The stand owner pulled out a copy of the Golden Age Press with the last page folded and handed it to me. I placed two coins on the counter for the newspaper. He returned a warm smile.

“For a customer who doesn’t ask to put it on a tab or beg for a free copy, I should at least do this much. Have a good day!”

I returned the greeting to the lizardman who was shaking his head with an expression that suggested he was sick and tired of such requests. In the morning, I still had enough courtesy left in me, like the last bit of jam scraped from a jar.

“Yeah, have a good day too. I’m the kind of person who returns greetings to newspaper vendors who actually read what they sell.”

Though I’d cleanly rejected Yehoel, there might still be some scraps to pick up if the Divine Protection Bureau was involved. For that, I needed to know at least enough information to make the newspapers.

Back home, I sat at my office desk and opened the newspaper. The article was written by a journalist with a familiar name. “Even as the fading sun loses its heat, it still holds warmth in its embrace.” A typical headline from that journalist.

The content wasn’t much. It mentioned that a sun god and war deity who wasn’t being worshipped, whom the journalist had met in a factory district alley, would be leaving on a journey, and included some advice this god had given to people.

A war god, that wasn’t particularly troubling. The Morrígan was also a goddess of death and war, but I hadn’t worried about her. If anything, I only had gratitude for The Morrígan regarding that pill.

More important was the part about leaving on a journey. It would be foolish for such a god to leave a major city like New York to gather followers. The more people there are, the more fools there would be who might fall for an unworship god.

Or this god might be using the journalist to pull a con. Perhaps naturally mentioning leaving New York to hide their true intentions. Gods were generally extremely cunning.

What gods do is generally showbusiness and political maneuvering. Most are skilled at displaying and manipulating. They excel at making others dance to their tune.

Moreover, the journalist who wrote this article was the trusting type. While one might be skeptical of humans, they probably believed everything this unworship god said and wrote the article accordingly.

At least if they don’t return to New York, I won’t have to get involved with that god. I folded the newspaper and tossed it aside. After this, I was completely taken over by Divine Protection Bureau business. Probably.

If there’s no work, I should probably head out soon. Even if there seems to be no solution, bringing a few magic books compiled by my comrades and examining them more closely might help a little.

This winter, I imagine breaking free from the curse. No, I can’t. For about the first year after returning from the Great War, I could dream of such things, but now I can’t even imagine living without the curse.

I put an “out of office” sign under my nameplate and left home. I got in my car and headed straight for the Veterans Association Hall.

The Veterans Association Hall was a temple for the fallen. It was the only favor granted by the unresponsive God-President.

At least he never visited the hall, perhaps knowing he had remained silent to those seeking a response.

Since I wouldn’t be staying long, I parked in front of the hall instead of using the attached parking lot and approached the large door. When I knocked on the small door attached to it, a peephole opened. Though recognizing me, they still asked:

“Have you been baptized in the blood of the lamb? Have you been purified?”

“No, that was definitely not a lamb.”

We were octopus and cuttlefish, ruminating on each other’s sins. The door opened, revealing the Professor’s familiar face. I didn’t draw the holster from my pocket. At this hour, only the Invincibles would be here.

“What brings you here, Michael? You coming at this hour. Normally you’d be busy working.”

“Not working, but busy with a woman he picked up at Iris. Anyway, I came to borrow some silver branches. You know the cliché. What we always do.”

The Professor laughed self-deprecatingly. After giving a small chuckle on my behalf too, he nodded.

“Right, you mean there might be something we overlooked? Go ahead and borrow them. Since we realized the only methods are things like Hexenbane, we haven’t been clinging to those books either.”

There was a time when everyone clung to those books, believing salvation lay within them, almost memorizing every letter. Until we discovered there were no answers to be found.

Now was a period of stagnation. Or perhaps the beginning of acceptance. I entered the hall, passed through the trench-like arrangement of stone tables and chairs, and gathered about five magic books from the pile.

It wasn’t bad to flip through those on sleepless nights. There was nothing wrong with learning about magic.

As I was about to leave the hall, the Professor cleared his throat. When I turned around, he wore a troubled expression and hesitated before speaking.

“The Rat-Catcher’s kid, his son. Seems his wife gave birth on her own… We’re collecting money to send to her. Leave whatever you can spare. He may have died as the Hanger of New York, but that was just him.”

I opened my wallet. Inside was the price of someone’s life. I handed him three crisp hundred-dollar bills I’d received as payment for gambler Arnold’s life. The price to kill one person should be enough to save another.

“She’s still the Rat-Catcher’s wife. This is all I have on me, so let me know if more is needed. Work’s been coming in steadily, so I have money to spare.”

“Sometimes it seems like you have more money than those who do proper work. You’re the only one who gave three hundred dollars. Alright, alright. Get home safe, mongrel.”

That was generally true. But I also spent money more easily than those who did proper work, so ultimately I wasn’t living more comfortably than them.

I could save quite a bit just by cutting down on alcohol, but reducing money spent on alcohol, tobacco, or coffee tended to drastically lower my quality of life. Better to drink heavily and live that way.

I returned to my apartment with the books on the passenger seat. After parking in the lot, I took the books and headed up to my place. I briefly made eye contact with the landlord’s granddaughter, but she didn’t make any requests.

I didn’t want to show her the book titles. Besides, they weren’t heavy. I went up to the seventh floor where my apartment was, and as I opened the door, I noticed someone had been there. A business card had been slipped under the door.

I put the books on my office desk, put on gloves, and picked up the card. Branch Manager of Dragon’s Lair Bank, Manhattan Branch—quite a high-ranking person. Above him, there would be few human employees, mostly dragons.

I didn’t need to worry about something being smeared on the card and hold it with gloved hands. I sat at my office desk with the card. Reading books would have to wait.

On the back of the card was a note saying there was an urgent matter and requesting contact. More work. I was a person with few holidays. I picked up the phone and dialed the number on the card.

After the distinctive noise of the automatic connector, the call connected. I waited for the other party to speak.

“This is Morris Murphy, Branch Manager of Dragon’s Lair Bank, Manhattan Branch. May I ask who’s calling…”

The name matched the card. As long as someone wasn’t using someone else’s card to commit fraud, it should be fine. And judging by his tentative tone, it seemed he was indeed the one who had left me the card.

“This is Michael Husband of Husband Detective Agency. You left your card in my home office. Was that you?”

He took a couple of deep breaths. His voice was dry and cracked. Something was clearly wrong. The first breath was short, as if he was out of breath, and the second was long, as if in relief.

“Yes, I had someone leave it there. I saw in your newspaper ad that you also find missing persons. Are you available to work now?”

I hoped this could be finished in a day too. However, not all missing person cases were as simple as finding Giuseppina’s brother.

“Yes, I don’t have any current cases. But… I’d like to ask something first. As a banker, wouldn’t it be easier for you to contact Blingkerton rather than a small office like mine to find a missing person? Missing persons usually turn up if you just throw enough manpower at searching the city. Is there a specific reason you sought me out?”

I hoped he hadn’t simply failed to think of contacting Blingkerton. I didn’t want to lose the job by trying to verify the client’s true intentions.

“I’d prefer not to have too many people involved in this matter. Blingkerton keeps records and involves many people, but you’re an independent businessman.”

A family matter. He didn’t want it to become gossip fodder for journalists, so the work needed to be done quietly, and the compensation would be substantial once the job was done. I could at least earn back what I’d spent at the Veterans Association Hall.

“If you want this handled discreetly, that works for me. Who am I looking for? Given your desire for discretion, I’m assuming it’s a family member or someone equally important.”

“Ah, well… it’s not family. It’s an employee. A female employee who suddenly stopped coming to work a few days ago… To be precise, she hasn’t shown up for four days.”

A mistress. If an employee had truly gone missing, he would have reported it to the police, not Blingkerton. When one could be above board, there were few people easier to trust than the police.

“So you were with her five days ago.”

I made a subtle guess. The breathing that had been continuously audible over the phone momentarily stopped. After a few coughs, his voice continued.

“This is why I can’t use a large office like Blingkerton… Anyway, yes, that’s right. I was at her house, and, well, after we spent the night together, she was gone without a trace the next morning. I don’t understand what’s happening…”

She’s quite beloved for a mistress. Affairs generally weren’t about finding someone to love. It was just about being tired of one’s original spouse. People tend to tire quickly of their mistresses or lovers too.

It could be something else. The mistress might have stolen something important from the branch manager, or a significant sum of money, before disappearing. Or it could be even more than that.

“I’ll take the case. I’ll handle it discreetly, so please give me her address first. Oh, my fee is $20 per day plus expenses billed separately. And in this case, there will be additional charges.”

“Of course, of course. I understand discretion costs money. I’ll give you whatever I can, just please find her. Please.”

After that, I received an address. It was on 14th Street, in an area with fairly nice houses, though not where a bank branch manager would live. Conveniently, it was close to Two Face, so I was familiar with the geography.

I didn’t ask if there was anything suspicious. He probably couldn’t remember properly anyway. He likely fled in a hurry after seeing something invisible, then spent days worrying before calling me.

“If necessary, I may need to visit people who work at the bank. What excuse should I use? I can manage on my own, but if our stories don’t match, you might come under suspicion, Mr. Branch Manager. In several ways.”

He doesn’t want that either. Words poured out as if he would have told me even if I hadn’t asked, like he had prepared them in advance.

“Well, you can just say you’re looking for an employee. I’ve told the staff that while I’m concerned about her sudden disappearance, a single woman vanishing suddenly couldn’t be good for our bank’s reputation, so I’ve quietly hired a detective to find her. Will that work?”

Thoroughly self-protective. I didn’t dislike it. These types of people wouldn’t spare any support if it meant protecting their lives or positions. They were easy clients to manipulate.

“That’s clean. Since I can’t report during business hours every time, I’d like your home phone number as well. Yes, yes. I understand. I’ll report whenever I find something. And I’ll visit you after work hours, so please prepare a photo. It’s difficult for me to find someone when I don’t know what they look like.”

If I had received detailed enough information that a face wasn’t necessary, I could have overlooked it, but not this time. I wrote down the banker’s address and phone number.

There was still plenty of time until the bank’s closing hours. Without even touching the books I’d brought from the hall, I left home with the pocket holster stuffed entirely in my pocket. I put up the “out of office” sign again.

While it was most likely she ran away of her own accord, if so, she would have chosen a time when he wouldn’t worry.

Given that they spent the night together, they must have been together all evening. In that case, it would have been better to pretend to go home after work, saying she was too tired to stay up, and then escape.

Well, either way, this shouldn’t take long. I immediately drove to 14th Street where Bar Two Face was located. I arrived at a modest detached house with its own backyard.

It seemed too expensive for a young bank employee. I didn’t speculate. It wasn’t my job to guess how deep this affair was. In fact, not doing so was precisely my job.

After confirming no one was inside, I opened the garden gate, approached the front door, and lightly gripped the doorknob. I held it with both hands and gently pulled it out. It didn’t make much noise.

The inside of the house was ordinary. The air was cold and dusty, as if no one had been there for days. There was nothing special inside the house either. However, there was one thing that caught my eye.

A drop of blood had fallen in front of the bedroom window. Not a bloodstain. A drop of blood. A single drop of blood that hadn’t dried even slightly was on the bedroom floor.