Ch.187The Fifth Entanglement – Vampire Waltz (7)

The detective sighed as he got into his car after leaving the apartment. At least he’d managed to avoid causing trouble for his comrades. He checked his duffel bag. The contents were intact, as always.

While cases were his livelihood, secrets belonged to all his comrades. For now, just until he reached Littlehold, he would be grateful that his carelessness hadn’t affected his fellow veterans. The detective made this promise to himself.

Since running into Littlehold’s information broker in the red-light district, he was glad he’d made note of one of his informants. All he needed to do was tell that informant he’d found the woman who had been extracting information in Littlehold.

They would believe him. The detective actually knew that woman. They wouldn’t expect that she had hired him and that he would appear alone before all the gathered informants and the broker himself.

This was why the Argonne Invincibles had been so useful in the trenches. The Argonne Invincibles would appear from places no one expected.

We could run through mana storms that tore flesh. We could sprint across trenches that had become swamps with eight feet of water in shell craters as if they were flat ground. We did so willingly.

We abandoned our lives because we loved life. Life was stronger than death. The life we chose had crushed us. Was it still doing so? The detective withheld his answer. He was living day by day, as always. Perhaps.

Buildings with Littlehold’s distinctive exposed concrete texture began to appear. Rough but sturdy seemed to suit the temperament of the place, as most buildings in Littlehold had that appearance.

After circling Littlehold’s main street twice, the detective found the dwarf he’d been hoping to encounter by chance. His prediction that the dwarf would be on the street around this time for work had been correct.

The dwarf the detective had been looking for was an informant for Littlehold’s information broker, someone whose acquaintance he’d made after helping him when he was denied entry to Pandemonium due to identification issues.

Helping him had been entirely intentional. The detective parked his car and got out in front of him.

The dwarf smiled warmly upon seeing the detective. He was young, with a beard like other dwarves, but not yet long enough to braid, so he had tied it back. He was a newcomer as an informant too.

In other words, he was a vulnerability. Organizations typically fail because of newcomers. This would be no different. Still, he was a decent dwarf. Unlike most dwarves, he didn’t judge people by their race first.

“What brings you here, friend! It’s not often I run into someone who saved my beard like this by chance!”

“It’s not something to discuss so boldly on the street. Anyway, I came because I have some information to sell.”

He had already told the dwarf he was a detective. Many detectives made their primary income gathering and selling information like this. It was often more profitable than regular detective work.

The rookie investigator’s eyes lit up. He seemed to believe the detective was someone who brought good fortune just by being nearby. He’d learned this too early and mistook it for truth.

The detective was someone who created luck, but the ingredients were money and trust. He simply created luck after receiving payment. This dwarf had paid him nothing.

“You’re the most useful of my friends, and I don’t even know your name. But we don’t deal in just any information. Besides, right now…”

The detective pretended to make a natural guess. It wasn’t difficult to deceive him. Not because he was stupid or lacking, but because it was inevitable.

“Aren’t you looking for a vampire who’s been extracting information in Littlehold? Would your employer refuse to buy information about her?”

Eyes that had captured luck soon turned to admiration, and eventually almost worship. People often dreamed that someone they met by chance would solve all their life’s problems.

Dreams are dreams. We must keep our feet on the ground. The informant shook his head, full of dreams.

“No, no! Of course he’ll buy it! Oh, friend, is this your first time coming to me, really?”

“Rookies are the easiest to persuade. And they skim less off the top.”

The dwarf laughed good-naturedly at the teasing mixed with familiarity. Nevertheless, he lowered his voice as if he still needed to verify something.

“And rookies are questioned about everything they say. I was even questioned about bringing coffee, friend. So, can you tell me what information you’ve discovered?”

The friendship act was starting to get tiresome. Still, he needed to put in a bit more effort. They say effort creates perfection. Perfect wasn’t necessary, but there was no harm in being thorough.

“Well, I already know that woman typically uses mind-reading magic. I’ve learned a few more things, so report it.”

“Mind-reading magic… Oh, now I understand why the seniors said information was leaking that they hadn’t shared! Isn’t the patent fee for that magic quite expensive? If so, there should be detailed records, and if we could contact that magician and get the list…”

His mind works quickly. The detective smiled, raising just one corner of his mouth.

“I’ve already taken care of everything. It’s better to serve cooked meat than just throw a chunk of it. If you want to earn even a bit more, you have to go this far.”

“Ah, by Wotan’s foresight! I’ve never met such an excellent friend among people I’ve met in such places. Good, I’ll contact him right away. He’ll probably want to see you in person.”

So he worships Wotan, unexpectedly. Germany’s God-President wasn’t receiving much trust these days. Not since the French made them take on unpayable debts at Versailles.

Still, at least Wotan tried desperately to save his followers. Much better than those who tried to assert their authority by carrying absurd claims of being stabbed in the back.

The dwarf headed to a nearby public phone and made a call. Though he tried to hide his excitement, he couldn’t, and willingly told the information broker he’d met an informant who knew about the vampire and was trustworthy.

It didn’t take long to finish the call. The rookie informant returned with a smile and gave the detective two thumbs up.

“He says bring you right away! He said if you really know everything including her name, he’s gathered all the informants and brokers right now!”

“Not bad. If this succeeds, you’ll rise quite a bit from rookie status. You’ve brought important information at a crucial time.”

Though it was almost mocking, the dwarf nodded with pride. We headed to the information broker’s office on the eighth floor of a thick-walled concrete high-rise typical of Littlehold.

Eighth floor—not a bad location. Not bad because jumping would be fatal. The building interior was quite complex, so if escape became necessary, one could hide from police inside.

Places like this were nominally similar to detective agencies. But the office was quite proper. Opening the door revealed a secretary’s desk that seemed long unused, and inside were quite a few more desks.

Not as good as Blingkerton’s, but fairly substantial. There were fifteen desks. Past those desks, further inside was another separate office.

Fourteen dwarves were gathered in front of that office. About a third seemed suspicious that the rookie had brought an informant, while two-thirds seemed impressed. A decent place, in its way.

Those who seemed more experienced carried guns, while the rest held only knives or clubs. The boss must be quite wise not to give everyone guns.

The rookie informant entered the boss’s office with his head held high, the tip of his ponytailed beard swinging. Both the boss and the bodyguard standing behind him were dwarves.

The detective touched the wall of the boss’s office as he entered. The wall was solid and thick. Thick enough that sound wouldn’t leak through.

The boss had a common appearance. An old dwarf with long hair slicked back with wax, and a beard that was trimmed but not cut, braided several times. However, the bodyguard wasn’t quite so ordinary.

He was a dwarf wearing a gas mask. He seemed very proud of his assault team background. While dwarves created the concept of assault teams, none were more excellent than the Argonne Invincibles.

The boss looked the detective up and down, then made a short “tsk” sound. The bodyguard, who had been making breathing sounds through his gas mask while holding a shotgun, lowered his weapon.

“I wondered who our rookie got information from, and it turns out to be a slick beanpole. Well, as long as there’s information, it doesn’t matter if you’re not a kinsman. Sit. Let’s hear the information first. We’ll discuss the price afterward.”

The detective willingly sat down in front of the information broker, setting down his duffel bag. He pretended to look for cigarettes, patting his inner pocket while watching the boss puffing on strong dwarf cigarettes, then clicked his tongue.

“Damn, left them in the car.”

At this, the dwarf boss smirked around his cigarette, as if willing to extend a courtesy. His expression suggested he found it amusing that someone claiming to have such valuable information could be so careless.

“Martin, why don’t you buy our informant a cigarette? Go down and get some. What do you smoke, Mr. Informant?”

“Bull’s Eye.”

The boss gestured to the rookie informant to hurry along. The rookie informant, who had hoped to see his boss impressed by his informant and ultimately acknowledge him, clicked his tongue as he stood up.

His disappointment was obvious, but the boss paid no attention. Instead, he apologized to the detective for the attitude.

“Tsk, these rookies have no manners. Don’t mind it too much. Anyway, we’ll talk when the cigarettes arrive. Until then… I’d like to know who you are first.”

At this, the detective placed a business card from Husband Detective Agency on the boss’s desk and pushed it toward him. The boss flicked the edge of the card with his finger and smirked.

“Ah, a professional. Surely our rookie didn’t hire you? What an amusing irony that would be—an informant hiring a detective to gather information?”

That would have been better for the boss. The detective shook his head. He pulled out a cigarette pack with a red circle drawn on it from his pocket. The air began to freeze.

The detective put a cigarette in his mouth and gathered mana at his fingertips. A flame the size of a fingernail blazed at his fingertip, and in that moment, it seemed like the detective was the only one in the room breathing properly.

The boss’s bodyguard gripped the body of his shotgun firmly. He could fire at any moment. The detective began speaking as if sending one rookie away made no difference.

“You said you were looking for a vampire who lured dwarves out of bars to extract information. I’ve met her too. It was strange how she seemed to read my thoughts, but beneath her perfume scent was the strong smell of ozone. Mind-reading magic, I’d guess. So I went to the magician who teaches that magic and stole the ledger. There I found her name written down.”

The dwarf information broker looked bewildered at the detective who was lying to him yet providing the information he wanted in a clean, easily verifiable way.

Still, it was a reasonable story. No matter how drunk they were, dwarves who had worked in this field for five or six years wouldn’t give up information so easily. Mind-reading magic would have made it possible.

“And?”

The detective tapped his duffel bag. When his hand went under the desk, the shotgun immediately aimed at him, but when the sound of tapping the bag was heard, it lowered again.

“Her name was Mircalla. And… ah, damn. I’m going to take out the ledger, so could you ask that assault trooper to lower his gun?”

Since the deal was being fulfilled, the dwarf boss clicked his tongue again. The gas-masked dwarf made a displeased breathing sound and lowered his shotgun. The dwarf information broker warned:

“Actually, Max doesn’t even need to hold his gun. A war veteran? You seem to recognize him just by the gas mask, so I guess you are… Well, he received a First Class Iron Cross even though his body was completely burned in battle. No, maybe it’s better that he burned. He became an invincible assault trooper who can’t feel pain!”

The detective leaned down. He grabbed the shotgun barrel, preventing any rustling sounds as he pulled it from the duffel bag. As he straightened up, he spoke in a very casual tone, as if he’d forgotten something.

“Right, good. There was something I didn’t finish saying earlier. I said the woman’s name was Mircalla. Yes, she hired me. To take care of you all.”

His words pulled the trigger on the tense atmosphere. The gas-masked dwarf let out a roar through his burned vocal cords and pulled the shotgun trigger.

The aim was accurate. Pellets poured into the detective’s chest. He took a direct hit. But the pellets couldn’t even penetrate his skin. A 20-gauge shotgun was useless against a Doppelsöldner.

Ignoring the numbness, the detective pulled the shotgun’s trigger while pumping it. The building’s thick concrete walls absorbed both the shotgun blast and the dwarf’s blood. The talk of an invincible assault trooper had been somewhat exaggerated.

The dwarf collapsed against the wall, but his eyes were full of indignation. He had fired first. He had aimed properly. Yet it had been useless. He made choking sounds through his burned vocal cords.

Knowing there were many armed dwarves outside, the detective immediately jumped over the desk after killing the bodyguard. He grabbed the neck of the dwarf boss, who must have weighed a good 260 pounds, and used him as a shield.

Martin bought cigarettes at a store two blocks from his office. The green pack with a red circle was more commonly smoked by humans than dwarves, so he had to go all the way to the tobacco shop to buy it. Being sent on errands while working on the eighth floor of a building with an old elevator was truly miserable.

As he was leaving after buying the cigarettes, he heard two loud sounds in succession. They came from quite far away, probably from around the building where he worked.

He ran out of the store clutching the cigarettes. Among the murmuring crowd, someone was shouting for someone to call the police. Could the informant he had brought have been killed? He rushed to the building.

By the time Martin arrived, two angels had flown across and were opening the window on the eighth floor, inserting themselves into the building. Martin hurried into the elevator.

When the elevator finally reached the eighth floor, he could see a hand protruding from outside the office door. It was a dwarf’s hand. He rushed into the office.

When he flung open the door, he found one of the senior dwarves who had praised him for doing a good job lying collapsed with the side of his head caved in as if hit by something. The others were in similar condition.

The air was filled with the acrid smell of gunpowder, and even stronger was the smell of blood. There were no human corpses. No human blood. Somehow, the culprit must have been his informant.

The angels blocked Martin’s path. They spoke bluntly and emotionlessly.

“Do not approach the crime scene. Or are you a witness? If you are a witness, please tell us what you saw.”

Martin tried to shout. He blurted out without thinking.

“I, I… I didn’t witness it, but I know who did it! I, I work here as an investigator, and it must have been the informant I brought. Is there, um, a human corpse inside too?”

The angels shook their heads. It was certain. Then Martin had only one thing to do. He needed to reveal who it was. So, he was… Who was he?

He was someone who had coincidentally shown his invitation and vouched for Martin’s identity when he was entering Pandemonium. He was someone Martin had coincidentally met again in Littlehold.

He was, terribly enough, someone who knew what Martin wanted through an exquisite coincidence. Martin had called him a friend. That was all. Martin didn’t know him. The Husband Detective Agency business card stained with the dwarf information broker’s blood was in the detective’s pocket.

There must be a million adult human males in New York. Half of them would have similar hair color to the detective, and a similar number would be about the same height. Moreover, Martin didn’t have the ability to obtain records from the patent holder of mind-reading magic. The police wouldn’t believe his claim that they only needed to check the name in those records.

The information he had was like the wrapper that had contained a meat dish. It might give off an appetizing smell, but in reality, it was completely useless.