Ch.1Request Log #001 – The Roaring Twenties (1)

The jazz music echoing through the streets, workers streaming out of factories and heading to bars as if pulled by leashes, police rushing toward alleys where screams were heard… just another typical New York scene.

For observing this city, being among the crowds of workers is better than standing on a skyscraper rooftop. The night sky viewed from there displays unpleasantly vibrant colors, like the hallucinations of a heroin addict.

Was it to witness these scenes from among the crowds that I became a detective?

No, there couldn’t be such a sentimental reason. People despised detectives for often being puppets of the wealthy, but they themselves sought out detectives just as much as police when trouble arose. And since I kept my mouth shut and just did the job, the money that came in was quite substantial—that’s why I became a detective.

With a cigarette between my lips, I watched workers leaving their shifts when a newsboy, carrying a stack of newspapers nearly as big as himself, came running out, timing his arrival for this hour.

“Evening papers! Get your papers! The Great Devil La’kerpelius is building another orphanage! Has he learned his lesson since the Ludlow disaster? And the most popular radio drama these days is ending next week!”

I had come here to meet a client who had left a note at my office, requesting to meet when no one was around. I needed something to kill time until then.

With that thought, I approached the goblin kid with greenish skin who was waving a newspaper high above his head. I tossed him two pennies but received only an innocent expression in return, as if he hadn’t received anything.

Right, even a single penny from me would significantly boost your wages. After clicking my tongue, I handed over two more pennies before finally receiving a newspaper correctly dated March 11, 1924.

This was relatively honest. Often when I bought papers like this, they turned out to be unsold editions from the previous day.

The goblin kid, pleased with the extra money, stuck close to me with his sharp fangs gleaming in a friendly manner.

“Wow… what are you, mister? A devil hiding your horns? Giving a whole newspaper’s worth as a tip!”

These little ones become as friendly as waiters at fancy restaurants for just a few coins.

No, they might actually be friendlier than those waiters. Compared to waiters who glare even after receiving 25-cent tips, these kids who are satisfied with 2 cents are much better.

“By the way, why are you standing here? I noticed you’re not one of the factory workers leaving!”

They were definitely more useful than waiters. These kids had eyes everywhere and were curious about everything, often bringing back good information.

“I’m not a wage earner, and I work nights, so I’m just starting my shift now.”

“What, do you dance in some bar where old elves in rags hang out? You’d sell well, being young!”

The goblin kid’s fangs gleamed again in the streetlight as he continued to feign innocence.

“The work is shittier than theirs, but the pay is less.”

We both broke into sneering smiles at the same time. I liked this kid, so I handed back the newspaper I hadn’t read a single word of. This kid would probably sell the same paper again anyway.

After briefly waving goodbye, I melted into the crowd. It’s difficult to go against the flow of people, but blending in is quite simple. I’m a rather ordinary person.

The air in this factory district, mixed with the smell of grease and smoke, seemed to suck away people’s vitality and individuality. Regardless of race, everyone became a laborer in this air.

And those who fell to the status of laborers believed alcohol would restore their vitality. Prohibition existed, of course, but was there anything less secret than the speakeasies in this city?

Fortunately, I wasn’t suffocating in this air. I arrived at the factory mentioned in the note I’d received.

A small factory… damn, judging by the air thick with grease and paint smells, it must be an auto parts factory. Trying to breathe only through my mouth, I stepped inside.

The factory was quiet. Only the lubricant-scented breathing of an Industrial Spirit, using motors and engines as its spirit core, filled the factory as it slept.

That was the second fortunate thing. This factory wasn’t my workplace. I grabbed the staircase railing, which didn’t smell of grease or paint at all, and headed up to the office floor.

I climbed to the office floor, completely isolated from the factory. The reception desk where a secretary would normally assist visitors was empty, and the only light came from an office glowing at the far end of the corridor.

I checked my pistol inside my coat. I hadn’t lived honestly enough to feel safe when invited to a deserted place at an odd hour. With one hand on my gun, I opened the office door and entered.

“Ah, you’ve arrived. Come in.”

But waiting inside was just an ordinary devil.

Sulfur-red skin, hair slicked back with wax to reveal his forehead, two thick horns protruding between, and even a formal suit complete with vest and decorative buttons… quite typical.

Devils were businessmen. Greedy and lazy, they earned money efficiently, and jealous of each other, they researched ways to outdo their competitors. They invested money that could have been used for charity, and when they failed, they angrily tried again. With their earnings, they indulged in luxury and fine dining to maintain their proud dignity.

They weren’t bad clients to take on. Devils never made mistakes in money transactions.

“First off, a devil can’t treat a guest carelessly. I hope a bourbon will serve as lubricant for our contract.”

With a gentle smile, he pulled out a square bottle from a secret drawer under his office desk.

The premium oak scent rising from it and the oak axe logo engraved on the bottle… it was clearly high-end, no need to mention it. Probably smuggled goods.

From that square bottle flowed American culture that had nominally disappeared since Prohibition, filling a wide glass with ice. This was the second reason devils made good clients.

“So, what’s the matter that made you send a note instead of visiting my office? Seeing that you chose a private detective rather than a company one, it seems like something that needs to be handled quietly.”

“Being cautious never hurts. What kind of jobs do you usually take?”

“Finding stolen goods or missing persons… sometimes teaching lessons to enemies of businessmen.”

At the words “enemies of businessmen,” his expression twisted into a smile as misshapen as a poorly made Christmas cookie.

“Enemies of businessmen, enemies of businessmen… these days are truly difficult for businessmen to live in, aren’t they?”

Not likely. With those words, he took out a ledger made of synthetic leather and quietly pushed it toward me.

Just as the sound of sizzling oil in a morning kitchen almost certainly means bacon for breakfast, when a client produces a ledger, it’s an embezzlement issue. Still, he must have called a discreet detective because he wasn’t yet certain.

The ledger was mostly smooth. At first glance, there were no suspicious expenditures, and the numbers added up.

But even I could see that profits were minimal despite the current economic boom. Now, let’s see which bastards are skimming off the top. Slowly scanning down, I reached the materials section.

Though I wasn’t in this industry, the prices for paint and steel plates seemed impossibly high—the material costs were recorded at exorbitant rates.

“It looks like the materials manager has been skimming… we should also suspect the accounting department.”

“It’s not the accounting people. I checked directly—they just recorded the receipts they were given. They might have been slacking, but they weren’t stealing. As you said, it’s likely the materials manager. And… there’s only one materials manager.”

Stroking his smoothly groomed goat-like horns, he pulled a note from his pocket and pushed it toward me.

I took the note and first checked the paper quality. It was the same as the one that had been placed under my office door.

Written on it was a name and address. David Hamlin, somewhere in Motherwood.

Motherwood was a district where many elves lived. They even planted a large tree they couldn’t live without—something about a world tree… Elves were inherently exclusive, so other races wandering through Motherwood would be viewed with suspicion.

To avoid suspicion, I would need to blend in naturally. I had a method I used often, so there was nothing to worry about.

“I’d like you to visit the materials manager directly and find out how much he’s been skimming. If he’s kept records, just bringing those would be enough, and if not…”

The devil let his words trail off. They disliked speaking violent words. If you asked whether they also disliked carrying them out, the answer would obviously be no.

“I wouldn’t be wearing a detective badge if I didn’t know how to interrogate. What does this elf look like?”

“I almost forgot the most important part. He’s short, typical for an elf. He claims to be 152cm, so that’s…”

For an elf, he must be a French immigrant. Using centimeters instead of inches and feet was a clear sign.

“4 feet 11 inches.”

“Thank you. And his face is quite narrow… ah, he has a goatee. It’s not particularly attractive as it’s rather thin, but still. And he has lemon-colored blonde hair with gray eyes. Is that description sufficient?”

First, I needed to verify that my client wasn’t making up a non-existent person. Elves were typically between 4 feet 7 inches and 5 feet 5 inches at most. The height was realistic.

The face and appearance didn’t seem unusual either. I could assume he wasn’t trying to frame someone who didn’t exist.

“That’s sufficient. My rate is 20 dollars per day plus expenses. I’ll need to see whether threats will work or if stealing would be easier, and check when he’s not home, so it will take about three days.”

The devil’s thick eyebrows twitched as if he didn’t like this response, and he took out a 100-dollar bill from his wallet and placed it on the desk, offering it as if it were mere pocket change.

“This is an advance. If you come back by tomorrow morning, I’ll give you twice this amount.”

“You certainly know how to cook a detective. I’ll bring the embezzler with me tomorrow morning.”

There was no reason to refuse when I could earn more than three weeks’ wages of factory workers for just one day’s work. The devil finally gave a friendly smile and extended his hand, which I shook—it was rough and hot.

“A devil who doesn’t know how to cook and boil wouldn’t be worth his salt. Well then, I’ll be looking forward to it.”

I left the factory, leaving behind the devil whose expression had softened with the expectation that his problem would be neatly resolved.

In the factory district, now emptied of workers like an outgoing tide, only the oil-scented breaths of sleeping Industrial Spirits managing the machines flowed like wind, and shabby streetlights flickered.

I walked for about five minutes to reach a good spot to catch a taxi. Usually, there would be kids at such crossings.

In these times, even children needed to earn money, and there weren’t many jobs they could do. Delivering telegrams, selling newspapers… or if they knew magic, selling magically preserved flowers.

Looking around briefly, I spotted an elf child across the crossing, crouched with stacked flower baskets, blowing on their hands for warmth. With so few people around at this hour, the flower baskets seemed far from being emptied.

It wasn’t my concern. What mattered was that there was an elf kid selling flowers who could help me blend naturally into Motherwood.

With a well-crafted smile, I ran across the crossing to approach the child. Even the taxi drivers parked nearby turned their attention to me.

The child, wary of approaching footsteps but returning my fabricated smile, heard me try my best to sound friendly.

“Hey kid. Can I ask you something?”

“Yes? Of course…”

“I need to give flowers to an elf, but I haven’t known them for long. Do you know what kind of flowers elves like? It’s my first gift, and I want to make a good impression.”

I deliberately held my chin as if pondering, then lowered my head shyly when mentioning I hadn’t known the elf for long. This should be enough to fool the child.

Elves are generally quite sensitive, so they prefer flowers with subtle scents. They could get dizzy from the scent of roses, and could only enjoy flowers with delicate fragrances like baby’s breath.

“Ah, elves prefer flowers with subtle scents. And if you want a gift that won’t burden the recipient…”

As I expected, the child carefully took a small bundle of baby’s breath from the flower basket and wrapped it in paper. It seemed to be magically preserved, as I could faintly sense the scent of mana.

“This would be perfect. It’s magically preserved, so it should stay fresh for about a week, but, um, the price…”

The child seemed unsure how much to charge. Why would a kid with no business experience be selling flowers on the street? The question arose, but I didn’t bother thinking about the answer.

I handed over two 10-cent coins that happened to be in my pocket. It might be too much for a bundle of flowers, but it’s what a man in a good mood, expecting to meet his elf lover, might give.

The child’s expression brightened as much as the shabby streetlights in this street. The invisible hand at work again.

“Th-thank you! I’m sure whoever receives your gift will be delighted!”

With words of gratitude, the child gathered mana from within and breathed more into the bundle of flowers.

As the unpleasant ozone-like smell of mana reacting with air tickled my nose, the flowers gained more vitality and moisture. The price of goodwill was only 10 cents.

After briefly waving goodbye, I got into a taxi that had been waiting by the roadside. The orc driver, with skin as rough and thick as the sole of an old leather shoe, wrinkled his nose.

“You’re a kind person. Shall we go to Motherwood?”

It was uncommon for non-elves to wander around Motherwood, but this driver would have heard my conversation with the elf child… he wouldn’t be suspicious.

I deliberately flinched, straightened my posture, adjusted my hat, and then nodded.

“Yes, to Motherwood. Do I… do I look awkward?”

By now, I would appear to anyone as a human going to meet an elf lover. Even the orc driver, who had maintained an expressionless, gruff face, showed a faint smile.

“You look perfectly fine. Seems like you’re having a good time.”

The car started moving, and the scenery began to rush past. It was time to say goodbye to the factories for a while. I wasn’t sorry to leave.

“I suppose so. It’s one of the few comforts in a life of endless work.”

The concrete walls of factories gradually diminished, and elf-style orderly buildings with dense, short trees planted as boundaries instead of fences began to appear as we approached the elf neighborhood.

Soon, the massive tree in the central square, practically a symbol of Motherwood, came into view.

It might not match the original in Paris, but this was America’s world tree… just an oak tree grown to an abnormal size using magic.

“Ah, if I may ask, what do you do for a living…?”

I had many possible answers. To avoid unpleasant stares or to ensure no spit mixed into my coffee, it was better to claim a profession other than detective.

“Just an ordinary wage earner. Currently doing some accounting work at a company that produces auto parts. You know, calculating money, checking if any is missing… that sort of thing.”

Well, that wasn’t a lie. I was doing what accountants failed to do.

“Still, that’s a stable and good job. You must earn enough to live comfortably compared to a taxi driver.”

An annoying comment. I couldn’t even acknowledge it. Still, my conversational skills were sufficient.

“Even if I earn enough to live comfortably, I can’t walk all the way to Motherwood. Besides, how terrible would the world be if everyone were an accountant?”

The orc driver could barely contain his laughter at my skilled lie.

The peaceful conversation continued without any suspicious elements until we arrived at Motherwood. I got off a bit away from the embezzler’s house and gave a friendly farewell to the taxi driver.

I checked my pistol again inside my coat. I probably wouldn’t need to shoot the materials manager, but it was best to be prepared.

Now it was time to find a place to watch from all night. An empty house nearby would be perfect, and fortunately, there was a dark, seemingly vacant house right next to his.

The lawn was overgrown, and the windows were covered with cobwebs and grime. It must be empty.

This was luxurious for a detective needing a place for one night. Compared to cramping up in a car, this was hotel quality.

After looking around and sensing no one watching, I quietly climbed over the garden gate.

The front door would be locked, so I opened the garage door, which had no lock, and stepped into the house filled with the pungent smell of dust. I wasn’t curious about any stories connected to this house.

What I cared about was how well I could see the embezzler’s house from the second floor, and though I wanted to smoke, I didn’t want to trigger a fire alarm.

Fortunately, from the second floor of this house, I could see inside the target house perfectly. An elf with the exact face the devil had described, along with an elf wife and two children… four people in total. The children were school-age, so they would leave in the morning.

I continued watching. It would be good to know if there were any guns in the house and where they were kept.

By the time the lights went out and the house fell silent, all I had learned was that this family was barely holding together. It seemed like the age difference between husband and wife was greater than that between the wife and children.

The embezzling elf was terrible even in bed. Money seemed to be the only thing holding the family structure together.

Afterward, I took a short nap. There was an abandoned sofa in the house, but I had no interest in sharing a bed with spiders.

The next morning, after dusting off my clothes, I left the abandoned house carrying the bundle of flowers that remained completely dust-free.

Though it was before work hours, there were a few pedestrians around, so I quietly slipped out through the back door of the empty house, took a large detour around Motherwood’s residential area, and headed toward the embezzler’s house.

After adjusting my appearance again and preparing to draw my gun, I knocked on the door.

I hoped the embezzler himself would answer, and today I seemed to be in luck. The approaching footsteps were relatively heavy.

He checked outside through the lens in the middle of the door, but he wouldn’t be suspicious of a man holding a flower bouquet.

The door opened. I immediately stepped forward, drew my gun, aimed it at his neck, and forced him to take another step back into the house. This wasn’t a sight for outsiders to see.

In a quiet voice, I whispered:

“Did you think you could steal a devil’s money and still sleep soundly with your wife and kids? You probably don’t want to get shot in front of your children, and you wouldn’t want to see them get hurt either. Don’t make a sound and go inside.”