Ch.211Work Record #031 – Duty Record #002, Collateral Damage (3)

The search of Madeline’s Lot continued for several more hours using drones. Although Harry had tortured the intruder into revealing that sixteen people had entered, to the locals here, it was just a claim without evidence.

The search concluded, confirming safety as expected. By lunchtime, we arrived back at the sheriff’s office. I didn’t think I’d ever get used to seeing an adult man wearing glasses, but the sheriff was waiting.

The fortunate thing was that he wasn’t there to commend my abilities. Harry seemed eager to brag about me, but the sheriff had priorities. Understandably.

“We believe all intruders who entered Madeline’s Lot have been eliminated, but for the next few days, the Old Road security team will strengthen security inside Madeline’s Lot. We have more work to do. You know what I mean.”

But Harry… he truly wasn’t just some pot-bellied deputy sheriff. As soon as he heard those words, he composed his expression and very simply stopped acting like he was about to throw a celebration for me.

“We need to go out to the wasteland, find their base, and wipe them out properly. If they’re using truck routes, they’ll be consistent, and they must have a hideout nearby.”

I turn on my computational assist device and connect a communication channel to Jeff. I become Matthew Collins and Arthur Murphy simultaneously, clasping my hands with one hand gripping the other wrist.

“Harry, make sure you interrogate the captured one to get the location. And, rookie. I hear you took down two wasteland gang members. Did you hear anything from them?”

When it’s my turn to speak, I connect with Jeff. With a decent computational assist device installed, it’s not difficult to carry on two different conversations in two different tones.

‘Jeff, if there’s any wasteland surveillance equipment left, pull everything out for the next few days. It looks like the sheriff’s office is going to investigate the wasteland because of the gang’s intrusion.’

“I heard the first gang member I killed say that the truck driver hit his child with a car. Their hideout is probably near the road. If we check the truck…”

I use my computational assist to separate the two responses that I hear simultaneously. My eyes remain fixed on the sheriff, but my concentration is split evenly.

“No, maybe not. Wasteland people breed like rats, yet they breathe in the wasteland’s pollution, so many have deformities. I doubt they’d care for and raise deformed children.”

I list in my mind the information I learned from Jeff. It was a common tactic used by wasteland gangs. They call it “throwing.” There’s no metaphor in the word. That’s what makes it horrific.

“We’ve cleared out most of the surveillance equipment, but do we have a proper investigation schedule? It might not be bad to withdraw everything completely. We won’t get much from it anyway.”

Then I’d be free to contact Mr. Enzo and watch the cash alchemist perform his alchemy of turning credits into escape equipment. I answered simultaneously, pushing my computational assist to its limits.

‘The schedule hasn’t been announced yet, but I think it will continue until they wipe out the wasteland gang’s hideout or base. As for complete withdrawal… are you sure there’s no information we could get?’

“If they were the type to care for children, they wouldn’t have talked about making people decide which children to kill first. Still, wouldn’t it be somewhere with good road access?”

I spoke as if I were the one reluctant to end external surveillance. Jeff was probably already thinking about a complete withdrawal, and I pretended not to know that I was just being informed.

“Right. Request any reconnaissance you need. We’ll withdraw the wasteland surveillance equipment and personnel for now. Anything else?”

‘I’d like to know how the external information gathering is going. I’ll probably have trouble investigating internally until the weekend, and I still haven’t had dinner with Marcus Cavendish.’

Fortunately, the sheriff was thinking for a moment, so this time the answers didn’t overlap. Being able to focus on two different conversations sequentially was already incredible luck for me.

“Right. It’s certain that it’s a place with good road access. Molly, check the truck’s black box to find out where the accident happened. We’ll start searching from there.”

Soon after, I hear Jeff’s voice. It seemed like I might be able to get some information from my end if I held out for a few more days.

“We don’t have anything definite yet, but… Marcus Cavendish is scheduled to meet someone. Three days from now, at 1:35 PM. Does that ring any bells?”

The appointment time is excessively precise. Someone who would set such a precise meeting time… all I could think of was the worst variable imaginable.

I think of people who are more mechanical than androids, more obsessed with efficiency than Bellwether, and unlike Bellwether, believe that the elimination of humanity is more efficient than its preservation.

‘Judging by the appointment time… it’s probably the Market Keepers. The megacorp special operations unit. Marcus Cavendish is likely trying to convince the Market Keepers that preventing Old Road from becoming a megacorporation would be a market failure.’

“So… I’m asking just in case, don’t feel pressured. Skinwalker, can you handle a Market Keeper alone?”

‘Not in combat. Under no circumstances. But… I might be able to convince them that helping Marcus Cavendish’s Old Road become a megacorporation would be the real market failure.’

I remembered the Market Keeper I met during the Los Angeles branch coup. Even though it was my first time moving in a closed exosuit, she was at least twice as skilled as me, if not more.

There might be a chance if I shot a small evil’s heavy exosuit bullet into the back of her head, but before I could pull the trigger, I’d be torn apart by the cookie cutter bullets that Market Keepers spray like regular rounds.

But fortunately, Market Keepers can be reasoned with. A Market Keeper protects the market. While they may take sides to protect the market, they never become anyone’s subordinate.

So Marcus Cavendish can’t give orders to a Market Keeper. He can only persuade them, and if he succeeds, more Market Keepers will flock here.

Even one Market Keeper was beyond my ability to handle, let alone multiple Market Keepers. When the Market Keeper arrives, I would need to make contact too.

“I didn’t expect such a definitive answer. Let us know if you need our help setting up a meeting opportunity. We don’t want you struggling helplessly either, Skinwalker.”

‘I will. Let’s talk more during the regular report. Bye.’

While filling out a report form on my tablet, I ended the communication without any outward indication. Using a tablet was much more convenient than writing on a virtual screen.

I wrote the truth in my report about the first gang member’s death, but for the second gang member, I wrote a lie. It didn’t matter. It was mostly truth with just a bit of abbreviation.

I didn’t include Harry’s torture in my report about what happened in the warehouse. At least nothing would happen, and I needed Harry Piper for now. I wasn’t turning a blind eye.

Somehow, the not-so-peaceful day at Madeline’s Lot seemed to be wrapping up. Of course, I never expected things to resolve so easily, and this time was no exception.

Harry was still “interrogating” the gang member when the sheriff, who had received a call from somewhere, walked out of his private office and called another deputy. I was included.

“Ben, take the rookie and go to the entrance. A black vehicle has entered from outside. The chance of it being a wastelander is low, but it’s worth investigating when an unknown person enters from outside at a time like this.”

The reason for sending me along… was probably because I was the person who had the most contact with these wasteland gangs after Harry. They couldn’t send Harry right away. I got up without comment.

Since I’d only moved with Harry, my supervisor, I hadn’t spent much time with the other deputies yet. This could be considered an opportunity. This time I got into a patrol car with a different deputy.

It was a different car from Harry’s. The deputy I was with… was quite old. Probably older than Harry. A man with neatly bleached hair that was already starting to gray.

Ben, was it? His vehicle was cleaner than Harry’s. The rifle mounted inside looked like new. As he started the car, he hesitated for a moment before speaking.

“Harry’s an excellent cop, rookie. But it’s not good to get too close to him. I’m still not sure if you know and are ignoring it, or if you don’t know… but you get the feeling, right?”

This one is completely different from Harry. Harry was a person accustomed to violence and skilled at it… this one seems neither accustomed nor skilled.

“I know. Honestly, for a rural cop, his gun handling skills and tactical judgment… frankly, even I, who trained at a major police academy, have a lot to learn from him.”

“The problem is where that experience comes from. Everyone knows he’s a fixer for Old Road, rookie. I’m just… you seem like a decent guy, but your eyes give me the creeps too.”

The scary eyes story I hear often. What kind of eyes do I have? I look in the rearview mirror. I had my usual eyes. Maybe this deputy has good instincts.

“Still, the fact that he had the decency to properly arrest at least one person makes me think he might just be following protocol, but anyway. Don’t tell Harry I said this.”

I just nodded briefly. And just then, far away, a vehicle heading into Madeline’s Lot came into view. It was a black vehicle, just as the sheriff had said. Ben stopped it.

As I got out of the car and approached with my hand on my gun, the window of the vehicle opened first. A woman with black-streaked blonde hair leaned out. One of her arms was a prosthetic.

A Nationalist? But the design was different from the prosthetics I’d seen. She seemed to be wearing a prosthetic made by the Nationalists. She opened her mouth as if frustrated.

“Is Madeline’s Lot a place that prohibits outside visitors? What kind of danger is there that cops greet people wearing bulletproof vests? Do I look scary or something?”

Although her attitude was quite displeasing, she was still a civilian to protect. Who among the Nationalists would use a prosthetic? Jeff was clearly an augmented human.

Jeff is from an intelligence agency background. He directly confronts megacorporations. So probably someone from military or intelligence. Making such people assess the situation was simple.

When Ben tried to approach in a friendly manner, I slightly extended my hand as if asking if I could handle it. Ben nodded reluctantly, and I approached her car. My body reeked strongly of gunpowder residue.

“A wasteland gang invaded and we were conducting a clearing operation inside Madeline’s Lot until a few hours ago. Madeline’s Lot doesn’t know who you are. It’s just… not the atmosphere to receive guests.”

She frowned at the acrid smell of gunpowder, but nodded anyway. She didn’t seem like she was going to apologize, but she spoke with a hint of guilt for her sharp tone.

“If that’s… the case, fine. Well, I can’t say ‘why didn’t you tell me earlier!’ since you came all the way here to tell me when I was entering. Anyway, I was turned away last time, so that’s why.”

“I was assigned to Madeline’s Lot yesterday. If you found it unpleasant to be treated like some major criminal when you don’t even know the person, you’d understand how the opposite feels too.”

She bit her lip. A typical person. Someone who thinks apologizing shows weakness. Once she apologizes, the conversation will become simpler.

“Damn it. Fine. Damn, I’m sorry. I thought all Madeline’s Lot cops were the same. And people… damn. I won’t make excuses. I’m just a bit of an asshole by nature. Really.”

Apologizing without deflecting or changing the subject isn’t what an asshole would do. She offered her ID for scanning, and I took out a terminal to verify her identity.

Physically, apart from the prosthetic arm, there was nothing special about her. For someone living under a smog-covered sky, she had healthy tanned skin, black-streaked blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, and sharp eyes.

But strangely, she didn’t look harsh. She was sturdy, and she kept a gun holstered beside her car seat. She didn’t appear to be reaching for it.

Having police authority is nice. It didn’t seem better than the Bellwether mobile guards visible in my field of view, but still. Her name was Celine Diaz. A common Mexican name in Los Angeles.

“Your identity is confirmed, Ms. Celine Diaz. I see you’re… ex-military. I should have thanked you for your service first. Given the situation, do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

One power play is enough. She waves off my thanks for her service with a grimace. She clicks her tongue with a displeased expression and answers.

“Yes, ask away. I’m grateful I don’t have to sleep in my car in front of Madeline’s Lot, so I should be thankful even for this much. And, yes. Thank you for your support. Yes.”

The fact that she doesn’t mention Old Road despite being so troublesome suggests she’s not connected to them. It was time to get to work.

“Why did you come to Madeline’s Lot? This town… it doesn’t get many visitors except for people connected to Old Road.”

“I’m here because of Old Road. My brother came to Madeline’s Lot and then lost contact. His last known location was here in Madeline’s Lot. I thought I might get something from the sheriff, or maybe someone from Old Road.”

Noah Verami. I defined it in simple words. The fact that Ben started to fidget a bit after hearing her words was evidence if anything. I scanned the surroundings naturally before speaking.

“Then, shall we go straight to the sheriff’s office? I think it would be better for you to talk with the sheriff. It would also be better to look for Old Road with the sheriff.”

When I deliberately acted like I was following protocol, Ben came up behind me, patted my shoulder, and gestured for me to step back. I took a couple of steps back.

“Uh, ah. I’ll handle this, so go back to the car, rookie.”

Suspicious words. I return to the car and lower the window slightly to look outside. I focus my hearing on the conversation outside.

“Ah. So, what the rookie said is all correct, but… you know there’s a lot going on at the sheriff’s office today, right? So, maybe stay at a motel for a day or so. Then we can proceed. After that.”

Is it just because Harry is torturing someone in the holding cell? As I pondered this, Ben’s whispered voice was faintly audible even from this distance. More evidence.

“If you want to find Fabian Diaz, do that. And if Deputy Harry Piper offers to help, don’t trust him.”

Is Fabian Diaz her brother’s name? I need to find out how Ben knows this. For now, it seemed like Harry was a bad person and Ben was somewhat… closer to being a whistleblower.