Ch.226Request Log #018 – The Ghost Wandering New York (2)

“I’m going to talk to The Idealists and then head to the factory. As for proof that I’m a Blingkerton associate…”

I folded the signed contract twice until it was the size of a notebook. On the back of the Blingkerton contract was a printed section with the Blingkerton logo, date, and the word “cooperation agreement.” I made sure this part faced outward.

This must be how it’s done. I held it up for my former supervisor at Blingkerton to see, and she nodded with satisfaction. I was never particularly good at forgetting things.

“You’re handling it well. I’ll be waiting for a phone call before heading out myself. How do you plan to investigate? No need to use the same approach twice, so it might be better to adjust.”

Investigation methods… I’d be better off asking the Industrial Spirit rather than the workers themselves. Industrial Spirits always lingered in factories, liked people, and had good memories.

The only issue was that even Industrial Spirits were bound by employment contracts with the Spirit Management Department staff. Spirits strictly obeyed their contracts.

If those staff members were taking sides, my information might be limited. But at the very least, I could determine whether the Spirit Management staff were indeed taking sides.

“I’m planning to focus on the Industrial Spirits. They might be childlike, but that makes them easier to extract information from.”

She nodded briefly and raised her hand—which still bore deep marks from clenching her knuckles—and waved it in front of me.

“We specialize in grilling people, so our approaches won’t overlap. See you when it’s time to report.”

I left the building and got back in my car. Heading home. One thing was certain—The Idealists couldn’t be deeply involved in this.

If the factory owner had killed someone, The Hive Mind would have come to me. They had mentioned workers who made their living through murder and showed me a certain goodwill. But they hadn’t approached me.

That suggested The Idealists weren’t involved. I could only hope to see something through The Hive Mind’s eyes. The eyes of The Idealists shone on factory districts throughout New York.

I returned home. I removed the “absent” sign and entered, but there was something placed in front of my door. I quietly drew my gun, stepped past whatever had fallen on the floor, and checked inside.

No signs of opened windows, and I’d left the curtains drawn when I went out. It seemed there was no intruder waiting to ambush me while I was distracted by the note on the floor.

I still needed to be careful. Scott Clichy would have at least remembered who I was by now, and with the Clichy family’s wealth, they could easily hire someone to come after me.

After confirming no one else was in the house, I picked up the two notes from the floor. They were request forms. Had I become famous somehow? Three jobs in one day.

Since I’d already accepted a job, I just checked the contents. The first page didn’t reveal much. It simply asked me to call the provided number if I was available for an urgent job. The paper was clean memo paper, suggesting this job would pay better.

I checked the second note. The content was similar, but something caught my eye. Perhaps to show it wasn’t a prank, there was a seal on the edge of the note—a burn mark.

As far as I knew, only demons left such marks. Most demons were businessmen. If two businessmen were experiencing the same issue, that was no coincidence.

Before contacting The Idealists, I decided to seize the opportunity before me. I called the number provided by the demon. The line connected as if someone had been waiting for my call.

“Husband Detective Agency. I saw the note you left. Is this about missing workers?”

The demon spoke with a hint of wariness. Was he wondering how I knew? Probably. I’d met hundreds of clients and could make reasonable judgments.

“How do you know? Yes, that’s right. Perhaps…”

“Yes, I received another similar request. And there was one more note—if that one’s from a factory owner too, I’ll call you back. Two might be coincidence, but three isn’t.”

This increased the probability that The Idealists were involved. They were the only ones who could be everywhere in New York simultaneously.

If workers were disappearing from different factories in similar ways, there couldn’t be a more likely suspect. I dialed the next number. A gruff, dwarf-like voice answered.

“Who is this? If you’re calling about the notes we left for detective agencies or fixers, we’ve already found someone.”

The mention of distributing notes suggested urgency. And if my guess was correct…

“This is Husband Detective Agency. I’m not calling to take the job. Is this about missing workers by any chance?”

“What? Did you get a call from Anderson Detective Agency? I asked them to look into it, but I didn’t tell them to subcontract…”

So there was a competitor. No reason to give more information to a competitor. Collaboration was only necessary when you had connections like my Blingkerton supervisor or when a job was too difficult to handle alone.

The severity of the situation… well, once someone starts distributing notes to detective agencies, it’s already too serious to matter. I evaded the question.

“It’s not subcontracting. An informant reported such incidents. I called to verify.”

I hung up without mentioning Blingkerton or the demon businessman. At least three locations. Whatever was happening, it wasn’t coincidence.

I pulled out the newspaper I’d seen that morning and scanned it again. No articles about serial disappearances or even missing persons. That meant… the police hadn’t been involved yet.

I was in the dark. But at the same time, it was like untouched snow—no footprints yet. Much better than joining the case late. I needed to move quickly after checking with The Idealists.

I called the United American Idealists. Unlike others who had answered quickly, The Idealists didn’t pick up promptly.

Just when I thought they might have gone underground, the call connected. Normally, I would have heard the terminal’s voice first, but there was only silence.

“It’s Husband. I can see how things are going, so answer me first. Was it you who did this?”

The voice of The Idealists’ Hive Mind wasn’t audible. After about ten seconds of silence, the Hive Mind finally began speaking.

“What, why is there a call… Who is this? Damn, I apologize. Could you repeat that? Right now, right now there’s too much to focus on… I think the terminal in charge of phones picked up out of habit.”

The sound of countless voices speaking simultaneously was no different than usual, but his voice now seemed quite anxious. What normally sounded like a single voice was now fractured. Fatigue.

“It’s Husband. I said I know exactly what’s going on, so behave properly and answer me. Your answer?”

He began to show obvious agitation. Flustered and anxious, he barely swallowed his anger before speaking.

“Terminal, was it you who stole our terminals? No, no. You’re not a magician with that level of ability. What situation are you talking about?”

The voice of The Idealists sounded quite sincere. The theft of terminals and the disappearance of workers weren’t that different. Perhaps the ghost haunting New York wasn’t The Idealists after all.

And if his words were true, I had another clue. Magic was involved again. An environment filled with the acrid smell of ozone wouldn’t be dangerous for me.

Of course, that’s if it was true. Even The Idealists’ Hive Mind could lie and act just like any person. I needed proof first.

“Why should I believe you? Show me evidence first.”

The Idealists were too numerous. Even if one or two terminals disappeared, it wouldn’t be noticeable, and since each terminal lacked individuality, deceiving me wouldn’t be difficult.

After a moment of consideration, the Hive Mind continued as if he’d found a solution. His voice trembled as if on the verge of collapse. That’s how it sounded.

“Go to any factory in New York’s factory district and ask people. They’ll tell you we haven’t been seen for days. We, we were attacked from the outside. It was a persistent attack. They didn’t try to tamper with the magic maintaining the Hive Mind, but someone was persistently trying to break through the magic connecting our terminals.”

One way or another, I needed to get out there. I put the two notes in a drawer and sighed. There’s never a windless day in this city. I took out my tobacco but hadn’t yet pulled out a cigarette.

“Your disappearance isn’t a reason for me to believe you—it’s a reason to suspect you. Still, I’m going to the factory district. Send a terminal there. Understood?”

I still hadn’t mentioned the missing workers. If The Idealists were the culprits, they’d already know, and they might slip up, so I kept it vague.

The voice of The Idealists’ Hive Mind regained some stability. For them—even with the merged consciousness of countless people—having someone to help solve a problem they couldn’t handle themselves was reassuring.

They had virtually no other sources of help. There weren’t any police in New York kind enough to help a Hive Mind that openly declared itself socialist.

If hiring their completely dehumanized terminals hadn’t been about half the price of hiring regular workers, The Idealists would have already been hanging and burning in the square.

So you’re getting help from the streets after all. I hung up and finally put a cigarette in my mouth. To acclimate my nose to the acrid smell of ozone, I deliberately held a thumbnail-sized flame a bit longer before lighting it.

I left the apartment and headed for the factory district. The air smelled of exhaust fumes. Despite the disappearances, someone was still running the factories to produce something.

I felt the characteristic jostling when climbing onto the Industrial Spirit King. If all else failed, I could visit the Industrial Spirit King guarded by angels. He could feel most of what happened on his body.

With the cooperation agreement in hand, I arrived at the factory that had hired Blingkerton. As I naturally entered through the open door, a factory security guard blew his whistle at the sight of an outsider casually entering.

An unpleasant sound. Just as dogs become accustomed to bells, soldiers become accustomed to whistles. At least they didn’t shoot dogs every time a bell rang.

“This area is off-limits to outsiders! With all the nasty rumors lately, don’t invite suspicion. Turn around and leave now. Got it?”

I swallowed my irritation and pulled out the Blingkerton cooperation agreement from my pocket, showing him the logo. His attitude softened somewhat. Or perhaps became more servile.

“Oh, you’re from Blingkerton? Well… someone already came and left, so I didn’t know another would come. That one seemed to be a Blingkerton detective, but you’re…”

“I’ve worked with The Idealists before and I’m an expert in these matters, so I’m here on subcontract. Is there a problem?”

The guard clicked his tongue. Without being asked, he provided evidence of The Idealists’ innocence, or at least their absence.

“Then you’ve wasted your trip. Those things weren’t at the factory when Philip disappeared. They were on sick leave—can that red Hive Mind even get sick?”

“Look at the number of lunatics in this city. If mental entities couldn’t get sick, they wouldn’t exist either. Did they not show up for work at all?”

The guard, who wore his hat pulled low to hide his half-bald head, nodded.

“That’s right, they didn’t come at all. I heard it was the same at other factories too. Can you believe those damn reds haven’t been seen anywhere in New York’s factory district for days? It’s miraculous. I wish it would stay that way.”

For the money it took to employ one half-bald human, you could buy two Idealist guards. No one had kind words for those who could so easily replace them.

The Idealists’ Hive Mind might not have been here after all. Without drawing a definite conclusion, I entered the factory. It was a food processing plant. The distinctive smell of raw meat was strong enough to mask the ozone scent.

I immediately climbed the stairs to the manager’s office and presented the Blingkerton cooperation agreement. The manager, who had remained arrogantly seated even as I entered, corrected his posture upon seeing Blingkerton’s name.

“Could you call the Industrial Spirits who are on break? I’d like to talk to them somewhere away from the Spirit Management Department staff.”

He too didn’t want to mess with Blingkerton. Even as a middle manager, getting shot by Blingkerton detectives during a strike wasn’t much different from what happened to other workers.

Still, sitting in a position like this meant having at least some ability to change things. I’d once been shot in the forehead and shoulder by someone sitting in exactly this kind of position.

“They should be on the factory roof right now… Follow me. I’ll bring the Spirit Management people down so you can talk freely. Oh, those machines were running the morning shift, so they’re on break until 3 PM.”

Seeing machines working in shifts was no longer unusual. I followed him to the factory roof.

While I looked at the factory sites divided into similar sizes like sliced cake, and the similar-shaped factories filling those sites, the middle manager gathered the staff who had been giving lubricant to the spirits and made them leave the roof. I nodded briefly and approached the Industrial Spirits.

An Industrial Spirit with a meat-cutting machine for a head waved its thick concrete forepaws like hands.

“Hello! Who are you? Everyone who comes up here is staff. Mostly Spirit Management Department staff who like machines.”

Other Industrial Spirits gradually raised their concrete bodies and approached me. The sensation of industrial machines—lacking not only individuality but even a sense of life—talking to me was strange.

“He doesn’t smell like meat, so he’s not staff! But since he came up here, he must have permission? So is talking to this human part of our job?”

To prevent useless conversation, I showed them the contract with the Blingkerton logo and said:

“Tell me what you know about the employee who disappeared from here. If the Spirit Management Department told you not to say something, I’d appreciate knowing so I don’t overstep.”

“Um, well, Philip is nice! Even though he’s not from Spirit Management, he would apply new concrete or lubricant for us after work every day! And his right hand is bigger than his left! He said it got that way from doing manual labor with his right hand! Also…”

After telling me that he always filled his stomach with cheap Chinese food when dealing with family, and that when cleaning he pretended to work hard but actually just pushed dust around, the spirit finally said something useful.

“The last time we saw him, he smelled strongly of magic! Philip isn’t a magician, but he had that smell, wow. We wondered if Philip had become a magician overnight, could we too? That’s what we talked about!”

A man who couldn’t use magic suddenly smelling of ozone meant someone was using magic on him. This confirmed my hypothesis. Someone was using magic to abduct workers.

One verified hypothesis and nothing else… What a gloriously difficult job I’ve taken on. No complaints though. This is a fairly typical start for me.