Ch.261Request Log #021 – The Struggle for the Mountain Peak (2)

“Was only the jewelry box taken? If so, they weren’t targeting the gem-mining dwarf, but the warlock. I doubt you’d keep it on your wife’s vanity.”

Looking at how boldly they left the window open during their escape, the culprit was confident they wouldn’t be caught. This wasn’t their first theft.

Moreover, leaving the window open meant they had a quick way to escape from the homeowner’s sight. One person to steal, another to prepare the escape route. That’s the minimum.

Thieves that confident wouldn’t have simply taken just the jewelry box when they saw the soundly sleeping couple in the bedroom. He shook his head.

“Fortunately, my magical items were deeply sealed away and safe, but they took most of the valuable things I left in plain sight. They seemed to grab things randomly, so nothing too dangerous should happen.”

Fortunately, they didn’t seem to be targeting enchanted jewelry, but this made the situation more dangerous. Magical items would be kept together, but stolen goods would be divided and sold separately.

He didn’t want to see jewelry that could turn people into monsters spreading throughout New York. He needed to find out which fence these criminals had gone to and recover the jewelry.

It would be better to check with all the fences he knew. A tedious repetition. There were no informants who would have information about thieves who used magic to open windows at night and escaped with valuables.

Should he contact Mircala too? No, probably not. That woman had completely withdrawn from the information business and moved on. She’d met a better end than Carmen.

Ironically, Carmen, who had to flee New York after taking on a handful of his sins, was still living well with Quinlan. How long it would last was unknown, but at least Quinlan hadn’t called for him.

Can you accept that forgiveness and good deeds often go unrewarded? Gladly. But that fact doesn’t take away the reason for good people to be good. That’s all.

The journalist’s words weren’t even worth considering. She was trying to see only the good side of the problem, as was typical of her. Or perhaps I’m just too stubborn. This wasn’t a problem that needed an immediate answer.

Living by pushing all difficult questions beyond work, perhaps beyond the office desk, wasn’t so bad. But sometimes it left an empty feeling.

“No, that’s not it. If those thieves aren’t practitioners of magic and are treating the contents of that jewelry box as simple stolen goods, they’ll naturally try to sell the jewels separately. If the magic leaks out, it’ll be a disaster, and even if that doesn’t happen, once the goods get distributed to various fences, things will get complicated.”

This was something the warlock couldn’t have thought of. He knew a lot about magic but didn’t know how petty thieves disposed of jewelry. Areas beyond the client’s reach were the detective’s responsibility.

“So, I need to take a walk through the back alleys right away. If it’s something stolen from Littlehold, it would fetch its proper price only in Littlehold, but any fence would clearly recognize it as dwarf property… the possibilities are similar everywhere. I need to find out what those guys are thinking. I’m heading out now, could I get your contact information?”

So far, he didn’t seem to be lying. The reason he came to me instead of the police was obvious. If the jewelry contained magic, it would certainly be contraband, and no one would call the police to report their contraband being stolen.

This time, the atmosphere with the client seemed decent, but essentially it wasn’t much different from the dirty jobs I usually took. I collected the address and phone number he wrote down.

The dwarf, who had been looking at me somewhat suspiciously since writing down his contact information, carefully opened his mouth. Uncertainty still dominated his voice.

“You seem quite knowledgeable about magic. You didn’t ask why I didn’t report to the police, and though you say with your mouth that it’s just cargo that gets paid for, you know well what that magic is. Then…”

I drew the line at that question. Strictly speaking, it wasn’t a question, but those words together formed one question. I could show at least minimal goodwill to a warlock-soldier who no longer used magic.

“And I was a veteran. It’s not difficult for you to draw conclusions, is it? Just listing those words brings a term to mind. I should say no. Isn’t a Doppelsöldner a monster with four limbs and two heads? You said there were no stories of heroes fighting monsters, but now do you see a Doppelsöldner?”

This much needed to be said to work with a warlock-soldier. He hesitated. He wasn’t making the expression of someone seeing a bitter enemy six years after the Great War had ended. He shook his head.

“Knowledgeable about magic, sharp-witted… and a reliable detective with a military background. May I ask what you see me as?”

“I see you as a client.”

Stroking his uncut beard showed anxiety and concern. With this one sentence, he was asking if he could put down all those burdens. He finally nodded. He rolled down his shirt sleeve.

“I’ll leave the job to you. Is it rude to hope your skills haven’t rusted?”

It was still a question asked while straddling the line, but I responded as if dealing strictly with a client. In reality, he was nothing more or less than a client.

“Every client wants their detective to be the best in New York. It’s usually a betrayed expectation, but you’re free to hope. It’s a simple matter, isn’t it?”

Only then did he decide to return to the reality of a detective and client facing each other. He turned away from the reality of a Doppelsöldner and a warlock-soldier facing each other. Sometimes there were realities that weren’t necessary.

After the dwarf who was once a warlock-soldier left first, I placed a note marked “absent” under my house number and left home. There were many places to visit. Especially in Littlehold.

The back streets of Littlehold had undergone several… to put it elegantly, changes in population ratio.

It was because of that woman who set off death magic in the middle of Littlehold supposedly for the dwarves, and because of the operator who massacred an entire informant organization for one vampire, and because of those dwarf nationalists who walked around in dwarf skins turning people into monsters. For criminals, it was like a blue sea ready to be sailed.

Antique shop owners began to dabble in fencing stolen goods, something they wouldn’t have dared before, and thugs were able to extend their reach into what was once a solid dwarf community. I headed toward that Littlehold.

It’s still a solid street. True to the dwarf nature of building fortresses at the base of tall gray mountains, they built concrete mountain ranges that stretched endlessly toward the sky.

Everything was full of straight lines, but the line that met the sky somewhat resembled a mountain range. For something so bland, it was quite assertive. The buildings resembled the dwarves.

There were no informants who could provide information about fences, but fortunately, I knew someone who had dealt in stolen goods. I headed to the Heartland Hotel. It was where a former member of the Old Gourmet Society I had killed had stayed.

Yet throughout the police investigation of the Old Gourmet Society, the name Heartland Hotel never came up. Thanks to him selling all the ogre’s belongings from the suite room and cleaning up afterward.

It wasn’t that long ago, but compared to this case, it was quite old. From the client’s description, the culprit wasn’t new to theft, and they wouldn’t leave their long-used fence to go to an antique shop with “Used Items Welcome” advertisements in the window just because they were blinded by money.

The Heartland Hotel still didn’t have many guests. I entered the lobby of the hotel where there weren’t even guests checking in, and the manager, who had named the hotel after his family name, froze a little upon seeing my face.

He came across quite defensively. It wasn’t that strange. Since our first meeting involved threatening his life, this reaction was inevitable.

“We, we only accept guests. You clearly don’t look like a guest…”

I clicked my tongue twice. Just that was enough to make Heartland shut his mouth. I spoke leisurely without hostility.

“Last time, I properly stayed on the 6th floor. I even commented that it was quite a decent hotel despite being old, with no bugs crawling around. If you don’t remember, that’s quite… sad.”

I reminded him of the fact that I was also a guest who had complimented his hotel. He hesitated a bit but spoke with his hands politely clasped.

“At that time, certainly… Yes. You did come as a guest. So, um… we don’t have any vacant rooms right now. Will you leave with just this one statement?”

I clicked my tongue twice again and shook my head. I showed him my gloved hands placed on the reception counter.

“No. I’m here on business, Heartland. The belongings in the suite room where the ogre from the Old Gourmet Society stayed last time, who did you sell them to? I need to talk to the fence about something. Hmm?”

He made a face like a child who had a bee or two mischievously put down his back. A face that looked like he couldn’t move right away, had no way to cope, and was about to cry.

I had to reassure him a bit. I took off my gloves and placed them on the reception counter. My bare hands weren’t particularly pleasant to look at, but generally, people judged whether I was working by looking at my gloves.

“It’s just an inquiry, Heartland. We’re civilized people who can communicate. Have I ever hurt you, or tried to harm you… was there ever such a thing? Don’t be so afraid. Hmm? I’m just here to hear the name and shop of the fence. In other words, I’ll leave after hearing that.”

After naturally giving him a way out, I grabbed him again. When manipulating a weak person, the technique of driving them into a noose was often necessary.

“By the way, do you still carry the bullet I gave you in your chest pocket?”

When persuading someone who has already succumbed to threats once, there’s no need to come up with another threatening statement. Just pointing this out would make him recall the feeling of the lead bullet against his chest, and that was enough.

His expression, which had been relaxing, turned pale again. In winter, one had to be more careful with operators. An operator who was sensitive to heat might not carry a gun in summer, but not in winter.

Still, all I did was say one sentence. With some kind of promise, or vain trust, that if he cooperated properly, it would end at the level of an unpleasant memory and a creeping fearful feeling he didn’t want to recall, he opened his mouth with a laborious voice that was gradually being depleted of strength and confidence.

“This, this time I hope it’s not related to our hotel guests. Please, please. So… I sold them to Old Man Beckman. He runs a pawnshop and antique store in the middle of Littlehold, and I heard he pays better prices than other fences. They say he especially pays well for jewelry and valuables…”

“You sold everything down to the last tie pin. Isn’t that right?”

I decided to be momentarily grateful that Heartland was a man with a lot of greed but no countermeasures. Judging by the way he called him an old man, he was likely a stubborn and obstinate old man, as one would typically imagine. Generally, that type often didn’t care about the source of stolen goods.

In addition, the fact that he paid better prices for valuables and jewelry was perfect. It was the optimal place for petty thieves who had randomly stolen whatever they could grab, not knowing it was enchanted jewelry.

“And other fences. If the fence I’m looking for isn’t Old Man Beckman, I’ll be back. You must have checked out more than one or two, so make a list while I’m gone. You don’t want to endure such a chilling interrogation the next time I visit, do you?”

With a smirk, I leisurely dropped a few coins into the tip jar. I had received enough information to warrant a tip. He’s a man who could be used as an information source for Littlehold in the future.

Making someone afraid and then becoming their ally was a method I often used, and it often worked. I left the Heartland Hotel and got back in my car. I headed to the center of Littlehold.

Finding Old Man Beckman’s pawnshop wasn’t difficult. There was one in a location too good for a pawnshop, too bright for people to come and exchange their cherished rings or grandfather’s pocket watches for a slice of bread or a bowl or two of chop suey.

I parked the car in front of the pawnshop. I took out the silencer hidden behind a cigarette pack from the glove box. I put a cigarette in my mouth. Below, I screwed the silencer onto the gun barrel. After tucking it into my chest, I got out of the car.

If he’s running a legitimate business of that scale, it would be perfect for hiding a bit of illegality. I opened the door of the pawnshop and entered. I passed by the volatile memories placed on the foreclosure display.

I went straight to the counter. It was empty, and from behind a door with a small nameplate reading “Appraisal Room,” busy sounds could be heard from this morning. I rang the bell on the counter twice. The busyness stopped.

A moment later, the wooden door opened and an old dwarf came out. Unlike dwarves with their bizarre obsession with body hair, he had trimmed his beard short. He looked me up and down.

“You don’t look like you’re here to leave collateral. Do you have used items to dispose of? Who told you to come here? I usually only deal with dwarves…”

I reached out one hand and pulled his collar close to me. With the other hand, I drew my gun and let him feel the distinctive metal touch of the silencer on the nape of his neck. He closed his mouth, so now I spoke.

“This isn’t a usual situation, is it, Old Man Beckman? I heard you like shiny things like baby crows, and as it happens, my client lost a box of those shiny things. And when I come to your pawnshop, there’s a door right behind the counter marked ‘Appraisal Room.’ Recite the entire list of stolen goods that came in after 3 AM today.”

Old Man Beckman was truly a person with years of experience and the wisdom of an elder. Unlike Heartland, there was no need to carefully intimidate him; he started telling everything.

A women’s pearl necklace and earring set, rings that didn’t seem to have been worn much, an emerald as green as jealousy, and a high-quality pair of glasses belonging to a banker. It seemed I had found a lead.