Ch.264Request Log #021 – The Struggle for the Mountain Peak (5)

The entrance to Bouton de Rose looked like a rather upscale social club. Since they did proper business during the day, they didn’t dim the lights at night either. The building had an overall pre-Great War French style.

Unlike other New York buildings that extended only as far as necessary in a straight, clean manner, the columns carved with rose stems in relief were incomparably ornate, and the small glass dome placed atop the long rectangular building allowed sunlight to beautifully illuminate the interior during the day. At night, it showed off the flickering, colorful lights from inside to the outside world.

This era of excess merely imitates the colorful times of the past with the money it spews forth. Despite my sneer, I headed toward Bouton de Rose’s main entrance made of fine mahogany, where two doormen waited.

One of them spoke with remarkable politeness for a bar doorman. They didn’t say things like “get lost if you don’t have an invitation or guarantee.” It was pretentious, but at least they were courteous.

“Welcome to our social club, Bouton de Rose, sir. We operate as a dance hall at night, and due to the nature of nighttime operations, we need to thoroughly verify identities. You understand, don’t you? We don’t want to see our beautiful rosebuds rot before they bloom because of those who sell alcohol or drugs, ignorant of the God-President’s watchful eye.”

There was one more way to enter Bouton de Rose. I took out an invitation with a whale skeleton drawn on it from my wallet, waved it, and spoke the password.

“Yes, those bastards deserve to be harpooned. But tell me, what’s in that drink with ice cream that comes from Bouton de Rose? It has quite a… peculiar taste.”

When an invitation comes with the code, the doormen’s attitude becomes much more relaxed. The orc doorman who had spoken politely to me, dressed properly in a vest and suit like demons would, smiled just with the corner of his mouth.

“Ah, you mean the melted dragon incense. It’s not alcohol, so you can rest assured. Of course. Will you be parking your car here? We can call drivers to send it to a nearby parking lot…”

Ah, a bar doorman who even cares about the customer’s car… How surreal. If this weren’t work, I would have laughed. I nodded briefly.

“I’m here on business, friend, so I’ll be leaving soon. Don’t worry. I’ll buy a drink and take a sip. Is there any way to board the Bouton de Rose ship without getting soaked?”

I only came to Bouton de Rose occasionally. There was a time when I hated pretense and vanity even more than I do now, and besides, Bouton de Rose’s bartender lacked stamina.

It was unreasonable to expect from her what one might expect from the three demons of Pandemonium or The Morrígan, so we never fell out. Even now, she would gladly accept work if I asked, but there had been no contact.

I pass through the red velvet curtain. I head into Bouton de Rose, filled with lights the color of drug-induced hallucinations. Laughter from obviously drunk people begins to echo around me.

Behind that comes a sweetness so strong it stings the nose. It even overpowers the grape scent. Bouton de Rose’s smuggled wine was terribly sweet, perhaps to extend its shelf life. After passing through the final curtain, I was inside.

The tables and chairs at Bouton de Rose were tall. I scanned the leg area. I saw the thick legs characteristic of an ogre. Looking up, I saw he was drinking with a goblin. There were at least six wine bottles visible.

Those two? I take out two notes from my pocket to check. The goblin’s pointed ear had a long knife scar. Exactly as old man Beckman had drawn. Since they didn’t look like they were about to leave, I headed straight for them.

Bouton de Rose’s bartender was a woman with unusually bright blonde hair even past her twenties. Her blonde hair with just the right amount of waves complemented her snow-white skin quite well.

Quite a few people say they don’t like the look, but her clean shirt and pants outfit, reminiscent of a sailor, wasn’t bad at all. If she had the stamina of a sailor, she would have been twice as good. She waved at me.

“Casalo Blanche! You’re here? Which is your purpose today?”

She was asking whether it was the alcohol or herself, but I pointed to the goblin and ogre I had seen on my way in. She didn’t bother hiding her disappointment. She was someone who spoke her mind easily.

“Work, it’s for work. What a shame! On a cold day like this, I want to catch not just a decent man but an excellent one. I won’t charge those cheap thugs for their drinks, so have a coffee ice cream float. If you come to a bar and leave empty-handed, our folks won’t sit still, you know? I’ll…”

With a smile that suggested she wouldn’t stop me, she made a Silver Bullet with vodka and fresh cream in a wide, frozen glass. She topped it with a scoop of coffee ice cream.

She neatly arranged her blonde hair behind her back and maintained her smile. When I picked up the glass, she spoke with slight surprise.

“What’s this? You’re just drinking it today? Until now, you’d just pay for the drink and take them away when you were busy. Those you took never came back. I’ve been saying how many times that if you do bad things, you get coal! People’s habits aren’t easy to fix, Casalo Blanche. In that sense, I’ve been a good girl!”

“It’s easier to handle men who are completely drunk. And it’s not particularly pleasant to hear such things from someone two years older than me.”

She was stubborn and quick-tempered. She was certainly full of vitality. The ice cream, slowly melting in the warm indoor temperature, mixed well with the alcohol. I downed it in one go and put down the drink price plus a tip.

She put her finger in her mouth and whistled, calling two internal security guards to me. She naturally leaned against me, put her arm around my shoulder, and smiled.

“Our Casalo Blanche has business today. Since he knows exactly who his targets are… don’t interfere. Got it? The targets aren’t our regulars but some riffraff who came for the first time today. You’re helping so you don’t have to kick them out. Okay? Oh, and… call the jazz band! Those kids who’ve been waiting, they haven’t left yet, have they?”

“They’ve been waiting for 40 minutes and asked if they could order a drink. Should we let them in?”

She wiggled her finger and smiled. As if saying to maintain propriety, she placated the large human and the orc. They knew what kind of personality Bouton de Rose’s bartender had.

“Their fingers will freeze, and they won’t be able to play properly! Let them have a glass of mulled wine each. See you next time, Casalo Blanche. Next time, come for a more personal purpose.”

“I might consider it if you built up your stamina a bit.”

After glancing at the goblin who had collapsed on the table completely drunk, I said goodbye by gently pressing my cheek against the bartender’s a couple of times as she leaned forward. She’s a woman who gives people fantasies about the French.

After saying goodbye, she gently pushed my shoulder with her fingertips and smiled.

“If you keep exercising like that, those soft cheeks will disappear. Will the cheeks go first? The parts you like will disappear first. You wouldn’t like that, would you?”

After waiting a bit longer, a jazz band that had warmed up with hot drinks took the stage and began to play.

This not-so-secret speakeasy, with even a space divided in the middle for dancing, became even more lively. I slip into the crowd, hiding among the noisy sounds.

I approach the ogre who is trying to wake the collapsed goblin by grabbing his shoulder and shaking him, nodding his head as he himself is completely drunk. Seeing me approach, he chuckles and points to the goblin.

“Ah, haha, he just collapsed while drinking…. We’re not drunk yet, friend! In a place with music like this, if we can’t enjoy more than this…”

He seems to think I’m a security guard for Bouton de Rose. I wasn’t. I immediately raised my fist and struck the ogre squarely in the face.

It wasn’t enough to knock him out, but it was enough to push him back and bury the back of his head in the chair’s backrest. I reach out. Gathering twice the strength in my fingers, I grabbed the ogre by the nape of his neck.

I had cut the artery of the woman who wanted to become a warlock, but I only pressed down on this ogre’s. At the very least, they needed to know why this was happening to them. He flailed his hands, drunk.

That was the extent of his resistance. He seemed to be trying hard to interpret what was happening to him, not having properly assessed the situation yet. It was a problem without an answer.

By the time he barely managed to place his hands on mine that were on his neck, he was already making obvious choking sounds from lack of oxygen.

The jazz band that had waited outside in this cold weather for 40 minutes was trying to prove themselves. They were doing quite well. People’s attention was focused on them, and their faces were filled with a bit of emotion, a bit of overwhelming feeling, and the characteristic intelligence of people who are recognized. I dragged the goblin and ogre out through Bouton de Rose’s main entrance amid all this.

They didn’t wake up until we reached the warehouse by the dock, which I hadn’t visited in a long time. I dragged the goblin and ogre into the warehouse where lizardman bloodstains still hadn’t been washed away, and tied them up one by one.

Rope was enough to tie up the goblin, but the ogre had to be bound with chains. This warehouse originally belonged to an old police collaborator. He had given me the key to use when needed.

Well, I had been using it even after he died, though not as much. I threw away the lead pipe that had been completely bent from the last time I used it and pulled out a new one. I wait until they wake up.

Naturally, the ogre, who had merely been grabbed by the neck, woke up first. He struggles, looking at his wrists bound in chains. He bares his teeth and growls at me.

“We’ve already sold all the jewels! There’s nothing to gain by torturing us…”

I dumped the jewels I had come for in front of the ogre’s eyes. He couldn’t continue speaking and just gaped. His eyes were filled with fear. He seemed curious about who I was.

This one is the same kind as me, living the same life. The kind that roams the back alleys every day to survive. The only difference was that I did my job well, and these creatures didn’t.

At least I’m fortunate enough to have never been hung like a piece of meat in someone’s warehouse. Just then, the goblin also opened his eyes. A lightweight who drank so much alcohol couldn’t have done anything but pass out.

“Ah, both of you are awake. That’s good. I was starting to get bored wondering how long I’d have to wait for you to wake up. Do you see these jewels in front of you? Whose house did you steal them from?”

“Wh-what? Hey, where are we now… Th-that, we were having a drink at Bouton de Rose…”

I struck the side of the goblin’s head heavily with the lead pipe as he started to ramble incoherently. Watching him go limp again after losing consciousness, I tapped the floor with the pipe.

“Hey, hey! Jack! Y-you crazy bastard! What are you doing?! We just, that, heard there was some jewel-mining dwarf and were just trying to make a score! How would we know who that guy was…”

I had heard all the answers I needed. It was as expected. This was more of an educational act than torture. At the very least, they needed to know why I was smashing their bodies.

I lightly struck the back of the ogre’s knee as he tried to keep talking. With his ankles also tied, he couldn’t even properly curl his legs and twisted his body in pain. I felt no particular emotion.

“Yes, yes. I would have said ‘how would I know’ too if that guy wasn’t my client and a warlock-soldier turned sorcerer researching jewels imbued with magic. But that old man is a dwarf from the warlock-soldiers and my client. These jewels… look down, ogre friend. Look. Yes. These jewels are objects imbued with magic.”

I never developed an interest in baseball as a child, but as an adult, I became familiar with clubs. I shifted my center of gravity with a light step and struck.

The pipe, wielded with the strength of an Argonne Invincible against the ogre’s sturdy bones, bent after just two or three strikes. I threw it aside and got a new pipe. I repeated the process.

I was not a psychopath who laughed from sadistic pleasure, nor a torturer who giggled while showing off his torture skills. Business is business. Work is work. Disposal is just disposal.

Stepping into a tar pit without proper knowledge is the nature of beasts, not humans. So this was closer to slaughter than murder. One of the ogre’s tusks rolled on the floor.

I crushed it under my steel-plated heel and struck again. Ogres were a race with good regenerative abilities, but not at the level of trolls, and though the body in extreme situations tried to use its strength somehow, there were always problems that even adrenaline couldn’t solve.

Only when pleas for mercy became pleas for life did I shake off the ogre’s characteristic sticky blood from the pipe. I threw the pipe, which had bent almost 30 degrees from the middle, into the corner of the warehouse again.

“You said it yourself. No matter how much I torture you, there’s nothing to gain. That’s fine. I’m not trying to take anything from you anyway. Rather, I’m trying to convey something. The fact that because of your stupid actions, a cursed monstrosity almost roamed all over New York. What did you do?”

I approached again and asked. The ogre began to speak in a confessing voice, though still trembling. The violence was certainly more intense than needed to extract a confession.

“W-without knowing anything, we stole jewels with magic on them, and that, almost spread that damn sorcery all over New York… It, it seems you’ve recovered all the jewels, so please have mercy…”

It was nonsense. Just ridiculous. I took out a gun from my pocket and pulled the trigger against the head of the goblin who was pretending to be dead even though he was conscious and his chest was moving. A muffled gunshot with a silencer rang out.

The goblin went limp. What had been alive and a person until just a moment ago now became a body that couldn’t complain whether trolls ate it, it was burned, or buried in the ground.

“No, no. Ogre friend. This is what happens to all those who use magic to turn people into something other than people. Simple, isn’t it?”

“W-we have nothing to do with magic! We were just trying to make a living for the day! W-we just went into the wrong house and stole the wrong thing, that’s all! It was just bad luck! Why do we have to end up like this, and why does Jack have to lie dead there… Ah, aagh! Kuk, ha, augh, geut, graaagh!”

As soon as those words ended, the chained ogre began to scream that it was unfair. I shot him twice in the knee, and he quieted down. I approached within two steps and whispered in a soothing tone.

Those who had tasted magic had to be disposed of. It was too big an issue to excuse with claims of ignorance. If my client had submitted the request just one day later, or if I hadn’t had connections in Littlehold, it would have been terrible.

“Yes, yes. I know. You don’t know how to use magic. You didn’t intend to use it. But you spread it all over the city with your own hands. Can you ask for your good intentions to be considered? No. Can you say it’s no big deal? No. It’s not a small matter when some detective brings a box full of blood-stained jewels. So I…”

These creatures didn’t spread the jewels to bring magic into the light and control its dangers. It wasn’t that they lost one or two jewels and almost let magic spread.

They spread magic to earn money to buy drinks at Bouton de Rose. It seemed ridiculous to think about whether I was doing something unjust or to talk about good intentions.

So does that mean magic can be allowed in truly necessary situations? I wasn’t crazy enough to think of it as a method. Magic is not a method. Someone might use it with good intentions, but that’s definitely not us.

Having reached a clean conclusion, I threw a waterproof sack large enough to hold both a goblin and an ogre in front of him. I put the silencer against the head of the ogre, who was shaking his head vigorously.

“I prefer to call it permissiveness or creating future problems… or breaking principles rather than mercy. It’s been a long-standing preference.”

I had no intention of hearing his opinion. I pulled the trigger. The recoil was shallow. I pulled it again. To kill an ogre, it was better to put three bullets in the head in succession. I squeezed the trigger one last time.

The magic that almost spread throughout New York returned to the box. Those two also returned to a box. I stuffed the two bodies wrapped in waterproof canvas into a tarred box, added the lead pipes and three weights, nailed it shut, and threw it into the waters off Long Island. It sinks. Not forever. It will eventually reach the bottom.