Ch.282The Eighth Entanglement – Law, Order, and Capriccio (11)

It seems we’ll need to go to trial after all. Fortunately, this case wasn’t too serious. Just a simple matter of a worker killing three people, Paulina thought.

If someone were to ask if three human lives were trivial, Paulina would tremble with indignation at such a question, but that was from a human perspective. From a lawyer’s viewpoint, it wasn’t such a big deal.

In truth, nothing was a big deal unless the prosecutor requested an assassination warrant. If it wasn’t serious enough for that, courtroom blade exchanges would be limited to dueling challenges. One just needed to avoid those.

From what Rose had said, the man sitting here as a victim was somewhat of a perpetrator himself. Tracing back the responsibility for this murder, the Mafia was at the very bottom, followed by this man.

The two swords prosecutors carried were inscribed with the God-President’s words: “The kind benefit their souls, while the cruel harm their bodies.”

Those words wielded power as strange as Hexenbane. The swords made judgments upon contact, distinguishing whether something should be cut—that is, harmed—or not.

Religion was a substitute for reason. If reason was sufficient, religion might become unnecessary, and if religion was sufficient, reason might not be needed. Their swords belonged to the latter category.

Because of this, defendants sometimes requested that lawyers draw the sword if they were innocent. Sacco and Vanzetti survived because of this. It was a common reassurance lawyers gave their clients.

But this time, she thought it would cut. It wouldn’t be a clean cut—the blade would either get stuck halfway or slice just a layer of skin, causing a wound. He bore some responsibility.

Whether one lost 1 pint or 1 gallon of blood didn’t matter as long as one could win, but the important point was that once blood flowed, the jury’s opinion would become irreversible.

This was a problem a detective couldn’t solve, Paulina clarified. The evidence was somewhat patched together, but it was still patched. She just needed to prepare materials to refute it.

Still, the detective was on their side. If it didn’t harm him, he would gladly help either party. If helping one side harmed the other, he wouldn’t help either and would simply tell the truth.

Fake evidence could be overturned. The police claimed they hadn’t found the banner, but when she went with Rose, it was still exactly where her client said he had left it.

Whether they thought they already had enough to lock him up or simply hadn’t bothered to look, she couldn’t tell, but they had secured it. This would be evidence to overturn their case.

When Rose had asked for help, she’d thought he might have spoken the truth again and gotten sued, but it was a much bigger matter. It was like flipping a coin.

A lawyer doesn’t gamble unless they can sue a casino for fraud. In that sense, there was no better house than the courtroom. It allowed you to roll the dice again up to twice.

Paulina examined the hand she held. She had a card face down. Of the two cards the other side had shown off, one was sleight of hand. She knew this.

So her hand was probably better. She had the advantage in this game. She hadn’t seen the dealer’s face yet, but as long as she didn’t need to cover her cards and curse, she’d be fine.

The detective nodded briefly. The first face-down card was that a branch leader of the Mothers had revealed the true culprit, and the second was that he was an Invincible.

One card was about half-revealed, one might say. They knew the detective was an Argonne Invincible and what kind of man he was. They would be careful.

But while they might be careful about a person, they wouldn’t be careful about a doppel. So it was a half-hidden card. The fact that he had been following them was also the detective’s card.

Three more days of surveillance passed. Amusingly, the Mafia seemed to prefer wandering around during the day pretending to be legitimate businessmen rather than lurking in dark corners at night.

When with the Mother and her gnoll, he had to keep at least ten yards more distance than usual. That gnoll had quite sensitive senses, and not just senses—she was quite perceptive. He couldn’t sneak within killing distance.

She also had a body that reminded one of Sol Invictus. She was as big as Giuseppina, looking like a transformed werewolf, but seemed faster than Sarah. There was a reason the Mother had brought her directly.

He had never feared facing Sol Invictus in combat since he could beat him to death anyway. But if that woman escaped, it would be a big problem for him. Sarah was under their protection.

And the most threatening thing about Giuseppina was that she was predictable because of her stupidity. If the Mother ordered it, she would send gunmen after Sarah without hesitation.

So he needed to handle this quietly. The detective followed that gnoll for nearly twenty-four hours straight. His unique technique of treading on sound rather than ground always helped. She never noticed.

He couldn’t tell whether she lived as if unconcerned about assassination or was truly stupid enough not to worry at all. Probably the former.

That gnoll, whom the Mother had brought directly from Italy, left little room for intervention. She visited various bars daily as if inspecting them, but never drank past midnight and never came out drunk.

On Sundays, she went to the God-President’s church and seemed to spend the whole day at the Mother’s house. He had no intention of walking there with binoculars. That would be gambling with too much to lose.

But on Friday, he discovered something good. The woman who entered Bouton de Rose headed to another bar instead of going home at nearly eleven fifty.

She was with another gnoll. He couldn’t tell if the other was also Mafia, but judging by how they chattered in Italian that only they could understand, they seemed quite close. Friends are cherished.

It was perhaps funny to say this about the Mafia. He had forgotten that they were just ordinary thugs who couldn’t survive without tightly binding themselves to the sense of belonging to friends and family.

So on Sunday night, the detective returned home and called the number of Lucania Textile Raw Materials Trading Company, where nobody should be working on Sundays. The phone connected after just two rings.

This time, the gnoll spoke not as if addressing a friend but as if addressing a business associate. She was a woman who cared about others’ perceptions and even had the ability to manipulate those perceptions.

“It’s Husband. After following her for about a week, I see a way.”

“Ah, you know exactly what I was going to say? I was going to tell you to change your poison if you’re poisoning her, since she’s still walking around on two feet, Blackjack. You didn’t call to report to me… You need something. I can gladly provide it for a fair price. What do you need?”

The gnoll branch leader sneered. Even if she ended up handling most of the work, it would be a profitable deal if she could earn this detective’s respect. While many were wary of the Mother, not many didn’t revere her.

She thought the answer would be manpower. A request to provide some operators to shoot that woman in the street and open an escape route. But what the detective requested was not that.

“Could you get me an expensive bottle from those whiskey and liquor smugglers? Anything that would drive gnolls crazy would do, but I’d prefer cognac. So I can have an expensive drink after finishing the job.”

Needing alcohol meant he needed almost nothing. Whether he knew that both whiskey and liquor were her responsibility when he called was unclear, but they weren’t difficult for anyone to obtain.

She asked back, somewhat taken aback. Seeing him already preparing celebration drinks, he might have already told the Mother everything and was preparing to deal with her.

“I’m speechless at such a trivial request. Why do you need it? If you’ve already decided to switch sides…”

“If I could take sides, Peter Pan could grow up too. I need it to lure that woman, and since I’m not buying it with my own money, I just want expensive liquor. Is the cost of alcohol too much for you?”

The gnoll on the other end of the line cackled. It sounded like a biting question about whether they were courting him for recruitment because he wasn’t taking any side, and indeed it was.

“You wouldn’t do that. Fine, one bottle of cognac. Don’t you like Armagnac? Cognac is too fragrant, you know. Armagnac has a heavier taste that’s quite nice.”

“Isn’t it a bit much to expect sommelier work from someone who guzzles gin and vodka? Just send something gnolls would like.”

The detective received a rather heavy bottle of Armagnac the next morning. It came from the warehouse. Ah, this beautiful country of prohibition.

With a dry chuckle, he opened the bottle and poured one-fifth down the sink. Since it was just bait, appearing natural was more important than saving expensive liquor.

He could drink the rest after finishing the job, so it wasn’t such a losing deal. The detective, who had been choosing drab clothes for surveillance until now, finally opened his closet to select an outfit.

Today he needed to go to Bouton de Rose. That gnoll went there on Mondays and Fridays. On both days, she chose Bouton de Rose as her final stop before returning home. If she disappeared afterward, no one would know.

Leather gloves look natural with a leather jacket. Brown leather gloves matched better with a regular suit than black ones, but not when wearing a jacket.

In the evening, he brought a box to a private space that would be covered by curtains. It was a tarred box. He also prepared plenty of waterproof canvas. No matter how big she was, she would fit in a cargo box.

That evening, the detective left home wearing a hunting cap and hunting leather jacket over his suit. He had bought these clothes after the fire at his home, but they weren’t to his liking enough to use for work.

He headed to Bouton de Rose. The holster with his pistol was attached to suspenders, but Sol Invictus’s gladius was sheathed and fixed diagonally on the back of his coat.

No matter how he brought that gnoll home, the only thing he himself could touch on the way would be his coat. After that, he would naturally need to move to the liquor bottle, and using a gun wouldn’t constitute revenge.

That gnoll arrived at Bouton de Rose around 10:30 or 10:40, so the detective chose 11:30. She left the bar around 11:50. He had to take her naturally.

Showing the Bouton de Rose entry pass with the white whale, he entered. Despite his different attire, the bartender recognized the detective and called out loudly. Her smiling expression was quite intense.

“Casalo Blanche! You’re back unusually quickly!”

The Bouton de Rose bartender was quite beautiful, so a customer whom she called out to with such enthusiasm was noticeable. The detective calmly accepted the attention and approached her, giving her a light hug.

As they greeted each other by touching cheeks as usual, the blonde bartender gently caressed her own cheek where the detective had touched it and smiled.

“How strange, even though you came on such a cold day, your cheek isn’t very cold. Is there a fire lit inside you? Today’s order…”

At that moment, the detective felt a massive figure approaching him. No, not exactly a figure. The head was that of a dog. The bartender who had been asking for his order hesitated slightly at the size of the approaching person.

The detective turned around leisurely to face her. He kept his back about an inch away from the bar to ensure there was no clicking from the back panel where Sol Invictus’s gladius was stored.

There stood the gnoll who was preparing to leave the bar. She had looked over because the bartender’s voice, shouting something like “Casalo Blanche” in incomprehensible French, had bothered her.

She looked at the detective with a stiff tone and growled first. Perhaps as her own sign of familiarity, she spoke casually. For someone she could meet at a place she was inspecting, the detective was high-quality personnel.

“Leone, fancy meeting you here. Are you here for the alcohol? Or for pleasure?”

Her English wasn’t that fluent yet. The word “pleasure” was too refined for Bouton de Rose, which was quite decent. The detective nodded once and sneered.

“I have alcohol stored separately, and pleasure… I have no intention of dancing at the dance parties they hold here. I came for a woman… not interested in dog heads. Is that enough?”

“Dog heads?”

The bartender gently grabbed the detective’s shoulder as he boldly called this large, intimidating gnoll a “dog head.” The detective gestured as if it didn’t matter and continued.

“All you hyena heads have been desperate to recruit me. Especially Giuseppina.”

The gnoll wasn’t particularly offended. If she were the type to get angry at insults directed at her species, she might become the Mafia’s discard rather than their trump card.

“She’s a stupid woman, so she needs smart operators. Huh, what kind of liquor did you get that makes you refuse drinks at a bar, Leone? What if you’re treated like a dried-up man?”

“When you have Armagnac, you stop looking for bars. If the bartender here wasn’t such a beauty, I wouldn’t have bothered coming, see?”

Though he had never tasted the liquor, the detective pretended to know it skillfully. The gnoll bared her teeth and growled briefly. Her teeth, whitened as if brushed with bone powder, gleamed.

To her, the detective was one of their friends. Not only had he dealt with the monstrosity that entered the restaurant, but he had also carried out the blood revenge they should have done. Plus, he had Armagnac.

That might be better than being entertained at a bar. The gnoll lightly raised her hand and brushed her chest with her claw-tipped fingers. She brushed the bulletproof plate she had reliably inserted inside.

She hadn’t been followed. She had a gun in her possession, and in case she might get shot, she had even inserted a thick iron plate in her chest. Plates were generally unnecessary when dealing with friends.

She misjudged. She took out a hundred-dollar bill from her wallet as if it were a five-dollar bill, pushed it forward, and nodded to the detective. She sneered.

“If you came looking for a woman, you came to the right place. Let’s have some Armagnac together. The gnoll who smuggles it is quite… irritating. This should be enough for one night’s interruption, right, bartender?”

The bartender of Bouton de Rose nodded with eyes that looked like she might cry. The detective placed his hand on the back of hers and shook his head.

“Have a car take you home at dawn. I’ll come again, so don’t be like that.”

Thus, the detective left Bouton de Rose less than 10 minutes after entering. No one asked if he was leaving like a dried-up man, going out with the Mother’s gnoll operator.

She was a woman who drove an ogre-specific vehicle. In an ogre-specific car, she could sit with her legs crossed, but the detective sat just adequately. When he told her the address, she started driving.

She asked leisurely. It was obvious she wasn’t worried about her safety at all. In fact, it was clear that she had been able to maintain such an attitude for most of her life without problems. Not today.

“Are you using the knife well that I gave you in return for carrying out our revenge? A man like you suits a knife better than a gun. Humans don’t have fangs, so you equip yourself with iron fangs.”

“Ah, the blade got bent while fighting some guy. He was a fire magic user. It was quite big in the newspapers, but… I guess your English was even more awkward then.”

An operator who revealed themselves was more dangerous than one who didn’t. That’s why an operator who showed their face was more dangerous than one wearing a mask. The secret lies beneath the facial skin.

The gnoll seemed genuinely disappointed that such a good knife had been bent. She hit the steering wheel once with her fist and said:

“I’ll ask the Mother to have a new one made for you. It would be better to take care of a knife given to an operator who did the job our fangs should have done.”

“A knife is a knife, and a gun is a gun. You use them when needed and put them away when not. Are you going to give me something I don’t need?”

“Huh! Use it well.”

They talked like quite good friends as they returned to the detective’s home. It was twelve o’clock.

Bouton de Rose would send someone around one or two o’clock to check on the detective’s well-being. He had to deal with the car within that time.

The gnoll looked around the detective’s apartment and clicked her tongue. For a gnoll who had lived under the Mother’s protection, or more precisely, under the protection of the Mother’s money, from the beginning, the place was too small to understand.

“Like a chicken coop.”

“Worse than a chicken coop in that it doesn’t produce eggs.”

Sharing comfortable laughter, they took the elevator up to the 7th floor. He hoped not to encounter anyone, and indeed they met no one. She read the small sign hanging above the detective’s door plate.

“Husband Detective Agency… Is this your office?”

“The inside is my home, and the outside has been renovated as an office. Come in.”

The detective entered with his coat still on, closed the door, and locked it. He took out a bottle of Armagnac about 80% full from a secret drawer under the desk and placed it on the desk. The detective headed to the coat rack first and sneered.

“Let’s take off our coats before drinking. We’re civilized people. If gnoll fur smell gets on the chairs, customers won’t come.”

The detective first took off his leather jacket and hung it on the coat rack near the door. Revealing his holster suspenders, he visibly took out his pistol and placed it on the shelf. The gnoll also took a step forward.

The detective lightly drew Sol Invictus’s gladius that he had fixed to the back of his jacket. The leather sheath didn’t even make the usual “shring” sound when drawing a sword. The gnoll was close enough.

And the gnoll operator experienced something unbelievable. That human operator who had put down his gun drew a sword. Not a knife or dagger, but a real sword. It truly deserved the name of a one-handed sword.

She tried to reach out, but her hand was caught by the operator. He was faster at thrusting the firmly gripped sword toward her side than she was at extending her other hand. It was just for a moment.

She tried to scream, but the sword must have pierced too deeply. Her breath and voice couldn’t escape her mouth, circling inside before fading down her throat.

The detective pulled Sol Invictus’s gladius from her body. He held her by the nape of her neck to prevent her heavy body from falling noisily to the floor.

Though short of breath, her stomach wasn’t yet filled with blood, nor was she dead. The gnoll opened her maw wide and bit the detective’s neck. No chunk of flesh was torn off.

Her teeth barely seemed to penetrate the flesh. No matter how much strength she put into her jaw, it remained so. It couldn’t be that her jaw had already lost strength. The detective lightly embraced the stunned gnoll’s body.

Adjusting his grip on the gladius to a reverse hold, he thrust it through her back skin over her coat. This time he used both hands. Sol Invictus’s gladius remained intact even as it tore through the gnoll’s tough skin and muscle.

The detective sneered. A red, smelly mark was rising on the gnoll’s chest shirt. The time was 12:04. He would have about an hour to clean up.

“Do you know who I’m doing this for? I told you, you should have checked if that computer activist had secretly visited the detective agency at dawn.”

The detective carried her in his arms and walked into the office. Blood was dripping, but he could clean it up somehow. He pulled back the curtain with a hand free of blood and entered.

It was an ordinary, modest kitchen scene, but the gnoll operator could see the waterproof canvas spread on the floor. And the tarred cargo box. She tried to utter a final whisper, unable to scream.

Or rather, she tried to. The detective had no intention of listening to her last words. He placed the woman on the waterproof canvas and, with the tip of the gladius against her collarbone, drove it in as if hammering a chisel.

He had completed the client’s revenge, but it was still too early to celebrate with Armagnac.