Ch.2Request Log #001 – The Roaring Twenties (2)

The elf embezzler’s face turned deathly pale. His expression suggested he’d known he would be caught eventually.

His pallid face showed only fear and anxiety, like a dirty puddle on the roadside. The anxiety that everything he had achieved and maintained would collapse.

Did he turn a blind eye to the fact that he was desperately holding onto everything with someone else’s money? He didn’t seem like the type with enough courage to face reality anyway.

“Your reaction tells me your family doesn’t know. Lead me to the kitchen or living room and tell them I’m from the company. Or I could slap that face of yours a few times and throw you inside.”

It was something I’d rather not do if possible. If this fragile family had even a shred of familial love, it would only provoke resistance.

In truth, the resistance didn’t matter much. What concerned me more were people who might come with guns to defend their husband or father. Even if family affection was lukewarm, gunpowder and lead burn hot enough to hurt.

The embezzler nodded a couple of times. He was trembling convulsively, but it didn’t last long.

But it seems I’d spent too much time on this. Lighter footsteps approached from behind.

I quickly tucked away my gun, released my grip on his collar, and composed my expression. The embezzler still looked dumbfounded, but since his back was to the approaching person, it wouldn’t matter much.

The newcomer appeared to be the embezzler’s wife, an elf. Her face clearly showed she was young and had grown up wealthy. It seems he’d spent money to keep up with his wife, and his own money wasn’t enough.

“Who’s this visitor so early in the morning, dear? Oh, a human.”

“Ah, well. He’s a new employee from the company… Today, well, that is, today… Ah, right. I called him because I have a business trip today, but I forgot to mention it yesterday…”

He makes excuses well, at least. I approached the embezzler’s wife with a friendly smile and handed her the flowers.

“Even though I’m here on business, I couldn’t come empty-handed. Elves prefer flowers with subtle fragrances, right?”

Depending on how much he embezzled, this household would eventually fall apart over money issues, and what I was seeing might be this family’s last happy moment. Whatever became of them wouldn’t be my responsibility.

“Of course. Roses give me a headache just walking past them. I didn’t know my husband’s company had someone like you…”

Her eyes scanned me up and down as if she’d found a product too good to pass up. If she had an affair partner, it would likely be a coworker. Her eyes suggested she might be looking for someone new.

I could probably guess why he embezzled just by slowly scanning the interior of the house, but I didn’t care.

We all have our stories. My story isn’t more important than others’, and others’ stories aren’t important enough for me to care about. All our stories are volatile.

I was guided by the embezzler’s wife to a living room with an elegant coffee table, where I received a cup of elvish coffee with so much milk that the coffee aroma was killed. It was basically hot milk with a hint of coffee.

Elves, really. At least it was better than nothing, so I downed the coffee and whispered to the embezzler again.

“Your boss wants to know how much you embezzled. Have your wife bring the ledger if you have one. Understand? Answer casually. Don’t raise suspicion.”

Even a lamb being led to slaughter has enough strength to stamp its feet and thrash its head. Surely doing so could delay death by an hour or two, perhaps even a day or two.

But lambs don’t do that. Overwhelmed by the smell of lamb blood and flesh in the slaughterhouse, and the sound of stakes being driven in, they quietly submit to slaughter. It’s not just lambs.

Though he was the master of this house, I lit a cigarette first and held the tip out to him. He brought his trembling hand to the front of the cigarette, gathered mana briefly, and created a flame half the size of his fingernail to light my cigarette.

“Ah, of course I have it. How could I not? And, well, I should. Honey? Could you bring me the ledger from my room? The leather-bound one in the bottom drawer of my desk.”

I hope “leather-bound ledger in the bottom drawer” isn’t code for a shotgun. Last time, such an arrangement nearly put a draft through my head.

I moved to a position that would be a blind spot when viewed from the stairs leading to the bedroom, with one hand gripping the pistol inside my coat.

The embezzler probably realized I would shoot his wife if anything happened, but he was too crushed by his own problems to even voice a warning.

Even the family he tried to maintain by stealing others’ money became this insignificant compared to himself.

“Really, making such a fuss about going up and down the stairs. Here you go.”

Fortunately, “leather-bound ledger in the bottom drawer” wasn’t a code, and I was able to receive the ledger.

I slowly scan through the contents to confirm it’s the real embezzlement ledger. At first, the amounts were small and occasional, probably for anniversaries or weekend dates, but the amounts gradually increased.

Seeing how lifelessly he offered no resistance, he must have reached his limit, but the money he’d already embezzled was enough to buy a couple of houses like this one. He’d already helped himself to plenty.

I could stay here until breakfast, memorizing all the family members’ faces, but time was precious. If I dawdled and brought him in late, I might not get the bonus payment.

“The ledger checks out. Get up. You know the way to the company. You’ll drive.”

I tap near my side where the gun is holstered, indicating I can draw it at any time, then whisper to him.

This embezzler was still clinging to the thin hope that he might somehow maintain his household, but hope doesn’t give us a path—it merely follows the path we walk.

Simply put, when you’re already screwed, having hope only means you’ll be screwed with optimism.

If he’d embezzled that much money, he should have kept a family lawyer on retainer. If he’d had a lawyer, this wouldn’t have gone so smoothly. I might have had to fire a few shots just to take him in.

The embezzler, who seemed to believe his household would remain intact if he just followed my instructions, stood up and greeted his wife.

“Ah, well, I was planning to eat breakfast before leaving… but I need to go quickly. See you when I get back…”

His wife, wearing an apron, came out from the kitchen and acted disappointed. Toward me, not her husband. Does he really want to protect this kind of home? I didn’t try to understand.

“Oh, I was making breakfast since we suddenly had a guest… Take care, honey. You too, new employee!”

I nodded pleasantly, then left the house with the ledger tucked under my arm. The embezzler started trembling convulsively again, probably thinking I would turn violent once we were away from his family.

I had no reason to use violence since I’d already gotten what I wanted. Demons didn’t dislike violence, but they hated being associated with violent incidents.

Leaving the house, I got into the passenger seat of his car and lit a cigarette. Cigarettes must be like poison to elves who say even rose scents give them headaches, but he was in no position to complain.

The embezzler wasn’t a bad driver, but being naturally timid, he drove as if test-driving a new car. It made me wonder why someone like him would embezzle in the first place.

No, that’s a lie. I wasn’t curious at all. If I had been, I would have asked at least one question before finishing two cigarettes.

The embezzler, seemingly choked by the silence, finally spoke up.

“Well, actually, I knew I would get caught someday. But still…”

“I don’t care. The only thing that matters to a $300 check is that it can be exchanged for $300.”

I hated whining the most. No, to be precise, I hated the petty calculations behind the whining.

“I have such a pitiful story.” Well, that might be true. But these types always follow up with “I have such a pitiful story, so please show mercy.” It’s just disgusting.

“Then, perhaps, I could…”

Having failed to gain sympathy, he would now try to negotiate. This was an all-too-familiar response from petty criminals—I’d met hundreds of them since working at the large detective agency.

“I’m not interested in bribes either. Any money you give me would be your boss’s money anyway. The boss’s expression would be quite something if the detective sent to catch an embezzler embezzled his money.”

Detectives don’t sell their fighting skills or shooting abilities. We sell trust. So unless the offer was enough to live comfortably for life—no, even then—betraying a client would be a bad move.

His shallow, naive hope crumbled in a shallow, naive way.

The car continued driving and eventually reached the factory district. In this air, thick with acrid smoke, oil, and the unpleasant smell of mixed paint, he seemed to have lost even the will to resist.

We parked in front of the factory, and without bothering to threaten him, I let him lead the way inside.

The Industrial Spirit, with concrete legs extending like a four-legged animal from the metal processing machine, was already roaming around the factory, suggesting we were a bit late for the work day.

Since work hadn’t started yet, the Industrial Spirit, which had just been wandering around the factory, saw us enter and ran over, pounding the factory floor a couple of times with its heavy body before stopping in front of us.

The metal processing machine rotated fiercely like a beast with its jaws open, threatening us. Or more precisely, me.

“This is a business and private property, outsider. And in front of you… David? What’s this, someone hired by the company?”

The Industrial Spirit’s voice sounded like metal scraping, but it seemed to recognize this embezzler.

Another hand of salvation was extended to the embezzler. If he said I was just an outsider and asked for help, this naive Industrial Spirit would surely fight to protect a company employee.

But the embezzler gave up this time too. The boss would still be there, and the person who contracted with spirits to borrow their power was the boss, not him. Being questioned about embezzlement was better than being thrown into the spirit’s jaws.

I patted the embezzler’s back to make him explain. I didn’t need to speak directly and be remembered.

“Huh? Um, yes, he’s hired directly by the boss like you… Uh, no need to treat him as an outsider…”

The contract with spirits was also an employment contract, so perhaps they were similar. The Industrial Spirit stepped aside.

“Then get to work! I should start my inspections and prepare for work too!”

Industrial Spirits are quite sociable. Born from us, they follow us like parents.

After this brief conversation, we left the paint and metal-scented space and went up to the floor with the offices. The air was filled only with music from a phonograph and the scent of a clean air freshener.

This time there was a secretary. She looked human at first glance, but her occasionally visible fangs were abnormally long, indicating she wasn’t human. With many species having long fangs, it was difficult to guess her species.

But she revealed her species with a single sentence.

“Oh, are you the boss’s guest? The boss gave me a heads-up.”

The content of her words was ordinary, but her voice was unique. It was low and trembling yet shrill, soft yet rough. All these elements combined to create a fascinating, fantastic sound. She was a vampire.

It wasn’t enough to instantly enchant someone as commonly believed, but it was pleasant to hear.

“Yes, can I go in right now?”

The secretary nodded, slowly swaying her thick blonde hair. While pointing toward the boss’s office with a fairly polite, somewhat playful gesture, a half-inch of businesslike smile remained on her lips.

Occasionally when encountering vampires, I understand why they are a species that dies strangled by unwanted love.

Back to business. After sighing and wiping my face, I pushed open the door to the boss’s office.

The client had changed his attire slightly but still looked like a vain aristocrat. Nothing to worry about.

“Fortunately, I didn’t need to interrogate him. He kept everything well-organized in the ledger.”

I took out the ledger from my coat and pushed it toward the client. His eyebrows twitched unpleasantly, seemingly displeased that the embezzler had so preciously recorded the stolen money in a leather-bound ledger.

But instead of getting angry first, he checked it. The demon, who had been nervously tapping the desk, stabbed the desk once with his fingernail. His nails, originally just a bit rough, were now clearly long and sharp.

“Oh, excuse me.”

Demons who think it’s vulgar to openly show anger hide their sharpened nails. And after a few minutes, the ledger check was complete.

He took out his wallet and handed me two $100 bills. The fingertips passing the bills were rougher than before, and the nails gleamed blue-green like those of a beast.

I took the two bills and put them away. The detective’s job ended here. A detective must know when to leave curiosity behind. I had to acknowledge that the aftermath belonged to the client and the embezzler, not me.

“Well, handle the rest as you see fit… Next time, you can just call me by phone.”

I opened my wallet, which was unusually thick for once, and took out one of the business cards I rarely carry to hand to the client. “Husband Detective Agency, Specializing in Missing Persons and Stolen Property Recovery.” It was a cheap card with just the basic information.

The demon pleasantly took the card and placed it in a visible spot in his card holder, fulfilling the courtesy.

I walked out of the office, ignoring the embezzler who was looking at me as if grasping at straws. He seemed to think I might save him since I had brought him here, but that wouldn’t happen.

The client wouldn’t kill the embezzler. Not if he could get his money back by making him sell his house and car, and emptying his accounts to the last speck of dust.

If he got his money back, he would probably brand him and throw him out, making it impossible to find another job.

In this era, the word “second chance” was known only to some of those who had lived honestly.

Anyway, it seemed like I could spend a few weeks drinking and having fun. The only problem was that there wouldn’t be any open bars this early in the morning… Ah, right. There was a place that operated as a cafe during the day but a secret bar at night.

I was on somewhat awkward terms with the bartender there, but there was no better place. Just then, a taxi stopped nearby.

It had a passenger, but this factory district seemed to be their destination as they got out here.

A small elf with tousled light blonde hair jumped out of the taxi first. Seeing me standing in front of the taxi she had just exited, she grinned without showing even a hint of suspicion or caution. A cheap smile.

“Oh, are you taking this? Paulina, there’s another customer waiting.”

Judging by the camera she was holding, was she a reporter? The camera looked too small and light to be cheap. She seemed like some businessman’s daughter playing at being a journalist as a hobby.

At her urging, a large woman who had been cramming herself into the taxi got out too. That must be Paulina.

From the woman’s attire, it wasn’t hard to tell that this disheveled elf was the child of a businessman.

A suit that made metallic clinking sounds as if lined with chain mail armor, and a round shield in one hand… Without having to guess, she was a lawyer.

Lawyers protect their clients. In every sense of the word.

As much as they protect clients in court with legal advice and interpretation, they also protect them from clubs swinging on the street or gun barrels being pushed in their faces. They’re half bodyguards, you could say.

I hope these are people I won’t get involved with. Dealing with innocent but wealthy people is unpleasant.

The tall woman, having adjusted her clothes, properly gripped her shield and gave a short bow.

“I’m sorry. The taxi was quite cramped for me…”

I just nodded briefly in response to her unnecessary apology and got into the taxi.

“Cafe Two Face on 14th Street.”

After 6 PM it would be Bar Two Face, but it was still only 9:30 AM.

This taxi driver was a bit quieter. He seemed to be a lizardman, flicking his tongue and saying something like “understood” before quietly driving. The quiet wasn’t bad in its own way.

The route to the cafe was familiar enough to memorize. I should have driven there once or twice myself.

We passed through Orc Street, where people who seemed gruff and bleak but were actually warm-hearted lived. The beet soup sold on this street was quite good. I knew what it was called in Orcish too… but it had been so long I’d forgotten.

Next, we passed through the shopping district and reached 14th Street. This was a well-decorated and comfortable area that didn’t seem to fit with a secret bar. There were even upscale residential areas nearby.

Still, Cafe Two Face fit in quite well here. The round sign with a human face on the front and a wolf’s head on the back was quite stylish, and with many plants reflecting the bartender’s taste, it was unmistakably a cafe during the day.

I pushed open the cafe door. It was too early for customers, but the bartender was there.

His low, growling voice spread softly. He didn’t have a tail yet, so instead, his long brown hair was tied up, swaying. The bartender was someone who always lived regardless of trends.

“Ah, Micky. What brings you here so early in the morning?”

Most people called me Michael without abbreviating, but only the bartender persistently used the nickname.

“Just finished work and came for breakfast. Give me a bagel sandwich with salmon. And coffee too.”

“Well, instead of coming through the back door for free food, you came through the front door. Must have some money today?”

The bartender grinned, showing teeth as sharp as a wolf’s. He was teasing me about coming when I had no money and just getting breakfast from the back room. I clicked my tongue, took out a $1 bill from my wallet, and put it on the bar.

“Yeah, yeah. Here’s payment for two meals. Happy?”

As our casual conversation continued, the door opened again. A rough-looking orc walked in carrying a crate of twelve milk bottles. He set down the milk crate with a thud, not worrying about breaking the bottles.

Well, that’s certainly not a good sign.