Ch.34Chapter 4 – Introduction (Video not loading)

# Chapter 4

‘The Perfect Human Form’

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1929. 4. 23. PM 7:42

Southern Harbor of Polard City

Warehouse No. 22-4

Antonio Salvatore picked up a crumpled scrap of the “Polard Times.”

Someone careless had unwrapped a package and tossed it aside.

His subordinates watched him with extremely tense expressions.

As befitting a high-ranking member of the Family, Salvatore also wore white gloves.

He had a peculiar habit—running his gloved hand along window frames, door cracks, and boxes.

If black dust appeared on his gloves, the person in charge would have their fingernails and toenails pulled out one by one, followed by a thorough cleaning.

This effectively gave them ten chances, but fortunately, no one had ever lost more than one.

“Hygiene is always important. Cleanliness gives customers peace of mind.”

No one actually believed those words.

Not that Salvatore was unreasonable. He had his own principles.

He only conducted hygiene inspections when the tribute money came in short.

In his view, “businesses that pay properly” were clean and therefore successful, so there was no need to inspect them.

“Businesses that don’t pay” were “companies that customers avoid because they’re filthy, resulting in poor business,” so he needed to personally provide guidance to help them “recover their original state.”

There was a reason why the “Father” praised Salvatore as an excellent manager.

Fortunately for his subordinates, Salvatore wasn’t wearing gloves today.

This was one of the warehouses directly managed by the Family, so there was no need for hygiene inspections.

Today, his task was “inspection.” The fact that someone of Salvatore’s stature had to inspect it personally suggested the items were extremely valuable.

And he also had someone to interrogate.

One subordinate brought pliers. Another brought a chair. And they brought in a ship captain who was trembling from head to toe.

Salvatore lifted the pliers to show the captain, then smiled and unfolded the Polard Times. It was published two weeks ago, with an article about the city council being divided over the whale museum construction issue.

The Polard Times was known for exaggerating good news and turning bad news into good news. The fact that even such a local newspaper reported “divided into two factions” meant they were fighting to the death.

Mayor Arthur Black and his support base, the “Vigilantes,” were in favor of building the whale museum.

The Vigilantes were descendants of Polard Island’s whalers, and many of them came from wealthy families who had profited from whaling.

For them, the whale museum was a monument to past glory, no different from the Statue of Liberty in showing “mainlanders” how great they once were.

On the other hand, newly emerging commercial families from the “mainland” and industrial companies that had barely escaped being treated as subcontractors for “whaling-related businesses” opposed the museum.

They argued that Polard Island needed to completely abandon its whale image to become a tourist destination.

Of course, underlying this was the fear that if whale stories continued, the established prestigious families would keep benefiting while they remained on the periphery.

As a result, the whale museum project was temporarily suspended, failing to pass the quorum.

However, other proposals were passed in large numbers, notably the “Additional Budget Execution for Yacht Tourism” and the “Functional Division of Eastern and Southern Harbors.”

The key content was to use the Eastern Harbor, which included beaches, exclusively for tourism and passenger purposes, while the Southern Harbor would be used solely for logistics.

“We make money thanks to the mayor. Yes, our dear mayor. He’s completely designated the southern coast for logistics warehouses.

For logistics to move, you need warehouses to store goods. Unfortunately, existing companies own all the warehouses, and the city doesn’t issue permits for new warehouse construction.”

Nominally, the southern coast warehouses were divided among six companies of different sizes. But they were all front companies for the White Hand Family.

The dear mayor had decided to bring them more income. Yet the “Father” was still not satisfied.

‘It’s because of those crazy nuns.’

Because of them, the supply of sacramental wine from Italy had been completely cut off.

Those deranged nuns were even selling alcohol themselves. Mayor Arthur Black refused the “Father’s” request to drive out the nuns.

Instead, he gave them the southern harbor. Although this was an even greater gain than sacramental wine, the fact that the Family’s “lifeline” had been touched by none other than nuns deeply saddened the “Father.”

For the “Father” was truly a devout believer.

Just thinking about the nuns made him feel stifled. Salvatore cleared his throat and tightened his red tie again. Seeing his hardworking subordinates lifted his mood a little.

Bare-chested men were carrying boxes, sweating profusely. They communicated through gestures, eye signals, and hand signs.

Speaking was absolutely forbidden unless necessary, and even then, only simple words like “by the window” or “under the shelf” were allowed.

Among the White Hand Family, this was even called the “Salvatore Rule.”

Satisfactory. But not perfect. Salvatore knew why.

“If only it weren’t for overtime, everything would be fine.”

Mafia members, like other office workers, dislike overtime. Whether they’re in physical labor or shooting people.

Of course, there’s a difference in that ordinary office workers don’t turn someone into a bloody pulp for slacking off.

As for Salvatore, he was the type who could work overtime as much as needed. He was a responsible man.

Those who force tremendous responsibility on others are usually cursed as old-fashioned tyrants, but Salvatore led by example and only “asked” others to work “as much as he did.”

When he made requests with pliers in hand, no one ever refused.

That’s how it had been until now. Until now.

“S-Salvatore, sir.”

The captain of the One Star, Zachariah, turned pale and wrung his hands.

“Zachariah. We’ve worked together for quite some time. I’m disappointed. I thought you’d at least know my name properly.”

Salvatore smiled.

“And it’s strange indeed. We’ve worked together for quite some time. Why were you late? One hour, Zachariah. You were one hour late.

Ten people, including myself, were waiting in this warehouse. Because you were one hour late, the ‘Father’ has effectively lost ten hours.

So, answer me. Ten hours. How will you compensate for that?”

Zachariah gulped.

“Mr. Salvatore. Please forgive me just this once. I barely managed to bring today’s cargo—urgh!”

One of Salvatore’s subordinates put a sack over Zachariah’s face. Another grabbed his right shoulder and arm joint. However they held him, Zachariah couldn’t move his arm at all.

“Oh dear.”

Salvatore shook his head regretfully. Unfortunately, Zachariah had already trimmed his nails short. This made using pliers impossible.

But who was Salvatore? He was a man stricter than anyone when it came to hygiene.

So he put down the pliers and took out a small wooden box from his pocket. A gold-plated nail clipper appeared.

“Your nails are a bit long.”

Clip.

“Aaagh!”

Clip.

“Aah, aaaagh!”

The subordinate who had put the sack over Zachariah pointed at his cheek. Salvatore scolded him.

“Hey now. Captain Zachariah is speaking. Hitting someone in the face while they’re talking isn’t what a gentleman does.

Hmm. Your blood is dark red. You’re not taking care of your health, are you?”

Salvatore’s nail clipper persistently dug into the remaining gap of the little finger.

Flesh stuck to the clipper’s blade and blood dripped onto the floor, but he didn’t care at all.

“Henry Payne!”

Salvatore stopped. He nodded, and his subordinate lifted the sack. Captain Zachariah, his face a mess of tears, snot, and saliva, cried out.

“F-Federal Security Agent Henry Payne and p-police searched K-Kingsport, sob, sob.”

Salvatore smiled.

“Didn’t your mother teach you to speak properly when talking to people? Mine did. While personally trimming my nails.”

Blood vessels burst in Zachariah’s eyes.

“Federal Security Agent Henry Payne and Arkham police searched the entire Kingsport harbor! They stopped all cargo movement and opened anything they could get their hands on!”

“Henry Payne…”

Salvatore frowned. Henry Payne again.

In truth, he didn’t know much about the man called Henry Payne. But it was clear that the “Father” had shown a very uncomfortable expression, and the “Right Hand” had been greatly flustered and surprised.

The “Left Hand” had proposed various measures, but the “Father” had shaken his head at all of them.

“So that happened. What did you do?”

“A-as you instructed, I hid all the boxes containing alcohol at the bottom. And to match the count, I loaded random boxes from the harbor.”

Transportation between Kingsport and Polard Island wasn’t very strict.

That’s why the Kingsport-Polard Island line was often used by other regional mafias to avoid product tracking.

The White Hand was managing this trade network and making decent profits, but Henry Payne had touched precisely this part.

“How many ships were in Kingsport?”

“Including our ship…”

Blood and saliva mixed and flowed from Zachariah’s mouth. He seemed to have bitten his tongue in his haste to speak. Salvatore decided to wait.

“Including our ship, there were five.”

“Did they inspect your ship too?”

“Y-yes. But they found nothing.”

“Did they go through the shipping list too?”

“Yes. After loading the new cargo, I quickly modified our ship’s list and claimed that the harbor list was missing.”

It shouldn’t be a big problem. At least that’s what Salvatore thought. Discrepancies between actual and nominal ledgers were common.

Especially now that Kingsport’s stevedores were taking bribes from the Family.

The remaining question was what cargo he had brought that was supposed to go elsewhere.

“What did you bring?”

Salvatore asked, throwing him a handkerchief. Zachariah tightly wrapped his little finger with it.

With trembling hands, Zachariah checked the item list and pointed to three boxes.

The first was full of fabric, and the second was full of chess boards and pieces. They were made of wood—sandalwood, which smelled nice but seemed likely to spoil easily.

And when Salvatore saw the third box, he bent over laughing.

“You managed to bring it.”

The box was huge. It looked big enough to easily fit two people. The shipping declaration even clearly stated “coffin.”

“A coffin? Look here, Zachariah. Look at the items you’ve brought. You’ve brought a coffin. That’s ominous. Extremely ominous.”

Salvatore made the sign of the cross.

“Let’s see. This was originally supposed to go to Arkham, I see. Shipped from New Bedford. Hmm. I wonder why they used a ship instead of land transport?”

The most likely possibility was firearms. Alcohol could be transported in separate shipments without issue. But guns tended to disappear if distributed.

That’s why they often used large furniture names like coffins or pianos. Moreover, this cargo was both the size and weight of a decent weapons crate.

The outer wooden box could be opened without concern. It could be resealed afterward. With the intention of checking, Salvatore personally unsealed and opened it.

Inside was indeed a wooden coffin. Salvatore didn’t mind. If there had been actual weapons, that would have been surprising.

Guns would be visible through the flimsy wooden box. Salvatore put on his white gloves, wiped them across the surface, and opened the coffin.

“What is this?”

Inside was a mannequin. About the size of an average adult man. It wasn’t like the mannequins you’d see in clothing stores.

First of all, it had hair, facial features, and even skin. Looking closely, the skin was wax, the eyes were painted glass beads, and a human hair wig had been attached with adhesive.

The body was also wax but dressed in a military uniform. It was a U.S. Army uniform, but there were no rank insignia or name tags.

“Is this being delivered to a clothing store or something?”

That’s all Salvatore thought. In any case, it wasn’t guns, so he clicked his tongue and closed the coffin.

It didn’t close.

Salvatore blinked and opened the coffin lid again. The mannequin, which had been standing at attention until just now, had its palms facing upward.

As if it were trying to lift the lid.

“Zachariah.”

The unfortunate captain approached. Blood that the handkerchief couldn’t fully absorb dripped down.

“Of all things, you had to bring this?”

For just a moment, Salvatore’s mood worsened. It felt like the mannequin was looking at him.

Looking more closely, the black eyeballs were colored deep inside the beads, not on the front.

That’s why it felt like you were making eye contact with the mannequin no matter which direction you looked from.

“I-I don’t know. But this is quite well-made.”

Zachariah extended his left index finger and stroked the mannequin’s skin. It had no elasticity whatsoever. Strangely, it was warm.

“This is creepy.”

The captain raised his right hand to grasp his left index finger, as if trying to wipe off something dirty.

“Watch your hand!”

Salvatore shouted, but it was too late. The captain’s blood, which had flowed down to his forearm, splattered onto the mannequin’s cheek.

It was just a drop or two, but instead of flowing sideways, they seemed to flow into the figure’s skin.

“You careless fool!”

Salvatore couldn’t tolerate the product being soiled. So he wiped the mannequin’s cheek with his white glove.

The mannequin’s head turned slightly.

This time it was unmistakable. The mannequin was looking directly at Salvatore.

The mannequin reached out and grabbed Salvatore’s neck. He couldn’t even make a sound.

As if its hand were an eagle’s talon or a wolf’s jaw, it gripped Salvatore’s throat and tore it out.

“…!”

Salvatore couldn’t even scream. Blood gushed out. The mannequin rose from the coffin. Then it knocked off Salvatore’s head and lifted him upside down.

And it drank his blood as if blowing a bugle.

The subordinates fired their guns. The mannequin, without changing expression, threw Salvatore’s body at them.

Salvatore’s headless body flew through the air, limbs flailing.

Someone flung open the warehouse door, someone started a car engine, and someone wailed in prayer.

“S-s-s-save me, save me please…”

Zachariah was too terrified to flee. His legs gave out, and he sat down, smearing his own excrement as he struggled to move backward.

The mannequin looked down at him pitifully. It plunged its hand deep into Salvatore’s body. It slowly wrote letters on the wall.

As if it wasn’t writing well as intended, it plunged its hand into the body several times.

Plunge. Splat. Plunge! Splat. Plunge! Splat!

After writing letters with blood, organs, and secretions, it moved its body strangely and disappeared toward the warehouse door.

Before losing consciousness, Zachariah recognized the letters written on the wall.

<H e r b e r t W e s t>

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