Ch.38Request Log #006 – Hunting the Hunter (3)

The limit of what can be resolved by mouth ends right here. A detective’s job is about legwork, and that hasn’t changed much even now.

I start searching through the list of partner companies I’ve laid out. First, I exclude the larger ones. Such places would share information quickly and wouldn’t take on jobs due to concerns about their reputation.

Besides, if they had hired someone from a big company, they would have needed to borrow Giuseppina’s men or deploy The Idealists’ terminals to break through, so it wouldn’t hurt to wait until those were prepared.

I examine each one carefully. Usually, companies established by foreigners were more willing to take on these kinds of jobs. With language barriers, information travels slower, and if this detective was in charge of that area… I briefly check the Blingkerton file.

Fortunately, it seems he doesn’t know any languages besides English. This means he probably has no connections with foreign companies.

I end up selecting companies from the Blingkerton partner evaluation list that received low trustworthiness ratings due to collaboration with criminals or double contracting. This is where I should start looking.

There are three in total. Well, there wouldn’t be many places they hadn’t completely cut ties with. I put a cigarette in my mouth, gather mana at my fingertips to light it, and head to the first company.

The first company was located in the slums. It’s a street of gangs who move in packs, screaming and threatening each other like animals in heat, but never actually fighting properly.

The mafia truly feared conflict because they engaged in it, but these gangs had no such conflict. If some crazy bastard pulled the trigger first, the shooting would start, and by nightfall, two gangs would be wiped out.

They might be better than the mafia in terms of self-policing. I get out of the car. Since it’s the slums anyway and using a gun wouldn’t be much of an issue, I check my pistol before entering the building.

It was a small three-story building, but the interior was relatively quiet. My destination was on the second floor, so I started climbing up when a man who hadn’t even properly shaved his beard blocked my way.

“Where do you think you’re going? We only work with Blingkerton…”

I take out a file authorized by the Blingkerton National Detective Agency from my coat and show it to him. I nod.

“Right, it’s work time. Turn around and go up.”

“Oh my, if I’d known you were from Blingkerton, I wouldn’t have acted this way. So, what brings you here? We know all the gangs around here, so if you need information about them, just ask.”

A niche market, I see. A man who makes money by sitting in this filthy neighborhood and talking to gangs. Inside the shabby office, there were only a few hired hands chattering among themselves.

“Is this everyone in the company? I came to find out if they have any connection with this gentleman.”

Leaning against the door so as not to expose my back, I open the file and show them the detective inside. My other hand is hidden behind the file, reaching into my coat. If they react, it would be better to shoot them all and interrogate just one.

But they seemed to already know, clicking their tongues with a “tsk.” A dwarf in his thirties with a dirty beard takes out a document from his desk and brings it over.

“Yeah, this is everyone here… Why would we help this traitor? Blingkerton pays more anyway.”

“So your bad reputation was just because you easily switch masters when others pay more. Ah, check with the gangs too. See if this bastard hired any gangs. Do you need a photo?”

“We’d appreciate it. Should we bill Blingkerton for the cooperation? And give me a phone number to report to.”

I toss them a new business card. These people were Blingkerton’s partners, not mine. If they bill Blingkerton, Blingkerton will bill me for a portion.

“Yeah, bill Blingkerton. I don’t keep a secretary, so I’ll probably be in after 6. Call then.”

Usually, 6 o’clock was time to head to the bar, but I never drank a drop of alcohol while working. Alcohol is for forgetting, and during work, I needed to remember.

“Hey, boys! We’ve got work! Let’s go meet some cheap gang bastards!”

Not a bad person for a boss. He keeps them loose normally but shows clear leadership when it’s time to work. With some suspicion, I lower my gun, put the file back in my coat, and head to the next company.

This time, the company was in a slightly more upscale neighborhood. Seeing that it was located in the back alley of what could hardly be called an upscale entertainment district, I could guess why this company had a bad reputation.

Blingkerton wouldn’t want people who just follow actors or directors around; they want those who bring reliable information and are good at fighting. I spit out the cigarette I was smoking and go up.

There was a noisy commotion inside the company as if a party was going on. Before knocking on the door, I peeked through a nearby window and could easily tell there was no need to check further.

They’re having quite a party with cocaine. If that detective had any sense, he wouldn’t have hired these guys. Nobody wants to work with drug addicts.

I should contact Blingkerton about this too. Just as I turned to go back down, someone rushed out the door, perhaps having seen me peeking. I go up the opposite way. There was no telling what drug addicts might do.

“Th-this guy’s from Blingkerton! It’s just, just a party, friend! One glass of this wine and you feel so motivated! Makes you feel like a boxer!”

He was babbling nonsense, having consumed who knows how much. He extended a glass to me, then looked at it as if wondering why he was offering it, before downing it himself.

Even without that, he couldn’t keep his body still, trembling constantly. Even after just three seconds of me not responding, he was clicking his tongue as if it was an unbearably unpleasant time, so I immediately reached out and grabbed him by the collar.

He seemed to see something and tried to dodge, but his body couldn’t keep up with his mind, and he only managed to step back half a pace. Addicts.

After pulling him by the collar, he tried to take out a pocket knife to stab me, but I grabbed that arm too and took him away from the door. The other bastards still didn’t seem to realize someone had left. Or they didn’t care.

After taking him to a corner of the building, I took away his pocket knife and threw it away. Consumed by the anxiety brought on by excitement, he was making strange noises, so I slapped him hard across the face. That seemed to bring him to his senses a bit.

I stomped on his fingers that were resting on the ground with the heel of my shoe. Covering his mouth to prevent him from screaming, I crushed them once, then took out the photo of the remaining fugitive detective and showed it to him.

“Has this bastard ever come to your office? If he hired you, tell me that too. Right now, you might just need bandages on your hand, but whether I remove your foot or not depends on your answer.”

I reach into his coat and find a pistol. It was even properly loaded. If I was going to shoot someone, it was better to use someone else’s gun than my own.

“Now, are you ready to answer? I’m ready to hear your answer.”

The drug addict, suddenly docile, nods. I remove my hand from his mouth and point his own gun at his forehead. Who would care about the death of an addict like him if I shot him?

“W-well, I could go in and find out…”

I tap his forehead with the gun barrel a couple of times.

“I-I’m in charge of reception, and he hasn’t come to me! At least not in the past month! We had a big job a month ago and were busy until last week. That job was…”

Seeing him about to ramble again, I strike his cheek with the gun handle. An ugly wound forms, and he quiets down.

He’s both excited and anxious, feeling like I might shoot him dead if he doesn’t spill everything he knows. Anyway, pain is the medicine.

“N-no, no, it wasn’t us! Really, it wasn’t!”

This isn’t the reaction of someone on cocaine telling a lie. When lying, they tend to ramble thirty times more than this. I grab him by the collar, throw him back into the building, turn around, and head to my car.

It’s unpleasant. I briefly saw French guys who drank such wine to stay awake in the trenches suffering after the war. Cocaine always followed veteran elf soldiers like a shadow.

Now for the last company. This one was in an even better neighborhood, with a proper sign that read “Your Good Friends” or something like that. It fits well with the upscale residential area.

“Good Friends” refers to the mafia’s semi-members, so I can guess who they’re involved with. It’s probably similar to the first company I visited, just bigger and more refined.

Leaving behind the stolen gun and keeping only my own in my coat, I head toward the building. Just like a bar, two security guards were stopping people from the front of the building.

“Stop. This is company private property from here on, and with the Blingkerton National Detective Agency…”

I can find out which mafia they’re involved with after I get in. I immediately show him the file with the collaborator’s seal on it. He nodded after checking it briefly.

“So you work with Blingkerton. May I search you? If you have any self-defense firearms like a pistol, please take them out.”

This seems to be the most polite doorkeeper I’ve encountered in the past week. I tap my chest a couple of times to indicate that I’ll take out the pistol from my coat, then pull it out.

The common 1911 pistol raised no suspicion. After confirming that the safety was properly engaged, he nodded and returned it.

“Don’t release the safety. And welcome. Good Friends will help you. Always.”

I hope “always” doesn’t include when you betray your client and company and run away. If they have ties to the mafia, they wouldn’t harbor traitors.

I should be safe for now, but I still need to find out what I can inside. I push open the door and arrive at a lobby where several receptionists are guarding the counters. I’d believe this was a real company.

“What brings you here? We haven’t received any contact regarding Blingkerton, perhaps…”

“I’m an external collaborator. I’d like to ask if your company has ever taken a job from this person. Could I see your records? As a Blingkerton external collaborator.”

Again, I open the file and show the detective’s face. The receptionist checks her own files for a moment and then shakes her head.

“You could check our records if you wish, but we don’t accept clients like that. Neither detectives who sell trust nor our good friends like traitors.”

“Let me check. From the time he was reported missing until today.”

I didn’t come just to hear one statement. I enter a proper record room with bookshelves lined up and receive documents from the past month with most numbers and letters redacted.

They’ve left only the first letters of names and only zeros at the end of amounts… This place is thorough with information management.

After searching through everything, it really seems like he never worked with this company. There were quite a few people with the same initials, but they were all spending money in the thousands of dollars.

If they’re not drug addicts who would be immediately exposed if they lied, and not a place that lends out five or six hired hands, it’s better to confirm with my own eyes like this.

Even if it meant having to read letters until my eyes popped out. Rubbing my eyes, I hand all the records back to the archivist in the record room and leave with a friendly greeting.

Well, all three were dead ends. I decided to head straight home to see if anything had been caught in the fishing lines I’d cast with Levi and the first company. On the way in… I need to eat something sweet. I can feel my blood sugar dropping.

Was there a donut shop nearby? Since donuts made by donut girls were the only snacks available in the trenches, they were the first thing that came to mind after coffee when I craved something sweet after coming back.

They were the only warm thing I could find in the trenches. Senior soldiers used to tease us, calling us kids who just eat donuts, but if I could eat a warm donut at the end of the day, such teasing seemed trivial. The teasing didn’t last long anyway.

I’m not sure, but I heard the head of some charity came to the trenches to make donuts. It seemed like a story from a war very different from the one I experienced, but the donuts I ate were real.

On my way back to the office, I spot a donut shop and park the car. There was nothing special about the store, but propaganda posters drawn in the style of the Great War era were plastered all over the outside of the windows.

Feeling the air saturated with the smell of sugar and oil, I open the door and enter. I hope there are still donuts left. They’re usually sold in the morning, so they probably wouldn’t be frying any this late in the afternoon.

The shop owner, who was reading a magazine while leaning on the counter, gets up when she sees a customer enter. She greets me warmly.

“It’s rare to see someone looking for donuts at this hour. All I have left are cold ones. Would you like those? I make them with the same spirit as in the trenches of the Great War!”

The donut shop owner was a goblin who seemed a year or two younger than me. Thinking she might have been a real donut girl, I warmly offered a joke.

“The spirit of making them in the trenches might remain, but not the desperation of eating warm donuts in cold, wet trenches. Give me five of the remaining donuts, please.”

At my words, the donut shop owner looked me up and down, then met my eyes with a surprised expression. She had a pointed nose like a goblin, with a small and pretty face.

“Were you a Great War veteran? Where were you from… I mean, I might have been the one who made the donuts you actually ate!”

Damn, I shouldn’t have given myself away. Now I’ll have to speak a name I don’t want to and receive praise I don’t want. Biting my lip, I considered just brushing it off and pretending to have trauma, but I decided to speak.

“I’m from the Argonne Invincibles. I didn’t have that many… chances to eat warm donuts.”

Now I had to endure. Gritting my teeth, I endure the words she pours out.

“Ah! ‘The Argonne Invincibles are going to grab the Kaiser by the collar!’ That Argonne Invincibles? Well, even though we were at the front lines too, the Argonne Invincibles always kept to themselves. By the time we brought fried donuts, you had already moved on to the next trench. Let me see… you’re not just showing off, are you? Ah! Were you baptized with the blood of the lamb? Were you purified?”

She must have been a veteran too, knowing the code phrase even if she didn’t understand its meaning. With a sigh, I give her the response.

“No, that was definitely not a lamb.”

As if now convinced, she smiled brightly.

“You really are one of them! Wait a moment, I’ll fry some fresh ones! But what does that code phrase mean? If not baptized with the blood of the lamb…”

There was an excuse agreed upon among the regiment members, though it wasn’t really a regiment. I decided to erase her suspicion by telling her that excuse.

“We often had to run to the front lines under bombardment, so we’d get covered in dirt mixed with gunpowder. We joked that we were baptized with gunpowder and dirt. That’s how it spread here.”

“What, that’s what it was? Then I should prepare donuts baptized with sugar, that would be perfect!”

Yes, somehow I managed to get through this one too. Probably.