Ch.39Request Log #006 – Hunting the Hunter (4)

After enduring this moment, a sweet reward always comes back. A truly sweet reward indeed. She brings me a paper bag filled with freshly fried donuts and hands it to me.

“I won’t charge you! Just seeing someone like you here is payment enough! Well then, goodbye!”

Despite her cheerful voice, I can’t muster any energy as I leave holding the donut bag that’s becoming soaked with oil. I pick up one with sugar melting appetizingly from the heat and bite into it as I head home.

My chest felt tight from eating donuts without water, but I didn’t want to let the hot donuts get cold. It was one of the few things I saw during the Great War that still carried human warmth.

After returning home, I immediately sat in my office chair. After checking the gun I’d half-stolen, I took out the silencer I’d used before and attached it to my pistol.

I don’t know how many hired men there are, but having one spare gun should be enough. Since I’d filled my stomach with donuts, I skip dinner and wait for contact from the company that hired me yesterday.

Just after eight o’clock, the phone starts ringing. I answer immediately. Fortunately, it was the call I’d been waiting for.

“Is this Mr. Husband~? Well, we called our boys to check, and one gang seems to be missing. Luckily, a couple guys were still at their hideout, so we asked some questions… and apparently a Blingkerton detective hired them away. That bastard? We got an address, want to check it out?”

“This is Husband. Give it to me right away. Didn’t expect today’s only lead would come from the least expected place.”

“Hey, that’s a bit harsh. We’re hardworking people too. They hired five men, and the address is…”

It wasn’t a proper address. They only knew the street name in the outskirts of New York where there were many vacant houses. No rest for me, I suppose. I get up immediately.

“Right, right. Anyway, I’ll look around and call you back. I should be back by midnight, so wait for me. Got it?”

“Do we look like good little boys who go to bed at 9 o’clock sharp? If you call in the evening, use this number. It’s for a bar nearby—I’m there every day.”

I should remember that Prohibition is still on the books. He quite boldly mentioned a bar before hanging up.

I’m hardly one to talk, considering I’d be at another speakeasy if not for work. I immediately put two guns in my shoulder holster and grab a tool bag from the closet before heading out. I put the bag in the trunk and start driving.

The undeveloped outskirts of New York had many vacant houses. A haven for vagrants, fugitives, and criminals. I slowly look around the streets, thinking about where he might be hiding.

Where would a fugitive most likely hide? There were houses with lights on here and there. I decide to check the largest house first and park my car in front.

And then, a clue pops up. As soon as I stop the car, the silhouette of binoculars appears through a gap in the curtained window and then disappears. Yes, there’s only one person who would use binoculars here.

I watch a bit longer. Perhaps the man with the binoculars ordered someone to check, because a shabby-looking man with a gun in his hand throws the curtain open and sticks his face to the window.

He probably can’t see clearly inside my car since I parked where there are no streetlights. Seeing the man throw the curtain wide open, the man with binoculars rushes out, pulls him away, and hurriedly closes the curtain.

The room was bright, and it was dark outside, so I could see their faces. It was indeed the fugitive detective I was after. I never thought I’d have to thank stupid gang members.

I memorize the location of that room. It was right across from me, so it must be the bedroom immediately to the right after entering the house. I’ll need to enter that separately.

I get out of the car and grab my bag from the trunk. First, instead of a gun, I take out an ice pick and a reliable hammer. I could subdue one person with these and get in.

Not wanting to leave footprints, I take out military boots and put them on over my shoes. Yehoel once told me that if shoe prints are left in blood, they can be used to track someone.

After confirming the binoculars don’t reappear, I cross the street and stand slightly to the side of the front door. With the pick positioned outside the peephole lens, I knock on the door with my elbow while holding the hammer.

“Urgent delivery! Coming from Little Eire, is the recipient here?”

I call out in a suitably raised voice. If I said it was from Blingkerton, they’d be suspicious, but saying it’s from Little Eire shouldn’t raise too much suspicion. I hear whispering from inside the house.

Then footsteps. Someone was approaching the door, grumbling. I could easily break the lock on this door, but I didn’t want to break it with an armed person standing behind it.

Soon, a presence approaches the door, and I feel movement as they try to check the visitor through the lens. When the breathing comes right up to the door, I push the pick’s handle with the hammer, driving it through.

“Ah, aaagh! My eye!”

I immediately drop the tools, grab the doorknob with one hand, and tear it off using abnormal strength. I hook my fingers on the doorknob hole and open the door.

I draw my gun from my chest and immediately fire two shots into his head for confirmation. Police don’t care when gang members die. The “neighbors” around here won’t care either.

Another gang member comes running at the sound of gunshots, but his footsteps were too loud. I wait with my gun aimed and put two bullets in the side of his head the moment he peeks out.

Not many people in this world get to leave last words. Most just make choking sounds as they suffocate on their own blood before stiffening. These gang members are no different.

At least the one shot in the head dies quietly. Now that they know a gunfight is happening, no one is carelessly walking out anymore.

I’ve taken down two, with four left including the detective. At least two should be in the bedroom on the right, and the rest either in the living room further in or in the closed room on the left.

At this point, I should let them know who’s come calling. I take out the stolen gun without a silencer and fire four consecutive shots at about head height at the closed door visible on the left.

I hear groaning from inside the door. Someone with a gun doesn’t open the door. Standing at the door with a gun ready to shoot whoever opens it isn’t a good choice.

Seeing blood flowing from the door gap, I walk through the blood puddle with my booted feet. I hear shouting from the bedroom on the right. Another gang member must have been standing by the door.

“Don’t stand by the door! The guy in the utility room is probably already dead, so…”

Either my hearing is better than I thought, or this house has poor soundproofing. I could even faintly hear the sound of someone banging on the wall from inside that bedroom, as if urging someone to come out.

If they send the remaining ones to me, I’d welcome it. At the sound of the wall banging, a gang member rushes out with a gun, and I put two bullets in his chest. He falls without even pulling the trigger.

The one left in the living room won’t come out now. No one would come out to get shot with two corpses piled up in front of them. Now I move backward. If they used those two as bait, there’s only one place the detective would target.

I straddle the utility room door where I put bullets and look alternately at both sides. The tip of the fugitive detective’s gun briefly glints in the moonlight outside the door.

I aim my gun at about knee height. And the moment the glint outside the door disappears, I pull the trigger. I had to anticipate the blink spell that Blingkerton detectives use.

And this time, it seems to have worked. A bullet lodges in the knee of the detective who teleported into this corridor to get behind me. Were you planning to put a bullet in the back of my head?

Despite the terrible pain, I fire another shot at the wrist of the detective who’s trying to raise his gun. After enduring the first shot by gritting his teeth, a sound bursts from his mouth.

“Ah, argh! These useless… these useless bastards…”

Is he trying to say he shouldn’t have entrusted his life to them? He was trying to somehow grab his wrist and pull the trigger, but he couldn’t move below his wrist as if the connection was completely severed.

I throw away the stolen gun and take his revolver. He probably had more weapons for close combat, but those would only be useful if his knee wasn’t damaged.

His revolver felt quite heavy and good to hold. It seems like an expensive item—why would he carry such a thing and break his promise with a client, only to be hunted down? I don’t even try to understand.

I hear the sound of a door opening from far away. The one in the living room must have escaped through the back door. I lean against the wall next to the bedroom and knock on the bedroom door with my fist.

As soon as I knock, gunfire erupts. Thinking I’d be standing in front of the door knocking, he fires all seven shots, then I hear the sound of him removing the magazine to reload urgently.

If he had loaded one round in the chamber beforehand, he could have fired eight shots. This time, I approach the door with the fugitive detective’s revolver. Looking at the panicked gang member’s face through the bullet holes in the door, I fire all six remaining rounds in the chamber. The gunfire, amplified several times by being indoors, was deafening in the acrid air.

I’m covered in scattered gunpowder after firing. I throw the now-empty detective’s revolver to the floor. I twist his good wrist and drag him into the bedroom.

After throwing him by the bedside, I sit on the surprisingly soft bed and look down at him.

I didn’t bother saying where I came from. He knew, and I didn’t feel the need to mention it. But I did have one thing to tell him.

“Your client was hoping you’d keep your promise, detective. So next time, they sent a detective who didn’t promise to give up his soul.”

Since he was gritting his molars as if determined to keep his mouth shut, I release his wrist and clench my index finger. I shake my head while tapping the floor a few times with my boot heel.

“I learned at Blingkerton too. If you’ve experienced it, you should know what it feels like to be on the receiving end… Do I really need to make you open your mouth? Or shall we share some comfort?”

I sense movement outside the building. Has the one who escaped through the back door returned? I immediately go under the bed and cover the fugitive detective’s mouth.

I’d left both the stolen gun and his revolver outside, so he couldn’t secretly take any weapons from me. I could focus solely on the presence outside.

Another series of gunshots rings in my ears. Five shots. So there should be at least two bullets left in the magazine—did he stop shooting because he thought I was dead? He’ll just run away. This is getting annoying.

Soon, an orc with chattering teeth, apparently trembling, peeks into the house. He doesn’t seem to have seen me hiding under the windowsill, pressing down on the fugitive detective’s mouth.

“De-detective? You alive? I… I didn’t run away…”

I aim my silenced gun at the protruding head, targeting under the chin, and fire two shots. The orc’s body hangs heavily on the windowsill, his face in an unsightly state.

Now all five men he hired are finished. I still had two bullets left in my gun, so I could handle any unexpected situations. No angels came flying in.

People report a single gunshot, but if they hear ten or twenty shots exchanged, they cover their ears with pillows and try to sleep. It’s not something they need to get involved in. Just a nuisance.

No one is left to come for this fugitive. Having lost his last card, he finally opens his mouth.

“What are you going to do now? Cut my throat and stop the bleeding, then make me decide whether to die or have my mind merged into that Hive Mind?”

“Seems like both you and I learned from Blingkerton. Of course I will. Or I could treat you more gentlemanly if you behave until The Idealists arrive.”

Though he bites his lip in disgust, he starts to bluff. He seems well aware that he’s cornered.

“Calling those commie bastards… at least give me a cigarette. You won’t make me light it with this hand, will you?”

I pull over the phone in the room and call the number The Idealists left in their file. After a brief connection tone, an emotionless voice begins to speak.

“Yes, All-American Idealists Union, New York branch. How may I help you? The Hive Mind is currently resting, so…”

Only the mind remains, yet it still takes its rest regularly.

“You’re connected anyway. This is Husband. I’ve caught that detective, so… send someone to merge his consciousness. The address is…”

After giving just the address, I hang up without waiting for a response. The fugitive detective, clutching his wrist to stop the bleeding, barely manages to cough out a laugh.

“Damn it, I should have worked like that too… Treat those bastards like people and this shit happens. Hey, you son of a bitch. Where’s my cigarette? You’re just doing your job…”

Without saying anything, I put a cigarette in his mouth, then punch him square in the face with my gloved hand. His nose gets crushed and some teeth break, but it shouldn’t affect the consciousness merging.

“If you’d kept quiet, you could have had a smoke before dying, but the milk’s already spilled.”

Only after my fist hits his face does his bluff fade, replaced by an expression full of anxiety and fear. The change in his expression was vivid. He must have realized there would be no minimum courtesy.

He tries to open his mouth as if to say something. Due to the fist that hit his face, his pronunciation is comically slurred. Judging by the way he’s adding such words, it must be a plea.

“Hey, hey. Wait, wait a sec. Anyway, I, I know I’ll be eaten by those bastards. But…”

“Not interested. If it was really important, you would have done it instead of holing up here with these gang members trying to live one more day. Isn’t that right?”

I didn’t want to hear him talk anymore, and if he bit his tongue and choked to death, it would be troublesome, so I tear the bed sheet and gag him. Now it’s pleasantly quiet.

In front of him, I put a cigarette in my mouth and light it by gathering mana at my fingertips. Not long after making the phone call, another car arrives on the street, and terminals controlled by the Hive Mind arrive from it.

One of the terminals connects to the Hive Mind and enters the house, stroking his chin as if finding it interesting as he steps through the blood puddles. He looks down at the gagged fugitive detective sitting there, then shifts his gaze to me.

“Didn’t I say it would take a long time? Catching him on the first day is quite surprising.”

“If this guy had been the last one, it would have taken a month. So this is the first catch. Just eat him already.”

“Consciousness merging is not eating. The human mind…”

“Right, whether you eat it or consume it, just do it quickly. Are we done?”

After consistently showing complete lack of understanding, I watch as the Idealist terminal places his hand on the detective’s head. I turn my head away. Soon, a terrible scream erupts from behind the gag… and then he rises again.

He stumbles as his knee gives way while getting up, but two nearby terminals catch him and properly lift him up. He has become one of the Idealists’ terminals, without a self.

“The terminal needs some repairs. Still, it’s an excellent condition terminal. I’ve also learned more about detectives… Satisfactory. See you when you find the next fugitive, detective.”

I respond with just a nod of my chin. For now, I need to wash off the gunpowder splattered on my clothes and get some sleep. My eyes are already dry.