Ch.50Ch.5 – The Dead City Dreams and Waits (5)

Before getting out of the car, James carefully folded the coat he had been wearing as a disguise. Though he was told it wasn’t necessary, he insisted.

Only after placing his handkerchief, hat, and glasses neatly on the seat did he step out into a suitably secluded alley.

Now the man who had attacked the White Hand warehouse just moments ago was gone. Though his dark skin remained the same, James had returned to being a vigilante member awaiting his duty assignment.

There was still some time before he would be deployed to his post on the East Coast, enough to grab a quick bite.

“Bit of a shame. If it were just a month later, the beach would be full of scantily clad people.”

“Good heavens, Mr. Crayfield. Are all the people here like this? His manner of speaking is quite something.”

“If you’re talking about that federal agent who sat next to me, he’s not from around here. You heard him. Washington style, he said.”

“It’s dizzying. I’ll be in touch soon. I’ll let you know if I find anything.”

James strode triumphantly through the alleyways.

“It might be a relief if he got shot, but then again, he’d probably just start a new game and come back.”

Crayfield started the car.

“At least now he’ll be on duty, so he can’t cause much trouble in the meantime. While he’s occupied, let’s start our investigation. First, we should go to Mostin Street. Check out the fire scene and talk to the residents. Know any Irish food?”

Concerned about possible surveillance, Crayfield decided to drive a bit slower.

He waited in the alley before starting the engine, repeatedly checked for followers in his rearview mirror, and made several U-turns to confuse his trail.

Meanwhile, I took out my notebook and organized the situation so far.

The current state of affairs is as follows:

It’s clear that James Chidle’s quest is to find his father-in-law. The Doomsday Clock advanced when we found clues about him.

The key question is whether finding his father-in-law is the ‘current’ quest, but is it the ‘ultimate final goal’?

“It’s what you’d call a chain quest. Complete one quest, and a follow-up quest appears. Given the complexity of this matter, I doubt it will simply end with finding Karl Böhm, a German vigilante.”

Karl Böhm was deployed to the Mostin Street fire scene but was somehow ‘kidnapped’ by fellow vigilantes.

To avoid confusion, let’s call the vigilantes from outside ‘vigilantes,’ and those who are descendants of whalers who have lived on Pollard Island for generations, natives, and essentially the personal guard of Mayor Black, ‘whalers.’

Karl Böhm was kidnapped by the ‘whalers.’ And among those kidnapped were also people from Mostin Street.

The White Hand set fire to the houses on Mostin Street, but it was the mayor who ordered it. The mayor is controlling the White Hand.

According to Aurora Savio, both Isaiah Black and Arthur Black, the father-son mayors, appear to have had a relationship with the White Hand for a very long time.

But Aurora’s words can’t be taken at face value. Fortunately, Crayfield had information. Though not fully updated, it’s still valid.

“That’s probably right. The White Hand becomes the mayor’s faithful dog, and the mayor covers for the White Hand. Isn’t that how the relationship between the mafia, city hall, and police works everywhere? Especially the ‘old boys,’ including Joe Torio who met his end beneath the sewers, had deep collusive relationships.”

But now the old boys are gone. The ‘Father’ is still around, but it was somewhat doubtful whether Aurora’s subordinates would also be loyal to Mayor Black.

So Mayor Black ordered sabotage to test whether the rejuvenated Italian dogs would follow his orders.

And currently, that attempt appears to have succeeded.

“So the questions are these: First, why did Mayor Black specifically order a terror attack on that building? Second, why did the ‘whalers’ kidnap other vigilantes and Irish people, and where did they take them? And in broad daylight when there might be witnesses. That’s practically begging to be seen. Third, how much of Aurora Savio’s testimony can we trust?”

Reaching the last point, Crayfield sighed.

“A mafia executive with mental issues.”

Let’s turn the clock back a bit. Not the Doomsday Clock, of course.

This is the story of when I, Scully, Crayfield, and James departed from 22 Gorge Street.

In the car, Catherine Scully explained how she would provoke her. It was the method Crayfield had called utterly immoral.

“The three Savio siblings were exposed to abuse and violence from childhood. Giovanni Savio and his wife didn’t raise children. They cultivated organization members. And very harshly at that. From what we’ve gathered, the eldest son grew up meeting his parents’ expectations. And he took out the anger he received on those weaker than him, namely his two younger siblings.”

With the caveat of “perhaps,” Scully explained that this might have been the only way Giovanni knew how to deal with people. Having lived his entire life within the organization with no other experiences, he treated even his family as part of the organization. The only human relationships he knew were submission and resistance.

“Unfortunately, Aurora was almost the only one in that household who could think normally. So she endured the violence intact and tried to protect her younger brother. This is the result of cross-referencing the psychological analysis records of Aurora Savio and her brother Michael Savio. So Aurora was broken, but she was at least able to protect Michael. Of course, that means relatively normal, so be careful. There are reports that Michael also has personality issues. Giovanni’s plans began to falter after an unexpected event—when his eldest son, who was considered the heir to the organization, got caught in a shooting incident and passed away.”

The death of the eldest son was deeply connected to the ‘second assistant,’ one of my predecessors. The ‘left hand’ at that time was Joe Torio, wasn’t it? I knew it, so Crayfield probably knew it too, but he didn’t show any particular reaction.

“Aurora secretly enlisted in the military. She served as a medical officer and crossed the line of fire several times on intense battlefields. Michael Savio becoming an officer was probably due to her influence.”

“Why did Aurora leave the service?” James Chidle had asked from the back seat.

“Mental issues. The terrifying experiences of her childhood were compounded by nightmares from the war. Instead of treating her, the military hastily discharged her. They threw away the burden, you could say. Of course, they omitted the mention of mental issues and added a clause that she couldn’t perform normal duties due to asthma. She did have asthma symptoms, and at that time, the concept of discharge due to mental issues wasn’t widely known. As a result, she had nowhere to go. The legitimate world wouldn’t accept her, and in the underworld, she was like a high-value princess. Other mafia groups wouldn’t leave her alone. So she returned to Pollard Island. Back to the family that had raised her to be a monster.”

Catherine Scully paused briefly. She seemed to be organizing her thoughts.

“Remember, Aurora is a snake with deadly venom. She caused problems wherever she went. She’s filled with fear that she’ll be attacked someday, so she divides everyone around her to remove herself from being a target.”

“But we’re going to meet Aurora now, aren’t we?”

“I’m not afraid of snakes.”

Scully took a deep breath.

“I’m going to provoke her. The values she believes in are whether to be dominated or to dominate. She seems to fear losing authority over her subordinates more than being under someone else’s foot. So I’m going to touch her weakest point, stimulate her emotions, and make her explode.”

Crayfield had asked in a disgusted tone.

“You’re going to bring up her family?”

“You’re clever. When consumed by anger and hatred, one’s mind doesn’t work properly. Let’s see if she’s lying even then. Emotions are like gunpowder. When it all burns up, only ashes remain. I’ll make her wear herself out.”

That was the point where Crayfield had stuck out his tongue at Catherine Scully, calling her “low, vile, and without a shred of dignity.”

I put down my pen.

Perhaps the reason Aurora Savio takes a particular interest in me is due to her temperament—her attempt to foster division and conflict. It’s good for making observers wonder if there’s something others don’t know.

But it’s hard to say that’s all there is to it.

When we met at Joe Torio’s funeral, there was no one around me. At that time, she pressed her lipstick-marked lips onto the envelope containing documents.

That was clearly a gesture that could be seen as goodwill. With no one around me, who could she have been trying to divide?

Catherine Scully’s change is even harder to understand. When I saw her at Arkham, she seemed closer to being a doctor. Like a chief specialist making cold judgments in a rapidly changing operating room, she meticulously tried to control the situation.

Among rough people, that was certainly an admirable demeanor.

But the woman I met today seems closer to a Federal Security Bureau agent. Someone who doesn’t mind digging into someone’s weaknesses to achieve her goals. Even the sharpness of using her expertise as a weapon.

Her declaration that all of it was done under calculation was somewhat chilling.

But when Crayfield asked what I was thinking about so deeply, I answered with a completely different question.

Crayfield had said in the office that Mostin Street was one of Red-haired O’Malley’s money laundering locations and a major commercial district. But according to Scully, Mostin Street was in such dire straits that it couldn’t properly pay its tribute. To the extent that even the White Hand wasn’t interested.

“That point bothers me a lot too. There’s no internet in this era to collect the latest information from all over the world, but Mostin Street is one of the places I keep an eye on. Just a month ago, it was definitely a thriving street. When I heard Agent Scully’s words, I thought it was very unexpected too. So, let’s get ready to get out. The street in question is right in front of us.”

Crayfield’s standard Ford slowly came to a stop at the side of an alley.

* * * * *

1929. 5. 10. PM 1:45

Mostin Street, Pollard City

Mostin Street is an alley densely packed with three and four-story buildings.

The first two floors are used as shops, and the upper floors are residential areas, known to have been inhabited by the middle class during times of prosperity.

When the fire on Main Street led to the creation of a new downtown, the middle class all moved there.

Those who followed them were Irish merchants who had legally come to America and were conducting normal business.

And many of them now form the current Chamber of Commerce and Industry. They are the financial backers and official spokespersons for the city councilors who oppose Mayor Black.

But even the city councilors were helpless against the blatant discrimination and deliberate negligence that was systematically carried out.

As rumors spread that this was a foreign district with not much money but plenty to take, robbery incidents surged.

Mayor Black and the police were reluctant to dispatch forces here.

As wealth accumulated but security deteriorated, non-Irish people quickly fled the street, while the Irish banded together to form a resistance force.

It was during this time that an alliance with Red-haired O’Malley, who was looking to expand his influence, emerged. This is the information Crayfield previously knew.

But what on earth happened to this street in just a month that left it so vulnerable to the White Hand’s attack?

“Doesn’t something seem off?”

It was strange at first glance. There were too many vacant spaces in the first and second-floor shopping areas.

It wasn’t simply a matter of being on vacation or not a business day; there were no goods in the stores at all.

One in three households was empty, and among them, quite a few had piles of bills and newspapers stacked in front of their entrances.

Crayfield and I rummaged through the paper piles, examining newspaper publication dates and bill dates.

The most common were piles of papers accumulated from two weeks ago, and there were quite a few from three weeks ago. But none exceeded a month.

This is evidence that this street has been in decline for just three weeks.

The doors and windows were also strange.

Of course, it’s understandable to reinforce with iron bars in a neighborhood with unstable security.

But it seems unnecessary to put iron bars on third-floor windows in addition to the second floor. If there were a fire, people would have difficulty escaping.

Moreover, the ends of those bars were sharp and facing the street. It even gave the impression of thrusting windows outward from inside the building.

The street itself was like a defensive, curled-up hedgehog.

“This is troubling.”

Shaking his head, Crayfield pushed open the door of a nearby restaurant.