Ch.51Ch.5 – The Dead City Dreams and Waits (6)

*Ding.*

As the sound of water echoed, a woman with her hair in two braids emerged alone from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron.

She appeared to be around forty, slightly plump, but with clear emerald eyes, fair skin, and dark freckles that gave her a remarkably kind appearance.

“Welcome.”

The restaurant was quite spacious, easily able to accommodate thirty to forty people.

The walls and floor were wooden, polished from consistent maintenance, though parts exposed to sunlight had faded in color.

Since it was well past lunchtime, we were the only customers. A baseball broadcast was playing on the radio.

The walls were adorned with darts, an Irish flag, photographs, and paintings.

The British flag had numerous knives stuck in it, and judging by the separate scoreboard beside it, it seemed to serve as some sort of target for competition.

“I see you’re first-time visitors.”

Crayfield smiled amiably.

“Country boys from Virginia paying their respects to the lady. What would be delicious for lunch? Excluding fish and chips, that is.”

The kind-hearted woman enthusiastically helped us choose from the menu. Then she went into the kitchen and began cooking.

The back door opened, and I heard a porter dropping off supplies, exchanging brief small talk with the proprietress.

Eventually, our table was set with rather standard fare: lightly cooked peas, buttered mashed potatoes, and mushroom-shaped pies filled with beef sirloin.

At the woman’s insistence, a separate plate of vinegar-sprinkled french fries was brought out. Crayfield initially didn’t touch them, but after one bite, he happily scraped the plate clean.

“I’ll bring you another plate. They’re good, aren’t they?”

“This is unexpected. Really unexpected. The vinegar sauce perfectly cuts through the greasiness and richness of the fries.”

“Back home, we’d pair meat with stout beer. It really brings out the umami flavor. There have been many good and bad things in this country, but not being able to drink Guinness is a misfortune. Of course, Guinness’s founder was an Englishman, but well. Beer has no nationality, right?”

Since there were no other customers, and Crayfield was clearly enjoying his meal, he and the proprietress engaged in quite a bit of conversation.

Though he was exaggerating his country bumpkin act, the tender-cooked beef combined perfectly with the pie and sauce—it couldn’t have been better.

“By the way, I imagine you must have been busy during lunch hours. I hope we’re not interrupting your rest period,” Crayfield asked casually while sipping his iced apple juice. A troubled smile flashed across the proprietress’s face.

“Not at all. Every customer is precious. But it’s been a long time since I’ve seen different faces. Usually, it’s just the regulars.”

“Goodness, you should advertise in the local newspaper. Not knowing about such an excellent establishment is a disgrace to this island.”

Somehow, those words seemed sincere. The proprietress smiled more awkwardly.

“Well. I might be spitting in my own face, but the city doesn’t listen to people like us. The newspapers are the same.”

“Why not?”

“Because we’re outsiders. Americans, but still outsiders.”

She was still smiling, but a bird named resignation briefly cast its shadow.

“Have you seen the burned building?”

“Fire? No. Was there a fire?”

“Ah. You must have come from downtown. Then you wouldn’t have seen it.”

The proprietress pointed in the direction opposite to where we had come from.

“There was a major fire. Several people were injured, but the city sent the fire brigade too late. They even sprayed water on the building next to the one on fire, not the burning one itself.”

“That’s unacceptable. Why do we pay taxes? Isn’t that what they’re for?”

“Who says it isn’t?”

An expression we had been hoping for appeared on the proprietress’s face. Slightly indignant, yet relieved to find someone who understood.

“But that’s nothing. Strange beasts roam around every night, and despite numerous complaints, they refuse to listen. They say such things don’t exist. But I’ve seen it. About the size of a person, with eyes blazing like torches, sniffing around like a dog.”

“A bear? Hey, do bears roam around on islands?”

Crayfield made a fuss.

“Judging by its size, one might think it’s a bear,” the proprietress pondered.

“But bears don’t grab onto bars and climb up buildings, do they? Especially not four stories high. Strange, isn’t it? People around here call it a werewolf. Loup-garou, they also say.”

“Wow.”

Crayfield’s eyes widened. The proprietress laughed heartily.

“Of course, you don’t believe me!”

“Oh my. People need romance in their lives. Besides, you said you saw it yourself, didn’t you? With claw marks on the walls?”

“Yes. You can still see plenty of them if you go outside now. Well, there haven’t been any stories of the werewolf eating or harming anyone yet. Though people have frequently encountered it on the streets at night! Anyway, because of that, the neighborhood has completely collapsed. As if it wasn’t bad enough with no new customers coming in, security getting worse by the day, and now monsters. We couldn’t hold on anymore.”

“You must be heartbroken.”

Still, the proprietress placed her hands on her hips with spirit.

“Well. I’ll overcome it. Just as there are never only easy days, there won’t be only difficult days either. There’s always a way. But to find it, you need to ask the right questions.”

“Really? How?”

“For instance.”

The proprietress snapped her fingers.

A sharp whistle sounded. Men with nail-studded clubs walked in from the alley.

From the kitchen, others emerged carrying hammers. They all had red cloth tied around their waists—the symbol of the Red-Headed O’Malleys.

“The question is, why would John Crayfield come here pretending to be a country bumpkin?”

“Wow.”

Crayfield had already drawn his revolver. The proprietress tilted her head slightly, as if daring him to try something. I also aimed at her.

“How did you know who I am? I don’t have much connection with the mafia. Did your husband commit adultery and try to hire me?”

“Well? He’s currently lying at the bottom of the Atlantic coast. And honestly, I’m not that interested in you, Quick-Shot.”

“What?”

Crayfield narrowed his eyes.

“That’s what everyone calls you, right? Quick-Shot.”

“What nonsense!”

“Seems I hit the mark. Actually, I didn’t know it was you. But quite a few people recognized your assistant. Didn’t your assistant tell you about the action at Sister Abyssinia’s bar?”

“He did. But I didn’t know this was an O’Malley regular spot. So what? Did you poison the food?”

“I was going to.”

The proprietress snapped her fingers again. The thugs sat down. Those without chairs leaned against the wall.

“You two were eating so deliciously that I was dumbfounded. Tell me, Quick-Shot. Why would an adultery specialist detective crawl all the way here?”

“Search.”

Crayfield kept his gun raised.

“Missing persons search. Looking for people who’ve disappeared. One vigilante, and Irish people who vanished from this street.”

“Four people. Five including that vigilante. We don’t know where they went. We were too busy putting out the fire.”

“What about the werewolf story?”

“It’s true. A werewolf the size of a man. It was too dark to see clearly, but it was incredibly agile. And it didn’t just appear here. Buzzwick Street. Whale Backbone Alley. All abandoned streets. Areas ignored by the White Hand, the city hall, and the police.”

“So that’s how you found us so quickly.”

“I’m sure I said it: ‘first-time visitors.’ We’ve been watching you since you set foot in this neighborhood. That’s how it is in all areas controlled by the O’Malleys. It’s like closing the barn door after the horse has bolted, but we can’t just sit idle.”

“Right, skilled cook.”

Crayfield sneered as he holstered his gun.

“So. What are you going to do? Beat me and my assistant, then hang us in front of city hall?”

“Eventually. After we’ve hanged everyone else, you two will be last. Thank your assistant, Crayfield. The reason we’re letting you go peacefully is that if we mess with your assistant again, Abyssinia won’t leave us alone. Instead.”

The proprietress smeared her lips.

“Find the missing people and return them to their families. We’ll reward you. And in the meantime, if you don’t provoke us, we won’t come after you.”

“Why don’t you do it yourselves?”

“We would have if we could.”

The proprietress shook her head.

“There’s no trace. We failed. And there are many more missing people. That’s what makes it stranger. It’s not just the Irish who are disappearing. Tourists. Petty thieves. People who came for one big score. People with no ties to this island are vanishing. The slums might be safer at this point. People there stick together.”

“How many have disappeared?”

“Twenty.”

The proprietress glared at Crayfield.

“Twenty that we know of. Twenty-five if you count those who vanished in the last fire. If our tracking is correct, the places where the werewolf appeared and where people disappeared are almost identical. But that’s all. Among the missing are illegal immigrants, of course. But there are also American citizens. Not just Irish. Poor whites. Italian beggars. Even Blacks and Chinese. No one cared about them until the O’Malley boss ordered an investigation.”

Crayfield silently took out his wallet. He placed the cost of the meal plus a small tip on the table.

I followed him toward the exit. Before stepping out, Crayfield turned around.

“Thanks for the meal.”

“Ally Sifrid.”

“Whatever.”

Under the gaze of the O’Malley members, we returned to the street. The sun beat down harshly as we walked toward the burned house. Even the sun seemed to glare at us in this neighborhood.

“Damn it. Twenty people missing. And what? A werewolf?”

Unable to contain his anger any longer, Crayfield stopped in the shadow of a building. He lit a Camel.

“Alright. Stay calm. We need to stay calm. Assistant, let’s think. Twenty-five people have disappeared. And this city wouldn’t have noticed if criminals weren’t actively searching for them. Fine, I’m the same. But, assistant, let’s say these twenty-five people are being held somewhere. Where in this city could someone keep that many missing people without a trace?”

I silently looked across the alley toward downtown. The jagged buildings of Pollard City resembled the lower teeth of a massive whale.

It was as if it were opening its jaws wide, ready to swallow even the sun.