Ch.53Ch.5 – The Dead City Dreams and Waits (8)

# May 11, 1929. 8:47 AM

Gorde Street No. 21

Bloody Nail Restaurant

There had been no contact from the protagonist by the time we finished breakfast at the restaurant. The clock still showed 2 o’clock.

Crayfield and I ordered coffee and biscuits, but even with three spoonfuls of sugar, they tasted bitter.

“Our protagonist seems much more incompetent than I thought.”

This is troublesome.

Time isn’t on our side. The longer this stalemate continues, the more people the Black Market will kidnap. And they’ll continue advancing their own schemes.

Eventually, the protagonist will reach the scene of that conspiracy, and then the Doomsday Clock will tick upward rapidly. Just like last time in Arkham.

“What can we do? We’ll have to spoon-feed them. We need to set the stage, draw in the Black Market, and make the protagonist confront the problem.

That way, we can prevent those sharp spikes. It’s a question of lump sum versus installments, and installments are easier to pay off.”

Despite his words, Crayfield was visibly anxious. Because of me.

“I’d make a perfect wingman for you. But we never know when this idiot protagonist will contact us.”

It was around 9 o’clock when we left the restaurant. We hailed a taxi and asked to be taken to a flower shop in the busy district. I asked the driver to wait a moment, then went inside.

The well-tended flowers of various colors were vibrant and fragrant. Thinking that pollen might not be good for someone with respiratory issues, I asked if they had any artificial flowers.

“Of course. We have very affordable ones and some that are more expensive than real flowers. Would you like to see them?”

A blue rose made of silk caught my eye. Its color and texture were so realistic that it felt like a genuine rose up close. Except, of course, for the fact that blue roses don’t exist in nature.

It cost as much as five bouquets of real flowers, but it seemed worth it.

* * * * *

# May 11, 1929. 9:41 AM

Truman Avenue, Pollard City

H & S Logistics Warehouse

I entered through the main gate of the warehouse. As expected, the White Hand mafia wasn’t particularly welcoming.

Before the porters could throw punches at me, the warehouse manager stopped them.

He remembered what Aurora Savio had told me. That next time I should come alone and bring flowers.

The man apparently hadn’t taken those words as a mere joke.

Perhaps Aurora was the type of boss who disguised orders as jokes, only to ask “Did you do that thing?” just when you thought she’d forgotten.

That’s what bosses are like. Characters who mix jokes and serious talk in a way that ensures their words are never taken lightly.

Though Aurora might not be entirely sane, she certainly knew how to command her subordinates like a true Savio.

After waiting about thirty minutes, Aurora appeared, personally driving the Duesenberg Model J coupe I had seen at Antonio Salvatore’s funeral mass.

She still wore a men’s suit and a white glove on her left hand, but her hairstyle had changed.

The hair on the left side was cut short to just below her ear, while the rest had thick S-shaped waves cascading down past her right shoulder.

It seemed she had carefully styled it to compensate for the hair Catherine Scully had shot off.

Still, it suited her red hair, olive skin, distinct features, and the beauty mark below her left lip quite well.

Her black eyes still rippled with red haze, her mouth was twisted, and her lipstick was bright red.

Just like before, she truly resembled a wild horse now.

Elegant, fierce, and completely untamable. The embodiment of lawlessness, so unpredictable that no one would even dare try to possess her.

“Pff. Pff. You really brought flowers…”

Aurora snatched the blue artificial rose from my hand. She smelled it, carefully caressed the petals, then stared directly at me.

“It’s fake.”

I replied that I thought bringing real flowers to an asthmatic would be stupid.

Aurora seemed about to angrily throw the flower away, but then changed her mind and held it in her left hand. Her lips moved slightly, and she bowed her head a little.

“Ha. What’s this? Are you being considerate of me? In this situation? Being too polite won’t make me any happier. I hope you understand that…”

Her voice trailed off as she blinked a couple of times. She tilted her chin upward, looking down at me as if from a height, and asked:

“So. Why are you here?”

I showed her the list I had prepared.

I wanted to know which exact district in this area belonged to Red-Haired Omeli, and where the White Hand was preparing to attack.

With each word I uttered, the surrounding mafia members’ expressions grew more uncomfortable, as if I were dropping bricks on their feet.

However, they were all watching Aurora for cues. Ironically, she was the calmest person in the room.

“Borders are always changing. They change moment by moment. We’re winning right now. So this is a very unwelcome request.

Tell me, let’s say I give you this information. What can you give me in return? What can you do for the White Hand?”

Time to bluff.

I sold out Catherine Scully’s name. I said she was preparing something big, and if Aurora gave me this information, I could tell her how to prepare for Scully’s attack.

As soon as I finished speaking, the White Hand mafia members erupted into noisy chatter.

My words were essentially a threat to them, so they couldn’t remain silent.

But Aurora alone remained quiet. Her eyes were on me, but her left hand, lowered beneath the table, was stroking the fake flower petals.

Finally, she declared:

“Oh. I’m not interested in that. Whatever the Federal Bureau of Security is planning, whatever surprise that Scully woman is preparing.

It’s not really a surprise anyway. Henry Payne, that guy, has been watching us like a corpse fly for quite some time.

No good. The stake you’ve prepared doesn’t appeal to me. Not. At. All. So.”

This wasn’t enough, it seemed. Various thoughts raced through my mind as Aurora stood up.

“Let me make a proposal. Until 6 PM, devote four hours entirely to me. If you satisfy me by the deadline, I might tell you about a couple of places.

But if you disappoint me, this flower will go to Crayfield. Then he’ll place it on your grave in the Southern Cemetery.”

There was no hint of joking in her demeanor. I agreed.

“Then get up and walk to my car. And get in the passenger seat.”

It was like ordering a dog, but I swallowed my pride. I couldn’t let momentary emotions ruin the job.

Behind me, I heard metallic sounds, shouts, and low curses, but I didn’t look back.

I only worried about what would satisfy this deranged woman.

Aurora started the engine. The exhaust note was solemn, like a military band’s drums. The coupe tore down the road like a shark biting into its prey.

“Let’s go to the department store first. Your clothes are garbage. It’s irritating me.”

While waiting at a traffic light, Aurora threw her left glove and the blue artificial flower onto the back seat. I kept my mouth shut, having nothing particular to say.

“Shut up.”

I replied that I hadn’t said anything. Aurora snapped:

“You were about to. Shut up.”

Despite it not being particularly hot, Aurora was sweating. The leather wrapped around the steering wheel was especially damp.

When I took out a handkerchief from my pocket and offered it to her, she wiped her hands as if gripping a rosin bag before a pitcher throws a ball.

Then she naturally wrapped it around her left hand as if it were her own. Suddenly, like a startled snake, Aurora jerked her head backward.

“I knew those bastards would do this. I told them not to follow me.”

It seems even the great Aurora can’t have everything her way. Perhaps it was Giovanni’s orders.

Still, nothing unusual happened until we reached the department store in the busy district.

# May 11, 1929. 10:21 AM

Busy District, Pollard City

Grand Jelly Department Store

“Don’t drag your feet. Even a slave would walk with more dignity.”

Though Aurora growled quietly, I followed without complaint. A promise is a promise. Aurora is the one holding the information.

“Lift your chin. Are you here for a fight? Are you planning to box with the clerk, standing so stiffly?

Eyes forward. Don’t look at your feet while walking. Look ahead. Shoulders back, pull in your back. Don’t stick your neck forward.

Do I have to teach you everything? Don’t answer so weakly.

Think of your voice as an awl that you’re driving into that wall, and speak accordingly.”

Perhaps nagging is how Aurora controls her subordinates. Looking at each point individually, they’re certainly helpful tips.

The kind of advice you’d find in any decent self-help book about how attitude determines results.

But I didn’t appreciate having them thrown at me so aggressively.

Still, I did as Aurora instructed. At least until she dragged me by the collar into a corner.

“Open your wallet.”

I wondered if she was going to take my money now. But she did the opposite. Aurora opened her purse and stuffed all her bills into my wallet.

High-denomination bills, checks. When the money wouldn’t fit, Aurora removed all my small change and filled the wallet with high-value notes until it could barely fold.

“Follow me.”

She headed to the women’s clothing department. Perhaps because the clerk was watching, she didn’t order me to sit down.

While I waited in a suitable chair, Aurora selected as many clothes as she could and handed them to the clerk, then took her to the changing room with a small tip.

As I waited, I spotted several White Hand members pretending to be customers while monitoring us. They made no effort to hide their presence.

Eventually, Aurora emerged in her changed outfit.

“How do I look?”

It was a typical flapper style. A skirt that came just above the knees, a low waist that didn’t emphasize her figure.

I shook my head. Such a style might suit someone small, flat-chested, and petite, but it didn’t match Aurora’s sensual figure at all.

It looked like a one-piece pajama forced onto her body. And above all, it was a style that had been fashionable two years ago.

The clerk gave Aurora a look that seemed to say “I told you so,” but Aurora appeared satisfied.

“I like that you don’t nod like a pigeon at everything. Next.”

The next outfit was a modest golf outfit made of tweed knit material.

It had a white base with black fabric along the collar and front buttons, and the skirt had room around the hips.

Unlike most women, Aurora didn’t like wearing cloche hats, but at the clerk’s insistence, she reluctantly pulled one down to just above her eyebrows.

I gave a common-sense answer that she should wear a hat if she didn’t want her face to get sunburned while playing golf.

Aurora didn’t say much, but she included the hat in her purchase.

Next was a dress. A silk day dress with a high waistline that sat higher than normal clothing, which suited Aurora particularly well due to her long legs.

The neckline was cut low, revealing her upper cleavage, but a long pearl necklace draped in two layers prevented it from looking vulgar.

She wore long gloves that reached above her elbows, black stockings, and low-heeled shoes to complete the look.

Except for its pale white color, the outfit suited her well. The extreme whiteness made her olive skin look even darker by contrast.

The clerk seemed to share my opinion, subtly suggesting other colors.

“But.”

Aurora hesitated, pointing to her side.

“Wouldn’t white be better if I want to pin a blue rose here?”

I replied that she could buy flowers to match any color she chose. It doesn’t look good when a person is dragged along by their clothes, I added.

Aurora glared at me and muttered something incomprehensible: “Easy. Just buy whatever. Right?”

Fortunately, the clerk came to my aid. She brought out a plain white cloche hat, explaining that pinning a blue rose on the side would look quite stylish.

“Hmm.”

I nodded in agreement. This time I didn’t object. The clerk, seemingly excited, brought dresses in other colors.

Aurora held up different colored dresses in front of the mirror but seemed somewhat unsure. I suggested wine red.

“Wow.”

The clerk was even more impressed. Instead of the wild mare she had been moments ago, Aurora was transformed into an exotic woman with passion contained beneath a composed dress.

Perhaps due to the genuine admiration, Aurora’s face reddened slightly, and she even stammered a bit.

“P-pay. What are you waiting for?”

The clerk was delighted to receive the full amount in cash, and I suddenly became a shopping bag carrier. Aurora called one of her subordinates standing at a distance to take my bags.

“Let’s have lunch.”

On our way to the restaurant area, everyone on the street looked at Aurora. It wasn’t simply because she wasn’t wearing anything on her head.

Aurora anxiously looked around, but after hearing my comment that it was because her dress was pretty, she walked with long, confident strides, looking straight ahead. Like a racehorse showing off its mane.

* * * * *

# May 11, 1929. 12:07 PM

Busy District, Pollard City

Restaurant “Regina”

The restaurant was somewhat uncomfortable. The menu was filled with items I had never seen before. I could read the words, but had no idea what the dishes actually were.

Aurora slapped my hand down, telling me to stop acting so uncouth, and quickly ordered something in Italian.

After a short wait, dishes that were neither completely Italian nor American, but somewhere in between, began to arrive one by one.

They were spicy yet savory, rich yet somewhat heavy.

Fortunately, we didn’t exchange a single word. I wasn’t in the mood to talk, and Aurora was too busy glancing around nervously.

She was watching her organization members. Unable to concentrate on her meal, I called over a waiter.

I handed him my revolver and asked him to set up partitions around Aurora.

Since I was the potential problem, I suggested they could just watch me. Aurora froze at my suggestion to partition us off, and the waiter was stunned.

“What? Why?”

I retorted that one should be able to eat comfortably. In truth, her anxious glancing around was making it difficult for me to enjoy my meal as well.

“Hey, is this your restaurant? Why are you acting like you own the place?”

Because my time is valuable, I answered. I pointed out that since she had taken my time, there was no reason to be concerned about others watching.

Aurora put down her fork and spoon and gestured to the waiter. Shortly after, the waiter screened Aurora’s surroundings with partitions.

Yet Aurora still seemed uneasy, looking around nervously.

“What? I didn’t hear you. Say it again.”

I told her to close her eyes and chew. Chew thoroughly and swallow. Just feel the taste spreading in her mouth.

Aurora was visibly flustered but soon began to savor the food like a gourmet. We continued our meal in silence.

I deliberately didn’t speak, and Aurora had no time to talk. When the meal ended, the waiter brought my revolver and a bottle of wine.

After sharing a glass each, we headed outside. Of course, the bill was paid with money from my wallet.

“Nice weather.”

Aurora looked up at the sky as if contemplating its transience. As she said, the day was clear.

Instead of the usual sticky, salty breeze, a pleasant wind was blowing. It carried a touch of warmth, but was tolerable enough.

With each gust of wind, Aurora’s wine-colored dress fluttered.

We got back into the coupe.

“Do you know a quiet place? Somewhere with a view of the sea. A place without people. And preferably with a straight road where the car can really run.”

For some reason, the collapsed lighthouse came to mind. The place where that unpleasant incident with Elizabeth Lehman had occurred.

But then I wondered if that place had been properly cleaned up.

When I gave her the location, Aurora started the car. By now, even I could recognize the cars trailing behind us.

The intersection ahead was crowded with vehicles, and the light turned red just as we approached.

Suddenly, Aurora’s eyes sparkled.

With a roaring sound, the coupe surged forward. Cars coming from the side screeched to a halt, honking their horns.