Ch.55Ch.5 – The Dead City Dreams and Waits (10)

1929. 5. 11. PM 7:00

Gorde Street No. 22

Creyfield’s Office

Before I was completely exhausted, I hitched a ride on a truck driven by a kind farmer.

The farmer’s son, who was bigger than his father, sat in the passenger seat, so I had to ride in the cargo area.

Hay covered the floor, but it smelled terrible, as if it had been used to transport livestock.

By the time I returned to No. 22 Gorde Street, I reeked of sweat and excrement, forcing me to shower and change into fresh clothes in my fourth-floor apartment.

“So. How was your date?”

I simply replied that it hadn’t gone well.

If I were to properly explain what happened with Aurora Savio, questions about the second assistant would inevitably arise.

It’s an unavoidable question that must be addressed eventually, but now isn’t the appropriate time.

Our protagonist is far too incompetent, and Creyfield and I have only just cast our net.

Surprisingly, Creyfield didn’t get angry about the derailed plan.

“Assistant. A detective, whether they like it or not, must frequently meet people, and therefore must be able to win over even those they dislike.

Yet you’ve failed to win over someone who already showed goodwill toward you.

But that’s alright. In truth, charming a woman of Aurora’s caliber isn’t easy.

Unless one is overflowing with charm like myself…”

A loud thud interrupted Creyfield’s lengthy speech. Both of us drew our revolvers and flung open the door.

A knife with a paper attached to it was stuck in the doorway threshold. We went downstairs past the first floor, but whoever had thrown it was already gone.

“Do they not know how to knock, or have they never encountered the civilized concept of a postal system? Mrs. Margaret is really going to hate this.”

I pulled the knife from the threshold. Creyfield brought a brush and a bottle of brown ink from the office and poured ink into the knife mark.

After a couple of coats, the damage was reasonably concealed. Despite the dramatic delivery, the note was quite simple:

‘Pay attention to the top of the Pollard Times classified ads’

“Look at this?”

Creyfield pointed to the upper right corner with interest. There was a drawing of a human hand about the size of two postage stamps.

“This is White Hand warning paper. Interesting.”

Today they’re known as the mafia, but when they first came to America, they were little more than street thugs.

They could barely afford clubs, let alone guns. So they would send warning letters to anyone with money and extort them.

First a face-to-face warning, then a letter, and finally a direct attack.

But unlike the mainland mafia, they didn’t extort money from just anyone and make enemies.

Italians didn’t target other Italians. Instead, they went after those who oppressed their own kind or ran threatening operations.

The same was true for Irish, Chinese, Northern European groups. Suddenly, these street thugs transformed into “political groups protecting the interests of specific factions.”

All because they carefully selected their victims.

Of course, they still extorted money from the groups they “protected” under the guise of “protection fees,” but these were officially disguised as “purchase payments” or “rent.”

“I used to receive these quite often in Joe Torio’s day. Thanks to Mrs. Margaret Graham’s timely intervention, things didn’t escalate further.

Did I mention that Josh Graham’s father-in-law is an Army Major General?

Our landlady may have thick hands and a rough mouth, but she ensures the safety of her tenants.

Though she herself is quite formidable. Had she been born in France during the Hundred Years’ War, it would have been the French crossing the English Channel.

Anyway, this feels more like a school newsletter than a threat. Warning letters don’t usually follow this format.”

Creyfield approached the window and taped the paper in an X pattern. This was the contact signal Catherine Scully had mentioned.

After waiting a bit, the telephone rang loudly. Creyfield counted to ten aloud before picking up the receiver and then hanging up again.

“Our protagonist may lack tact, but he’s good at following instructions. We agreed to communicate this way.

Not answering the phone completely means ‘don’t come,’ picking up once and hanging up means ‘you can come.’

What if someone else calls? What does it matter? I don’t take duplicate cases.

If they’re desperate, they’ll come find me themselves.

Now let’s prepare to receive our guests. Everyone should gather in about an hour.”

PM 8:22

“I was thinking on my way here.”

Agent Scully smiled as she hung her large green raincoat and hat on the wall.

She leaned a rather large briefcase against the desk.

“This disguise seems rather pointless if someone’s monitoring the first-floor entrance of this building.

I believe about twelve households live on the upper floors of this building.

If someone had watched from that café across the street for three or four days, they could easily figure out who’s who.”

“Next time we’ll lower a rope from the window for you, Agent Scully.”

Creyfield yawned dramatically.

“Or perhaps you should set up a safe house somewhere. Is the Federal Security Bureau on a tight budget?”

“Someone’s already using it. Mr. James Chiddle, have you found anything useful?

Seeing everyone gathered here makes it feel like a flea market. Except we’re buying and selling information.”

Useful information answers current questions and poses meaningful follow-up questions like “what should we do next?”

But James Chiddle’s information only raised unnecessary suspicions, making it rather unsubstantial.

“I couldn’t access the roster at all. The duty schedules are kept at the city vigilante headquarters, and only authorized personnel can enter.”

“But someone must create the schedules and notify people. Don’t they know their own assignments?”

“That’s the thing—notifications come the day before. Where to patrol, from what time to what time.

According to the squad leader, they do it this way because vigilantes from outside aren’t familiar with the island.

And one more thing. The outsiders haven’t worked for more than two weeks.”

“What do you mean? Haven’t worked?”

“Exactly what I said, Agent Scully. The squad leader told me they all quit. That’s why they frequently recruit new people.”

“Are you sure they quit?”

Scully asked. Chiddle hesitated.

“You didn’t see it yourself, did you, Mr. James Chiddle? It’s just the squad leader’s testimony.”

“That’s correct.”

“Then we should say those people ‘disappeared.'”

Scully nodded and pointed to Creyfield and me.

“Have you two found anything?”

Creyfield explained what we had discovered, the scrapbook we’d searched through, and the narrowed-down list.

“So it’s confirmed that the vigilantes are leading the kidnappings.

And suspicious individuals are posing as monsters. I’ve heard rumors about werewolves in the slums.

They say werewolves take away loners who wander by themselves.

Given the times we live in, it doesn’t sound completely absurd.

But the area we need to monitor is too wide.”

Scully pointed at each red circle on the map one by one.

“It will narrow down.”

Once again, Creyfield answered instead of me.

“We know where the White Hand will strike. It will appear on the first page of tomorrow morning’s newspaper classifieds.

Newspaper ads are sorted by payment amount and alphabetical order, with more A’s and connections placing them at the top.

They’ll use some appropriate front like ‘AAA Delivery Company’ and advertise specialized delivery services or job openings for certain areas.

We only need to focus on those regions.”

“How do you know that?”

Creyfield grinned.

“That’s confidential between me and my client. And if I told you about those methods in front of you, you’d have to arrest me.”

“Are you saying you’ve done something illegal? Fine. In my report, I’ll note ‘according to a reliable informant.’

Anyway, if your theory is correct, we can significantly narrow down the areas where kidnappings are likely to occur.

I’ve already made arrangements with the Arkham Times. They’ll run a special article claiming crime has surged in areas outside the red circles.

And they’ll say the red circle areas haven’t been tallied yet, but they’re actually crime dens. The black market will love it.”

What Creyfield and Catherine Scully were doing was tightening the net.

They planned to raise public awareness through the media, then drive the kidnappers to operate in unmentioned areas.

But for the plan to work properly, two more conditions were needed.

“But is there any guarantee kidnappings will occur? No matter how much we narrow the perimeter, it’s all for nothing if no disappearances happen.

Also, we can’t monitor everywhere with just our manpower. Even a single block has complicated alleyways in these neighborhoods.”

“That’s right. And I have night duty, so it might be difficult.”

James Chiddle made another tactless comment, but Creyfield handled it well.

“What do you mean?”

“The squad leader made me an offer, Mr. Creyfield. He said he’d give me extra pay if I’d take downtown duty tomorrow.

It’s night duty in a high-crime area, but he hasn’t told me the location yet.”

Creyfield and Scully’s eyes met.

“And what did you say?”

“He said I could give my answer by tomorrow morning, so I just said I’d think about it.”

James, still not grasping the situation, spread his arms slightly. Scully sighed quietly and provided the answer.

“They’re trying to kidnap you, Mr. James Chiddle. Just like they did to your father-in-law.”

“My father-in-law was ‘really’ kidnapped?”

“You said it yourself. Outsiders don’t work for more than two weeks. That’s because they’ve disappeared somewhere.

The black market has been recruiting only such people from the beginning. People without relatives nearby and no strong ties to this island.

People whose disappearance wouldn’t raise suspicions. Didn’t they say wages would be paid starting from the second week?”

“That’s right.”

James looked surprised.

“They got rid of them before paying. Mr. James Chiddle, accept that offer. They will kidnap you immediately.”

“Oh my.”

A soft groan escaped James’s lips.

“But don’t worry. Federal Security Bureau agents have already entered the island.

And your employers here and I will follow you, so don’t be concerned.”

“Wait, Agent Scully.”

Creyfield placed his hands on the desk.

“What’s your basis for being so certain kidnappings will occur?”

“Is that important right now?”

“It is. My assistant, myself, and James Chiddle all have clear objectives. What’s unclear is the Federal Security Bureau’s agenda.

What exactly is the Federal Security Bureau thinking? First you show up with a strange statue asking if we’ve seen it, then you turn the White Hand against the ‘Left Hand.’

How much do you actually know, and what are you trying to accomplish by using us? Is exposing a secret organization really all there is to it? Are we just your pawns?”

“Are you saying you don’t trust the Federal Security Bureau?”

Scully asked, seemingly disappointed.

“Let’s be clear, Agent Scully. I barely trust people, and I trust organizations even less.

I’ve seen plenty of people do crazy things just because they joined an organization.

That’s why people create justifications. Like how the mafia claims to protect their own people.

So tell me. What’s your justification?”

Scully didn’t answer right away. Creyfield continued in a more conciliatory tone.

“We need to know what kind of gambling table we’ve joined. At the very least, we need to know if we’re playing poker or blackjack before we play our cards and place our bets.

Mr. James Chiddle is about to risk his life being taken to an unknown place.

How can we rescue him and solve this problem if we don’t know what lies ahead?”

After a moment of silence, Scully pointed to the desk.

“Fine. Let me use the telephone.”