Ch.65Second Entanglement – The Mafia and Swing Jazz (1)

The detective closed the door without hesitation after Giuseppina left. He wasn’t the type to overthink things. If he took a job, he did it. That was all.

The journalist, having witnessed how the detective handled Giuseppina like a puppy and sent her away—the same woman she had been afraid of—asked him a question. Her interest in the Argonne Invincibles had become interest in its members. It became curiosity about the detective standing before her.

“When did you become someone who values nothing but money? You weren’t always like that, were you?”

The detective answered without hesitation again. It wasn’t a question that required deep thought.

“Since money became the only thing of value left in this city.”

The journalist thought he hadn’t taken her question seriously, but the detective hadn’t lied to his client. He was a man who was honest, at least to his clients.

“Now that we’ve dealt with the uninvited guest, let’s finish discussing business. Your request was to protect you, and since I only have one body, I can’t protect everyone around you. Don’t expect miracles from me. I don’t expect them either.”

The detective knew that rather than targeting the journalist directly, Giuseppina would likely attack people around her to apply pressure. That’s what he would have done too.

However, since the journalist was the daughter of the Clichy Corporation president, harming those around her wouldn’t be easy. Mr. Clichy wasn’t the type to sit quietly after being wronged.

“Then, regarding the people around me…”

“Even Giuseppina wouldn’t do something that would get her in trouble right in front of the Godmother. She probably won’t touch them easily, but if she really does, I can take revenge for an additional fee.”

All the detective could offer belatedly was revenge. The Italians would love their precious vendetta that they lived and died for. Or maybe they’d finally show their true faces and call him a murderer.

“I’d prefer if there were no additional fees. Not because of my wallet, but because of the people around me.”

As the daughter of Mr. Clichy, she had no reason to worry about money. Still, the detective clicked his tongue slightly, finding clients who worried about their wallets easier to deal with than those who worried about people.

He continued speaking, knowing that while it would be nice if he could rest during the time she requested protection, that might not be possible.

“I’d like to tell you to take a break from work and stay safe until you meet the Godmother, but if you really want to work, I won’t interfere. If you’re doing interviews inside a building, I’ll be at the back door, and if you’re meeting someone outdoors, I’ll be sitting at the table behind you. Still, try to avoid staying near windows or doors.”

“For about a week, I can take time off work after talking to my editor-in-chief. So, I won’t put myself in danger.”

The journalist remembered the Cowboy. She remembered how easily people could die in a shootout. The detective before her didn’t look like someone who would die from a single bullet, but she was still worried.

This was one of the few things the detective liked hearing from the journalist. At least she wasn’t insisting on working. She was better than when he had last seen her.

“Not bad. Also, I’d like to find accommodation where I can see the entrance to your home. Is there such a place?”

The journalist had a room she could offer the detective. With a six-bedroom apartment and three bathrooms, she could lend him a room other than the one she kept in memory of the Cowboy.

She glanced at Paulina. She would know what Rose needed to do, and having just seen where the detective lived, she nodded briefly. The detective was a neat, or rather, austere person.

“I can offer you a room in my apartment. The place was arranged by my father. There’s a room at the end with its own bathroom, and you can see the apartment entrance from there. Would that work?”

The journalist didn’t mention the number of rooms or the size of the apartment, but the mention of “a room at the end” suggested its size.

It would be different from the detective’s apartment, which consisted only of a living room with a kitchen, a bedroom with a closet, and a bathroom. The detective nodded after estimating the size.

He wouldn’t be able to smoke. If smoke escaped from the window of a room in an elf’s house, it would be like advertising which room the detective was staying in.

Even when chasing the half-blood wizard, he had almost ruined the job because of smoking. He reminded himself that a cigarette light could be seen from a quarter mile away.

If he was going to spend a week without alcohol or cigarettes, he would need coffee. He would clearly be drinking it almost like water.

“I’ll be going out frequently. If I’m supposed to be cooped up inside with you, it would be better to give your lawyer a gun instead. And since this seems to be an apartment in a wealthy area, the idiots who would try to attack such a place head-on are few. Always keep the curtains drawn and don’t stand in front of the windows. Then you’ll be safe when you’re inside.”

The journalist nodded with difficulty, finally getting a sense of the situation. Just the feeling that someone was targeting her would be hard to bear, and the fact that someone might try to kill her was pressure in itself.

But the journalist, who had been quietly listening, smiled slightly. She looked at him as if she had confirmed with her own eyes how reliable the detective was.

“I’m starting to be glad that I found you before Giuseppina did… Should I wait until you pack your things?”

“Giuseppina boldly declared she’d deal with you within a week and sleep peacefully, yet you can still smile?”

It was better to smile calmly like that than to worry and tremble, since nothing would change anyway. The detective didn’t wait for the journalist’s answer and went into the room past the curtain.

Again, he packed two guns, various tools, and boots in his duffel bag, but this time there was more. He packed several sets of clothes, including a neat suit to wear when meeting the Godmother.

The mafia practically worshipped etiquette and honor. When meeting the Godmother, one had to show proper respect.

If he dressed well and showed proper etiquette, the Godmother wouldn’t harm him, but that also meant that if he didn’t keep such simple rules, bullets might fly at their first meeting.

The detective left with the two women and they took separate cars to the journalist’s home. It was an apartment in quite a wealthy area. Unlike the detective’s apartment, which had only attempted to create some greenery by planting landscaping trees, this place was immaculate.

The detective sighed in disbelief as he watched the journalist introduce him to the parking lot attendant as someone who would be staying at her home for a few days. So luxury apartments even had attendants in the parking lot.

The three of them walked up to the fourth floor and entered the apartment. The interior, elegantly decorated in elvish style, reminded one more of a mansion than an apartment. Though to the journalist, it was probably just an ordinary apartment.

The journalist led the detective to a room. The apartment seemed to be on the edge of the building, which gave it a wide view. With no buildings to the side, only the parking lot, one could see all the way to the distant road, and virtually everything within sniper rifle range was visible.

It had been a while since the detective had received such a satisfactory room while working. This was why he liked working with the wealthy. Everything became so comfortable when working with the rich.

After organizing the room, the detective immediately turned on the radio facing outside the door. He tuned it to a baseball broadcast to prevent anyone outside from hearing conversations, then used the room’s phone near the window to call Mr. Clichy.

The automatic switchboard clicked several times as it connected through different exchanges. Since this was a number used only for work, it didn’t take long to connect to Chairman Clichy.

Mr. Clichy’s voice called him first. As always, it was cold and chilly, but now it also sounded urgent and somewhat manic. He must be worried about his daughter.

“Well, Husband. How’s the job going? I told my daughter’s lawyer that you would be suitable…”

“I’ve taken the job, and I’m now at your daughter’s home. I’ll stay here, and if we can hold out for a week, your daughter will be safe. Do you have any other instructions?”

Mr. Clichy cleared his throat as if displeased. He was a man who cherished his daughter. No matter how trustworthy the detective was, he wouldn’t like a man staying at his daughter’s home.

“Before being your employer, I’m also a father with a daughter. You’ll make sure I have nothing to worry about, won’t you, Michael?”

“I only embrace women who come to me first or those I pay to embrace. I’m calling about work, so let’s speak to Mr. Clichy the company president, not the father with a daughter.”

Only after confirming this distance did Charles Clichy feel reassured. He wouldn’t need to doubt any further.

“Yes, yes. As long as you protect Rose, I don’t care what you do. Need to do something dirty? Don’t hesitate, just do it. If necessary, you can shoot them all dead. If the cops catch you, I’ll provide a team of lawyers, and I’ll have a cozy dinner with the prosecutor and judge who would charge you to ensure everything is resolved amicably. Understand?”

Charles Clichy wasn’t a man who trusted others easily. But he trusted Michael completely.

Their first meeting had been fateful. When he had another detective investigate Michael due to his impressive credentials, Michael had noticed, broken six of the investigating detective’s fingers, found out Charles’s name and number, and called asking, “Is this Mr. Charles Clichy?” Charles had hired him immediately after receiving that call.

The Followers of the Forest’s Firstborn were zealous, numerous, and unhesitating, but they were fools. In contrast, the detective was alone but knew how to use his head. He was essentially Charles Clichy’s left and right fists.

The detective didn’t judge this corrupt businessman. Mr. Clichy knew the word “morality” well, but he only knew its dictionary definition—he didn’t keep the word in his heart.

“Very well. I’ll contact you if anything is needed. I’ll keep it from your daughter, so don’t worry.”

“Yes, yes. If I can’t trust you, who can I trust? Well…”

The conversation paused briefly. Then, what sounded like a child’s voice came through the phone. Only his family members could naturally enter Charles Clichy’s study.

“Grandpa Charles! Dad told me to find where you were, and here you are!”

It was a child’s voice. His son and daughter-in-law must have visited. The detective could hear Mr. Clichy speaking affectionately, which was either unlike him or exactly like him.

“Oh my! Henry, you rascal. If we were going to play hide-and-seek, you should have told grandpa too. What a shame, what a shame. I could have hidden perfectly from my grandson.”

The child’s laughter traveled through the phone line. He wasn’t an authoritarian at home. At home, he was an ordinary—no, rather a good man who cherished his wife and children and loved his grandson.

Since they were about to end the call anyway, the detective continued on his own.

“Please enjoy playing hide-and-seek with your grandson, and I’ll handle the work. I’ll contact you later.”

Charles Clichy didn’t scold his grandson for entering his study without knocking. Compared to his grandson calling him “grandpa,” the detective wasn’t important to him at all.

He thinks about family and works hard. He earns a lot of money and becomes happy. In that sense, he was truly American and truly fitting for this era. He hung up without even responding.

“Who were you talking to on the phone, Grandpa?”

Charles’s grandson looked up at him, tilting his head. Since it would be foolish to snap at a child who naturally had many questions, he answered very kindly.

“A detective I hired, my boy. People who wear hunting caps and carry magnifying glasses while pursuing the truth.”

The grandson’s eyes sparkled at the mention of a detective. For a child, becoming a detective or a mafioso was as much a dream as becoming the Prime Minister of America.

The grandson began to share what he knew about detectives. However, among his words were some that Charles wouldn’t like.

“I’ve heard about them in radio dramas! They’re people who grow magnificent mustaches, are incredibly smart, solve cases in no time, and kick away bad guys, right? That’s amazing, Grandpa!”

That radio drama, sponsored by those Blingkerton fellows, was too violent for children to listen to. Nevertheless, he didn’t scold the boy.

“So you listen to that radio drama with the Blingkerton detective, Henry. Is that right?”

His grandson nodded innocently. He picked up his grandson lightly and approached the bookshelf in his study. He headed to where he kept books collected as gifts for his grandchildren.

There, he found a detective novel that a child would enjoy. It was a mystery novel published about four years ago by a young female author, and at least the detective in this book didn’t beat people up.

Thinking his grandson would like it since it featured a bald man with a magnificent mustache, and his grandson liked detectives with mustaches, Charles handed the book to his grandson.

“Radio dramas are fun, but sometimes it’s good to read books too. You said you like detectives with magnificent mustaches, right? Then you’ll like this detective. Do you know how bad it is to hit people, even if they’re bad people, Henry?”

The grandson shook his head. He wasn’t yet old enough to understand violence well. Charles smiled warmly at this and stroked his grandson’s head.

“Then read this book I’ve given you, keep listening to that radio drama about the detective, and let’s talk afterward. About which one is better. Can you promise grandpa?”

“Yes, of course! Thank you for the nice book, Grandpa!”

It was incredibly stupid to forbid and scold a child to make them understand something. Parental authority came from acknowledging the child.

Seeing his grandson laugh without even worrying about being scolded by his grandfather, Charles returned a broad smile.

“You rascal, are you saying thank you without even reading to see if it’s a good book? You could thank me after reading it… I’ve done well raising both my son and grandson.”

Charles walked out with his grandson, who was hugging the book to his chest, to where his son and daughter-in-law had arrived. He greeted his son, who, despite being almost thirty, embraced his father without any awkwardness.

It was a happy day for him. It was the second time this week that his son had visited, and his daughter would be safe.