Ch.67Second Entanglement – The Mafia and Swing Jazz (3)

Inspector Jonathan, not sensing anyone inside, lightly knocked on the door. If he had even a shred of trust, he needed to use it.

Hearing the knock, the detective confirmed that this policeman wasn’t planning to break down the door. He hid behind the door where he would be concealed when it opened.

If a reporter was the target, they wouldn’t knock so openly. If the lawyer woke up, targeting a reporter would become difficult. So the target was obvious.

“Inspector Jonathan Pace here, Miss Rose Leafman! I heard you’re being threatened by the mafia. Please come out for a moment!”

The voice was all the confirmation needed. It matched perfectly with the voice that had shouted at the rookie officer while running out of the hotel. No further verification necessary. The Nolls must have sent him.

So he wasn’t lying after all. The detective sighed as he saw relief wash over the reporter’s face at the name Jonathan Pace. She apparently didn’t know he was a traitor.

The detective pointed to himself and then to the room where he had been staying, indicating that he would be there. The reporter swallowed nervously but nodded briefly.

All he needed was to divert attention for a moment. Without knowledge of the Argonne Invincibles, one couldn’t counter them. And without a counter, it wouldn’t take long before one’s neck was broken.

“Y-yes? Just a moment!” the reporter answered with a sleep-roughened voice as she approached the door. The detective aimed his gun at the door, ready in case the visitor fired immediately.

He wouldn’t shoot unless the Godmother’s gunman fired first. The neighbors in such a luxurious apartment would certainly take notice of gunshots.

Even as she approached the door, the inspector didn’t shoot. He wasn’t Giuseppina’s man, so dealing with the reporter wasn’t his job. He was more principled than expected.

As the door opened, the detective’s presence was hidden behind it. Jonathan tried his best to look friendly, though he kept his gun holstered. He couldn’t risk arousing the reporter’s suspicion.

His job was merely to clip the fish’s fins so it couldn’t swim, not to cook and serve the fish himself.

“Looks like that bastard hasn’t made his move yet. So you didn’t see his face during the attack? That detective you hired is the same one who stole your bag.”

“Ah, well… he wore a mask at the hotel, so I couldn’t see his face at all. He’s, um, in that room right now…”

The reporter showed a frightened expression and pointed to the inner room where the detective had been. Jonathan finally drew his gun and held up his palm to Rose, whispering:

“Keep quiet. If that detective wakes up, there might be a shootout in the apartment. Just wait a moment.”

He was pretending to be rational, but in reality, he was blinded by love. Thinking he could return to the Godmother after finishing this job, he had come straight to this address without properly investigating Giuseppina.

As Jonathan moved toward the room, the detective matched his footsteps to mask the sound. He approached from behind as Jonathan stared intently at the door, his excitement preventing him from hearing the footsteps.

There was no need for tension or anxiety. With practiced ease, the detective struck Jonathan below the ear with twice the cursed strength, like a hunter ending a trapped rabbit’s life.

The inspector didn’t even fully register the heavy impact behind his ear before losing consciousness. His vision went dark like a light bulb with its power cut, and he collapsed.

The detective caught the well-trained body as it fell like a broken tree, supporting it by the neck to prevent noise. He didn’t want the neighbors waking up and coming to investigate.

After properly laying Jonathan’s unconscious body on its back, he placed his boot heel against the man’s chin and applied gentle pressure, breaking it.

Inspector Jonathan Pace’s only final utterance was the cracking sound that moment produced. Without hesitation, the detective began searching inside the police coat. He would have information.

“Go inside if this is uncomfortable to watch. Don’t ask if I killed the wrong person. This man was the one who lured the rookie officer outside the hotel last time.”

The reporter took a deep breath but didn’t go into the room. She just stood there, looking down at the inspector who had come to kill someone in this apartment and ended up like this.

The Cowboy was right. Not many people were lucky enough to leave final words before dying. Had he too forgotten today while focusing only on tomorrow’s stakes?

The sight of someone who had been alive mere seconds ago now lying dead, with the detective matter-of-factly searching his pockets, reminded the reporter of death’s emptiness.

She hadn’t originally wanted death, but seeing the scene before her… she really didn’t want to die. She wanted to live. When survival instinct kicks in like this, one feels grateful to the person who saved them.

After taking several gasping breaths, the reporter looked down at the detective and barely managed to speak.

“Th-thank you. Really.”

Whether she was thanking him for not becoming her enemy or for continuing to protect her, even the reporter herself didn’t know. She just felt she needed to say those words right now.

“Don’t mention it.”

The detective’s response was almost reflexive. At that moment, he found a notebook in Jonathan’s pocket. It was police-issued.

Though it had been part of his cover, it seemed he had taken his police work quite seriously. It contained much more appetizing information than Yehoel’s police notebook.

But setting aside the police information for later… the detective found one piece of information unrelated to police work.

On the first page, under the word “Mother,” was a phone number. A police officer colluding with the mafia wouldn’t call home often. This must be the Godmother, not his real mother.

Sitting on the sofa in the reporter’s living room, he dialed the number. It didn’t ring for long.

“Jonathan, have you finished the job? I didn’t expect it to be this quick…”

It was a Noll’s voice. Though he didn’t know the Godmother’s voice, only she would speak so affectionately to a Noll. She was polite in form but not in substance.

“Good early morning, Lady Godmother. You sent someone to kill me, I see. I just dealt with him. Did you think I would care even slightly that he was wearing a police uniform? This is between your branch manager and my client, not your business. If someone else comes from your side, I’ll come find you, and then you won’t be able to attend dinner next week.”

The Godmother now realized that the smile she had when watching the love-blinded Jonathan wasn’t mockery but maternal affection. This hate-filled death notice delivered by the detective shook her.

Both the detective and the Godmother herself could tell she was momentarily shaken. To hide her disturbed feelings, she drew out a growling sound from deep in her stomach.

Her dignified growl traveled undiminished through the phone line. The reporter, who had approached to eavesdrop, felt a chill run down her spine and shuddered.

“What cards do you have left to threaten me with, detective? Besides… do you think you can negotiate with me after killing my gunman?”

The Godmother tried not to reveal that he had been someone she cared for. If this detective, who boldly spoke to her like this, knew he was important to her, he would use it in negotiations.

But it was too late. The Godmother is human after all. The detective could tell her voice was shaking. He continued to pressure her while maintaining formal politeness.

“Your voice is trembling. A mafia boss wouldn’t grieve over the death of a mere gunman. Right now I have the body of a man who considered you his mother, and whether you’ll receive a tin of herring wrapped in this man’s coat tomorrow morning, or whether you’ll be able to give him a proper funeral, depends on you, Godmother.”

It would be simple to borrow a tin from the dock guard who had chased the mixed-blood magician last time. Even the mafia couldn’t monitor all the docks on Long Island, so disposal wouldn’t be difficult.

And they couldn’t find this traitor officer’s body among all the corpses they themselves had thrown into the waters off Long Island. Was this the karma the Iris prostitute had spoken of?

It was like walking a tightrope. He couldn’t appear subservient to someone who had tried to kill him. At the same time, he couldn’t insult her or drop all formality. He had to stand in that ambiguous middle ground.

“Besides, we already had a deal. I asked for an introduction using the rights granted by Branch Manager Giuseppina. You wouldn’t tarnish the branch manager’s honor, so I’ll see you next week. That was our deal, and you broke it by sending someone. Am I wrong?”

He was a fixer who handled matters without unnecessary complications, though the Godmother didn’t know where he’d learned his trade. He made it impossible for her to even be angry about Jonathan’s death.

He wasn’t simply an employee of Clichy Corporation. If he wanted, he could get militia from Mr. Clichy and set fire to her businesses.

The Godmother unpleasantly dug her fingernails into the sofa armrest, but not for long. A Noll easily swayed by such emotions couldn’t become a mafia boss.

Perhaps I should tell Giuseppina to back off too. Planning her next move, the Godmother cleared her throat and spoke almost in a murmur.

“Yes, I was hasty. I swear that if you hand over Jonathan’s body, I’ll leave Giuseppina’s affairs in Giuseppina’s hands. But do you really think I’ll leave you alone?”

The Godmother didn’t apologize. She could make misjudgments, but no one could question them. Certainly not an outsider like the detective.

“You’ve seen what I’m capable of, considering I’m flexible enough to take jobs even from a reporter you were trying to kill until recently. Hiring me would be cheaper than killing me.”

The Godmother was someone who could weigh the dead Jonathan against the living detective. While she had felt maternal affection for Jonathan, he wasn’t her actual son.

If he wasn’t her real son, the Godmother had no reason to seek revenge on the detective. He had worked with one of her branch managers, and would work for her too if paid.

Moreover, as he said, he had shown his mettle by taking down the thorough and clean Jonathan and calling her directly.

Human males never disappointed her. Burying Jonathan in her heart and replacing one capable male with an even more capable one… it was quite an attractive proposition.

But she shook her head. She couldn’t show her wavering immediately. The detective’s goal was to shake her, more than to be rehired.

“Still, you’re too smart to be used as a gunman. A gunman only needs two things: eyes to see the target and a finger to pull the trigger. But you have a mouth to speak and a head to think.”

The detective didn’t get greedy. He had already gained the upper hand in the conversation with the Godmother and had established that she had broken their deal and committed a breach of etiquette.

He knew that if he tried to push his advantage by saying a few more words for future benefit, he might really lose his head.

“Then I’ll leave your son in the car he came in. Come pick him up at your convenience.”

This time he was more careful with his word choice. He had gotten what he wanted, and was just giving her what she wanted, so he had to show minimum courtesy. He didn’t hang up first either.

The Godmother couldn’t help but laugh at the detective’s attitude. It felt like she’d been investigated somewhere. It had been a while since she’d met someone who could so cleanly identify what she wanted and act accordingly.

“I appreciate the honorable treatment. I’ll send just two men—one to drive the car, one to drive his car back. They won’t be armed. I’ll trust you won’t cause trouble here.”

It was the best result the detective could achieve. After confirming the call had ended, he sighed deeply and put down the receiver.

The reporter who had been listening to the call and the lawyer who had awakened from the noise were in front of him. After placing the phone back on the table, he said:

“If I hand over this body, the Godmother won’t be involved in this matter anymore. Saves me the trouble of disposing of a corpse.”

At those words, the corners of the reporter’s mouth began to rise. The detective immediately clicked his tongue a couple of times and shook his head.

“Giuseppina’s revenge for being insulted is still ongoing, so don’t feel too relieved. While the Godmother’s people are more capable, Giuseppina’s Nolls are troublesome too. Nothing is more annoying than muscle-heads who don’t know how to use their brains when brains won’t get you out of trouble.”

The reporter finally composed her expression properly. Yes, there was still a week until meeting the Godmother. The detective would protect her, but if she wasn’t prepared, no one could protect her.

Rose recalled how she had stopped the detective before. She went to the room where she kept her camera equipment, returned with several magnesium bulbs used for flash, and handed them to the detective.

“Since you occasionally give off the scent of mana, I thought you might know magic. Wouldn’t it be better if I gave you a few of these? I escaped from your grasp last time by making these explode.”

The detective wasn’t particularly skilled in magic. He could only light his cigarette, but he could probably inject mana into the bulbs to make them explode.

Last time he had called her an incompetent but annoying elf, and it seemed she had developed that annoying part. The detective chuckled but accepted the three bulbs and put them in his pocket.

They might be useful in an emergency. To finish the job properly, the detective took out a waterproof tarp he had kept in his duffel bag for a long time and wrapped Jonathan’s body.

The reporter had given something she had used to avoid death to someone who had tried to kill her, and the detective had used something he had intended to use after killing the reporter to help the reporter he hadn’t killed.

The deal between the Godmother and the detective concluded with the wrapped body being placed on the back seat of the lonely police car in the parking lot.

Decades of life end in seconds, and a life ended in seconds becomes a form of currency for a deal in minutes. In this city, that was the weight of a life.