Ch.71Second Entanglement – The Mafia and Swing Jazz (7)

As befitting trolls sensitive about food, the quality of the meal was quite excellent. Of course, properly prepared food naturally tasted better than overcooked spaghetti stuffed into cans.

Seeing how they served food in tiny plates that looked almost like tasting portions for the small-appetited elf, I wondered if they might have more talent for running restaurants than for thuggery.

After the appetizers passed and before the main course arrived, the Matriarch looked over the three of us again. This wasn’t over yet. It would only be over when dinner ended and we returned home.

The corners of the Matriarch’s mouth rose languidly. Though she had an intelligent face for a troll, her sneering smile made her look more bestial than Giuseppina. She looked at the detective.

“Don’t think I’m letting Giuseppina go too easily, Miss Rose Leafman. I’ve gained something from this affair too. I picked up a raw gem that was pretending to be a stone. Detective, may I ask you something?”

The detective nodded briefly. Clearly she’s going to say something inappropriate for a dinner table and observe my reaction. I could tell this as naturally as breathing.

“If I promised sufficient compensation right here—say, if I suddenly pulled out a briefcase full of money from under the table and placed it down, asking you to take a job—could you kill Giuseppina, Detective?”

This was mild conversation by her standards. There would indeed be a briefcase under the Matriarch’s seat. A briefcase full of money, just as she said.

I would normally have sneered, but since my opponent was the Matriarch, I shook my head without sneering. The journalist’s face, which had frozen at the sudden question, visibly relaxed with relief.

“I couldn’t do that. Obviously not.”

“Why not? You’re someone who does anything for money, who accomplishes anything for money. Giuseppina, brought here unarmed, would be like meat served on a platter.”

Giuseppina seemed unsure whether the Matriarch was serious. It felt like the Matriarch was deciding her purge right before her eyes, but she didn’t want to believe those words were sincere.

“Because the job I’ve taken isn’t finished yet. If you’re still testing me and observing the journalist’s reactions, then this dinner meeting isn’t over. I don’t take other jobs while I’m working. My clients don’t pay for half-hearted loyalty.”

If I had said I could do it, the Matriarch would have immediately pulled out the money bag from under the table and mockingly told me to try. Otherwise, she was probably preparing to applaud.

The Matriarch finally relaxed her expression and lightly clapped her hands a couple of times. The fishy smile on her lips showed no signs of disappearing, though.

“Excellent. You have a machine’s mindset in a machine’s body, Detective. People have errors, but machines don’t. You’re more machine than person. That’s the highest compliment I can give.”

A person facing a beast wearing a human face uses the word “machine” as a compliment, while a person facing someone wearing even a human mask uses “machine” as an insult.

Once her pointless probing passed, the meat dish that would mark the middle of the course finally arrived. In front of the journalist and lawyer was roasted lamb shoulder, while before the two trolls and me was aged meat cooked in the trolls’ distinctive style. Even the food composition was quite deliberate.

The aged beef emitted such a strong meaty aroma it almost stung my nose, with a pronounced gamey smell, but I cut it with my knife and brought it to my mouth without showing any reaction. It was almost rotten meat, but not truly decomposed.

I bite into the meat with its fresh scent of flesh. Chew and swallow. The Matriarch was staring intently at me. Her expression suggested she was trying to determine whether I was beast or human.

It was a ridiculous display. Aren’t humans beasts too? Elves despised orcs, and dwarves despised goblins. I generally despised everything, and even the journalist who knew no hatred at least despised injustice.

The sight of elves angrily complaining about sharing space with orcs, and humans who talked about hunting lizardmen with guns without feeling any strangeness about it—these weren’t human behaviors. At least, they weren’t what the God-President would have wanted.

Though I didn’t particularly respect the God-President, it was convenient to borrow his name when mocking these mafia members who tried to become beasts despite facing such realities.

What explanation was needed for eating meat when it was available? It might have been some kind of ritual for them, but to me, it was just a well-cooked piece of meat.

After the meat dish passed, several small plates came and went from the table along with jazz. The music seemed nice, but work was more important than jazz.

From the beginning, only the journalist and the Matriarch were relaxed enough to pay attention to the jazz, and since the Matriarch had called that jazz band to impress the journalist, my appreciation wasn’t important.

Looking at the dessert selection, this troll clearly had more talent as a restaurant owner than as a mafia boss. The custard cream sprinkled with cinnamon powder filling the round fried bread had a pleasant taste.

Just when I thought the meal was truly ending as coffee was served, it wasn’t over yet. A troll waiter approached the table again carrying a silver tray with a cigar box.

The troll who had specified what food would be served couldn’t possibly intend to smoke in front of an elf. Nevertheless, the Matriarch smiled slyly.

“Oh my. I forgot we have an elf among our guests. Detective, if you’ve finished your coffee cup, let’s have a smoke. Since elves occasionally visit this place, we have a separate smoking room. What do you say?”

It was an invitation for a private conversation, so I stood up without refusing. The Matriarch herself picked up the cigar box from the tray. This meant just the two of us, without Giuseppina.

The smoking room we reached after walking briefly through the marble-decorated restaurant interior had quite a nice view outside the window, overlooking a small garden behind the restaurant rather than the street.

Even the sofa was covered in red, soft velvet as if it were a luxury item, and there was a table with a telephone between the two sofas. I could guess what she had called me for.

The Matriarch placed the cigar box on the table with the telephone, gestured for me to sit first, and then sank deeply into the sofa herself. The sofa was so soft it felt like one could drown in it.

“It seems you want to speak with Mr. Clichy. Isn’t that right?”

The Matriarch smiled, slightly parting her lips to reveal sharp teeth.

“You don’t disappoint. And, in addition… that journalist seemed unaware of the Clichy president that I know and you know. An elf who can’t stand the smell of tobacco couldn’t possibly tolerate such a man. Now that we’ve shared comfort, I’ve shared my comfort with you. Can you connect us?”

The journalist would be better off using the name Rose Leafman. People who knew that she was Rose Clichy rather than Rose Leafman and who knew President Clichy tended to discover her secret.

“If this one phone call truly ends the matter, and when the matter ends I need to report anyway… I’ll do it for you. Now, just a moment.”

I dial the number I use only when calling President Clichy about work, turning the dial so the Matriarch can’t see the number. The sound of the automatic connector routing the call through exchanges was clear again.

President Clichy wasn’t the type of client who listened to reports every day, but he wasn’t one to ignore my calls either. The call connected soon.

“Yes, Husband. Do you have something to report separately? You’re not a detective who reports bad news. Don’t betray my trust.”

The president’s voice carried anxiety. He wasn’t an emotionless elf. He was an elf who could be all the more cruel precisely because he knew how to be anxious and afraid.

“I’m calling because the job is wrapping up quickly, President Clichy. I’ve resolved everything that could be resolved with guns, and now the boss of the mafia targeting your daughter wants to conclude with a direct conversation with you.”

Charles Clichy knew fear, but it was fear of losing family, money, and business. He had never feared thugs.

“Tsk, it’s nothing. Fine, if that will protect my family, I must do it. Pass the phone.”

The detective handed the receiver to the Matriarch, who took it without treating it condescendingly or intimidatingly, as she would when dealing with a businessman, despite being in a smoking room without a trace of cigarette smoke.

Charles Clichy spoke first. He knew how to sound humble.

“Yes, this is Charles Clichy, that child’s father. I’d like to exchange names if possible, what’s yours?”

The voice that didn’t care whether she was a mafia matriarch or whatever was typical of President Clichy. The Matriarch seemed a bit taken aback before smiling. She thought he was putting on airs.

“You may call me Masseria…”

Charles Clichy cut off the Matriarch’s words. His patience was being tested. Not many people lived with enough courtesy to spare for a mafia boss who had tried to kill their daughter. By his standards, anyway.

“Yes, Ms. Masseria. Actually, I don’t care about your name. I don’t have much to say either. This old man begs you with tears… don’t touch my family. Don’t touch my business, don’t touch my reputation. If you extend those filthy claws into my fence even once more, you’ll die burning. I’ll burn you myself.”

Charles Clichy poured out words like a madman, but his voice was calmer than ever. People’s voices only tremble when they speak of things they cannot do.

The Matriarch seemed even more bewildered. No matter how large Clichy Corporation was, it wasn’t big enough to confront a mafia matriarch like this. However, family was President Clichy’s sore spot.

“If you take this as an ultimatum, we’ll be at war, Ms. Masseria. I hear your thugs call their members family? I know well what it feels like to lose family. I know how terrible that feeling is. So, I’d be happy to let you feel it. If not, dismiss this as the ramblings of an old man who doesn’t know any better.”

All the Matriarch confirmed was that he didn’t fear conflict. As she expected, militia were merely expendables to him.

And if it meant using one expendable to kill the Matriarch’s family, he would gladly push in a hundred or a thousand expendables. It wasn’t even a losing proposition.

Having realized this, the Matriarch needed to seek peace for her organization and family. The Matriarch, who had been only oppressive until now, opened her mouth for the first time with consideration for her opponent.

“A minimum of courtesy…”

People don’t hesitate to do something they’ve done before. Charles Clichy continued pouring out words as if the mafia matriarch wasn’t worth listening to.

“Courtesy is something you maintain with people of equal standing, Ms. Masseria. You’re just thugs who will disappear like dewdrops in sunlight as soon as Prohibition ends. That’s why you run restaurants and clothing stores, trying to figure out how to make a living. Those who earn money to survive only earn as much as they need to survive.”

From Charles Clichy’s perspective, the mafia matriarch was a cheap businesswoman. She was someone who asked about the price of things, someone who merely earned a living to survive.

Such people couldn’t live like President Clichy. Happiness could indeed be bought with money, but people who asked about the price couldn’t afford such things.

“Aren’t you concerned about the future, President Clichy?”

Charles Clichy snorted at that pitiful threat. If the Matriarch was just a thug, then he was just a thug too, but he was ahead of the Matriarch in one aspect.

“Since I don’t hear trolls cackling around you, you must have cleared out the meeting place to meet my daughter. You’re probably alone with Husband even now. Yes, you’re alone with my employee. Aren’t you worried about right now? You and I have many similarities. You must have tested Husband the same way. But do you know what the difference is between you and me?”

The Matriarch was an outlaw, but President Clichy was a friend of the law. The Matriarch’s lieutenants feared the law and police, but President Clichy’s detective did not fear them.

The Matriarch felt displeasure at being read in an instant. Her instinct warned her not to show it, but she boldly expressed that displeasure.

“Are you saying you’ll order it? The future…”

He interrupted again. Charles Clichy reaffirmed who held the initiative in the conversation. Trolls were truly a stupid race, requiring much effort to have a rational conversation.

“The future, tomorrow, what’s ahead. Isn’t it pitiful to live in fear of days that don’t even exist? I don’t believe in tomorrow, Ms. Masseria. For me, there is only today.”

Charles Clichy didn’t move toward tomorrow. He knew how to grab the uncertain future with both hands, beat it until it became malleable, and drag it into today, so tomorrow didn’t even need to approach him.

The Matriarch felt something close to fear for the first time. It might be fear, but she wouldn’t admit it.

President Clichy’s voice sounded like that of a madman, but if he was a madman, he was a madman wrapped in a storm. The Matriarch felt for the first time in a long while that there were moments when she needed to take a step back.

The Matriarch took a deep breath. And she acknowledged it. Defeat, or compromise.

“Fine, President Clichy. I swear not to touch your family, your business… or that secret you’re hiding from your daughter. Is that enough?”

Charles Clichy, seemingly not caring about the Matriarch’s mockery, spoke again with a satisfied, kindly grandfather’s voice.

“Not bad. Not bad at all. Let’s consider it done. Ah, please pass the receiver back to Husband, Ms. Masseria.”

Anxiety rose at the thought that he might be issuing some other command. This father and daughter had made the Matriarch feel emotions she hadn’t experienced in a long time. The daughter had shown humility, and the father had shown overwhelming presence.

Nevertheless, the Matriarch calmly handed the receiver to the detective before her. She must not show fear.

“Yes, this is Husband. Do you have something else to say, President Clichy?”

Charles Clichy, uncharacteristically, cleared his throat. Only after taking a deep breath did he speak.

“Let Rose know that I helped, okay? Tell her I’d like to see her at home sometime this month. Tell her this old man can’t even remember how long it’s been since he saw the face of his seventh daughter. Truly, family is all that sustains this old man.”

This was more sincere than his threats to the Matriarch. The detective could tell only now that the job was finished. All matters ended when President Clichy showed the face of a good father.

Now the journalist and lawyer would return home, and the detective would either go to a bar or… perhaps show Levi movie tickets and ask for a date to enjoy a sense of normalcy.

The call ended. The Matriarch, still looking dumbfounded, finally opened her mouth to address the detective.

“You work with such a person.”

“Business is business, and regulars are regulars. There aren’t many clients who pay as cleanly as President Clichy.”

Only then did the Matriarch truly let Rose Clichy go. The journalist was fragile enough to crush in her hand, but it was clear as day that doing so would cost her that hand.