Ch.74Ch.6 – Intro (Video Not Opening)

# Chapter 6

‘Tinker. Tailor. Soldier. Lady.’

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1929. 5. 20. PM 8:24

Kingsport Police Station

Massachusetts

Massachusetts State Police Detective Hans slammed his fist on the desk. He kicked open the interrogation room door and stormed into the hallway, where he ran into Henry Payne. Payne was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. Hans frowned.

The state police and the Federal Bureau of Security are not allies. While state police risk getting shot in back alleys to gather evidence, the Federal Bureau swoops in claiming “this case crosses state lines” and takes over. One group digs through sewers for gold, another polishes and sells it. No wonder state police despise the Bureau, and the Bureau looks down on them.

But the detective’s grimace wasn’t just from irritation. Embarrassment. Awkwardness. Discomfort. Payne read these complex emotions on Hans’s face. So he let the man stare at his forehead.

“Aren’t you pushing yourself too hard?”

Payne had been lucky.

When the warehouse exploded, shrapnel had torn his forehead instead of crushing his skull. Fifteen stitches were needed, but that hardly counted as an injury.

The bigger problem was the operation’s failure. No, beyond failure—it was a disaster.

The mission was to raid a Mafia smuggling operation and arrest all the executives on the spot. The Federal Bureau of Security and Massachusetts State Police were deployed, along with police from Pollard, Arkham, and Kingsport. On the day of the operation—today, in fact.

The police who entered the warehouse found only an empty building with flour sacks hanging from the ceiling. A timer activated, and 10 seconds later, the sacks tore open, releasing flour everywhere. Payne, watching from outside, signaled a retreat, but it was too late. Sparks ignited at the ceiling, and the entire warehouse exploded violently.

It was a dust explosion.

Two Federal agents and seven police officers died, with over 30 others suffering various injuries. The death toll would likely rise considering those who hadn’t regained consciousness. While everyone was still dazed, only Henry Payne, with his torn forehead, managed to gather his wits.

After chasing across fields and valleys, he finally apprehended the fugitive. The man now sat silently in the interrogation room, handcuffed. Numerous officers had tried to make him talk, but he remained as tight-lipped as a dead clam.

This was why State Detective Hans looked at Henry Payne with sympathetic eyes. The Federal Bureau bore ultimate responsibility for this operation. Normally, Hans would have complained about the Bureau taking credit for state police work, but this time, the Bureau would be taking the blame.

‘Of course, regardless of who’s responsible or where the operation leaked… if I were Henry Payne, I’d have put a bullet in my head.’

Lost in thought, Hans hadn’t properly heard Payne’s request.

“I’m sorry. What did you say?”

“I asked how far the nearest hospital is.”

“About 20 minutes if you ignore traffic signals. I know because I’ve transported emergency patients before.”

“Call an ambulance.”

Who else was injured? Hans drifted back into his thoughts. Henry Payne placed his caramel-colored hat and brown coat on the hallway shelf.

“Are you going to interrogate him yourself?”

Badge. ID. Even his gun. As a precaution, Payne had removed all the bullets.

“I’ll be done in 20 minutes.”

“He’s like a dead clam. He absolutely won’t talk. I’ve tried every method…”

Payne cut Hans off.

“Bring me two bandages and remove all furniture from the room. Unlock his handcuffs.”

These requests made less and less sense, but Hans complied. That was Henry Payne—an intelligent tyrant with a Federal Bureau badge. Hans called the officers and did everything Payne asked.

Payne entered the interrogation room with the bandages.

In the center of the room stood a man bleeding from a gash on the right side of his head. He was rubbing his wrists, which bore clear marks from the handcuffs.

Max Ashton. 38 years old. Kingsport harbor warehouse manager. His real occupation: a pawn for the “Alto Family” operating in Kingsport and Arkham.

His criminal record included gambling, prohibition violations, food and drug regulation violations, assault, extortion, bodily harm, and rioting—ten offenses in total. And now, murder and obstruction of official duties would be added.

It would be a miracle if Ashton made it to prison alive. He’d likely be beaten to death in a cell where no one would hear, or shot by an “accidentally” discharged weapon before reaching the courtroom. Even in a world where police colluded with criminals, killing officers changed everything.

Payne ignored all that. He tried to focus on just two things: Ashton’s family and his medical records.

When his thoughts were organized, Payne tossed a bandage at Ashton’s feet.

“You were a boxer, right? You must know how to wrap your hands.”

Ashton only looked down at his feet and kept his mouth shut. Payne stretched out a bandage, cut it in half, and wrapped both hands like a boxer.

“Tell me. I heard you were quite good in Alabama twenty years ago. The lightweight preliminaries—that wasn’t a match you should have lost. Right?”

Max Ashton looked up at Payne for the first time. But he still didn’t pick up the bandage at his feet.

“A young boxer who entered the ring to help pay for his sick mother’s hospital bills. You made it to the preliminary finals, but supposedly lost after three rounds due to inexperience. In truth, you took money to throw the fight. The gamblers threatened the promoter. Thanks to that, you could pay all the hospital bills. It would have been nice if it ended there, wouldn’t it, Max?”

“I lost because I deserved to lose.”

Finally, a response. A murky voice like fragments falling from a shattered rock.

“Interesting, isn’t it? Watching someone sink into crime is like watching water flow. Once you take the wrong path, you can never go back upstream. Tell me, why did you fall into gambling?”

“What difference would it make if I told you now?”

“Just wrap the bandage.”

“And then what? Are you going to shoot me?”

“I guarantee this: you’ll never leave this police station alive. When I leave, the state police will leave too, and only the Arkham and Kingsport police will remain. Even if they take bribes from the Mafia, after seeing their colleagues blown to pieces, they won’t let you off easy.”

Payne continued.

“But I guarantee this: you’ll tell me everything within 20 minutes. You’ll hit me first. I’ll block you in self-defense. And I’ll beat you until you beg me to stop, until I know everything I need to know.”

Ashton frowned. He bent down to pick up the bandage. Like Payne had done, he cut it in half and wrapped it tightly around both hands.

“I won’t fall for these games.”

Despite his words, Ashton raised his guard firmly. His forearms looked thick and tough from years of labor and training.

He had no intention of lowering his arms. At least if his arms were busy, he wouldn’t attack first.

In contrast, Payne spread his arms and lightly clenched his fists. He seemed unconcerned with defense. Ashton didn’t like that stance.

“How did you know the police would raid the Kingsport warehouse? Where did the information leak, and who set up the flour sacks inside? What were you doing at the warehouse at that time?”

Ashton didn’t answer.

“That warehouse is on a farm hill, a bit away from Kingsport dock. It’s in a secluded area with an entrance hidden by forest—a path only known to those who know it. As far as we know, it’s a Mafia-exclusive wholesale store. Goods flow from there into black markets across Massachusetts. But on the day we planned to attack, there were no goods inside. Instead, there was a skillfully crafted trap.”

Ashton didn’t respond. He’d heard this story countless times already from the police who had come before Henry Payne, and he hadn’t answered them either.

“So I wonder why you were there. You didn’t need to be there.”

“What?”

“Someone capable of timing the flour sack explosion to our entry could have easily caused an electrical short circuit using the same principle. They would have set up double or triple mechanisms in case the spark didn’t ignite. Rather than leaving an expendable person to be caught by the police.”

Ashton frowned. Payne continued.

“Yes, I mean you. The expendable man.”

“How childish.”

“What else would you call a gambling addict who left his mother to drug addiction while getting money extorted by his fiancée—a man who just wipes the Mafia’s ass, if not expendable?”

“Talk all you want.”

“Was the gambling debt because of your fiancée? She lamented to you that she needed to pay off her family’s debt to avoid being sold to a brothel. You couldn’t ignore her plea, so you returned to illegal fighting rings. And what did you get after fighting until your left arm broke? Your fiancée left you anyway.”

“She was brave.”

“Was she really?”

Payne reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. He placed it gently on the ground and stepped back. A black and white photograph. Ashton carefully picked it up, then tore it to shreds.

“She looks like someone I know.”

“It is her. The man next to her is Senator Annette Cole. They both have nice bodies. What do you think?”

“Is childish trickery all the Federal Bureau can do?”

“What do you think? A luxurious bed. Elegant decorations and poses. Don’t they look like real lovers? That photo was deliberately taken with a photographer. If you had looked properly, you’d have seen she was also a drug addict. Like your mother.”

Ashton’s neck and shoulders twitched.

“My mother needed opium because of surgical complications. She couldn’t sleep without it. She was comfortable until her final moments.”

“You paid for that opium with your blood, didn’t you?”

“I would have done anything for my mother.”

“What about your fiancée who exploited you? Do you know where she is now? She’s in Arkham Asylum. Broken beyond repair. Where do you think I heard all these stories, Ashton?”

Ashton said nothing more. Instead, his labored breathing and tense muscles gave Payne the satisfying answer he sought.

“The debt to the brothel was real. The difference is that she herself borrowed money from the pimp, not her family saddling her with debt. She was ‘high-class.'”

“No.”

“She used the alias ‘Jezebel’ and had relationships with several high-ranking officials. Of course, the Mafia was behind it all. On the ‘Alto Family’s’ orders, she created another fake identity. Yes, the role of your fiancée.”

“Bullshit.”

“Those obscene photos of your fiancée naked with Annette Cole were taken while you were in jail for assault.”

“Bullshit!”

Ashton shouted.

“Ashton, you gullible fool. She knew who you were from the beginning. Everyone on the streets knew you were quite famous in the illegal fighting rings. The ‘Alto Family’ had you figured out from start to finish. The reason Jezebel chose you was because she knew you were naive.”

Payne chuckled.

“The reason she sometimes acted like she couldn’t live without you, then disappeared without a trace, was to toy with you. She enjoyed watching your reactions from a distance.”

“Stop insulting her.”

Payne straightened his posture.

“Fine. This is all fiction. Of course, your guess is right. I was just testing you. It’s all fiction. Fiction based on truth. If you didn’t like that story, shall I try another?”

Payne crossed his arms with feigned nonchalance.

“About ten years ago, there was a man who, crying and drooling and pissing himself, broke his left arm with a hammer held in his right hand. Interested?”

Ashton trembled. Only the Alto Family, himself, and his fiancée knew that story.

“The price of that story was half a vial of medical opium and a syringe. She injected it into her arm quite skillfully.”

Ashton charged like an enraged beast.

Payne already knew how he would attack. In the fighting ring, when excited, Ashton would lead with a right straight. Even in his fury, his form was exemplary, honest, and destructive. And Payne, like those who had defeated Ashton before, leaped to his right and delivered a flurry of jabs to his face.

When Ashton raised his guard again, Payne’s straight punch struck Ashton’s left arm directly—the very spot Ashton himself had broken with a hammer in his right hand.

Payne dodged around while targeting only Ashton’s left arm. Not his face. Not his stomach. Not his shoulders. As if nothing else mattered, he attacked only the left arm.

As Ashton’s left arm began to throb, forgotten terrors returned to him.

The Alto Family’s threat to make him crawl for life if he didn’t obey.

His fiancée, trembling like an insect on the floor with constricted pupils after an injection.

Ashton finally dropped his left arm.

This was the moment Payne had been waiting for.

A massive uppercut struck Ashton’s abdomen.

The man who could have been a lightweight champion collapsed to the floor.

Payne stomped on his left arm—already swollen and red from multiple hits.

“Talk.”

Ashton screamed in agony. Payne kicked his head with his shoe.

“Talk! Talk! Talk!”

Payne grabbed Ashton by the collar and lifted him. Ashton’s fractures weren’t limited to his left arm. The fighting ring is brutal. You have to be prepared for a bone or two to break. And Payne knew exactly where Ashton had broken bones before, thanks to his medical records. Payne struck those previously fractured areas again.

“Guh…guh…”

Thick blood dripped from Ashton’s mouth. Payne slapped his cheek. The sound of an ambulance siren wailed.

“Let me give you some good news. There’s an ambulance waiting outside. We’re going to save you. And we’re going to turn you into a drug addict too. Just inject more than the appropriate amount of opium, and that’s it. I’ll lock you up with your beloved fiancée.”

Cornered, Ashton sobbed. Payne turned away from him and headed for the door. As he grabbed the doorframe and shouted, “Here! Call the medic! Bring opium!”

“Moriarty!”

Ashton screamed.

Payne turned around.

A ticking sound—like the timer he’d heard in the warehouse—came from Ashton’s body.

Payne hurriedly opened the door and gripped the metal door firmly.

From inside, he could hear Ashton pounding on the door.

Like a death knell, Ashton beat the metal door with his fists, but—

BOOM!

The explosion’s impact threw Payne backward.

Fortunately, the metal door partially blocked the explosion, so he wasn’t seriously injured, but he slammed hard into the opposite wall.

Struggling to maintain his fading consciousness, Payne tried to hold onto the name Moriarty and keep the figure that had been Ashton in his sight.

The last thing Payne saw before losing consciousness was people in white coats rushing toward him.

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