Ch.78Ch.6 – Tinker. Tailor. Soldier. Lady. (4)

May 25, 1929. 10:12 AM

Pollard – Kingsport Ferry

We were the only ones on the stern deck of the ferry.

Every time Abassina opened her brown paper bag, seagulls would come flying with their “squawk-squawk” cries. When she tore off pieces of bread and tossed them into the sea, the seagulls would swoop down to eat them. Then, as if nothing had happened, they would calmly circle around us again. Abassina laughed brightly at their nonchalance.

Sister Maria and Abassina had spent all of yesterday afternoon shopping for clothes, she told me. We were on a secret mission for the Vatican, and Abassina couldn’t reveal her true identity. So she had prepared an alias: “Adelaide.”

Not just her name, but her appearance had changed as well. Abassina’s silver hair was quite famous among the people of Pollard. So she had twisted her hair up and wore a wide-brimmed hat. This left her pale, long, slender neck completely exposed. Sunlight traced her neckline and flowed into her light blue blouse. Her white chiffon skirt, which fell below her knees, fluttered like the wings of a capricious butterfly with the slightest turn of her body.

A false identity. A false name.

But perhaps this revealed Abassina’s true self more than anything. At least, she had never bloomed so vibrantly when wearing her nun’s habit. I could hardly imagine how much she had been forced to carry beneath that black and white habit.

“Want to try this?”

She tilted her black sunglasses slightly to meet my eyes. They were dark enough to hide her silver-gray irises. I tossed a piece of bread with a flick of my wrist, just as she had done. Due to a poor angle, it fell straight into the sea.

“Silly. Was it that heavy for you?”

Abassina pulled my arm toward her. Close enough that I could feel the softness of her gentle bosom beneath her blouse.

“You’ll need your strength today, what will you do if you’re already like this? I packed enough clothes for three days, you know.”

Her last words were spoken in a slightly higher tone. She had clearly said it deliberately so that the person a short distance from us could hear. Of course, “she” didn’t remain silent either.

“That looks fun. May I have some bread too?”

To outward appearances, she was a gentleman in a tailcoat leaning against the railing. Not exactly a traditional tailcoat, but rather a men’s formal suit that borrowed heavily from the tailcoat style. Black trousers with crisp lines and an obsessively white shirt. A navy two-button vest with a dark blue outer coat featuring white vertical stripes.

With a hat that President Lincoln might have worn, she could have passed for a Southern gentleman from a century ago. Of course, she was too sophisticated to actually be from a century ago.

Under her tanned skin and prominent nose was a splendid mustache attached with glue, and her chest, which would have been impossible to conceal with any ordinary suit, was hidden by a bulletproof vest worn under her shirt. Still, her long, straight legs were impossible to hide. Her hips came up to where others’ waists would be. The reason her men’s suit was a bit loose in fit seemed to be to hide the curves of her figure.

Abassina pinched my arm lightly. It meant not to stare too long. Abassina leaving the island was as much classified information as a White Hand Mafia executive abandoning her post. That was also why she was leaving the island disguised as a man.

So, “we” – myself, Abassina, and Aurora – were on the ferry to Kingsport.

Abassina had arrived at Crayfield’s office first. She was very excited, carrying a trunk suitcase, but when Aurora, disguised as a man, entered shortly after, she nearly ate me and Crayfield alive. Literally.

“Beast?”

Abassina quickly pinched my back and side.

“Why is that woman here? What’s with the mustache, and why is she dressed like a circus clown?”

“Oh. And you, Sister, are dressed like a seventeen-year-old girl. Quite inappropriate for your age. I’m just going to do my job. Any objections?”

Aurora crossed her legs with an air of composure. Abassina raised her chin.

“Ah. What kind of job requires you to dress as a man? Who are you trying to deceive now?”

“Investigation, not conspiracy. The Kingsport harbor issue is something we need to understand from our perspective as well. I have a duty to comfort and protect our members. But the White Hand lacks executives capable of handling such an important task. The Right Hand position is vacant. Father is too old. So it makes sense for me to go, doesn’t it?”

“Something seems off.”

Crayfield asked, placing his revolver on the desk.

“The Aurora Savio I know didn’t speak so politely.”

Aurora tugged slightly at her glued-on mustache.

“Oh. Of course not. I’m not Aurora right now. I’m ‘Leo.’ So I won’t say things like, ‘Crayfield, you idiot bastard, my people are watching my every move, so how do you think they’d react if I openly walked into your office?’ I also won’t say, ‘What, should I wear a white glove on my left hand when I come in?’ Leo is a very polite gentleman.”

Aurora glared at Crayfield, emphasizing each word. Still, Crayfield seemed quite pleased, apparently happy that things were going according to his plan. Though even he probably hadn’t anticipated Aurora’s male disguise and change in speech.

“So. What request brings you here, ‘Leo’?”

Crayfield decided to play along.

“Request? I came to propose accompanying your assistant. I heard he’s going to Kingsport. I have a chronic condition that prevents me from getting covered in dust.”

Aurora shook an asthma inhaler.

“Instead, I’ve arranged for a vehicle. Under the name ‘Leo.’ I’ll do the driving myself. It’s not the best model, but I’m quite good at driving. Your assistant has ridden with me several times, so he knows.”

“The assistant will be going with me. There’s no place for you.”

Abassina declared confidently. But,

“Are you really going on a honeymoon?”

This suspicious question made her hiccup.

“W-what? What are you suddenly talking about?”

Aurora smirked and glared at Crayfield. Her hand twitched as if she wanted to point a gun at him.

“So what you told me yesterday was a lie, Mr. Crayfield?”

“I never said it was true, ‘Leo.’ And it was true that ‘Adelaide’ and my assistant were supposed to go alone. Isn’t that why you’re here?”

Aurora blushed, and Abassina couldn’t take it anymore. She grabbed my arm and dragged me out into the hallway outside the office.

I explained to the very angry Abassina about what had happened yesterday.

‘With the Pollard police compromised, if Abassina also left the island, Pollard would become a battlefield. So yesterday afternoon, Crayfield and I went around spreading misinformation among the mafia members. Omeli would lie low knowing the Federal Security Bureau was coming, and if Aurora accompanied us, the White Hand wouldn’t move recklessly either.’

Abassina understood the situation, but she didn’t seem to accept it emotionally.

“So we have to travel with that wicked woman? I was looking forward to a trip just for the two of us! Ah. Fine. Fine. It’s work, right? Fine! Let’s just go do the job. I shouldn’t have packed clothes for three days. We could have finished in one day and come back!”

Abassina’s anger hadn’t subsided even as we made our way to the harbor. Then suddenly, Aurora pressed close to my side and spoke to me affectionately.

Aurora’s disguise was perfect. From her attire to her tone and manner of speaking, she was not the passionate, impulsive Aurora I had known. She was someone completely different.

She truly spoke “like a gentleman” about the worsening weather and Pollard’s industries, even slowing down Abassina’s steps as she walked ahead of us. With a “hmph,” Abassina took my arm and pressed herself against me, clearly for Aurora to see.

Aurora didn’t react much, but her eyes burned fiercely behind her sunglasses. And now, on the ship’s deck, with me between them, they continued this kind of exchange.

“Assistant. What do you think? Those seagulls. They sound like cats. Like midnight thief cats. Black, white, very bewitching, don’t you think?”

Then Aurora, or rather “Leo,” would retort:

“Oh. You don’t know how liberal cats are. They’re proactive creatures who take care of their own share.”

Abassina, or rather “Adelaide,” nodded.

“Ah. So that’s the mindset of a ‘thief’? How fascinating.”

“Life is a struggle. Our ancestors lived by struggling.”

“So you’re not denying being a thief?”

“Oh. That won’t do. I merely asked if I could have a piece of bread. Seeing how worried you are about being robbed, aren’t you being overly conscious of ‘thieves’?”

Abassina went “Ha!” and folded her arms.

“Me? Conscious of you? You’re quite the joker.”

“Well. I haven’t done anything. From my perspective, you look like a child clutching a teddy bear, saying ‘I won’t give it to anyone’ out of fear.”

“Ah, is that so? How nice it must be to be older than me.”

“The age of the body and the age of the mind aren’t always the same. Let me tell you, I was very mature from childhood.”

A seagull cried “squawk” and flew away. Abassina hissed “tsk” and glared at Aurora.

“It left because of you!”

“Well. If you had paid half as much attention to the seagull as you do to me, things might have been different.”

“The seagull isn’t mine. I have something else that is.”

With that, Abassina gripped my arm tighter. Aurora’s eyes blazed.

“Indeed, Moon Saint. You’re truly as beautiful as the midnight moon. But the moon can only gaze at the earth, never reaching out. This suddenly makes me curious.”

Aurora moved closer to me, put her arm around my shoulder, and reached toward my chest.

“When the full moon loses what it believed was its own, what expression will it show? The moon, helplessly watching its possession being taken away right before its eyes… how artistic.”

A small, pointed tongue briefly darted out of Aurora’s mouth.

“I can show you right now, ‘Leo.'”

Abassina smirked. Aurora bent her waist slightly and backed away. Then she fluttered the front of her shirt.

“No. Maybe later, ‘Adelaide.’ My chest is too tight in this underwear. I wish someone would loosen it for me.”

Though she was wearing a light bulletproof vest instead of compression bandages, her chest area was still quite prominent. Prominent enough that a stranger might mistake it for muscle.

As Aurora silently inhaled from her inhaler, Abassina turned her gaze toward the open sea. “Vulgar,” she muttered.

* * * * *

Kingsport.

When Pollard Island was famous for whaling, this place had been bustling with drifters and stockpiled goods, but now it was just a declining town.

Kingsport’s population was rapidly decreasing, and vacant houses were easy to find, becoming hotbeds of crime. Young people were leaving for bigger cities in search of jobs, leaving only the elderly behind.

Since vagrants of poor quality had taken over the empty houses on the docks, decent people had settled inland. This meant that people were scattered in small family groups across a fairly wide area, and to meet people and conduct investigations, one would have to travel considerable distances.

Fortunately, Aurora had prepared a vehicle in advance. When we entered a place marked “Vehicle Maintenance & Rental Service” and gave the name “Leo,” they readily provided us with a vintage Ford model. It had the problem of not starting on the first try, but it ran quite smoothly once going.

“Before we go, let’s make one thing clear.”

Abassina spoke from the back seat.

“We’re here as ‘Adelaide’ and ‘Leo.’ Whatever we were in Pollard, we’re here to learn about a person named Ashton and the story behind him. Our paths overlap that far, so let’s not get in each other’s way.”

“Of course.”

“Leo” Aurora nodded elegantly.

“So what’s the plan?”

Aurora in the driver’s seat looked at me in the passenger seat. I suggested investigating Ashton first. The logic was that if we knew when, where, and from whom he received treatment, we could also learn about Ashton’s background.

Aurora then shared information she had heard from her subordinates at the harbor. He had been a man with a rather poor reputation who lived in an apartment converted from a dock workers’ communal dormitory.

May 25, 1929. 1:14 PM

Dock Workers’ Communal Dormitory Apartment #222

Kingsport.

The floorboards screamed with every step down the corridor. From the ceiling came the pitter-patter of what sounded like children running, but was more likely a pack of rats. Through open doorways, men sprawled among bottles and old men asleep with radios playing were visible, with the smell of sewage and mold emanating from various corners.

The door to room 222 was already smashed in. Instead, a warning notice from the Kingsport police was posted on the wall. Even that wasn’t intact – the “No” part of “No Entry” had been torn off.

“Wonder if there’s anything worth salvaging?”

Aurora muttered to herself as she searched through the dusty room. A mouse that had been gnawing at the corner of a rotting carpet disappeared into a wall crack with an indignant squeak. The shelves were full of unwashed dishes, and the closet was already wide open. The police would have taken everything.

“Beast. I’m going to check on some other people.”

Abassina took out a long pen from her trunk. It was clearly a blood sampling device from the Vatican. Though she didn’t seem particularly eager,

“Still, I should at least check people’s memories to find something useful. Don’t worry. One ‘bread’ and they’ll all sleep soundly. Trust me?”

Abassina kissed my cheek and quickly went out the door. Fortunately, Aurora was exploring the bedroom and didn’t see this. While I was examining the living room, Aurora came out of the room coughing.

“Cough, cough! Damn it. I already feel like my throat is closing up. Assistant, sorry, but could you flip that mattress over? If I turn that thing over, I’ll end up in the hospital right away.”

Aurora frowned and put the inhaler to her mouth. Since asking an asthmatic to flip a dust-covered mattress would be excessive, I readily volunteered. It was quite light, probably because it was filled with rotten straw. There was nothing special about the mattress itself, but between the wooden frames, I found a rolled-up paper.

It was a bundle of bills. They had been classified for specific purposes, with the source and intended use of the money meticulously noted on the outside of each bundle. Intrigued, Aurora carefully examined the money and notes.

“Looks like this guy’s role in the organization was accounting. Generally, money is entrusted to just one person. That makes it easier to assign responsibility if money goes missing. Look at this. According to the original plan, this money should have been deposited into the Alto family’s account last month. But it wasn’t. Why did he divert the funds?”

Aurora paced around the room. The wooden floor complained with creaks, but she paid no attention. She stomped her foot and even jumped slightly in place. A hollow sound came from the opposite corner.

“Just as I thought.”

Lifting the floorboard revealed a space. There was a notebook and a leather pouch, which, when opened, spilled out chips.

Opening the notebook, I found betting amounts, rounds, and game contents organized by date. The first page of the notebook was titled “Kingsport Gambling Den.”

“A gambling addict. The money manager was addicted to gambling. Look at this. Judging by the state of those bundles, this guy didn’t even make deposits on time. And he lost money at the gambling den.”

Aurora pointed to a section of the gambling journal.

“But the fact that he was still alive until the point of his death by poisoning means either the Alto family’s fund management was really messed up, or he got money from somewhere else to cover it up. Looking at the amount he embezzled, it’s not just a few pennies, and the fact that he even touched the organization’s money means he had gone as far as he could go, so his credit would have been terrible. Where did he get that much money from?”

Aurora stopped as she turned the pages of the journal. One page had been cleanly cut out, as if with scissors. Specifically, there was no record from a week before the incident in question.

“What’s this?”

Aurora also seemed perplexed as she flipped through the journal. That was all there was to the gambling journal.

“Why is just this part cut out?”

There was a creaking sound from the living room. It was Abassina. She looked quite confused.

“That person wasn’t a very good neighbor, it seems. He enjoyed fighting, and apparently frequented gambling dens. Organization members often visited him and argued. Then he wasn’t seen for a while.”

“Who said that?”

“The neighbors.”

“Those people were passed out drunk when I saw them. I’m not sure how much we can trust alcoholics. Judging by how openly they drink, they don’t seem to fear prohibition laws.”

Aurora apparently didn’t know about Abassina’s exact abilities, and Abassina didn’t seem inclined to explain.

“And one more thing. We’re a step behind. Someone came before us. Just yesterday.”

I asked if she meant the police had come yesterday. Abassina shook her head.

“No. The police came much earlier. The person who came yesterday was a woman. Tall. With a cold, stern impression and completely white hair.”

“Who said that?”

“The person in the apartment across the hall.”

The person in question was lying down asleep with the radio on.

“You got testimony from a sleeping person?”

“He testified and then went back to sleep. Anyway. That woman. She’s a bit unsettling. Apparently, her pupils didn’t move at all. Like they weren’t human eyes, but doll’s eyes.”

“That’s certainly reliable information.”

Aurora mocked, but Abassina and I looked at each other seriously. Abassina would have read blood memories, which would be more accurate than any testimony or memory. I said I wanted to know more about the woman.

“No. That’s all. The neighbor tried to make a joke, but she responded very rudely. Something like, ‘How dare an insolent and lowly commoner!'”

I told Abassina about what Aurora and I had found. After discussion, we decided to visit the gambling den. While Aurora went out to start the car, Abassina whispered quietly.

“Beast. That woman spoke with a Posh accent.”

I asked what that was.

“You know I was at the Vatican, right? I met many different people there. Some were aristocrats, and British royalty and nobles have a distinctive vocabulary and pronunciation even when speaking the same English. They call it Posh. Language is like that, you know? It’s greatly influenced by the environment you grew up in. But what would a British aristocrat be doing here?”

It was a difficult question to answer. Even as we got back in the car and were almost at the gambling den, I couldn’t easily come up with an answer to that question.

The car stopped in front of a stone building in the downtown area.