Ch.82008 Investigation Record – Michael Husband (3)

“Sounds good! Oh, are there many bars in New York?”

Though I asked casually, the detective made another incredulous expression. His face seemed to ask if I’d never seen one before, but he quickly abandoned his suspicion.

He took a stack of card-shaped papers from his wallet and handed them to me. Each had different symbols drawn on them. The one with a black bird had an address written on it, but the rest had no text.

Counting them, there were thirteen in total. Were each of these entry tickets? I wasn’t sure how many times he’d visited these places, but I could be certain he planned to go at least thirteen more times.

“Those are all invitations. You could call them permanent entry passes. Since it’s technically illegal, everyone tries to maintain the pretense of invitation. Pick one.”

Among them was a familiar-looking one with a person on the front and a wolf on the back, but… no, Two Face was a cafe. I shook my head, thinking there might be places using similar symbols.

The rest looked pretty similar. They were designed to be easily concealed yet recognizable, which seemed to confirm what he said about them being used as passes.

After examining the symbols, I picked one. It was on elegant ivory paper with a crown embossed in gold. I thought it might be a somewhat classier establishment and handed it to the detective.

His expression, once again trying to suppress a smile, suggested I’d made a poor choice. He took the invitation and tucked it into his wallet anyway.

“Elves can’t go there. It’s run by vampires, and they mix blood into all their drinks, making them foul and tasteless. With an elf’s palate, it would be horrific.”

My face contorted as I imagined the taste in my mouth. Naturally, I blurted out:

“Why on earth would anyone drink something like that?”

“People don’t go there for the drinks. Vampires are pleasantly cold to embrace. And, uncharacteristically, they take interest in humans who come to vampire bars.”

Feeling blood rush to my face, I picked another card. This one had two orc axes crossed in an X pattern. Orcs would probably be better.

The detective took this invitation and nodded, as if I’d made a good choice this time. Well, two failures was enough. That’s how it works, right?

“This place is fine. It was established by an orc who came over when the Orc Empire collapsed. Orcs make good alcohol. It’ll be quite strong though—is that okay?”

The only alcohol I’d ever had was a memorial drink at the Veterans’ Association, and even that was so strong it made my throat burn. This would probably be better. I nodded.

“Elves aren’t physically weak, you know. So, as long as it doesn’t taste too strong, I should be fine. Probably. But how much do you usually drink?”

We got back into Paulina’s car. Since the address was unknown to Paulina, the detective naturally took the driver’s seat. He seemed skilled at driving a car made for larger species.

“Usually I drink until I can’t remember how much I drank. But somehow I always end up back home the next morning.”

I should have snapped back at him again, but I kept quiet because I somewhat understood why he drank. Still, since I was here to do research… I carefully asked:

“Can you not sleep unless you’re completely unconscious?”

“If I’m unconscious, I can sleep. Can’t you elves always look on the bright side of problems?”

His deflection with humor was a signal not to dig deeper. Rather than falling silent and freezing the atmosphere, I naturally shifted the topic of conversation. That would be better.

The car drove to a place I’d never been before, somewhere even Paulina, who was always with me, had never visited. It was the orcs’ neighborhood. It was smaller than Littlehold or Motherwood, but these people had their own community too.

Orcs did have rather sharp features and always wore stern expressions that could be somewhat intimidating, but the people were generally friendly. They just didn’t smile much.

“Elves live in Motherwood, dwarves in Littlehold. What is this neighborhood called?”

“Old Empire. The orcs who live here named it thinking of the old country they left behind when they came here. Funny to call it an empire in this fine country.”

In this neighborhood, the unpleasant feeling that the name “empire” might evoke wasn’t present. The orcs’ faces, tempered by the cold, seemed to reflect a firm resolve. I wanted to capture it in a photo and raised my camera.

And now, I finally found an opportunity to properly counter this detective. There was one emperor in America. Just one, but still.

“There’s the Emperor’s Decree of San Francisco. Where the God-President himself recognized an emperor instead of a mayor. I’d like to visit sometime… I should have gone when I lived in Texas, but now it’s impossible.”

The term “Emperor’s Decree” was amusing. Who could grant land to an emperor? Well… the God-President could, which is how such a ridiculous term came to be.

San Francisco in California was at the southwest end, while New York was almost at the northeast end. To get there from here would require almost a month trapped on a train.

“I’ve heard it’s a nice place to live, but I don’t particularly want to live there. If there are no problems, there’s no need for contractors, and if contractors aren’t needed, detectives starve.”

He was like a fish that could only live in water—a person who could only live in New York. Feeling like I understood him a little better, I watched the scenery slowly move past the car window.

Soon the car stopped in the middle of the orc neighborhood. Despite being called a secret bar, the building was so large that music and warmth flowed out through the windows, shining brightly as if denying the fact that the sun was setting.

It wasn’t unpleasantly flashy like the entertainment district in Little Eire. It had the color of a cozy fireplace flame.

It was indeed a secret bar, as two large orcs stood at the door checking visitors. All the customers had invitations like the one the detective had.

The detective got out first and gestured for me to follow. He seemed uncharacteristically energetic. As he approached the door, the expressions of the orc doorkeepers softened a bit.

“It’s been a while since you’ve visited. Are these two with you?”

All I could do was stand behind the detective and look around. Orcs and ogres were generally friendly with each other, so it was nice to see Paulina’s expression soften.

The detective nodded, showing his invitation. At least he wasn’t planning to abandon us here. Should I be grateful for being taken to a bar?

“Sasha, you said you were going for an interview somewhere last time, but you’re still here. And yes, they’re with me.”

The orc named Sasha exhaled with a hiss as if annoyed, then growled. We all have our barbaric sides.

“That company president was a fucking FFF member, so I just got humiliated and kicked out. I prefer Old Empire. It’s more like family here. Anyway, if they’re your guests, they’re our guests too. Go in.”

The mention of the Followers of the Forest’s Firstborn sent a chill down my spine, but this orc didn’t seem to view all elves as targets for revenge. He simply opened the door for me naturally.

Yes, finally facing the bare face of New York. Hearing profanity-laced speech within ten seconds of meeting someone was quite… rare, except for when I met those dwarves in the alley last time.

As we entered, the detective patted the orc’s shoulder. It was truly… truly unlike him.

“I’ll buy you a consolation drink when your shift ends, Sasha. Come in.”

Even the detective seemed more human here. I learned for the first time that there are aspects of people that can only be seen in bars.

I had thought secret bars would all be dirty and gloomy places, but when the door opened, the interior was quite clean. Distinctive orc decorations adorned the walls, and the wooden furniture was cozy.

The bespectacled orc standing behind the bar had quite an intellectual appearance, and his crisp white shirt and black vest didn’t give the impression of someone working in a shady establishment at all.

I naturally sat at the bar with the detective. The bartender’s face showed a hint of curiosity, suggesting that the detective rarely brought guests.

“It’s been a while, Michael. I never expected you to bring other customers. When I was begging you to help with business since you have so many connections, you never brought anyone.”

“Business is good now anyway. Get me a bottle. Take orders from those two. The lawyer I don’t know about, but the elf was parched dry until walking through that door, so give her something that won’t make her collapse.”

As the detective finished speaking, the orc bartender took a frosted transparent bottle from the freezer and placed it in front of him. He opened it and drank it like water… was it not alcohol? There was no smell of alcohol.

After pushing an order slip to the kitchen behind him, the bartender approached us. With neatly combed hair, ivory-white protruding tusks characteristic of orcs, and elegant gold-rimmed glasses… he looked like an orc you could believe meeting at a family party rather than a secret bar’s bartender.

He looked me up and down almost imperceptibly, then noticed the camera still hanging around my neck and boldly made a guess.

“A detective drowning in alcohol and a parched… hmm, taking a risk with my deduction, I’d say you’re a journalist. Seems like this bartender needs to be the detective today. So, what would you like to order?”

The bartender, who had spoken casually to the detective, showed us courtesy while displaying his wit with appropriate humor. I smiled slightly at his words and looked up at the orc leaning on the bar.

“Well, as Michael said, I really haven’t had a single drink until just now. Do you have many types of alcohol here?”

“We keep a good stock, but generally sell just one. The orcs’ elixir of life. It would be an elixir for any species living in that harsh Siberia, but here… Try a glass first. It’s not as bad as you might think. Here in America, alcohol is a luxury, but for us orcs, it was a necessity to warm our bodies, so it doesn’t have such a decadent taste.”

He was quite eloquent. He took another frosted bottle from the freezer and poured me a small glass. There wasn’t even a thin layer of ice, suggesting it was strong liquor.

Yet strangely, there was hardly any smell of alcohol. Curious, I took a sip of the ice-cold drink. It barely tasted like alcohol—it was almost tasteless like water.

Of course, it was refreshingly cold. Thanks to that, I could drink the whole glass without the unpleasantness and strong aroma I experienced with the memorial drink.

Maybe alcohol isn’t so bad after all, I thought, then shivered slightly at the disconnect. It was probably because I’d heard too often that alcohol was the source of corruption.

There was a slight warmth in the aftertaste, but it wasn’t that strong. I smiled at the bartender who was carefully observing my reaction. It was a drink that suited smiling.

“Even though I was ‘parched dry,’ I have tried whiskey once as a memorial drink. At that time, I thought alcohol was definitely alcohol… but this is nice? I mean…”

The detective had already finished his bottle like it was water. I wondered if his body would be okay drinking like that… but, well, he would be fine. I didn’t want to explain why.

The bartender seemed pleased with my positive reaction but quietly shook his head at my attitude suggesting I wanted another glass. He showed me that there was no thin layer of ice inside the bottle he’d taken from the freezer.

“It’s strong liquor, so I don’t want to give too much to someone trying it for the first time. Not everyone’s first drink needs to lead to a terrible hangover the next morning. Right?”

“I… guess so?”

I felt inexperienced again, but I also thought I might be able to become a bit friendlier with alcohol. The detective received a second bottle and began downing it again.

After glancing at him briefly, I looked at the bartender. The bartender also had a resigned expression, and spoke with a polite demeanor.

“Even regular orc drinkers drink like that… but Michael is unusually strong with alcohol. Normal orcs who drink that much would be holding their heads with hangovers all day.”

So he always drinks like that. Paulina also seemed to like the drink, raising just the corners of her mouth in a smile. She looked like she would have asked how to get an invitation to this bar if I hadn’t been there.

“It’s quite high quality. It’s been a while since I’ve had something this clean. May I have another glass?”

With alcohol in his system, the detective grew quiet. I could probably ask him something now, but first I decided to take in more of the scenery of this bar I was visiting for the first time, and turned around.

It seemed to be the time when orcs started gathering, as the door kept opening and closing. Bottles of alcohol naturally went to the people filling the tables, and they all happily shared the drinks of this place.

There was nothing decadent about this bar. Just people who had gathered here to rest after a tiring day.

Of course, I had only seen one place… but to prove that black swans exist, you only need one black swan.

If even one place is like this, then the claim that all alcohol is bad becomes false. I felt I needed to learn more about Prohibition.

The detective was truly someone who shook my foundations. He had not only shaken but destroyed my belief as a journalist doing the right thing, and now he was shaking my belief that Prohibition was right and alcohol was bad.

It wasn’t a bad feeling. I hadn’t expected to see this from the first day of my research, but the detective was not only an uncommon detective but also an uncommon subject.

I cleared my throat lightly and showed my camera to the bartender. I smiled at him. Would it look like I was smiling from being drunk? Probably not.

“Would it be okay if I took a few pictures? I’m not trying to use them for the Prohibition enforcement or anything…”

The orc bartender smiled briefly and nodded as if he already knew. He trusted me.

“Those people don’t admit to being ‘parched dry.’ I don’t think you’ll use these for an article either, so feel free to take as many pictures as you want. This is our home.”

I took two pictures each of the bartender leaning on the bar and the happy orcs when I turned around. After developing them, I would ask Michael to bring some back to this bar.

The first day of my research was coming to an end this way. It didn’t even take a full day to feel that deciding to research the detective… no, Michael, was the right decision.