Ch.83008 Investigation Record – Michael Husband (4)

Mr. Michael finally stopped drinking when it was almost time for me to have gone to sleep and then some. His once sharp and cool demeanor was gone, replaced by a tired face clouded with alcohol.

He pulled out a wad of cash from his wallet to pay for today’s drinks. He probably emptied one of the four freezers behind the bar. After settling the bill, Michael grinned uncharacteristically.

“Don’t think alcohol is a good thing. You need money to come to places like this, and I’ve seen plenty of men go blind drinking stuff that might contain methanol instead of ethanol. Quite a few bars have brothels attached too.”

Though he looked like he might fall asleep any moment, he seemed in the mood to talk. The alcohol appeared to have softened his temperament somewhat.

“You’re not trying to explain to me how bad alcohol is, are you? I spent four hours a week with people trying to push that law. I even remember the slogan.”

I think I was in a good mood back then. It felt like I was working toward something righteous. Looking back now, I was probably like a dry cloth, absorbing any moisture it could find.

“Yes, yes. You were a typical Southern girl. So, what are you trying to say?”

“Everything feels gray. There’s nothing truly white or truly black—everything exists somewhere in the gray. Even if you can compare lighter and darker… it’s all just gray. Like you.”

Michael pulled out a few more bills as a tip for the bartender and stood up. I got up to follow him, unsure if he could make it home properly.

“That’s not usually what you say to someone who tried to put a bullet in their head or slit their throat, is it?”

I could answer that one with some confidence. It felt like I was finally acting according to the ideals I’d spoken about at the rooftop party long ago. It wasn’t a bad feeling at all.

“You saved my life once, just as you tried to take it once. We can call it even. I don’t want to judge you unfairly, even if it’s you. Oh, come with us! We’ll drive you to your apartment!”

He wasn’t one to pass up the chance to save on taxi fare, and he crumpled himself into the back seat of Paulina’s car, half-drunk. He covered his face with his hat as if to say “don’t disturb my sleep.”

Even this competent detective was human after all. When we reached his apartment, he opened the car door and got out without needing to be woken, then staggered into his building. I didn’t get a goodbye.

I’ve always wondered how he makes it home, but that’s probably better asked another time. Still, imagining him collapsing seemed utterly surreal.

Only then could I return home with Paulina. The view outside the car window wasn’t colorful. Just the blackness of the night sky.

Outside our moving car, we occasionally passed shops like the bar we’d visited today, with soft light seeping out and music from turntables. They were probably all bars.

The jazz golden age I had seen was apparently just the outer shell. I wasn’t seeing the golden age of jazz, but the scenery of 1924. Not a vicious city, but the scenery of New York. Somehow, I felt like I could write tonight.

I didn’t write about Husband Detective Agency. I just drafted a few pieces based on our conversation. About grayness, and about this alcohol.

For now, I’ll set it aside and add more to it later. After organizing my thoughts briefly, I said goodnight to Paulina, who was still awake, and went to sleep. Tonight was a night when sleep came easily.

The next morning when I woke up, I fixed my hair, which today looked noticeably settled rather than disheveled from sleep. I headed straight for the bathroom with its reliable hot water and a bathtub big enough for two people with room to spare.

It was a morning full of motivation. I thought I could visit the detective’s office from the morning to get material for an article, but then I heard someone ringing the doorbell.

Ah, right, my father was also in New York. Since I hadn’t contacted him all day yesterday, he must have come to find me. I rushed to the door to check. It was indeed my father.

“Is that your father, Rose? Then I should crack one more egg.”

“Yes, it’s my father! Please do, Paulina!”

I opened the door right away. He seemed to have come without bodyguards today, even though he had nearly been stabbed by an Orc who thought any Elf must be a Follower of the Forest’s Firstborn the last time at the station.

As soon as he entered, his worried nagging began. I should have contacted him as soon as I got home… No, that wouldn’t work. I had been drinking with Michael until late before coming home.

“I’m glad to see you looking well, but… when someone says they’re going to apologize and then doesn’t contact me all day, honestly, in a city like this, I worry, Rose. You know where I’m staying.”

Unable to find the right words, I fumbled for a response, then remembered that yesterday had been busier than expected.

“Oh, well… he said if I wanted to apologize, I should do him a favor, so I was busy until evening. I went to several places, and… by the time I got back, it was too late, and I thought you’d be asleep. Yes!”

Father looked at me suspiciously, but he wasn’t one to doubt his own child. Eventually, his expression softened as he came in and closed the door himself.

Of course, there seemed to be more than one thing to scold me about. He placed his hand on my shoulder when he saw Paulina preparing breakfast.

“I’m the one who asked Paulina to help with your personal matters, but Rose, Paulina is a lawyer. You’re not making her prepare breakfast every morning, are you?”

“Not at all, sir. On days when I wake up earlier, I make it, and on days when Rose wakes up earlier, she makes it.”

Paulina naturally took my side, but… she always woke up first. Realizing this, I found it difficult to meet her gaze again.

Still, Paulina’s breakfasts were always good. She said she’d just learned a bit of cooking at home, but maybe because she was half-Ogre, she really knew how to bring out flavors in food.

Despite the unexpected visitor, it remained a happy morning. Only as we finished breakfast did my father speak up.

“Leonard called me this morning, Rose. He needs another reporter, and he’s wondering if you could help. That friend of mine is having a tough time lately. His own subordinate turned out to be a mafia puppet.”

Hearing that, I briefly turned to look at the floor where Inspector Jonathan Pace had lain. There was no trace left of anyone having died there.

Besides, last time, Uncle Leonard thought that Inspector Pace had shot and killed a rookie officer who was a mafia puppet. He hadn’t discovered that it was actually the mafia who killed an innocent officer.

I didn’t feel nauseated. I felt somewhat accustomed to death now. In this city, dozens of people must die every day.

Normally, I would have preferred to interview Michael more rather than a source my father introduced, but this time that didn’t seem possible. Uncle Leonard was someone I wanted to help.

“Yes, I’ll help if I can! Since the mafia has backed off, we’ve gotten quite busy too. I can’t keep taking vacations forever.”

“Now that’s a Clichy. Good, since you’ve already received the call, you can call him back. Oh, do you remember the number? If not, I can…”

I racked my brain, but it was clear my forgetfulness would prevent me from remembering… surprisingly, I did remember. I knew where to call and how to do it.

It felt like the oil-painting-like colors in my not-fully-awake mind had been neatly erased to gray. It definitely wasn’t thanks to the alcohol. I could feel a subtle headache.

“I remember it, so it’s fine! Though I hope this time we won’t get involved with the mafia…”

Father, accepting the bitter coffee from Paulina, smiled kindly. When he smiled, he didn’t look like the president of a company with branches across America.

“We settled that matter last time. No one will touch you. And don’t forget that I’m in New York now. If those thugs are smart enough, they won’t mess with a magician who has a battalion of shield-bearing lawyers on all sides. If they do, they’ll regret it.”

A thick smell of mana began to spread around my father. He raised his index and middle fingers in a V-sign, and electricity crackled visibly between them.

My father was a master of electrical magic. I’d heard that when he first started his business and couldn’t afford electricity to run the machines, he personally fed electricity to the industrial spirit he had installed in the factory.

Still, I had only seen my father use magic once. There had been intruders at home, and he had subdued three men who had taken my sibling hostage at gunpoint by using the metal railings.

Other than that, he didn’t tend to use it on people, so I wasn’t sure if he could or would do such things, but it was reassuring. I nodded immediately and went to make the call.

Once again, I heard the distinctive click of the automatic connector, followed by a couple of rings before the call connected. The voice came through immediately, as if he had been waiting for my father’s call.

“Clichy, is that you? So…”

“Ah, um… it’s Clichy, but probably not the Clichy you’re looking for. I heard from my father, Uncle Leonard! I hear you need another reporter?”

There was anxiety in his voice. No, not anxiety so much as thirst. His voice sounded parched, as if something remained unfulfilled.

“Oh, it’s you, Rose… I want you to know I’m not shameless enough to ask you for another favor. I heard you got tangled up with the mafia again after last time, and I don’t even want to imagine what would have happened without Charles… This might be dangerous again…”

He was speaking quickly. Something seemed urgent, so calming him down seemed the priority.

“Well, what’s past is past. Since then, I’ve learned a bit about how to protect myself and how to distinguish between people I can trust and people I shouldn’t. And I didn’t lose much. You don’t think I’d refuse to report the truth and do the right thing, do you?”

Even if the world was all gray, that was no reason not to report slightly less bad things, slightly better things. Just because something couldn’t be white didn’t mean its shade couldn’t brighten.

Hearing my words, Uncle Leonard’s voice softened somewhat. A sigh was followed by his voice.

“Yes, well, I wanted to pass along some inside information. Child disappearance reports have been increasing recently, but we’ve been ordered to tell the victims not to spread the word because it might cause panic. I’m not a victim myself, so it’s not insubordination. We’re still investigating, but it would be good if the newspaper could run ads to help find the missing children. What do you think?”

And this time, it was definitely closer to white. Even in a world that had begun to appear as a spectrum rather than a dichotomy, this was clearly the right thing to do, so I nodded.

“If you can provide photos again, I’ll ask my editor! I’m sure he’ll be happy to publish them. Definitely.”

While it was true that he was someone who wouldn’t refuse to do the right thing, giving voice to victims who had been unfairly silenced would certainly enhance the value of Golden Age Press.

Golden Age Press, which had become an informant for the mafia, needed something to wash away that stain. And this would be an excellent opportunity. I believed the editor would think the same way.

Still, to eliminate any lingering anxiety, I asked Uncle Leonard in a half-whisper:

“This time it’s not involved with gangsters, right? I’m asking because my father might worry…”

“Right, definitely not gangsters. They have no reason to kidnap children, and the kidnapped children are all from poor neighborhoods, so there’s nothing that would interest the mafia.”

This was reassuring. Ah, and for a job like this, I knew the perfect person. If I could combine meeting my father to receive work with conducting interviews alongside the detective, that would be doubly good.

“Then leave it to me. I’ll help so that you, Uncle Leonard, can focus solely on finding out who’s doing this.”

My words seemed to touch him somewhat. He didn’t strike me as such an emotional person, but it seemed the incident with Inspector Pace had given him many occasions to express his emotions.

“Yes, yes… That bastard made me think that the police might not be enough to realize justice, but seeing you makes me think that people are sufficient. Thank you, really thank you…”

His voice contained a passionate hatred. Betrayal is like fire. Once it clings to a person, it tends to burn fiercely. I wanted to say something, but the call ended abruptly.

“I raised at least one daughter well. No… I’m reaping the benefits of raising all twelve well. Should I assign someone to accompany you this time too, Rose?”

This time, I decided not to accept help from my father. I had developed connections in this city, I knew people… I had methods I could think of.

“I think I know who to hire, so I’d like to try on my own this time.”

My father exchanged glances with Paulina. I wasn’t sure what it was for, but hoping it meant I had taken a step toward being a trustworthy person, I dialed again.

I looked at the detective’s card I pulled from my pocket and called him. This time, the phone rang for quite a while before connecting, and I spoke first.

“Did you get home okay yesterday? I mean…”

“I hope you’re calling to hire me. There’s a client knocking at my door right now. I’m not the kind of person who takes two jobs at once.”