Ch.90Request Log #010 – The Missing Children (7)

Having a bullet lodged in your stomach isn’t that painful. No, actually it is that painful. I just don’t need to pay attention to it.

I kicked the knee of the handler who was crouching and clutching his stomach as if trying to stop the bleeding. He lost his balance and fell. It’s a technique I always use because it’s always effective.

I looked down at him curled up like a baby on the floor. There wouldn’t be any counterattack. I aimed my gun at him again. The priority was to make sure he couldn’t escape.

“Fuck, you, you fucker! Don’t! Hey!”

What a powerful voice. You’ll wake all the children. I aimed at his knee and emptied the remaining two shots. A dull sound like hitting heavy wooden furniture echoed, and now his rolling on the floor weakened.

“Ugh, ha, aah… huk, argh! Hoo, ha, uh, y-you son of a…”

I took a new magazine from my holster and loaded it. This time I hadn’t pre-loaded one round, so I had seven shots. Counting wasn’t always useful, but it would be now.

The handler now lying face down on the floor was crying. I crouched in front of him, grabbed him by the hair, and forcibly lifted his body. Another scream erupted as his shattered knee touched the ground. It was noisy.

After finding the key to the back door on his belt, I flung open the door marked “Children’s Area.” Holding the handler by the hair, with no gun or other weapon, I walked inside.

The PR representative just stared at me blankly. Like someone deafened by a cannon fired right in front of them, he just stared until he saw the door open, then his legs gave out and he collapsed. He had served his purpose.

Damn, I’m acting just like the advertisement from the journalist I hired. I felt like a fixer who handles anything for $20 a day. Well, it wasn’t just a feeling.

Before going in to find the children, I clicked my tongue while looking at the PR representative who had slumped down. He looked my way while trembling.

“Go out to the entrance and see if the police have arrived. I’ll be with the kids, so don’t worry too much.”

Though trembling, he nodded, then crawled on his knees and hands before finally standing up and staggering toward the door. This kind of reaction was normal.

But the place I had entered seemed like a proper orphanage. There was a room filled with rag dolls that children actually played with, and since it was named after the God-President, I could hear hymns being sung.

The smell of blood wouldn’t be good here. Still, I lifted my foot and stomped on the handler’s shattered knee. He had been staring blankly like a corpse, but now he writhed nervously again.

“L-Lord’s children’s room! The Lord’s children’s room!”

“How kind of you. Seeing you talk, you seem to like funny stories, but what are those guys stationed outside doing? When I mentioned a congressman and special orders, they stepped aside right away. I’m amazed that not all the children’s parents have sneaked in here. Hmm?”

I smiled back at him. I tapped his chest lightly with the tip of my foot, as if telling him to smile back. He didn’t smile. Is he still breathing? At least he was still breathing.

A person who can breathe can also smile. When I stomped on his knee again, he finally tried to force out a laugh. I grabbed his hair again and moved toward the Lord’s children’s room.

Looking at the layout inside the orphanage, I’d need to turn one corner, but I didn’t want to just turn it. The narrow corridors all around looked just like trench lines.

When clearing trenches, sometimes you had to rely on shiny metal pieces, but this was better than those times. I took a hand mirror from the children’s room and used it to see around the corner.

Surprisingly, there were no guards. Only a middle-aged elf wearing just a shirt with nowhere to hide a gun was anxiously pacing in front of the door.

His face was youthfully elven despite some wrinkles, so he was probably around forty. With flowing blonde hair and blue eyes that elves value most… he was probably someone from the congressman’s side. Maybe a secretary.

The high and mighty don’t hire secretaries based on work ability, but on how good they look. The only required job skill is how short they wear their skirts. No need to worry.

She didn’t even seem to know that the heavy sound from earlier was gunfire. But she must have heard this handler’s screams, so she was anxious about whether something had happened.

Then there was nothing to worry about. My trusty Model 11 pistol was well loaded, and since I would turn the corner with it already aimed, I wouldn’t be slower.

The only strange thing was that there was so little security for a place where children were gathered. If it was a trap, I’d just be wasting bullets… I should be satisfied with capturing the handler.

There was only one thing to do. I turned my body with the gun aimed at about the height of the elf’s head. As soon as she saw the person with the gun, she raised both palms.

“I surrender! D-don’t shoot! The, the children are in here! But, this, this isn’t something strange. We, we and those people just confused the definition of orphans a bit…”

Does she believe she can persuade me with such words? I approached the woman who was making pushing gestures toward me with her surrendering hands, as if telling me to calm down.

“If you say that kind of thing one more time, your children won’t be confused about what an orphan is anymore. Lie down. Are the children behind you?”

The woman turned pale and lay flat on the floor. While lying down, rubbing her face against the seemingly poorly maintained orphanage floor, she nodded.

I slapped the handler, who was nearly unconscious from severe bleeding, once more to make him regain consciousness. His unfocused eyes forcibly regained awareness, and his body convulsed in pain like a seizure.

His life was nearly over. I had kept him alive as long as possible, but he wouldn’t live much longer. I threw his completely limp body on top of the prostrate woman and approached the door.

The secretary pinned under the body tried to say something. It seemed like she was saying she had the key, but I had no intention of using a key. It was a wooden door again, so I grabbed the lock with both hands and ripped it out.

Double strength and double vitality seemed to be doing something good for once. If the road to hell is paved with good intentions, then the road to doing good things looked like this.

When I flung the door open, two women who looked like orphanage staff were taking care of the children inside. I roughly counted about forty children. All of them should be here except those who went to the congressmen.

None of the orphanage staff tried to resist the detective who entered with a gun and a ripped-out door lock. They trembled, their hair greasy as if unwashed for a long time. Not from fear.

I could finally feel some relief after seeing the children. And just then, the PR representative returned. He must have followed the blood. It’s somewhat enviable that just following bloodstains can make you useful.

“Out-outside, the police have arrived! But, they’re being held back because this is private property, and they’re asking if they have a warrant…”

The guys outside must think the PR representative is being assassinated inside, so they’re desperately blocking the police.

To summon an industrial spirit, you needed a bag of cement and a machine tool; to summon an economic spirit, you needed new bills and coins; but to summon police, all you needed was gunfire.

I went with him down the corridor, picked up the handler’s gun that I had kicked away, and pulled the trigger until the magazine was empty, aiming at the orphanage’s heavy stone wall.

With each squeeze of the trigger, a sound close to an explosion rang out. Since it wasn’t silenced, the gunshots would have spread everywhere, and the police outside the iron gate would have heard them too.

If they heard gunshots inside the orphanage and didn’t enter, it would be dereliction of duty. I heard the sound of them forcibly subduing the guards who were blocking them and coming in.

Footsteps echoed toward our corridor, and soon human police officers in blue uniforms poured in. They were aiming submachine guns at us.

“NYPD! Hands above your head and get down! I repeat! Hands above your head and…”

How many times have I been subdued like this? Instead of irritating them, I obediently raised my hands above my head, knelt down, and lay face down. Only then did the police rush toward us.

But this time, something unusual happened. A shadow approached me, and a rather kind voice spoke. It was the voice of an elf who seemed about the same age as Mr. Clichy.

“You can get up. I, I heard everything from Rose. And… thank you for getting us in here. Where are the children?”

At his words, I lowered my hands from above my head and looked up. The old elf was even extending his hand to me. I got up without taking it. I’d had enough of people offering their hands when I was lying down from the hostesses at Iris.

That old elf police officer… resembled Mr. Clichy somehow. Is that what all police connections from journalists are like? No, that’s not it. It wasn’t that their faces were similar. There was a light in his eyes like Mr. Clichy’s.

Anyway, I led them inside where the children were gathered. Actually, I didn’t need to lead them. The bloodstains were guiding them.

The old police officer entered the Lord’s children’s room and looked down at each child one by one. He murmured in a voice that seemed to be swallowing bloody tears.

“George Watkins, confirmed. Amy McKinley, confirmed. Susan Davis, confirmed… James Wilson…”

Did he memorize all the children’s names before coming? His eyes were filled with an obsession close to madness. Yes, this must be the light that flashed like Mr. Clichy’s.

Only after checking the children one by one, and three times at that, did the old police officer return to me. I couldn’t tell how much the journalist had told him, but… he seemed to know everything.

I should have warned the journalist instead. I didn’t sigh. I just listened to the police officer.

“Two are missing. William George Farris and…”

“It must be Eleanor Williams. My assignment was to find that child. I won’t ask for much. I’ll burn any Good Citizen Award for firewood in winter, and even if you throw me a medal, there’s no more room on my uniform anyway. So, give me the name. You know who I mean.”

The old police officer looked me straight in the eye. He stared at me as if testing me, then nodded briefly.

“Congressman Edward Collins. Wait a moment and I’ll write down his address for you. I know exactly where he lives. I even received a dinner invitation from him recently.”

He must have invited the officer in charge to cover things up, but someone with this light in their eyes wouldn’t fall for such persuasion. It’s the same principle that no one can persuade Mr. Clichy.

“Is it okay that I shot him dead?”

I gestured with my eyes toward the body that had been removed from on top of the elf. The police officer smiled, raising the corner of his mouth covered with graying whiskers.

“Let’s keep it simple. It was self-defense. He shot first, and you retaliated. We came in here after hearing him shoot. Do you have a gun?”

At his words, I showed him the silenced gun. He nodded with satisfaction. He seemed to have found a reason to absolve me of my crime.

“We didn’t hear your return fire because of the silencer. We almost misunderstood, but fortunately we asked you rationally.”

We all knew that using a silencer doesn’t make gunshots that quiet, but we decided to ignore that fact now. Yes, right now we decided to believe that using a silencer makes gunshots completely inaudible.

In the end, this time too, keeping it simple was best. The police officer let me go without even taking me to a holding cell. I was acquitted despite giving off enough gunpowder smell to excite The Morrígan.

The two guards who had been guarding the orphanage’s iron gate had already been taken away, and the journalist was waiting with a Derringer pistol clutched in her hand. She jumped up childishly when she saw me walking out unharmed.

“I was so worried when I heard multiple gunshots! What happened?”

“Found the kids, killed the handler… my job isn’t over yet. Is yours done?”

“If you found the children, my job would be done, but you haven’t found all of them yet. When you finish your job, I can proudly say I’ve finished mine too… We’re still partners, right?”

That made me laugh involuntarily. Partners? Is this elf watching Westerns now? Still, I nodded.

“Yeah, the police were quite useful. But… there’s nothing more you can help with. Making the congressman cough up the child is something I’ll have to do alone.”

The journalist, who had been forcibly maintaining a dry state for quite some time, nodded with a bitter expression. This expression seemed to suit her better. The smell of gunpowder seems to make people emotional.

“Still, we should read the documents you found together! You might find something more. Right?”

The trap I had laid as insurance worked too well and ended like this, but there might still be useful information in the documents.

It would be best if the congressman had bribed the association and used it like his own slush fund. I could know where he spends money, how much he spends… and if I knew that, I could track him.

I would get the address from the police officer, but such people’s homes were difficult to break into, and unless I was the protagonist of a Western, I would be subdued and that would be the end. Bullets didn’t avoid me.

I could withstand shotguns, but even pistols pierced my skin. Rifles could properly penetrate my flesh. Though unlikely, I would have to risk my life against machine guns.

I needed to find a way to break in or kidnap, and after that, I needed to prepare to send the congressman’s daughter—who had shopped for a new child as if her own had died—to a mental hospital in an ambulance.

As I was thinking that my head would hurt again, the journalist smiled brightly with narrowed eyes. It didn’t take long to feel goodwill toward someone who had tried to kill you.

“There were quite a lot of documents, so how about we go through them slowly over dinner? Today, you seem to have worked hard enough to deserve a dinner with thick cream stew and ogre meat grill. No matter how much work a detective does, no one appreciates it. Except for collaborators who worked together!”

“Usually, even the collaborators don’t appreciate it much. At most, bartenders show some appreciation.”

The journalist’s expression twisted a bit this time. She really had a diverse range of expressions. She looked around and then whispered in a small voice.

“Are you going to drink again? I mean… it’s a bit awkward to talk about with police right in front of us.”

“No, I don’t touch a drop until the job is done.”

It was an implicit acceptance of the journalist’s goodwill. There were many excuses. I had no canned soup left at home because I had used it to kidnap that lizardman named Karim, and there was no way I could enter a restaurant smelling of gunpowder like this. That’s all.