Ch.93Request Log #010 – The Missing Children (10)

I headed away from the streets lined with luxurious mansions and beautiful gardens toward the smoky downtown area. I wasn’t sure if the child had ever lived in such places or would ever live in them again.

I hailed a taxi there. No taxi driver would fail to be suspicious of a man carrying a child while smelling of gunpowder and blood. I decided to brazen it out.

The middle-aged taxi driver, who resembled a human, had been wrinkling his nose even before I got in. Only after I entered his taxi did he reveal his sharp fangs with a friendly smile.

“This vampire may have a good nose for blood, but my lips are sealed. Sealed enough to keep quiet about seeing a detective boarding a taxi with a child.”

I didn’t bother responding and just gave him the address, but something felt odd. He had clearly called me a detective. This, despite seeing a man who obviously smelled of blood and gunpowder and likely had a gun concealed on his person.

As soon as he heard the destination, the taxi departed. I was stuck with this driver until we reached our destination. I decided to pass the time by discussing his insight.

“You called me a detective? What about me looks like a detective?”

“Well, aren’t you someone who lifts the veil of ignorance and uncertainty? Someone who provides reasons to those who need them. Isn’t that enough to make you a detective?”

When I asked for an explanation, he only revealed that he knew more. Eleanor had stopped crying, but she kept squirming in my arms, uncomfortable being held by an unfamiliar person.

Still, the child was relatively well-behaved. She calmed down a bit when I gently rocked her. The taxi driver, who had been quiet, spoke again.

“Please don’t be too suspicious. Aren’t you the gentleman who occasionally visits Bar Enoch looking for a vampire to spend the night with? I’ve just seen you at the bar a few times.”

Ah, so that was it. I wouldn’t have to worry about the uncomfortable feeling of being recognized by someone I didn’t know. I smiled as I stroked Nora Williams, who had settled down in my arms.

“I hope I haven’t been rude to you. You know what I mean.”

“Why would you worry about such things? I’m not the kind of father who keeps his daughters on leashes. If they found you attractive, they did, and if they enjoyed your company, they did. That’s all there is to it.”

So he did have daughters. It was a bit awkward, but as he said, vampires were often drawn to bodies with twice the vitality. They seemed to instinctively sense the “double” nature, though I had no idea why.

“I’m glad you’re someone who can think flexibly.”

The taxi driver shook his head as if embarrassed by my comment.

“It’s inappropriate to say such things to someone who lives this way precisely because he couldn’t think flexibly. Not at all.”

It had been a while since I’d seen someone display such humility. The child who had been squirming in my arms seemed to be falling asleep again, and for a moment, I enjoyed the dawn air coming through the car window without conversation.

The city air had somehow become permeated with smoke. It seemed everyone in this city was trying to make something. We were all running smoke-belching machines to create something.

Hope was the raw material. What people expected varied. Some tried to create family, some meaning, some atonement, and some life itself. Most attempts ended in failure. This acrid smell was all that remained.

Soon the taxi stopped in front of an apartment building in a poor neighborhood. I almost clicked my tongue at the reporter’s apartment, but the people living here might click their tongues at my apartment too.

After giving the taxi driver a generous tip, I got out with the child in my arms. I quickly checked on her. There was no blood flowing from her ears or any other issues; she was just smacking her lips. The child was safe.

“If I see you at Bar Enoch next time, I’ll say hello. Maybe buy you a drink. Do you like Medical Accident?”

It was the most expensive drink sold at Enoch. It got its name “Medical Accident” because it was oak liquor with fresh blood generously poured in. I’d never tried it myself, but vampires loved it.

However, the taxi driver quietly shook his head and politely bowed.

“I appreciate the offer, but blood is better enjoyed by younger vampires. I’ll wander my share… Yes, I hope to see you at Enoch by chance. Goodbye.”

He disappeared down the road, apparently planning to continue driving even at this early hour. It was my first time seeing a vampire who didn’t like blood, but everyone has their preferences.

Following the address I received from my client, I climbed to the second floor of an apartment building that didn’t even have an elevator and knocked on the door a couple of times. The people who had been anxiously waiting opened the door.

The parents didn’t look at my face. They seemed not to see me at all. Their expressions transformed into overwhelming joy as they saw only the sleeping child in my arms, and they took her from me with trembling hands.

The child who had squirmed uncomfortably when first held by me didn’t move at all in her parents’ arms. She seemed to have awakened while being transferred from one set of arms to another, and she smiled brightly at her mother.

It was fortunate the elf hadn’t fainted. The husband rushed inside and handed me an envelope of money he had prepared, his hands still trembling. Out of courtesy, I checked the amount.

Crumpled $5 and $10 bills, and… ten brand-new $10 bills that looked like they had never been used. Perhaps including what the child had earned, the envelope contained exactly $400.

There was no sign of regret in the client’s eyes. Rather, he seemed to be wondering if he was paying too little.

I took out my wallet and handed them my business card. I hoped they wouldn’t need to use it, but this city isn’t always that kind.

“Payment confirmed. A $100 retainer and $400 compensation… That’s the kind of money even archdemons would pay, so don’t worry. And keep the business card somewhere out of sight but where you can find it if needed. Store it like you would a shotgun.”

The client smiled slightly at my joking tone. And after this exchange of goodwill, anxiety began to surface. They seemed worried about whether those who had kidnapped the child might cause trouble again.

“It’s a detective’s responsibility to resolve things cleanly so you won’t lose your child again. I’ve handled it very cleanly, so there’s no need to worry.”

I wondered if they would understand what it meant when tomorrow’s radio news reported that a New York city councilman had killed his daughter and then himself. Perhaps they would.

Their expressions were filled with relief and peace. I took the money, but today’s winners were those people. They would continue living tomorrow, leaving one misfortune as just one misfortune.

I left the reassured couple, closing the door behind me. Whether the gunshot had caused problems with the child’s hearing, or if she had been injured somewhere… those things were beyond my responsibility.

It would be better to retrieve my car tomorrow or the day after. Though it was late enough that I could go to a bar, I decided to head home first. There was something I needed to do to wrap things up cleanly.

I took another taxi, this time with a human driver who looked exhausted from the early morning shift rather than someone showing off remarkable insight. I paid him and returned home. I entered my office and picked up the phone.

I called the reporter. If she could distribute an extra edition, she could shape public opinion. The gun would have been in the councilman’s hand, and the bullet found in his daughter’s eye would have come from that gun.

After the connection tone rang for quite a while, the call finally connected. The reporter answered with a voice hoarse as if she had been sleeping.

“Rose Leafman speaking… Who, who is this?”

“It’s Husband. The job is done.”

The sleepy voice suddenly became alert. I could almost see the reporter’s expression, eyes wide open, holding the receiver with both hands.

“Really?! So, the child has returned to her family?”

“Yes. I received a $100 retainer and $400 completion fee. I’ll take 30% of the completion fee, so I’ll come by with your $120 tomorrow morning.”

Laughter came from the other end of the line. This elf wasn’t an ordinary person who would laugh about money. If she had been, she would have been less frustrating when we first met.

“Judging by the amount, this was a child truly loved by her parents. That’s good… Oh, and how did you handle the situation…?”

“I observed for about a week, then went in during a quiet time and took care of it. I made it look like the councilman killed his daughter and then himself before returning the child. I was hoping you could run it as an extra edition. A high-ranking official’s suicide is profitable. And since I did it and didn’t tell anyone, you’d be the first to report it. Don’t you need an opportunity to revive Golden Age Press, which was half-swallowed by the mafia?”

I straightforwardly stated what I needed because I had no way of knowing how far she was willing to cross the line. Silence was her answer. She was considering it.

After a long silence, her voice returned, subdued. Yes, this was her line. She wasn’t like the Clichy president’s child. Those people never knew where to draw the line.

“I’m sorry. I, I can’t do that. I do need an opportunity to revive Golden Age Press. As I told you, they brought this on themselves. But I can’t write falsehoods knowing the truth. Even if I don’t write it, reporters will swarm in like a pack of dogs tomorrow and write the same story. A high-ranking official’s suicide will attract attention, and everyone wants that attention.”

Though it would be less effective than an extra edition, what she said was true. As I listened quietly, she continued.

“You could have lied to me, Michael. You could have said that when you arrived, you witnessed the councilman killing his daughter and committing suicide, which made it easier for you to just take the child. Thank you for not lying to me. And I’m sorry again… I mean…”

Her refusal to write the article wasn’t frustrating, but her subsequent reaction was. There was no reason to be angry. As she said, the story would come out anyway.

Why is she usually so indecisive? Looking at how she handled this case, she could have acted like the Clichy president if she wanted to. That sharpness would help her in her beloved journalism work.

“Don’t apologize to me for sticking to your principles. Would you have written the article if I had pressured you? Of course not. And you’re right. Even without an extra edition, tomorrow’s papers will be full of stories about that councilman, and that’s enough for me. I’ll get some sleep and visit you in the morning. I’ll come at 9 like last time, and don’t prepare breakfast because I don’t plan to eat.”

“Yes, yes! Sleep well!”

I should have kept quiet about needing alcohol to fall asleep last time. I hung up the phone, threw off my outer clothes, and collapsed onto the hard bed.

A hard bed is better. Lying on a soft bed always made me feel like I would sink and drown in its softness. Uncharacteristically, drowsiness overtook me, and I fell asleep. Though I could only sleep for four hours.

I barely managed to get up at 6 AM. My condition wasn’t too bad today, though not as good as when I took The Morrígan’s pills and slept like the dead. Just not having dreams was rare enough.

I went down to the grocery store near my apartment and filled my basket with only soup cans and Gremory Chocolate Company chocolates, which earned me a 30-minute lecture from the ogre who owned the store. Canned food was just animal feed, apparently.

After a quick breakfast with that “feed,” I took $120 from the cash I received from my client. Instead of using crisp, unwrinkled bills, I counted out $120 in crumpled, dusty bills that the client had likely earned with blood and sweat, and put them in an envelope. The reporter would prefer these.

I left home at 8 AM, right on schedule. I passed by the Divine State Hotel, which claimed to have reopened but remained as empty as when it was known as the Hanger of New York, and arrived at the reporter’s apartment.

I still couldn’t get used to an apartment with a communal garden too large to be called just a flower bed. I climbed to the fourth floor and knocked on the door, which opened immediately as if she had been waiting right behind it.

Her hair, which usually seemed a bit disheveled, was surprisingly smooth and neat today. Now she finally looked like a Southern lady.

“Good morning, Michael! You’re not just going to hand over the money and leave, are you?”

“If I have to spend my day off with a client’s daughter, I might as well take on a new case. Here’s your share.”

I handed her the money envelope. She checked inside and beamed at the bills that clearly showed they had been desperately collected by someone in need. Now the job was truly finished.

No, it wasn’t. As I was about to turn around, the elf grabbed my hand. Perhaps feeling guilty about her indecisiveness last night and the scolding she received, she handed me a manuscript. It looked like a draft of an article.

“Modern Changeling Stories: Must Overcoming Tragedy Mean Transferring Sorrow?” The beginning of this case was when that immigrant woman set off death magic in Littlehold. Was that why she called it a tragedy?

If it was a tragedy, it could be called a tragedy born of that immigrant’s stupidity. Anyway, there was nothing about the councilman’s assassination I had mentioned; it was purely an article criticizing the Continental Adoption Agency, which stole poor people’s children for adoption, and the buyers who purchased children with money.

The tone was typical of this reporter, preaching about justice, but it was somewhat interesting to see her detailed criticism of the agency’s history and purpose, which she must have heard when interviewing the agency’s PR representative while searching for the children. It seemed she was trying to show that instead of writing falsehoods while knowing the truth, as I had mentioned, she would do what she could.

Her intentions weren’t visible. I returned the article she had likely written with all her might. Seeing her eyes that seemed to seek evaluation, I could only rub my forehead.

“Right. The article isn’t bad. The one Giuseppina took wasn’t bad either. Your writing is full of goodwill and compassion, and you know what to target. But that’s all there is to it. Take this. That woman was a demon who remembered the word ‘shame.’ She’s also the only person I’ve seen who succeeded while being kind.”

Reminded of the archdemon who had overlapped with her several times during this case, I took out my business card holder from my pocket. Since I rarely exchanged cards with clients, it wasn’t difficult to find the card with blue lettering.

I handed her the business card of Archdemon Gremory, the president of Gremory Chocolate Company. It was something I didn’t need anyway, as Gremory would contact me if she needed me.

I worked for Gremory, but she could go toward Gremory. And if the reporter could resemble Gremory even a little—someone who succeeded with a similar disposition—she wouldn’t be so frustrating.