After rubbing his own face, Bruno stared at Mary and Clayton, bewildered.
"I think there is a better method than shattering my dream straight away."
"A businessman prizes efficiency above all else."
Clayton passed him the cup that contained the last of the water. Bruno threw back his head and drained it, rinsing away the stickiness in his mouth.
Rejuvenated slightly, Bruno gaped at them.
"When do you know each other?"
"We don't." the two of them unanimously answered and then echoed the same words, "We're here to do business with you."
Clayton turned his head to study Mary Eata. He could infer from what Bruno said that she was acquaintances with Bruno. Seemingly sensing his line of vision, Mary returned his gaze unflinchingly.
Their weird synchronicity made Bruno feel as if he had remained mired in the aftereffects of a hangover.
He shook his head and rubbed his ears before concluding that everything was real.
"Alright. Who wants to go first?"
Bruno pointed them at the bedroom, signaling for either one of them to talk about business with him there.
He usually soaked up liquor and took a rest in the living room, in comparison to which the bedroom appeared cleaner and tidier. Furthermore, one-on-one communication would keep the private information of the patrons from leaking.
Unarguably, Mary stepped forward but without a glance toward the bedroom.
"Let's talk about it here."
"Well, tell me your request."
Bruno took out the pen and notebook, which lay flat on the table, ready to write down the case acceptance log. Clayton was overlooked, standing to the side. Since the patron had no objections, Bruno didn't bother to ask him to get out of there.
Mary took a seat across the table from Bruno. "I want you to track and investigate a person, he is highly suspicious of committing a crime."
The rustle of a pen brushing across paper sounded out. Then, Bruno stopped writing and raised his head, asking, "Aren't you a sheriff? Why didn't you arrest him when you saw him?"
Clayton, thinking that it had nothing to do with him, turned his back on them and waited quietly.
Mary Eata's voice echoed out, "He's just a suspect. By then, I was out on patrol, so I was never given a chance to inquire of him. When I came back to the Chief Constabulary, his case had already been concluded. He is a famous gentleman in our Parish, so nobody would like to offend him and investigate into the case. I'm acting solitarily to uncover the truth of the case."
"You have quite a sense of duty, don't you?"
Bruno scratched his messy hair, unsurprised by this female sheriff's righteousness. "Then, what personal information do you have on him?"
"He is named Clayton Bello and was running an antique shop in Saint Modred Parish. Black hair, emerald-green eyes, a kingly beard on his chin. Aged around thirty..."
Bruno's pen stopped scratching the paper.
He was now sure that Clayton and Mary hadn't known each other.
Standing at the doorway, Clayton's breathing turned rough. He had never expected that the female sheriff was here to enlist Bruno's services to investigate him.
The corpse he sent to the Chief Constabulary, sure enough, raised some doubts.
".... I need you to track him for two weeks. If there is any sign of an abnormality, report it to me. Keep a wide berth of him and refrain from going into his residence. He is savage man who possesses decent fighting skills. If you are to be caught in his place, he might kill you before making a claim of self-defense and smearing you with some nonexistent names of crime."
The way he neatly did away with the watcher aroused the suspicions.
This was such an unwanted misunderstanding.
But since she had already learned of his appearance, why would she still say something like this in the presence of him?
Knitting his brows, Clayton spun around and dithered over whether to explain it clearly to her.
However, Bruno answered a step ahead of him.
"This sounds highly risky, so I'll charge you fifteen pounds, please pay a three-pound deposit in advance. Any questions?"
"No, not at all."
Mary Eata paid it without bargaining and then rose from the chair, walking toward the doorway, where Clayton was standing as his lips squirmed unconsciously. He was greeted with a curious look from her, whose expression hadn't changed the slightest bit, even at the sight of a man matching her description of the suspect.
"What's up, Sir? Do you have anything to talk to me about?"
Clayton parted his lips hesitantly and finally said, "No, Miss."
Mary pulled open the door and walked out before snapping the door shut with a swing of her arm.
After she left, Bruno lit a cigarette for himself, enjoying it, and then burst out laughing while coughing.
Clayton walked over and took the same seat as Mary. He felt displeased with Bruno's reaction. "What's there to laugh about? She has briefed you on my personal information but couldn't recognize me when I was right in front of her. This is flipping weird."
"Rest assured. That's what she is cut out to be and why she has always been assigned to the patrol mission. For only when arresting a criminal on the spot could she recognize the criminal."
Bruno reached out for the greenish bottle, which was already empty by now. So, he had to hold back his desire to drink.
"Then should I have to be thankful for her contribution to the city?" Clayton put a sheet of paper on which he had sketched the ticket for the 'Broken-Winged Angel' from memory on the table.
"I need you to search for someone selling such tickets."
"Another investigation request. Then I have to ask my assistants to do the job."
Clayton waved off the wisps of smoke around his nose. "What? Are you really going to track me as Mary Eata has requested?"
Upon seeing his disgusted look, Bruno put the cigarette out on the yellow wooden table coated with fire-retardant paint.
"As you know, I have been paid by her."
"So, how are you going to investigate me?"
Reclining against his sofa, Bruno said languidly, "As I have performed other tasks, I will start investigating you from tomorrow onward. But I will operate only by day, because I want some liquor at night."
"I wonder whether you actually want to work."
Clayton was in no mood to make a fuss about Mary Eata's surveillance request as long as Bruno wouldn't stand in his way.
Bruno took up the sheet and studied it. "What should we do after finding the person selling such tickets? Do we need to convey your message to him or her?"
"Don't bother. I suggest that you stay far away from the ticket seller, keeping an over ten meter distance. Don't be discovered. That risks your lives."
Clayton stressed, "Don't exchange or make any bodily contact with the ticket seller. Keep an eye on those who buy the tickets, especially those who buy the tickets several times. It might demand a great deal of manpower to conduct these investigations simultaneously. Do you have a sufficient number of assistants? "
He remembered that Bruno's assistants were mostly temporary workers with relevant skills.
Bruno grinned from ear to ear. "If you wouldn't mind the detectives being disabled, we can handle as many complicated tasks as you request."
"I believe in your capabilities. Until I ask you to stop investigating, keep going with it."
"Pay me a twenty pound deposit in advance. After we locate the ticket seller, I will charge you in installments."
Without the least hesitation, Clayton handed two notes to him.
A pound, equivalent to twenty shillings, was roughly the weekly salary of a senior technician. Considering the danger involving the Holy Grail Society, this price could be viewed as acceptable.
...........
214 Mercy Street, Joe's current address.
Joe had already gotten rid of the Holy Grail Society's surveillance when Clayton took him out of the theater. But tonight, Clayton would let his own watcher spot Joe once more.
He had finished off his last watcher dispatched by the Holy Grail Society, so the successor would definitely be more meticulous.
So, he had to bait the new observer with Joe and then found out about the observer's location.
Tonight, he would swagger his way to 214 Mercy Street, in turn drawing the watcher to Joe.
That might pose some risks. That's why he had given his pistol to Joe.
If the seemingly invisible watcher discovered Joe yesterday when Clayton went to the chapel, that could be considered a stroke of bad luck. That meant the observer didn't have to approach Joe to make sure of his identity and could stay a fair distance away as long as he could spy on Joe with binoculars. Clayton would find it more difficult to dig him out from a hidden corner.
But Clayton was well-prepared for everything.
During the day, he had already located a vantage point for observation right beside the Chief Constabulary in St. Melon Parish.
It was an aged mechanical clock tower.
The Chief Constabulary was rebuilt from the old City Hall a hundred years ago. Back then, the city still had a curfew. That's why the towering building was constructed to alert the neighboring residents to the timing. Standing atop it granted him a view of more than half of the Parish and doubtlessly facilitated his plan to look for the watcher.
As it was a mechanical clock, no clock striker was required.
Every quarter of an hour, the small bell would be rung; every full hour, the large bell would rung.
When the chime echoed through the surroundings, even a gunshot would be concealed.
Now everything was ready.
Clayton walked out of the apartment building toward a black hackney carriage sheltered amid the shadow of night.
He carried the fifteen-kilo Conqueror, swathed in black cloth, and his backup clothes into the carriage before stepping into it himself.
After the carriage sank slightly, the horse carriage started moving forward.
As the vehicle pulled past an avenue lined with trees, Clayton saw an opening and jumped out from the rear, rolling over several times to release the momentum on the blanket of the autumn-gilded fallen leaves.
The coach was unaware of all this but sensed that the speed of the horse-drawn carriage had increased.
Clayton sat among the accumulation of fallen leaves and watched as the carriage disappeared into the distance. He believed that he had already shaken off his watcher now.
Just as he was about to rise to his feet, an earthly brown feather tainted with mucus slowly descended before him.
And that familiar unpleasant decaying smell.
Clayton instantly lifted his head and looked overhead at the outstretched, heavy canopy of trees that almost blotted out the sky, letting through merely specks of starlight. Apparently, the feather must have traveled through an occasional gap in the midst of the leaves and branches.
Now, he had more faith in himself to complete the task tonight.
"As expected, it's in the sky..."