Chapter 122
Chapter 122
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 122
Chapter Title: Knuckle Joe (2)
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Joe's words made the skull-faced man's face twitch.
"What? You think you should back off? ...Why? You know him or something?"
"Yeah."
"Heh... Looks like you've gotten a bit of a name for yourself lately and lost all your fear? ...Hey, you think you're some big shot from Crime Firm just 'cause you're on guard duty here?"
"No way... That's not what I meant. I'm saying you shouldn't mess with that guy."
The skull-faced man frowned, as if he couldn't comprehend.
Joe crooked his finger, and though reluctant, the man leaned in slightly to listen.
Joe whispered something. The man's eyes widened a bit, and he looked back at Oliver.
"...You're Dave?"
"Yes, Dave Light."
Oliver's response prompted the skull-faced man to gesture to his underlings to let it go, then straighten up and apologize in his own way.
"S-Sorry about that. There's been some shady stuff going down in this market lately, so we've been a bit rough. My apologies."
Oliver matched the man's polite tone.
"No, no. If I've caused you any trouble, I'm the one who's sorry."
The skull-faced man eyed Oliver strangely.
He looked awkward, like he'd spotted some unfamiliar creature.
After a moment to collect his thoughts, the man spoke up.
"...Name's Binny, the quack salesman. If you need meds, come find me. Filterettes, drug potions, cannervus, banned imports smokes, stimulants, painkillers—even rare Eastern poppy stuff... Not in bulk, but I handle a bit of everything."
"Sure. So, can you answer that question from earlier?"
Oliver pressed persistently. They'd made peace, so maybe it was possible.
But that seemed to be wishful thinking on Oliver's part.
"Sorry, but I can't really talk about that. For one, we don't know much about the places making Gifts, and we're barely scraping by on trades with them... Can't go leaking info. They might get offended and cut us off unilaterally."
"Ah... Well, can't be helped then."
Oliver accepted it readily, though with some regret.
Binny meant it sincerely. Oliver now knew better than to bulldoze someone's livelihood.
It'd be nice to find out quick, but it wasn't urgent. He'd take his time.
As if reading his mind, Binny offered some advice.
"Just in case, I'd avoid asking around other shops too."
Binny pointed to the other drug stores.
Some were small retail spots like his, others wholesale joints handling bulk goods.
The owners varied from pale women to fat guys, young folks, even turban-wearing foreigners. All radiated a dangerous vibe.
"We might look harmless, but behind the scenes, it's cutthroat. We're already snarling over stock shortages, so tempers are high. Better not poke around. You might get misunderstood like with me... You know the saying? Curiosity killed the cat."
"If it satisfies your curiosity, isn't a cat worth dying for?"
Oliver asked out of genuine curiosity.
A cat was a small price for quenching that thirst.
But somehow, that came off wrong. Binny and a few others froze with awkward expressions.
Oliver even sensed a chill.
Feeling the conversation derail, he wrapped it up quickly.
"Anyway, got it. I won't cause a scene."
Binny nodded. Then one of his underlings whispered something, and he suddenly spoke up.
"Hey, Dave. Mind if I call you Dave?"
"Sure."
"So, uh... Why are you looking into Gifts? Can you tell me?"
"...Like I said earlier, it's personal, so it's kinda hard to share."
Binny shrugged.
"...Well, I do have one I could sell special. If you're interested."
"Didn't you say they were all sold out?"
"That didn't include mine."
"I see. So, would you sell it to me?"
Binny reached deep into his shabby coat and pulled something out.
After rummaging a bit, he produced a cigarette pack.
Not the standard mass-produced ones from Joseph's Family, but one with its own unique logo and lettering, like Murphy's magic brew. Were they starting a brand?
"How much?"
"Money? Nah... Call it a gift for my earlier rudeness."
Oliver shook his head.
"No, I messed up too, so it's fine... I hear they're 300,000 Randa per stick. Short supply means premiums, so... 7.2 million Randa?"
Oliver pulled a thick wad of bills from his Glutton Pouch and asked.
Binny started to refuse but glanced at Oliver's eyes, then took the cash.
"...Spot on."
"Thank you. Appreciate the kindness."
Oliver bowed politely and tucked the Filterette—Gift—securely in his pocket.
It was a hefty expense when he had plenty to buy already, but no regrets.
Like a souvenir, sort of?
"Ah, Joe. Thanks for the help."
Business done, Oliver thanked Joe. Joe returned the nod.
"Just call me Joe. Anyway..."
Joe scanned Oliver up and down.
"You look different."
"My appearance?"
Oliver checked himself. What had changed?
"Oh, the clothes. Same for you, though?"
"Gotta work here, so I threw 'em on."
"Work?"
"Hired for Black Market guard duty and cargo escort over the contaminated zones."
"Ah, got it... You're with Fighter Crew, right? That okay?"
"Fighter Crew's not that strict... More importantly, you here for drugs?"
"Yeah, but other stuff too."
"Other stuff?"
"Drugs, a big tank, some surgical tools, and a few corpses."
"Corpses?"
"Yeah... Heard you can get 'em at the Black Market. Sell any here?"
"......"
Joe went silent and glanced around.
"Uh, wait an hour?"
"An hour? ...Fine, but why?"
"Got used to the place working security. Off in an hour—if you're cool with it, I'll help."
An unexpected kindness. Oliver didn't refuse.
Black Market deals outside Crime Firm direct trades usually involved haggling, so help would be welcome.
He enjoyed bargaining, but not this time.
Lots to buy, and risking it on special items like corpses? No thanks.
He'd take the help.
"Grateful for the offer."
"Good, meet here in an hour."
"Mind if I ask why you're helping?"
"...We'll talk when we meet."
Joe paused, then replied. Oliver agreed.
A bit of time passed after that.
Oliver had no intention of just killing time, so he wandered the Black Market.
Hidden deep underground in R-District's small comprehensive museum, the Black Market looked much like the Gray Market on the surface—but appearances deceived.
Security was subtly tighter, the atmosphere more cautious.
Merchants weren't neighbors so much as wary rivals, and open hostility simmered often.
Yet trouble stayed rare, thanks to watching eyes.
Probably Crime Firm's.
The key difference from Gray Market: higher ratio of Crime Firm-owned direct stores.
These handled more drugs than tenant shops—or even raw materials.
They sold personalized guns too, drawing fixers and gangsters, injecting life into the heavy vibe.
Even as a lower-tier public Black Market, it differed from Gray noticeably.
There was a subtle but real gap.
Crime Firm direct stores got little attention, so Oliver stuck to tenant areas.
There, beyond drugs: herbs, beast bones, claws, human leather, body parts, even plant seeds.
Oliver felt tempted by a few but held back—too many must-buys.
Big money incoming, but no need to blow it.
Cant had stressed this: Fixers seemed flush, but gigs weren't steady, body your only asset. Income cut off? Disaster.
So, minimum cash reserves it was.
After browsing awhile, the hour passed. Oliver met Joe.
Joe was back in his suit.
"You waited."
"You said to."
Joe nodded silently and asked.
"What're you buying?"
"Mm... A tub or tank first. Big enough for a whole person. Material: special anti-corrosion steel from William Heavy Industries."
"That's tricky to find."
Joe was right. Tanks for a full body existed even in general markets if you dug, but William's anti-corrosion steel? Different story.
Not eternal, but corrosion-resistant—industrial or military only, rare on shelves.
Maybe pots or pans at best.
Custom order would draw eyes.
So he'd checked Black Market per Glip's log. Smart move.
"How 'bout this one, customer? Plenty of room."
A merchant selling lab gear, containers, and shady tools in one corner said.
He wasn't wrong.
It rang solid on tap, size generous—tall enough for three stacked bodies.
"Yes, this one. Good quality."
"You know your stuff. Special care since Joe brought ya. Anything else? Better bundle here."
The owner probed smoothly, flaunting his street cred.
Oliver agreed—one-stop shopping made sense—and ordered lower-priority items.
Abdominal spreaders, organ tongs, scalpels, saws, hammers, storage bags, bone-flesh scrapers, special welders for reattaching meat.
Plus bulk preservatives, bone-hardening coatings, special paints and powders for human-like corpse puppets, processed human leather, etc.
The owner even ran next door for missing stock.
Oliver paid a premium, sure, but worth it.
Saved time and legwork.
"What, starting a workshop?"
A passerby remarked on the piling gear.
Makes sense—orders formed a small mountain.
Size and quantity meant a hefty bill.
Good thing he'd taken Edith's job.
"Here."
"Whoa... Big spender."
The owner pocketed the cash pile.
Black Market: cash only. He counted expertly.
"One, two, three... Yep! Exact."
He'd burned a chunk of his advance, but no sting.
Excitement brewed—he could finally make the corpse puppet.
"Uh, customer. You hauling all this? Pricey spot, but we deliver. Want an intro?"
Oliver politely declined.
"No thanks. Got a way."
"A way?"
"Yeah. Big Mouth."
Oliver pulled it from the leather case on his belt.
Folded tight, Big Mouth ballooned like dough, as usual.
Like in Gray Market, Black Market shoppers gawked and turned.
Eye-catcher everywhere.
He hated attention but ignored it and ordered.
"Big Mouth. Mind swallowing these, if it's okay?"
"Grrrumble... Grk..."
Big Mouth grumbled peevishly. Like "Call me after ages just for work?" Its sprouted arms gestured vividly.
Knuckle Joe and onlookers stared in wonder.
Attention irked him, so Oliver rushed: pulled 10,000 Randa.
"Sorry. Work only. Take this for now, please?"
Big Mouth reached, then yanked back, arms crossed.
Short arms made it hug itself comically against its bulk.
Still mad.
Oliver played his ace.
"10,000 more after."
"Grk—!"
Temper tantrum over, Glutton Pouch gulped purchases eagerly.
Tank vertical like a hot dog, sundries in mouthfuls.
Child and Big Mouth—both gluttons.
Dessert: 10,000 Randa slurped. Deflated, Oliver folded and cased it.
"Just corpses left."
"...Corpses aren't off-the-shelf. Order only."
"Really?"
"Risky to handle and store... Any corpses fine?"
Oliver shook his head.
"Manipulation specialists—black mages handling corpses, or ones with medical knowledge."
"Then minimum 60-70 million Randa. Pros start there."
60-70 million. Steep. And he needed three to five.
Over 300 million easy. Budget blown.
Earn hard, spend easy, huh?
Might need major plan tweaks.
"I'll point you to order spots and how-to. Haggle yourself."
"Thanks."
"No biggie. Follow."
Joe led again. Oliver stopped him.
"Hey, Joe."
"Hm?"
"Thanks for the help. But why? You haven't said."
Joe thought, then answered.
"...I need a favor too."