Dead Men Tell No Tales
The men shoved me into a car and drove me to an antique-looking estate. It was roughly three stories tall, boasting manicured flower beds and a picturesque small pond just past the main gate.
My escorts steered me up a sweeping flight of stairs. Glimpsed through the landings and hallways were several more figures who unmistakably carried themselves like syndicate thugs. Before long, we halted outside a heavy set of double doors. One of the men knocked with careful deference.
"Boss."
"Enter."
Wow, an express pass straight to the boss room!
I had a distinct feeling this was going to be a walk in the park. The very instant the door swung open, I darted inside.
"Hey—wait! Brat!"
"Whoa, incredible!"
I let out a wide-eyed cheer. The room was packed to the gills with things that practically screamed money. Trotting straight over to a glass display cabinet lined with outrageously expensive trinkets, I peered up and asked, "Mister, mister! Is this stuff really pricey?"
Before the words had fully left my mouth, someone hoisted me clean into the air. Glancing back, I saw a burly, scar-faced man clutching the scruff of my collar. He said nothing, glaring down at me with a face carved from granite.
"Mister?"
"Enough. Put him down."
An unfamiliar voice cut through the room. Following the sound, I spotted an ordinary-looking, middle-aged man slouched in an armchair with an aura of supreme arrogance.
One look says it all: he's the big cheese here.
"We can't have any defects on the merchandise before it's offered to that person."
At the boss's command, the brute set me back on my feet. Guessing this one's the bodyguard?
Still... that person, huh? Just who could they be talking about?
I turned back toward the man who had brought me in and beamed innocently. "I think the Director would love this if I brought it back for her!"
Mhm, definitely bagging that on my way out.
"Leave the runt be," the boss scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. "He's being shipped off anyway—just a harmless brat."
My, what a thoughtful gentleman the boss is.
With the boss waving it off, neither the bodyguard nor the other thugs paid me any further mind. Perhaps they assumed my childish chatter meant I was a bit slow in the head. While I wandered aimlessly around the lavish office, snooping through whatever caught my eye, the men began talking among themselves.
The balding man seated himself politely. In front of the boss, decorum was mandatory. Doffing his hat, he dabbed the sweat from his brow.
"Sure would be a lot easier if they took 'em all in one batch."
"Tell me about it," the boss sighed, exhaling a heavy, weary breath. "But when the order is to deliver them one by one, what choice do we have?"
Observing his mood, the balding man probed cautiously. "Still... why do you reckon she insists on taking them just one at a time?"
"Mind your own business when it comes to the Godmother's affairs. Sticking your nose into her work will only get your throat cut."
'The Godmother,' is it?
So the VIP the boss mentioned was this "Godmother." It seemed quite likely that all the children hauled away before now had been handed over to this same shadowy figure. And what had become of those children once they disappeared into her clutches?
Hm, my imagination isn't painting a very pretty picture.
I slid open a desk drawer without making the faintest sound. Tucked inside was a rather delightful find: a revolver resting snugly in an antique leather case. Slipping it free, I popped open the cylinder to check the chambers.
One, two...
Yep, all six rounds loaded and accounted for.
I casually tallied up the heads in the room. The three men who had brought me here, the boss, and the hulking fellow who looked like a bodyguard. Five targets.
A perfect match.
Only then did I straighten my back. Turning to the assembled gentlemen, I asked in a voice brimming with wide-eyed curiosity, "Whoa... is this a real gun?"
After all, I was merely an innocent little child, naturally fascinated by shiny contraptions. Besides, I was currently disguised as a young boy—the exact demographic to go utterly gaga over firearms.
"Hey! Who told you idiots to leave the damn brat unsupervised?!"
The so-called boss looked ready to sprout horns from sheer outrage as he bellowed at his subordinates. Figuratively speaking, of course. He wasn't one of the Dragon-Horned Species from the western continent, so real horns were out of the question. Still, flinging around vulgarities like "damn brat" right in front of a delicate child? Tsk, tsk. The poor boy might be traumatized.
"What the—when did he slip over there?!"
The man who had brought me blanched, frantically checking his empty flank. Naturally, I wasn't there. If I was standing over by the desk, how could I possibly be next to him?
"Quit gaping like halfwits and grab the brat!"
"Y-Yes, sir!"
The man edged toward me with gingerly, cautious steps. Watching him tiptoe when he ought to be lunging was frankly comical. Then again, I was holding a loaded gun, so his hesitation was understandable. Or perhaps they were terrified of scuffing the merchandise before delivering it to this Godmother? Either way, I paid him no mind, feigning utter absorption in the firearm in my small hands.
Like any boy my apparent age, I knew what a gun was, but certainly hadn't the foggiest clue how to fire one. I had no idea how dangerous it was to point the muzzle at people. I didn't know the brass cylinders packed into the wheel were live ammunition. And, of course, I couldn't possibly fathom what happened when one squeezed that little metal hook.
"Hmm... how does this work?"
I merely turned the gun over in my hands with naive innocence, yet the men broke out into cold sweats. Gosh, whatever could be making these grown men so flustered? Beats me!
Creeping closer, the balding man lowered his pitch, attempting to coax me like a cornered animal.
"T-That's right, buddy. Good boy. Now just put that down nice and easy, and come over to—"
BANG!
The gunshot tore through his sentence before he could finish. It was that sharp, deafening crack capable of freezing even hardened underworld cutthroats dead in their tracks. Acrid gunpowder smoke instantly flooded the room.
"Ow, my ears! That was super loud!"
Being such an innocent, clumsy child, I had pulled the trigger purely by accident. Honestly, I thought my eardrums were going to rupture.
And tragically, the stray bullet discharged by this hapless little boy claimed an unwitting victim.
The boss crumpled sideways out of his chair, struck clean through. For all his puffed-up arrogance, the middle-aged mobster looked utterly pathetic as he hit the floorboards.
"Uh-oh... why did it go off?"
Hey, don't look at me. The bullet flew off entirely on its own accord and lodged itself in his head. It's not like I bashed his skull in with the butt of the gun, right? Once the bullet left my barrel, it was completely out of my hands.
Ergo, I am entirely innocent!
"Mister, are you okay?"
True to my role as a compassionate child, I voiced my sincere concern for the fallen boss.
"..."
No answer. Looks like he's just a corpse now.
Well, naturally. Who would be fine with a fresh bullet hole drilled through their skull? Instant death. In other words, plain old meat.
"Shouldn't he go to a hospital? But hospital bills are so expensive..."
Though if there were a hospital capable of resurrecting the dead, a funeral would probably be the cheaper option. Or I could always conduct the last rites on the spot, free of charge.
"You little bastard—!"
With their boss down, the rest of the gang lost whatever patience they had left. Godmother be damned; hands flew beneath jackets to draw iron.
BANG!
BANG!
BANG!
BANG!
"Aaargh!"
The gunshots beat them to the draw. A solitary scream tore the air before the men collapsed in limp heaps, joining their boss on the carpet.
"Misters?"
Hard to answer when you've got ventilation holes bored into the exact same spot on your forehead.
"Hmm. No response. Just corp—"
"Krrgh... uuuugh..."
Just as I was delivering my punchline, an agonizing groan broke the silence.
Ah, that's right. One of the five was intentionally off-center. I'd aimed for the throat.
I strolled over to the sole survivor—the balding man who had brought me here.
"Mister, are you okay?"
"Gurgle... You... what are..."
Should I have pulled the shot a bit wider? He was bubbling bloody froth at the lips. Well, he wouldn't expire instantaneously. Granted, death was a foregone conclusion in that condition, but still.
There was no longer any need to maintain this disguise. I shifted back into Catherina's form.
With sickening crunches and popping joints, my flesh began to twist and reshape itself.
The balding man looked on in sheer horror as my body contorted, desperately clawing at the carpet in a pathetic crawl. Watching him smear the floor with blood while clamping one hand over his spurting neck was mildly entertaining. By the time he looked up again, Catherina Zinsky stood before him. His dying mind struggled in vain to comprehend the impossible sight, but he managed to wheeze out a strangled question.
"The... Orphanage Director...?"
"Yes, that's me."
I offered him a radiant, gentle smile. The man shuddered uncontrollably in terror. When a beautiful woman smiles at you, you ought to be charmed. Is this fellow impotent or something?
"Mister, do you want to live?"
I decided to give this pitiable wretch a sporting chance. At my question, he nodded with agonizing effort. If he agreed to grant my little request, I might just let him walk away with his life.
"Go tell the Godmother yourself to keep her filthy paws off my orphanage."
The color drained from his face until he turned ghostly pale. Was that from blood loss, I wonder?
Spitting a mouthful of crimson, the man rasped in despair:
"I'd rather you just kill me!"
"All right."
Without a moment's hesitation, I put a bullet straight through his forehead.
BANG!
With the gunshot, his body flopped backward, lifeless. And with that, the final round was spent.
Hmm, a bit disappointing.
Oh well.
I rifled through the fallen men's coats, stripping them of their valuables and sidearms. They all carried weapons manufactured by the exact same company. Some corrupt deal with the manufacturer, perhaps? Well, their business arrangement ended today.
Hearing hurried footsteps pounding up the stairs in response to the gunfire, I prepared a warm reception for the reinforcements.
Ugh, the smell of gunpowder.
No matter how many centuries pass, I can never quite get used to that foul odor. As I drove down the road, I kept the windows rolled all the way down to air it out. If you're wondering where I acquired the car, I simply borrowed one that was sitting outside. Which is to say, it belongs to me now.
Come to think of it, did Catherina have a driver's license? I rummaged through her things, but couldn't find one. Well, if she didn't have one, I suppose I'll just have to get one issued.
In any case, I navigated the vehicle back to the orphanage. Dusk was already settling over the city, the sun dipping below the horizon. As soon as I stepped through the front door, Lina greeted me with an excited squeak.
"Ah! The Director's back!"
Spotting me, Lina pitter-pattered over in a flurry of tiny steps. Then, seizing my hand, she practically began dragging me down the hallway.
Lina, sweetie, what's gotten into you? Your Director just finished a hard day's work and is utterly exhausted.
As I stumbled along behind her tugs, Lina blurted out at the top of her lungs, "Director, we have a guest!"
"A guest?"
A guest, out of the blue? I hadn't scheduled any appointments for today. The contractors hired to repair the facility had been paid in advance, so they should pack up and leave as soon as the work was finished.
Wondering just who dared disrupt my hard-earned peace, I let Lina tow me right to the Director's Office. Pushing the door open, I found a man waiting inside.
Standing with his taupe coat unbuttoned, staring intently at the china cabinet, the man turned toward us the moment we entered. Dark sunglasses concealed his gaze, making it difficult to pinpoint exactly where he was looking, though I felt his eyes lock firmly onto me.
"The Director is here!" Lina chirped.
"I see."
The man gave a curt nod and took a few measured steps in our direction. Then, he introduced himself:
"Pleasure to meet you. My name is Decalio Gernhabitz."
Decalio? What the hell was this guy's deal?
I was already annoyed that someone had barged into my private office uninvited; "pleasure" was the last thing on my mind. Before I could voice my displeasure, he abruptly thrust a leather case forward. It flipped downward with a crisp snap, revealing an identification credential bearing a sharp photograph of his face.
I stared at the credential, then shifted my gaze back up to the man.
Tipping his dark sunglasses down his nose just a fraction, he locked eyes with me.
"I'm an officer of the law. I'm currently conducting an investigation into the Andelo Family, and I'd appreciate your full cooperation."
...Ah, bloody hell.