Chapter 16
Chapter 16
The Mad Priest of the Slums #16
Thud.
A middle-aged woman with a dented temple collapsed to the floor.
The reason—
She had served milk of questionable freshness mixed with barely peeled oats and called it “food,” then demanded 500 Mora for it.
“What time is it?”
“8:17.”
Considering the return time, if we went back now, it would line up perfectly with her shift change.
I was getting full anyway.
And I had preparations to make for actual business.
So we decided to head back.
“People are more naive than I expected.”
“Naive…?”
“Yes. At first they hesitate, but once you eat everything with a smile, they charge ridiculous prices. They believe what they see.”
“…I suppose so.”
Her answer was vague, but it didn’t matter.
I wasn’t asking for agreement.
“Still, it’s nice that there aren’t many people on the streets.”
“In what way?”
“If there were more people, by the third shop word would spread and no one would serve food. But they kept bringing it out without knowing anything.”
“…Ah.”
She nodded this time.
“But starting tonight, that won’t work.”
“Most likely.”
Even if the streets weren’t crowded, there were still eyes watching.
This morning alone—
I had smashed five heads.
Without help—
None of them would last the day.
Not my opinion—
Jamie’s.
“Will the landlords come to complain?”
“Not unless they’re insane.”
“I thought so.”
Each of those five had been tenants paying protection fees.
Normally—
This would cause trouble.
But not here.
There were always people waiting to take their place.
And when a tenant dies—
Their belongings go to the landlord.
So instead of loss—
It’s profit.
“Priest.”
“Yes?”
Jamie spoke carefully.
“If you want a firearm, I can get one tonight.”
“A gun… not bad.”
Not for smashing heads—
No satisfaction in that.
But for self-defense—
Useful.
“Short range is fine. Something heavy.”
I gestured with one hand.
She nodded.
I had considered the pistol musket I saw before—
But unfamiliar weapons were more decoration than tool.
“John is early.”
“Ten minutes is acceptable.”
We glanced at the parked sedan and entered the building.
“Good morning!”
“Morning, John.”
He approached with a large basket.
“A gift from the secretary!”
I checked.
“Food.”
“Yes! She said you’d prefer this.”
“…She understands well.”
In just a day—
She had already figured me out.
“Tell her thank you.”
“Yes!”
Jamie took the basket and organized everything neatly in the kitchen.
“Jamie, you can leave after that. No need to report to me.”
“Understood.”
“Good work. See you tonight.”
She smiled awkwardly and sped up.
“John. Over here.”
“Yes!”
“Lower your voice.”
“…Yes, sorry.”
We went to the room with the safes.
“Whoa—?!”
He saw the posters—
And froze.
“Judging by that reaction, these are valuable.”
“You don’t know?!”
“Obviously.”
“These are posters from Miss Canyon, held every two years. Only the top model gets featured.”
“Are participants nude?”
“No! These are extremely limited—only available by lottery!”
“…I see.”
Honestly—
I didn’t see the value.
Just photos.
“Take one if you want.”
“…Really?!”
“Yes.”
He swallowed hard—
Eyes filled with desire.
“Then… just one…”
“Go ahead.”
He carefully searched—
Like digging for treasure.
“…Carolina is supposed to be the prettiest…”
He even knew names.
I watched—
Then glanced at the door.
Jamie was watching him—
Silently.
When our eyes met—
She bowed slightly and left.
“I’ll take this one!!”
He held up a poster—
A white-haired woman in a provocative pose.
“Go ahead.”
“Thank you!! I’ll do anything you ask!!”
I smiled and patted his shoulder.
This was likely our last day together.
Better use him well.
“John.”
“Yes.”
“Lower your voice.”
“…Sorry.”
I looked out the window.
People were starting to appear.
“Do addicts ever want to quit?”
“Some. Prostitutes forced into it, or people drugged unknowingly…”
“Drugs in food too?”
“Common method.”
“Interesting.”
The people outside—
All looked exhausted.
Shaking.
Bent.
“John.”
“Yes.”
I watched a man stumble out of an alley.
“Go outside and bring me two addicts. Ones who can still talk.”