The Girl Running the Bathhouse (4)
"What does that mean?"
The guard jerked his chin toward the cart with the corpse on it.
"The guys running the gambling den he worked for are real scum. They were gonna hold onto the body until they squeezed every last coin out of the family. We barely got it away from them."
"What kind of bastards are they?"
"Gambling, murder, human trafficking—you name a crime, they do it. In a big city like this, you got more than one or two outfits like that. They'll probably sniff out that your daughter's here and come sniffing around."
"Yeah, figures. Thanks for the heads-up. Appreciate it."
I didn't react much, so the guard looked a bit puzzled. I just grinned.
"What can you do? If they show, I'll talk some sense into 'em and send 'em packing."
"Ah... yeah... just be careful."
We left the guard post and headed to the crematorium the clerk had mentioned.
It was off in a quiet spot away from the city center, and the owner even lived right next door. That's why, even this late at night, they could start the cremation right away.
In the pitch-black darkness where not even the moon was visible, the crimson glow spilling from the incinerator painted Della red. She kept sobbing as she stared into the roaring flames.
I didn't get it. Sure, he was her birth father, but the guy had lived a shitty life, dragged his family to ruin. And he'd just tried to turn his barely-adult daughter into a whore, ending up with a trash heap of an ending.
If my dad had been like that, I'd have been dancing for joy the second I heard he croaked.
But here Della was, grieving like this.
"Dad... he was a bad person."
Della finally spoke, her voice thick with tears.
"If Mom had never met him, she wouldn't have ended up so miserable."
"Probably."
"And the inn wouldn't have gone to hell like this."
"True."
"I don't get it. Why am I crying like this? I always figured he'd end up like this someday..."
"'Cause you're a good kid."
Her bloodshot eyes looked up at me.
"Good people grieve, even if he treated you like shit."
"Is that it...? But I'm not good... I even wished he'd just drop dead..."
"If it were me, I wouldn't have stopped at wishing."
Della fell silent. We stood side by side in the chill autumn wind, watching the incinerator flames.
Still... this was happening way too fast. Della was green when it came to experience—could she really run the inn?
We dropped off the cart at the guard post and reached the Foggy Horizon Inn late at night.
Surprisingly, it was still open for business. Lights blazed on every floor, and I could see guests coming and going from the entrance and hall.
"What the hell? How?"
"No idea... Maybe the girls are just keeping things running...?"
Della, clutching the urn to her chest, tilted her head.
That's when a woman carrying a tub of trash came out and locked eyes with Della.
"Huh...? Della...?"
The woman, who looked like an inn employee, was dressed in something ridiculously revealing. Probably one of the working girls.
"Hi..."
"Della... how...? Oh..."
She spotted the urn and her face said she got the picture. But then she rushed over, looking deadly serious.
"You can't be here, Della. Go home. Now."
"Why...? What's going on?"
"Go, quick. Who's that guy? Your boyfriend? Hey? Wait, aren't you that... Rat bastard's crew...?"
She recognized me and grabbed my arm.
"Take Della and get out of the city. She can't be here."
She shoved at us desperately.
I sensed something off and asked, "Those guys are here?"
I didn't even know who 'those guys' were exactly. Just a hunch.
Spot on—her face went stone-cold.
"Yeah. Waiting for Della to show for the owner's funeral. They've already swallowed the inn whole."
"Swallowed the inn? Over gambling debts as collateral?"
"How do you know that...?"
Wasn't it obvious? The owner was a gambling addict running an illegal brothel—not having that happen would've been weirder. Plus, we'd heard all about it from the city clerk.
"Anyway, just go. Please. If they find out Della's here, god knows what they'll do."
I pulled the woman toward Della. "You two stay here a sec."
"Master...! What are you gonna do?!"
"I'm the owner of this inn now. You know that."
Della figured out my plan, her face scared but she didn't try to stop me. After half a year together, she knew how strong I was.
"Master... be careful... don't let anyone die..."
"Haha! Don't worry. Won't be any deaths."
I laughed and strode into the inn. From behind, I heard their voices.
"Della... who the hell is that guy...? You just let him go? He really your boyfriend?"
"Yeah... he is... my boyfriend..."
The door swung open, and thick tobacco stench choked the air. The smoke-filled hall was packed with men, half-naked staff weaving between them.
It'd gone even more to shit than before.
One waitress approached. "Welcome. Quick rest or overnight?"
"Here for dinner."
"Pardon...? Dinner...? Uh..."
Telling a brothel you just wanted food threw her off; she rolled her eyes awkwardly.
"Um... it's late, so... food might be tough..."
Now I noticed—no one in the hall was eating. Boozing, card games in the corner, groping waitresses on laps. Used to at least pretend to be an inn; now it was straight-up whorehouse.
"No dinner this late at an inn? You serious?!"
I raised my voice on purpose. She panicked, floundering.
I shoved her aside gently and bellowed toward the back.
"Fuck! Get the owner out here! What kinda shit is this—calling yourself an inn and not serving food?!"
A sleazy guy at the counter stood slowly. "What?"
"No food when I come to eat? That make sense?"
"Heh. Came here to eat?"
"Why else come to an inn this late? To fuck?"
He smirked, pulling a short dagger from his sleeve.
"Just fuck off. Get your mom to cook at home."
He jabbed the tip at my gut, trying to look menacing. Big guys lumbered out from the kitchen.
"Lemme see... five of ya. That all? Just these clowns?"
"Don't play tough. Walk out while I'm letting you, you retard fuck."
Dagger guy bared his teeth. I raised my hand with a grin—clutching half his broken blade between my fingers.
"Gah...?!"
He glanced down, gasping. The dagger was snapped clean in half.
"Took the inn for gambling debts? Sorry, already got an owner."
I held the broken blade to his face.
"Spring, I bought all the Rat's debts. So you loaned on fake collateral."
The edge hovered at his eyeball; he froze, sweating bullets.
"Best scram nice. Don't wanna see bodies piling up in my inn."
"B-bullshit... Rat's dead... how'd you get the debts...?"
"I killed him."
His face went pale as death.
"You small fries, right? I'll beat you just enough not to die—go tell your boss to back off the inn."
I grabbed his collar and hurled him across the hall.
Curses, yells, crashing glass and furniture, screams, footsteps.
The door flew open; everyone poured out, scattering in panic. Staff included.
Once the crowd thinned, the last of them—bloodied guys supporting each other—limped away.
"Closing time! Good night!"
I yelled after them.
Across the street, Della and the waitress stared, wide-eyed.
I told her too, "You, go home. We're done for tonight."
"Uh... uh..."
"Go on. Everyone's leaving."
She glanced at Della, then bolted down the street.
"Della. Let's head in."
"Master... you okay...?"
A bit of blood speckled my clothes. Not mine.
"'Course. C'mon, it's cold."
We entered the inn. Della froze in the tobacco-and-dust haze, urn hugged tight.
"Oh god..."
She stood stock-still in the middle of the hall.
"It's fine. Hire cleaners, it'll sparkle like new."
I wiped dust from the counter with a finger.
"Rip out the illegal partitions, dump the beds."
"Yeah..."
"Restock kitchen fresh, it'll be a proper inn in no time."
"Master... sorry, but..."
"Hm? What?"
Della wrinkled her nose.
"Tobacco stink's too much. Can't stay. Let's go upstairs. Put the urn down... talk calmly."
"Right. Up we go."
But every room screamed brothel—creepy as hell. In the hall, Della piped up like she'd remembered something.
"Master. Attic. My room."