Having given his face a sobering rub, Bruno stared at Mary and Clayton in bewilderment.
"I should think there is a better method than shattering my sweet dream."
"A businessman prizes efficiency above all else."
Clayton passed him the cup containing the last of the water. Bruno threw back his head and drained it, washing away the stickiness in his mouth.
Rejuvenated slightly, Bruno gaped at them.
"When did you know each other?"
"We don't." In unison, the two of them answered, then added, "Here to do business with you."
Clayton turned to study Mary. From what Bruno had said, she must be acquainted with Bruno. Seemingly sensing his line of vision, Mary returned his gaze unflinchingly.
Their weird synchronicity made Bruno feel as if he remained mired in the aftereffects of a hangover.
He tossed his head from side to side and picked his ears before concluding that everything was real.
"Alright. Who wants to go first?"
Bruno pointed at the bedroom, signaling for either one of them to discuss business with him over there.
He would often binge on drinking, then rest in the living room; in comparison, the bedroom appeared cleaner and tidier. Furthermore, one-on-one communication kept a patron's privacy from being compromised.
Indisputably, Mary should be the first. She stepped forward, but without a glance toward the bedroom.
"Let's talk here."
"Well then, tell me your request."
Bruno took out a pen and a notebook, which he laid flat on the table, beginning to log the accepted case. Clayton was overlooked, standing to the side. Since the patron hadn't objected, Bruno didn't bother to send him packing.
Mary took a seat opposite Bruno. "I want you to track and investigate a person who is a shady suspect."
The pen scratched rustling against paper until Bruno paused and raised his head, asking, "Aren't you a constable? Why not arrest him when you saw him?"
Clayton, thinking it had nothing to do with him, turned his back on them and waited quietly.
Mary Eata's voice continued to carry, "He's just a suspect. I was then out on patrol, so I never got a chance to inquire of him. When I came back, his case had already been concluded. Besides, he is a famous gentleman in our Parish. Nobody would like to offend him. Now, the only way to uncover the truth about the case is by acting personally."
"Quite dutiful, aren't you?"
Bruno raked his fingers through his straw-like hair. He had seen enough to be unsurprised by this female constable's sense of righteousness. "Then, what personal information do you have on him?"
"He is named Clayton Bello and runs an antique shop in Saint Modred Parish. Black hair, emerald-green eyes, a kingly beard on his chin. Aged around thirty..."
Bruno's pen came to a stillness.
He was now sure that Clayton and Mary hadn't known each other.
Standing at the doorway, Clayton's breathing grew coarse. He had never expected that the female constable was here to enlist Bruno's services to investigate him.
The corpse that he sent to the Chief Constabulary, sure enough, had raised doubts.
".... I need you to track him for two weeks. If there is any sign of an abnormality, report it to me. Keep a distance from him and refrain from entering his residence. He is a vicious man with decent fighting skills. If you are to be caught in his place, he might kill you, invoking self-defense and smearing you with non-existent crimes."
It was his neat kill of the watcher that accounted for the suspicions!
This misunderstanding was too severe.
But since she was already clear about his appearance, why would she have said these things around him?
Knitting his brows, Clayton spun around, dithering over whether to clarify now.
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. Any questions?"
"No."
Mary Eata paid it without bargaining, then rose, walking toward the doorway, where Clayton stood, his lips squirming unconsciously, which prompted a curious look from her. At the sight of a visage matching her own description, her eyes hardly rippled.
"Um, Mister, anything to say to me?"
Clayton parted his lips but finally responded, "No, Ms."
Mary pulled open the door and walked out, then, with a swing of her arm, snapped the door shut.
After she left, Bruno lit a cigarette for himself. A few puffs and he burst out laughing while coughing.
Clayton walked over and took the seat that Mary had earlier. He felt displeased with Bruno's reaction. "What's there to laugh about? She briefed you on my personal information but couldn't recognize me face-to-face. This is flipping weird."
"Rest assured. That's what she is cut out to be and why she has always been assigned to a patrol mission. For only when arresting a criminal on the spot could she recognize them."
Bruno reached for a long-necked greenish glass bottle, which turned out to have long since run dry, so he could only give up.
"Then should I be genuinely thankful for her contribution to our city?" Clayton put on the table a sheet, on which the ticket for the 'Broken-Winged Angel' had been sketched from memory.
"I need you to search for the ones selling such tickets."
"Another investigation request. Well, I have to assign it to my assistants."
Clayton fanned the smoke from his nose. "What? Are you really going to track me as Mary Eata has requested?"
Upon seeing Clayton's disgust, Bruno put the cigarette out on the yellow wooden tabletop coated with fire-retardant paint.
"I have been paid."
"So, how are you going to investigate me?"
Reclining against the sofa, Bruno said languidly, "As I have performed other tasks, I will start investigating you tomorrow. But only during the day, for I want some booze in the evening."
"I can't figure out whether you want to work."
Clayton couldn't be bothered with Mary Eata's request as long as Bruno wouldn't pester him.
Bruno turned over the sheet and studied it. "What to do after finding the ticket seller? Relay your message to him?"
"Don't bother, or better yet, distance yourselves from him; stay at least ten meters away. Don't be discovered, or your lives are at stake."
Clayton stressed, "Don't interact with the ticket seller. Keep an eye on those buyers, especially those buying repeatedly in a short time. It might demand a few people to investigate simultaneously. Do you have sufficient assistants? "
As he could remember, Bruno's assistants were mostly temporary workers with relevant skills.
Bruno grinned from ear to ear. "So long as you don't mind disabled detectives, no matter how many complicated tasks, we can handle them."
"I believe in your professionalism. This investigation will persist until I ask you to stop."
"Pay a twenty-pound deposit first. After we have managed to 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 a senior technician's weekly salary. Considering the danger involving the Holy Grail Society, this price was not bad.
.....
214 Mercy Street, Joe's current address.
Joe had already slipped through his watcher's fingers when Clayton steered him from the theater. But tonight, Clayton was going to let the watcher spot Joe once more.
As Clayton had finished off a watcher, this one must be more meticulous.
So, Clayton needed Joe as bait and waited until the observer betrayed his location.
Tonight, he would swagger his way to 214 Mercy Street, bringing the observer around Joe.
That posed some risks, so he had given a pistol to Joe.
If, unfortunately, the seemingly invisible watcher tailed Clayton's carriage and discovered Joe in the chapel yesterday, the watcher would not need to approach Joe to make sure of his identity. He could stay a fair distance away and spy on Joe with binoculars. Then it would be difficult to drag him out of hiding.
But Clayton was prepared for anything.
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 an old City Hall nearly a century ago, when the city had a curfew. Thus, a towering building was constructed nearby, housing an alarm bell notifying the neighbouring residents of the time. Standing atop it granted Clayton a view of more than half of the Parish, facilitating his search for the watcher.
As it was a mechanical clock, no bell ringer was required.
Every quarter of an hour, the small bell would be rung; every full hour, it would be the large bell.
Amid the chime, even a gunshot would be concealed.
Now everything was set.
Clayton had made his way down the apartment building. A black hackney carriage was sheltered amid the shadow of night.
He lugged the cloth-swathed fifteen-kilo Conqueror into the carriage, then his backup clothes, before stepping in himself.
After a slight sinking, the horse carriage started off.
As the vehicle pulled through a tree-lined avenue, Clayton saw an opening and jumped down from the rear, rolling over several times on a blanket of autumn-gilded leaves to release the momentum.
Though unaware of all this, the coachman did sense that the carriage had gathered speed.
Sitting among the accumulation of leaves, Clayton watched as the carriage disappeared into the distance, believing that he had already shaken off his current watcher.
As he scrambled to his feet, an earthly brown feather, tainted with mucus, slowly descended before him.
Along with a whiff of the familiar decaying smell.
Clayton jerked his gaze up at the outstretched, heavy canopy of trees that almost blotted out the sky, letting through mere specks of starlight. Apparently, the feather had travelled through an occasional gap.
Now, tonight's operation looked increasingly rosier to him.
"As expected, it's in the sky..."