"Are you ready to go?" Vincent asked as he caught up with Adrian in the dimly lit hallway of the police department.
"To go where exactly?" Adrian responded, giving a meaningful glance to Julian, who stood nearby.
"To the 'Fat Beaver', obviously," Vincent replied, a hint of urgency in his voice. "Didn't you hear your young page boy talking about the attack there last night?"
Adrian's gaze shifted from Vincent to Julian, contemplating their options. "And what is your business there, exactly?" he inquired, his voice laced with curiosity.
Vincent smiled cynically, "We work in the police department, Belinsky. All crime is our business."
Adrian shot a knowing look at Julian before replying, "Julian was eager to go, so I think you should take him. Meanwhile, I'll head home and take a shower."
Julian seemed taken aback by the suggestion, but Adrian reassured him, "It's okay, go with Vincent. See what you can uncover, and report back to me."
As Julian and Vincent prepared to leave, Adrian offered a sly grin. "I think you're losing your touch, Orlin," he remarked playfully.
Vincent was taken aback by the allegation. "What? Why do you say that?" he questioned.
Adrian's smile widened, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "Our young 'page boy,' as you call him, has managed to conclusively prove that Lady Juliana Zorkin was murdered by strangulation, while you were quick to state that she died of natural causes."
Vincent's expression turned stern, a touch of defensiveness creeping into his tone. "Our department has had a string of unsolved cases lately," he said, locking eyes with Adrian. "I can't say that you've had nothing to do with this sad statistic."
He quickly donned his coat and hat, stepping closer to Adrian. "I am doing everything to save the chief and this department from ultimate demise by the hands of unprofessionals like you," Vincent asserted. "My goal is to fix our statistics, not add more failures to it, Belinsky."
Undeterred by Vincent's sternness, Adrian flashed a mischievous smile. "I see it as a decline in your detective abilities, Vincent," he retorted, his tone teasing. Then, he turned to Julian, offering encouragement. "Watch out, perhaps someday soon, some younger talent will come and take your place."
Vincent walked toward the exit of the corridor and without looking back at Adrian remarked, "Don't worry about me, Adrian. Retirement is breathing down your neck already."
As they disappeared from sight, Adrian let out a deep breath. Alone in the hallway, he considered his next move. There were several leads to follow, and each one presented a unique opportunity to uncover more about Johnny Terenkin and the Alderian Labor League's involvement in the murders.
Adrian hastily donned his coat and hat, lighting up a cigarette as he headed towards his Crow. It seemed like the perfect moment to explore the Eastern slums, especially with the commotion in the Southern slums due to the 'Fat Beaver' attack.
In the sprawling metropolis of Snigograd, two major slums lurked like shadows beneath the glimmering facade of the city. Each slum had its own distinct character, but one thing bound them together—poverty and despair permeated the streets, where life was a constant struggle for survival.
The Eastern slum, in particular, was notorious for its lawlessness. The absence of governmental control allowed criminality to flourish, creating a breeding ground for underground revolutionary movements. Adrian knew that within the Eastern slum, a delicate balance of power teetered, with crime families and revolutionaries vying for dominance over illicit trades, smuggling operations, and the clandestine production of illegal liquor. Whispers floated through the dimly lit alleys, suggesting that Jeremy Alder, the enigmatic figure behind the Alderian Labor League, might be hiding amidst the chaos, while others claimed he orchestrated his revolutionary endeavors from the safety of the distant capital. In stark contrast to the iron grip that the Cliffnail Syndicate had over the Southern slums, where their dominance was backed by brutality and fear, the Eastern slum found itself under the racketeering protection of the Viper Valley Gang, whose influence slithered through the streets like a hidden serpent.
As Adrian neared the outskirts of the Eastern slum, he realized that his detective attire would only draw unwanted attention. He decided to ditch his Crow, opting for a more inconspicuous disguise. In the quiet shadows of an open area, he transformed his appearance, donning a worn-out pair of grey pants, a tattered shirt, and a holed cap. He slipped into a pair of big, dirty boots that seemed to belong to someone leading a very different life than his own.
Adrian glanced at his polished revolver, the epitome of his authority and power, and hesitated for a moment. He knew that showing up armed and conspicuous in this dangerous territory could jeopardize his investigation. In the end, he made a decision—he tucked the weapon into the back of his pants, hidden from view but within reach should the need arise.
With his cap pulled low to shade his eyes, he lit a cigarette, the smoke swirling around him like a protective cloak. Adopting a nonchalant demeanor, he put his hands in the wide pockets of his pants and strolled confidently towards the slum's heart, whistling a happy tune to blend in with the rough and rowdy crowd.
The alleys came alive with a chaotic symphony of life as Adrian immersed himself in this gritty world. His steps were purposeful, his senses alert, as he weaved through the labyrinthine paths. The poverty-stricken faces he passed were etched with the weight of their struggles, each person carrying their own burdens and dreams.
-
Adrian stepped into a dimly lit establishment nestled in one of the side alleys of the Eastern slums. The place exuded an aura of desolation, with a lone figure seated in the far corner and a somber tune resonating from the old, weary wooden piano. The air was heavy with the smell of stale smoke and spilled liquor, and Adrian couldn't help but notice the broken chairs and foggy windows that gave the place a dreary look even by slum standards.
Ignoring the shabbiness of the place, Adrian approached the middle-aged woman behind the bar and casually tossed her a coin. She caught it skillfully, shooting him a quick glance before walking away to attend to other matters. Adrian discreetly locked the door from the inside and flipped the open sign to 'closed,' ensuring their privacy.
He then turned his attention to the pianist, who seemed reluctant to stop playing. Adrian slipped a shiny gold Crown into the pianist's hand, urging him to take a break. The musician tested the coin with his teeth and, seemingly satisfied, followed the bartender to the back.
Now alone with the man in the corner, Adrian settled himself in front of him. His gaze lingered on the deep scar adorning the man's cheek.
"Only a police dog would destroy all the fun like that," the man said quietly, his deep voice echoing in the cup he held.
"Don't call me that in here," Adrian retorted sharply.
"But that's what you are, isn't it?" the scarred man continued.
Adrian felt his frustration rising, eager to steer the conversation elsewhere. "If I am a dog, then you are a rat. Watch yourself," he warned, his tone growing colder.
The man surveyed the empty bar and requested, "Refill my cup with a clear one, will you?"
Adrian's patience snapped, and with a swift movement, he pushed the man's cup and plate off the table and grabbed him by the collar. "I am not your servant to run around for bits of information. I paid you twice for you to find them. Where are they?" he demanded.
The man calmly pushed Adrian's hands away, signaling him to sit down. "You play a dangerous game," he said theatrically, brushing himself off as if removing the police officer's touch. "They were taken by a lumberjack named Stas Mitrin."
Adrian's eyes narrowed, and he instinctively reached for his notebook, only to remember that he was in disguise and had left it behind.
"He lives on the outskirts of the slums, closer to the Rigs forest than the slum," the man continued, a smile creeping onto his face. "A hermit type of fella, but looks like he wanted some company."
Adrian's anger simmered. He glanced towards the bar entrance, ensuring no one was observing them, before pulling out his revolver and pointing it at the man in front of him.
"Why shouldn't I take you in right now?" Adrian questioned.
The man calmly looked into the barrel of the gun, raising his arms in surrender. "Belinsky, you wouldn't make it to the next street if I shout out who you are."
"Then maybe I should make sure you never take another breath to make that shout?" Adrian threatened, his grip on the gun unwavering.
"Look, we might come from different backgrounds and have our reasons to despise each other," the man continued, "but I'll be honest, this relationship of ours has been profitable for both of us. We have much to lose if we mess this up, but we could gain even more if we keep cooperating."
Adrian hesitated, then lowered his gun. He moved towards the bar, poured himself a cup of dark beer, and returned to the table, taking a sip.
"What do you know about the attack on 'Fat Beaver'?" Adrian inquired, looking for valuable information.
The man, relieved that the gun was no longer pointed at him, replied, "Well, don't you know already?"
"Alderians?" Adrian guessed.
"Indeed, they want to establish themselves in the Southern slum, but Cliffnail has too strong of a grip there."
"So does the police and the Royal Department. I thought Jeremy Alder liked to do his dirty work quietly, but this got the whole department looking into it," Adrian mused, puzzled by the situation.
"For Alder, there isn't much difference between Cliffnail and your chief Lobakin. He's an idealist, believing in a utopia where he topples the Royal rule and rids the land of corruption," the man smirked. "There's something to his words, no wonder the youth is going after him."
"Alder may think there's no difference between the government and crooks, but he's the one hiding with the crooks," Adrian said, his frustration returning. He got up from his seat after finishing his beer, realizing that he had spoken too much.
"So, will you go after them?" the man inquired.
Adrian shot him a stern look before making his way to the exit. "That's none of your business."
Before stepping out, he turned and faced the man once more. "Find me Johnny Terenkin," he ordered. "From now on, you'll get your payment after I get the information."
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