Chapter 31: Captain "Eight-Gun" Rads

The corridor floor was covered with a red carpet. The swaying group, led by a waiter waiting at the second-floor staircase, walked straight into the second room on the left.

The room was quite spacious, and the gas lamps were turned to their maximum power, illuminating everything with a golden, extravagant glow. Yet, coming from the chaotic environment downstairs, the normal scene here felt strangely distorted.

The interior was set up like a standard parlor, but a massive gambling table sat in the center.

The table was wider and had more chairs. Against the wall stood a liquor cabinet, along with two women in inappropriate, heavy makeup. Neither the drunkards nor the waiter acting as the dealer noticed Shad, who shouldn't have been there; the group simply moved to the new room to continue their revelry.

Shad stood near a sofa, trying to remain inconspicuous while looking for a chance to slip into the hallway.

He was contemplating whether to use his "Ignite" ability to cause a small distraction when he heard the drunkard he had been supporting earlier say to a man sitting hunched over on the sofa with a scar on the corner of his mouth:

"Captain Lades, tell us again the story of when you were captured by those Southerners and, to remain loyal to the Kingdom, tried to commit suicide by shooting yourself in the head eight times!"

The drunkard burst into laughter. Captain Lades, being mocked, kept his head down, staring dully at his boots.

"Lades has only just been ransomed, let's not talk about that... Why not get a pistol and have him demonstrate it for us? Hahahaha!"

The man gripping three cards at the table turned to add, and the room was suddenly filled with a joyous atmosphere. Taking advantage of the group's laughter as they took turns mocking the "Eight-Shot Captain" who had just returned home after being captured, Shad successfully slipped out of the noisy room and back into the corridor.

The walls and doors were well soundproofed; after walking a few steps, Shad could barely hear the uproarious laughter from inside. He pressed against the wall and moved forward. The corridor was empty, which was favorable for his movements.

Although he didn't know where young Franklin was, according to the notes of the previous detective, the Lucky Southern Cross Club had a fire escape on the second floor that led directly outside, so Shad wasn't worried about being trapped.

Just as he thought this, he turned a corner and came face-to-face with a man wearing a uniform distinctly different from the guards downstairs.

Shad walked forward with his chest out and head held high, refusing to show any timidity. Despite this, the man stopped him.

"Excuse me, sir, please wait a moment. I don't think I've seen you before."

As he spoke, he reached out to grab Shad's shoulder. Although Shad lacked hand-to-hand combat experience, his instinctive dodge was unexpectedly successful. This made him realize once again that the enhancement provided by a Ring-Master was all-encompassing.

"Yes, I was invited up, I just went to the washroom," he explained.

"But isn't the washroom that way?" The man pointed in the direction the detective had just come from, looking at him with suspicion.

"Your reflexes are quite good."

"...The washroom over there is broken. The mess those drunks made clogged the toilet. Oh, I really don't want to describe that scene to you."

Shad was quite impressed with his own quick thinking, but the man blocking him still frowned.

"Sir, you aren't a guest of the second floor, are you?"

Although it was a question, the tone was already certain.

Shad gave an awkward smile; there was no point in continuing to quibble. Fortunately, he had no dangerous items on him, and he hadn't actually done anything bad in this club.

"Fine, I was just curious about the second floor. I followed some guests up when they came up... I'll leave the club immediately, I understand."

Since the unexpected had happened, there was no need for Shad to lock horns with gangsters running a casino over half a pound. He spoke as if preparing to retreat, but was stopped again by the man's next words.

"Don't wander around in the future. Everything above the second floor is for distinguished guests. If you play here, you must follow the rules. You don't have to leave; you can continue on the first floor... Wait, you aren't here looking for 'Poor Man' Franklin, are you?"

He frowned.

"Um... Yes, all right."

Considering the current situation, Shad decided there was no need to lie; the man seemed reasonable for now. "If you are talking about a young man with small eyes, wearing a gray hat, a sailor's shirt, and a face full of freckles, then yes, his father asked me to bring him back."

"His father sent someone again? Come with me. Pay off what he owes, and you can take him."

The man beckoned to Shad and led him along the corridor. "You should have said so on the first floor. For guys like him who owe gambling debts, we're always worried about finding someone to pay them off."

The guy running the casino was surprisingly reasonable.

"I just thought... how much does he owe?" Shad asked the critical question. The accountant had promised that if his son owed money at the casino, the detective could pay it in advance and be reimbursed, but Shad himself didn't have much cash on hand.

"One pound and six shillings. Including interest and his room and board here for these days, two pounds, and you can take him."

The stakes on the first floor weren't actually very high. For young Franklin to lose this much in two days, he likely hadn't guessed a single hand correctly. But that was none of Shad's business. Mr. Franklin could afford debts under ten pounds, and Shad happened to have exactly two pounds.

The man added, "Of course, since you are here for his father, then just like last time, if you're willing to give us three pounds and six shillings, the casino can give you a receipt for five pounds for you to take to 'Poor Man' Franklin's father..."

It took Shad several seconds to realize what the man meant. He had seen such things in his original world, but he was still stunned by the business acumen of the underworld figures in this strange world. After a moment's thought, he shook his head.

"Thank you for the offer, but let's skip it this time. Slow and steady wins the race."

He merely felt some sympathy for Mr. Franklin, who was about to move his entire family, and felt he didn't need to earn money that way. The man leading the way didn't mind; instead, he agreed with Shad's view.

"That's true, slow and steady. Anyway, 'Poor Man' Franklin will be back again."

Shad admitted he had some rather sinister thoughts about what the club called "paying off debts," but in reality, young Franklin was just being forced to wash dishes in the kitchen until he had done enough to be let go.

When the man led Shad into the kitchen, they happened to see a fat man in a chef's uniform punch the young man with small eyes to the ground. The thin-looking young Franklin fell onto a floor covered in Rhode cards, and the blood from his dislodged tooth splattered onto the surface of the cards.

At the end of the kitchen sat a bloody pig's head, with steam pipes spraying hot steam onto it; the fat chef seemed to have been dealing with that just a moment ago.

"Stop hitting him, someone is here to ransom him," the guide said lazily. He first waved his hand to clear the kitchen smell from his nose, then reached out for Shad to pay. Shad stuffed the two-pound note he had ready into the man's hand and pulled young Franklin up from the ground.

"Your father sent me to..."

"Mr. Neat, he can't leave yet! This damn brat tried to run away and even bit me!" the chef said, exasperated, holding out his chubby hand to show the bloody teeth marks on it. "Give me half a pound, or he doesn't leave."