June 23, Wednesday, overcast.
By midmorning, a medium-sized ferry sat quietly docked along the Fengdeng River on the edge of the wealthy district. A few small fishing boats drifted nearby, while a dozen or so dockworkers bustled along the shore, unloading and hauling cargo.
Several food carts stood on the embankment up the slope behind them. Drawn by the aroma of smoked salted herring and hot coffee, some passersby stopped to linger.
Large groups of workers in brown fireman's shirts hurried along the embankment toward the Glass Glass Factory at 14 Wenlu Street.
What no one noticed was that in a nearby residential alley, a young "beggar" sat on the ground, ravenously devouring a hot ham-and-egg sandwich.
His cheeks bulged as he ate, but his cold eyes kept watch on every corner of the docks. A dozen or so police officers were scattered around, patrolling inconspicuously and scrutinizing everyone there.
The police station has sealed off the train station. Looks like I can't get away by boat, either.
Gilan swallowed his mouthful, picked up the cup of hot cocoa beside him, and gulped it down.
His mood was as gloomy as the weather.
Ever since leaving the Oak Gang, Gilan had spent the last two days keeping out of sight. He'd noticed more and more "Prohibition Agents" patrolling the streets, but they clearly weren't hunting for illicit liquor... They were searching for someone.
And that someone was most likely him.
One clear sign was that he'd seen wanted posters bearing his face on the walls of several streets. The bounty was 50 Caesars, and even useful information would earn a reward of 5 Caesars.
How can a lousy sandwich and a drink cost 5 Melangs? If I hadn't taken Lucas for a pile of cash, the little I had in that tin box wouldn't have lasted long.
Gilan cursed under his breath, crumpled the paper bag and cup, and tossed them into the rubbish heap beside him.
He looked utterly disheveled.
To hide the bloodstains on his clothes, he'd smeared mud all over himself. His beige cap had blown away at the junkyard, and he hadn't noticed at the time. Later, he'd simply disguised himself as a vagrant, rubbing some dust into his blond hair as well.
After going several days without a bath, Gilan felt as though he stank to high heaven.
But he didn't care, not when his life was at stake.
I'll hide in the unfinished building first, then figure out another way to leave.
Gilan turned and headed for Gray Stone Street, at the southernmost end of the poor district.
Gray Stone Street bordered Black Barrel Street and was part of a newly developed area. The local council had originally planned to build an industrial district there, but financial troubles and other factors had forced construction to stop halfway, leaving the area dotted with unfinished buildings.
Gray Stone Street lacked basic infrastructure and was poorly connected, so hardly anyone lived there. It was quite remote... though plenty of displaced beggars and gang members were fond of the place.
Using the memories of the body's former owner, Gilan had found a temporary place to stay on Gray Stone Street.
"Ah-choo!"
Just after leaving the alley, he sneezed for no apparent reason, and his head began to feel a little dizzy.
Leaning against the moss-covered old wall, Gilan bent over and coughed twice.
Huh? Have I caught a cold?
Gilan looked puzzled.
After practicing the White Cross Body-Forging Technique, he'd thought his physique had become much stronger than that of an ordinary man, so he shouldn't get sick easily. The effect had been especially noticeable since he'd entered the first stage, Mucus. Even when he'd sneezed and coughed just now, he hadn't had a runny nose or phlegm.
I'd better get out of here quickly.
After resting briefly, he straightened up and looked around. Seeing no one nearby, he immediately set off.
After making his way cautiously through a maze of filthy, narrow alleys, Gilan returned to the Gray Stone district and headed straight for an unfinished building in a secluded corner.
The building was supposed to have five floors, but only three had been built. Several thick, square concrete pillars rose skyward, their exposed rebar and wire mesh rusted by wind and rain.
Gilan climbed the concrete steps to the empty second floor, intending to rest for a moment in his usual corner. His throat had been uncomfortably dry and itchy the whole way, and his forehead felt a little feverish.
But he soon stopped.
A stranger stood at the edge of the floor, about a dozen meters away.
The man wore a turned-up tweed hat and an expensive coffee-colored trench coat. Gilan didn't know when he'd arrived. He stood with his back to Gilan, smoking as he gazed out at the desolate open ground behind the unfinished building.
Gilan's eyes narrowed.
Judging by his clothes, the man was clearly no vagrant or gang member. He looked more like an upper-class gentleman from the wealthy district. But there was something suspicious about his coming here alone. The place was remote and lawless; a band of thugs could easily rush out, rob him of his valuables, or even kill him.
Gilan pretended not to see the man and quietly backed away, intending to leave.
He was still wanted and didn't want any contact with anyone.
But the man spoke without turning around.
"Mr. Gilan Iros."
The man's voice was deep and resonant, warm and soothing.
Gilan stopped again. Narrowing his eyes, he studied the stranger's back.
This man had come for him!
"Who are you?" Gilan asked in a low voice.
The man chuckled and turned around, revealing an ordinary-looking face. He had a small mustache and looked to be in his thirties or forties.
"Granny Remo, a private detective. Someone hired me to find you."
The man took his last drag, dropped the cigarette butt, and crushed it under his polished leather shoe.
Gilan kept his eyes on the man's movements and maintained a guarded stance.
"Private detective... What do you want with me?"
"You took a roll of black film from the Redwood Street Police Station. My job is to retrieve it. If you hand it over, I can pretend I never saw you and leave."
Detective Granny Remo smiled amiably.
"I've never seen any film," Gilan said coldly.
"In that case, I'll have to get rough and then turn you over to my employer."
Granny Remo's smile faded.
Bang!!
A gunshot rang out without warning.
But Detective Granny Remo was already ducking into a charge, evading the shot before it could hit him. The bullet struck the concrete pillar behind him, spraying dust and chips.
Gilan held the Gelu Pistol, but he couldn't aim and fire a second shot in time.
Smack!!
Detective Granny Remo lunged in close. His black suit pants blurred as he swung a swift kick, striking Gilan's hand with pinpoint accuracy and sending the Luger Pistol flying out of the unfinished building.
The pistol traced a black arc through the air, then plunged into the grass in the open lot below.
The detective smirked, preparing to seize the young man in front of him.
"You're asking for it!" Gilan's eyes turned vicious.
He stepped forward, closing to within a meter of the detective, and thrust out his right fist.
Whoosh—smack!!
The fierce punch had been aimed at the man's face, but Detective Granny Remo blocked it with his left arm.
Thud, thud, thud!
The detective staggered back several steps before regaining his balance.
Dust swirled around them. He looked up in disbelief and exclaimed,
"An Instructor-class fighter?!"