Chapter 58: Golden Rose

Chapter Fifty-Eight
Golden Rose

19 Hope Road, Cherwood Borough.

The place was near the Tussock River, which flowed through Backlund. Through the gaps between houses, pedestrians could see the water surface: somewhat turbid, yet exceptionally broad.

Mike Joseph, reporter for the Daily Observer, stepped down from the carriage and pointed at the three-story gray-blue building ahead. Beside him, wearing a black double-breasted frock coat, a half-top silk hat, and gold-rimmed glasses, Klein listened as he said, “That is Golden Rose. The best legal brothel in Cherwood Borough and the Backlund Bridge area. It opens every day at three in the afternoon and stays open until two in the morning.”

The best legal brothel in Cherwood Borough and the Backlund Bridge area? In other words, these two boroughs have better ones, but they are illegal?

Klein silently muttered to himself. He noticed a golden rose set into the building’s doorway. There was no so-called signboard.

“This kind should not count as streetwalkers, should they?” he casually responded.

“Of course not. It is a higher tier.”

Mike led Klein with practiced ease to the front of the building and pushed open the door.

As soon as he entered, Klein smelled a mixed fragrance that was faintly sharp and cloying. He heard a slow, ambiguous melody.

Instinctively, he looked around. He discovered that at either side of the entrance, and at every corner of the hall, stood thugs in black coats and half-top hats. For a legally operated establishment, they were clearly used to deal with drunks and reckless men.

Around the golden hall were all kinds of sofas and chairs, and even a piano. The center had been cleared and circled off as a place for dancing.

At that time, women with hair either gold, brown, pale yellow, or black, wearing dresses elaborate, simple, or brightly colored, sat in different places. Some were mature and charming, some shy and youthful, some lively and fresh, and some quite beautiful.

Some rested their chins on their hands and listened to the melody. Some laughed and spoke with one another. Some quietly flipped through newspapers and magazines. Some accompanied men in graceful dances.

Because it was only three-thirty in the afternoon, there were not many customers. Only a few scattered figures were present. At first glance, it looked more like a proper ball than the interior of a brothel.

“If you come after eight at night, you can see some interesting performances. Heh. If you fancy one of the ladies, go over and invite her to dance. Amid the beautiful melody, ask her price. If both sides reach an agreement, the two of you can go to a room on the second or third floor and spend a wonderful time. Hey, as long as you are willing to spend the money, you can sleep here the entire night.”

Mike tilted his head from side to side, suddenly losing his earlier calm and gentlemanly manner and becoming somewhat frivolous.

With a smile, he walked into the hall and moved toward a young, inexperienced girl who seemed at most fifteen or sixteen.

Is this his true nature showing, or is it a professional performance?

Klein was rather dumbfounded. He subconsciously followed behind Mike Joseph.

“The victim Sibel was only sixteen. Theoretically, girls of a similar age are more likely to have been her friends and know more,” Mike explained in a lowered voice.

Immediately afterward, he raised his somewhat sparse eyebrows and returned to a normal volume.

“Which lady has caught your eye?”

“I am only your bodyguard,” Klein answered according to ordinary logic.

Mike gave a nearly imperceptible nod, then suddenly laughed and said, “Do not be embarrassed. Everyone understands that.”

He turned toward the youthful, inexperienced-looking girl and asked, “Dear, what is your name?”

The girl looked up at him and said with a clearly practiced smile, “Esther.”

“No, I prefer your real name,” Mike said with a solemn face.

The girl was startled for a moment. Her expression softened quite a bit.

“Daisy.”

“My name is Mike. And this is my friend, Sherlock.”

Mike pointed at Klein.

“Let us dance.”

Daisy looked around and, seeing no other customers nearby, stretched out her hand.

The two danced to the slow rhythm of the melody. Klein stood beside them, watching the hall and staying alert to anyone approaching.

After almost a minute, Mike lowered his voice and said something beside Daisy’s ear. The girl’s movements suddenly grew stiff.

Mike said a few more words. Daisy hesitated. Finally, she pointed toward a corner and then toward the second floor.

After the dance ended, Mike put two soli into the girl’s hand.

He walked to Klein and, under the gaze of the surrounding thugs, said with a smile, “Second floor, room three.”

“Do you need me to follow?” Klein asked.

“Of course. This is part of the commission,” Mike said casually.

The two climbed the stairs one after the other. At the landing, they saw a thickset man standing guard there, wearing a black coat.

He examined them and did not stop them.

Mike and Klein entered room three, where Daisy was already waiting by the window.

There was a bed, a sofa, a washstand, and a wardrobe inside. The window faced the street and was half open, letting the cold, damp air thin the perfume in the room.

Mike shut the door behind him, removed his hat, and said gently, “Daisy, do not be afraid. I am a reporter. I only want to ask about Sibel.”

The girl’s face immediately turned pale. Her lips trembled as she said, “I do not know. I know nothing.”

“I will not write your name. I will not let others know you told me,” Mike said patiently. “You were her friend, were you not?”

Daisy lowered her head. After a long while, she whispered, “Yes.”

“What kind of person was she? Did anything unusual happen before she died?” Mike asked.

Daisy looked toward the door, then toward Klein, as though weighing whether the two could truly protect her.

Klein gave a gentle nod, calm and steady.

The girl’s voice trembled slightly as she said, “Sibel was very afraid before she died. She said she had seen a devil.”

“A devil?” Mike’s eyes brightened.

“She said there was a gentleman who came often. He wore a very good coat, carried a cane, and had a gold pocket watch. He looked very decent. But one time she saw him from the side, and—and saw something terrible in his shadow. She said it looked like horns and wings, like a devil in the stories.”

Daisy’s voice became smaller and smaller.

Klein listened quietly. His expression did not change, but his heart stirred.

The Demon pathway… After Sequence 7, demonization will only appear under specific circumstances and in specific situations. A shadow might reveal certain clues?

Mike slowed his breathing and asked, “What was that gentleman called?”

“I do not know. We never ask guests’ names. But Madam Lopez should know. She has spoken to him many times,” Daisy said.

“Madam Lopez?”

“The manager here,” Daisy answered, her face growing even paler. “Do not say I told you. Please.”

Mike nodded solemnly. “I promise.”

He reached into his pocket and took out another five-soli note, handing it to Daisy.

“Thank you. This is for your courage.”

Daisy hesitated, then swiftly accepted it.

Mike put on his hat again and looked toward Klein.

“We should go meet Madam Lopez.”

“That may cause the situation you were worried about,” Klein reminded him.

“I know. That is why I hired you,” Mike answered, lowering his voice.

The two left room three and returned to the first floor. Mike looked around, then walked toward a woman seated in the innermost part of the hall.

She was in her thirties, with dark-brown hair coiled high and makeup that made her features seem sharp and mature. Her dress was black, but the neckline and cuffs were embroidered with gold thread.

Beside her stood two thugs.

Mike smiled brightly and removed his hat.

“Madam Lopez?”

The woman looked at him.

“Yes. What do you require?”

“I am a reporter from the Daily Observer.”

Mike calmly took out an identification document and showed it to her.

“I wish to ask you a few questions regarding Sibel.”

Madam Lopez’s face sank almost instantly. Her gaze swept over Mike and Klein.

“She died outside. That has nothing to do with Golden Rose. We have already told the police everything we know.”

“I merely wish to confirm whether she was troubled by someone before she died.”

Mike did not retreat.

Madam Lopez’s smile turned cold.

“Sir, you are disturbing our business.”

The two thugs beside her silently took one step forward.

At the same time, the thugs stationed around the hall all turned their gazes in this direction.

Klein did not speak. He merely took a step forward and stood half a body’s width in front of Mike.

Madam Lopez narrowed her eyes.

Mike glanced at Klein’s back and suddenly smiled.

“Madam, we are not enemies. In fact, if we can catch the murderer, Golden Rose’s reputation will improve again. No one wants customers to think this place is connected to those terrible cases.”

Madam Lopez’s expression changed faintly. After several seconds, she lifted her hand and pressed it down, making the thugs stop advancing.

“What do you want to ask?”

“Before Sibel died, was there a gentleman who often came here, who looked very decent, who perhaps carried a cane and a gold pocket watch?” Mike asked directly.

Madam Lopez’s pupils contracted for a moment, but she quickly controlled herself.

“I do not know. We receive many gentlemen every day.”

As she spoke, she stood and walked toward the corridor on the side.

Mike and Klein exchanged a glance and followed.

The corridor led to a small office. Madam Lopez opened the door and entered first.

But just as Mike was about to step inside, Klein suddenly reached out, grabbed his shoulder, and pulled him back.

At the same time, he raised his foot and kicked the half-open door with force.

Bang!

The door flew open and slammed against the wall. Behind it, a thug holding a short stick revealed himself, his expression stunned.

Klein threw Mike back, rushed forward, caught the thug’s wrist, twisted, and used his shoulder to knock him into the wall.

Thud!

The thug collapsed to the floor before he could cry out.

Madam Lopez’s face changed completely. She reached into a drawer with one hand.

Klein casually tossed a tarot card. With a soft swish, it brushed past her fingers and embedded itself in the wooden tabletop.

Madam Lopez froze.

Mike, who had nearly fallen, regained his balance and let out a breath.

“Madam, we only wish to ask questions.”

Klein smiled politely.

Madam Lopez looked at the card standing upright on the desk, then at the unconscious thug beside the wall. After several seconds, she sat down again.

“Ask.”

Mike straightened his clothes and took out his notebook.

“Who was that gentleman?”

“I do not know his name,” Madam Lopez said stiffly. “He came through someone else. He only chose girls who had not worked here long. Sibel received him twice.”

“Who introduced him?”

Madam Lopez’s lips moved. After struggling briefly, she lowered her voice and said, “Capim. Recently, do not let Capim send more people over. That is all I know.”

Capim?

Klein and Mike simultaneously memorized the name.

Before Mike could ask more, noise sounded outside the door. More thugs were rushing over.

Klein looked toward the door and said calmly, “It is time to go.”

Mike immediately put away his notebook.

Klein reached out, pushed Madam Lopez lightly to one side, turned over the table, and blocked the entrance for a moment.

The thugs outside were squeezed together for a while and could not get in.

The two of them pretended nothing had happened and quickly crossed the hall, approaching the exit. Amid faintly audible angry voices, they strode out.

On the street outside, Mike let out a breath and praised sincerely, “I have experienced quite a few similar scenes, but never once has it been as simple and easy as today.”

“Thank you. I need to go back and learn who Capim is.”

As he spoke, he took out his wallet and drew a five-pound note, muttering, “But frankly, your price really is expensive. That is more than half a week of my salary.”

“But you can expense it, can you not?” Klein answered with the corner of his mouth raised. Then he asked with some concern, “Are you not afraid Lopez will find your newspaper through your identification and call the police to arrest you?”

“That identification was fake.”

Mike Joseph spread his hands with practiced ease.

“…”

Klein could only express deep admiration.

After watching Mike board a carriage and leave, he walked toward the opposite side of the street to wait for a public carriage while paying close attention to whether anyone chased them out.

At that moment, a rental carriage slowly approached and stopped in front of him.

A middle-aged to elderly man wearing a black coat stepped out of the carriage and nodded at Klein.

He had blue eyes, a thin face, and graying temples. He was precisely the old gentleman Klein had seen inside Golden Rose.

He was not a customer of Golden Rose… He is like us…

An understanding suddenly flashed through Klein’s mind.

“Hello. I am Detective Isengard Stanton, assisting the police department with this case. May we have a talk?” The middle-aged to elderly gentleman gestured toward the carriage.