Part 1 The Joker Chapter 26 Practice
Da, da, da.
The sound of footsteps echoed in the dark, narrow corridor, spreading far and wide in the silence, and there was no more noise.
Klein’s back was straight, and he followed the middle-aged priest quickly and slowly, without asking questions or making small talk, as calm as a windless lake.
Passing through the heavily guarded passage, the middle-aged priest opened a secret door with a key and pointed down the stone steps:
”The crossroads to the left is the Charnis Gate.”
”May the Goddess protect you.” Klein nodded four times on his chest, tracing the “shape” of the Crimson Moon.
Secular with secular etiquette, religious with religious rituals.
”Praise the Goddess.” The middle-aged priest returned the same gesture.
Without further ado, Klein followed the stone steps, and with the help of the elegant gas lamps embedded in the walls on both sides, he traveled deeper into the darkness step by step.
Halfway there, he subconsciously turned back, only to see the middle-aged priest still standing in the doorway, at the top of the steps, standing in the shadow of the gas lamp’s light, as if a wax statue that would not move.
Crane withdrew his eyes and continued his descent, and it was not long before he touched the cold stone floor and came to the crossroads.
He didn’t turn toward Charnes Gate, because Dunn Smith, who had just been on duty, certainly wouldn’t be there.
Following the familiar path to his right, Crane re-ascended another flight of steps and emerged into the interior of Blackthorn Security.
The doors were either closed or half-hidden, so instead of looking for them, he entered the reception hall and saw the sweet-smiling brunette girl intently reading a magazine.
”Hi, Roxanne.” Klein came to the side and deliberately tapped the desk.
Clunk!
Roxanne stood up with a start, knocking over her chair and scrambling:
”Hi, it’s a nice day, and you, you, Klein, what are you doing here?”
She put a hand to her chest and gasped twice, like a little girl afraid of being caught slacking off by her father.
”I have something for the captain.” Klein replied briefly.
”…… Scared me to death, I thought the captain was out.” Roxanne glared at Klein, “Didn’t even know to knock! Heck, you should be glad I’m a generous, kind lady, well, I prefer the word girl …… What do you want with the captain? He’s in that room opposite Mrs. Oriana.”
Even though his spirit was rather tight, Klein was amused by Roxane’s smile and said after a moment’s silence:
”Secret.”
”……” Roxanne’s eyes rounded in disbelief as Klein bowed slightly and quickly excused himself.
He repassed through the partitioned door of the reception room and knocked on the door of the first office on his right.
”Come in.” Dunn Smith’s low, gentle voice rang out.
Klein pushed through the door, closed it with his backhand, and took off his hat in salute:
”Good morning, Mr. Captain.”
”Good morning, what can I do for you?” Dunn’s black trench coat and hat were hanging on a nearby coat rack, revealing a body clad only in a white shirt and black vest, even if his hairline was on the high side and his gray eyes were dark, he looked refreshed.
”Someone’s following me.” Klein answered truthfully, without unnecessary embellishment.
Dunn leaned back and crossed his arms, his deep gray eyes quietly looking into Klein’s.
Instead of picking up the trail, he asked:
”You came from the church?”
”Yes.” Klein answered affirmatively.
Dunn nodded slightly, not saying yes or no, and turned back to the subject:
”It’s possible that Welch’s father didn’t believe the cause of death we communicated and hired a private investigator from the Windy City to look into it.”
The city of Constanton in the Intersea County, also known as the Windy City, was an extremely developed area in the coal and steel industry, and could be ranked in the top three of all the cities in the Kingdom of Ruin.
Not waiting for Klein to comment, Dunn continued:
”It could also come from the source of that note, heck, we’re checking where Welch got the Antigonus family note from, and of course, there’s no way to rule out other individuals, or organizations, who are after this note.”
”What should I do?” Klein asked in a hushed voice.
No doubt he hoped it was the first reason.
Dunn didn’t answer immediately, picking up his coffee cup and taking a sip, his gray eyes not seeing a single ripple as he said:
”Return the way you came before and do whatever you want.”
”Any?” Klein asked rhetorically.
”Any.” Dunn nodded affirmatively, “Of course, don’t scare off the other side or break the law.”
”Okay.” Klein took a breath, excused himself and turned, leaving the room and retracing his steps to the basement level.
He turned left at the intersection, bathed in the glow of gas lamps spaced on either side of him, and walked quietly through the empty, deserted, dimly lit and cold passageway.
The clattering echoes overlapped, increasing the loneliness and the fear.
Soon Klein approached the steps, and, taking one step upward, saw the middle-aged clergyman who stood in the shadows, in the doorway.
Neither spoke as they met, and the middle-aged priest turned in silence and made way.
Moving noiselessly along, Klein returned to the Great Prayer Hall, the purity of light from one round hole behind the arched sacristy remained the same, the dark serenity of the room remained the same, the line of gentlemen and ladies outside the confessional was still the same, only it had become much smaller.
After waiting for a while, Klein took his cane and newspaper and, as if nothing had happened, slowly left the great prayer hall and left the Church of St. Selene.
As soon as he went out and saw the blazing sun, he had the familiar feeling of being watched again, only to feel that he was like prey being watched by an eagle.
Suddenly, a doubt surfaced in his mind:
”Why didn’t the Peeping Tom follow me into the church? Although I could still conceal his brief “disappearance” with the help of the dark environment and the priest, was it difficult for him to pretend to pray and follow the surveillance? What’s wrong with just going in there without doing anything bad?
Unless he has a dark history of being afraid of the Church, afraid of the bishop, knowing that the other side may have extraordinary powers ……
So the private investigator is a very, very unlikely possibility ……
Whew! Klein exhaled, no longer as tightly wound as before, and took a leisurely stride, circling around the back to Zotland Street.
He stopped in front of an old style building with mottled walls, the door number is “3”, the name is “Zotland Shooting Club”.
The police department’s underground range was partially open to the “public” for extra funding.
As soon as Klein entered, the feeling of being watched immediately disappeared, and he seized the opportunity to give his “Special Operations” badge to the attendant in charge of reception.
After a short verification, he was introduced into the underground and came to a small, closed range.
”10 meter target.” After briefly explaining to the waiter, Klein took out the revolver from the gun pouch under his armpit and took out the box of brass-colored bullets from his clothing pocket.
Being suddenly targeted made his desire for the power of self-preservation overcome his procrastination, so he couldn’t wait to come over and practice his marksmanship.
Snap!
After the waiter left, he whipped out the rotating wheel and withdrew the silver-colored hunting bullets one by one, then flicked up the brass-colored normal bullets and stuffed them into the nest one by one.
This time, he did not leave a space to prevent accidental firing, nor did he take off his formal jacket and half-hat to practice in his most normal attire; after all, it was impossible to meet an enemy, or encounter danger, and then cry out, “Please stop for a moment, and allow me to change into lighter clothing first.”
Snap!
Klein closed the revolver and slid it around with his thumb.
Suddenly, he gripped the gun with both hands and raised it straight up, aiming it at a target 10 meters away.
But instead of rushing to shoot, he carefully recalled his off-target experience in military training and common sense such as the three-point line and the recoil of the shot.
Wow! Clatter!
In the sound of clothes tugging, Klein practiced aiming and holding position over and over again, as serious as a child in the middle of a college entrance exam.
After many repetitions, he retreated to the wall, sat down on the soft bench, put the revolver aside, massaged his arms and rested for a while.
Taking a few minutes to reflect on what he’d just done, Klein re-picked up the pistol with its wooden grips and copper-colored revolver, went to the firing position, assumed the standard stance, and pulled the trigger.
Bang!
His arm shook, his body leaned back slightly, and the bullet deflected off the target.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Learning from his experience he fired shot after shot, feeling out the sensation in practice until all six bullets were fired.
It was time to start on target …… Klein reared back and sat down, catching his breath twice.
Snap! He whipped out the swivel, letting the six casings fall to the ground with a flourish, then resumed stuffing the remaining brass-colored bullets one by one with an unchanged expression.
Moving to relax his arms, Klein stood up again, summarizing as he returned to his firing position.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The sound of the gun echoed and the target shook as Klein practiced and rested again and again, shooting all thirty rounds of the normal ammunition he had received and the remaining five rounds from earlier, gradually stabilizing himself on the target and beginning to pursue the ring count.
Shaking off his aching arms, he emptied the last five shells, lowered his head, and slipped in one intricately patterned silver hunting bullet after another, reserving the misfire bit.
Once the revolver was returned to his armpit pouch, Klein patted the nitrous dust from his body and, with a sense of relief, walked out of the dedicated range and back onto the street.
The feeling of being gawked at surfaced once more, but Crane’s mood was calmer than before, and he walked slowly to Champagne Street, and at a cost of four pence took a railed public carriage back to Iron Cross, and entered the apartment in which his family lived.
The sense of prying was noiselessly gone, and, taking out his key, he opened the door of his room, and saw a man near thirty, dressed in a linen shirt, and with very short hair, seated at his desk.
Heart tightening and then relaxing, Klein greeted him with a smile:
”Good morning, no, good noon, Benson.”
The man was none other than his and Melissa’s older brother, Benson Moretti, who was only 25 years old and looked almost 30 due to his receding hairline and old-looking face.
With his dark hair and brown pupils, he bore a slight resemblance to Klein, but without the faint bookishness.
”Good noon, Klein, how was the interview?” Benson stood, a smile spreading from the corners of his mouth.
His black jacket and half-height bowler hat hung over the bulge of the high-low bed.
”Very poorly.” Klein replied without expression.
Seeing Benson freeze, Klein added with a light laugh:
”As a matter of fact, I didn’t even go to the interview, I got a job ahead of time and I’m earning three pounds a week ……”
He repeated what he had said to Melissa earlier.
Benson’s expression eased and he shook his head and laughed:
”There’s something about seeing a child grow up …… Well, the job’s not bad.”
He sighed:
”It’s nice to come back from running around and hear such good news, we’ll have to celebrate tonight, get some beef?”
Klein laughed:
”Okay, but I think Melissa would be heartbroken. We’ll go shopping for ingredients together this afternoon? Bring at least 3 Soules? Uh, honestly, 1 pound for 20 Soules, 1 Soule for 12 pence, and halfpence, and quarterpence, such a coinage is just counter-intuitive and very cumbersome, and I think it must be one of the stupidest in the world.”
When he finished speaking, he saw Benson’s expression turn serious for a moment, and was a little apprehensive, wondering if he had said the wrong thing.
Could it be that in the missing fragments of the original owner’s memory, Benson was a pure, extreme advocate of the kingdom, unable to tolerate the slightest denial from others?
Benson paced a few steps and retorted with a serious look on his face:
”No, there isn’t one.”
There isn’t one …… Klein froze, quickly responded, and shared a laugh with his brother.
Sure enough, it was the mocking humor that Benson was so good at.
The corners of Benson’s mouth turned up and he added in a serious manner:
”You should understand that a prerequisite is needed to formulate a reasonable yet simple coinage system, and that is knowing how to count and mastering the decimal system, unfortunately, within those big shots, such talents are too rare.”