When the police checked the scene of the crime, they discovered a plastic mold of the assassin’s fingerprints in the secretary’s overcoat pocket. When another squad searched the secretary’s house, they apparently found an instrument used for duplicating fingerprints from samples and another mold in the shape of the assassin’s fingerprints on both hands. All the evidence backed up Ranpo’s claim.
Fukuzawa’s client was finally able to rest in peace thanks to Ranpo, which is why Fukuzawa was indebted to him. In other words, he owed him one. Fukuzawa, though, still couldn’t comprehend how things ended up like this. He mulled it over. Subjectively speaking, all this boy did was disrupt things, but he was objectively solving the case through reasoning. It was an utterly brilliant deduction. He was able to pick out the real criminal after getting only a quick glance of the scene of the crime and people involved. Even then, Fukuzawa still wasn’t able to understand Ranpo’s actions, or put more precisely, he still couldn’t make sense of what had occurred.
What in the world…happened back there?
“Hey, kid.” Fukuzawa spoke up.
“Mmph?”
Ranpo looked back at him with a mouth stuffed with red beans. “Drink your tea,” Fukuzawa wanted to respond, but he held back once again. Ranpo would probably just claim that it wasn’t sweet enough, just like the mochi. Not having tea with sweets was beyond Fukuzawa’s comprehension, but since he believed that it would be rude to talk ill of others’ preferences, he merely said “Okay” and moved on.
Fukuzawa was more interested in what had happened in the office, but he stopped himself from asking “What was that back there?” because he knew he wouldn’t get an answer from the boy like that.
Instead, Fukuzawa reworded his question. “When did you realize the secretary was behind it?”
“From the very beginning,” Ranpo replied, clumsily chasing after the red beans in his porridge with chopsticks. “He was wearing a coat, right? You don’t need a long overcoat to organize documents. In fact, your sleeves would get in the way.”
Fukuzawa nodded. The tool used to create fake fingerprints of the assassin was in the overcoat pocket. He must have needed the large coat pocket to hide something as bulky as that tool.
“Do these sorts of things happen to you often?”
“Sometimes,” Ranpo replied while swallowing down some red beans. “At the workplace, on the side of the street… I used to always stick my nose into stuff that bothered me, but people would just treat me like a nuisance or think I’m weird. After a while, I got tired of it. Sigh. Good grief. The adult world makes my skin crawl.”
Ranpo shook his head and frowned in disgust.
“Do you dislike the adult world?”
“I hate it. It makes absolutely no sense.”
Fukuzawa felt there was something off about Ranpo’s truly appalled expression. It was odd that it “made absolutely no sense” to this boy. Fukuzawa felt the urge to point out that there were also many wonderful things in the world, but he yet again kept it to himself. He didn’t feel as if he had the right to tell such fairy tales.
“Fukuzawa, you dare betray us?”
“Was our oath to the welfare of the nation nothing more than a lie, Fukuzawa? Did your words have no meaning?”
Fukuzawa gave up the sword that day, but he could feel its weight against his hip. He wasn’t going to make excuses saying that it was morally just, but…
Suddenly, he noticed that Ranpo was staring at him. It was as if his clear, deep eyes were peeking into Fukuzawa’s head—as if he had access to the memories hidden in the depths of his brain. Fukuzawa averted his gaze, then said the first thing that came to mind.
“You said you came for an interview earlier. What about school?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Ranpo answered, annoyed. “I was attending the police academy and living in the dorm until they kicked me out less than a year ago.”
“They kicked you out?”
“The rules were a pain in the ass. Don’t leave the dorm after curfew, no buying sweets, wear these clothes, follow these rules. And the classes bored me to death. Dealing with other people is such a hassle, too. I ended up getting into an argument with the warden and exposed all his past exploits with women, so he kicked me out.”
That would certainly do it.
“I’ve been moving from place to place since then. When I was working and living at a military post, I told everyone about the chief’s embezzlement, so I got expelled. When I did errands at a construction site, I got sick of the corporate hierarchy and ran away. When I was working in postal delivery, I found an unnecessary letter and threw it away before checking what was inside, so they fired me. But who would even want a useless letter? Nobody. That’s who.”
Ranpo made it sound as if it were an accepted fact while Fukuzawa inwardly groaned. Living at a military post, working at a construction site, and delivering mail… They really did sound like jobs this kid wouldn’t be able to handle.
“The city really is a mystery to me.”
The city—why did he leave his hometown?
“What about your parents back home?”
“They’re dead.” A faint hue of sorrow flashed across Ranpo’s face. “Died in an accident. I don’t have any siblings or relatives, either, so I came to Yokohama. My dad told me to go to the Yokohama Police Academy’s principal for help if anything ever happened to him. They apparently knew each other, and my dad was kind of well-known for a police officer. But, well, I got kicked out of the academy pretty quickly.”
“What was your father’s name?”
When Ranpo told Fukuzawa, he was slightly taken aback. It was a name even Fukuzawa knew. There wasn’t a soul who worked in his business who didn’t.
The man was a legendary detective. The “Headless Officer” case, the “Moonlight Phantom,” the “Cow Head Incident”—he helped solve several difficult cases that shook the nation. His powers of deduction and observation were so extraordinary that people called him the Clairvoyant. He was highly respected and praised.
There were rumors that he retired and moved to the countryside, but…he passed away?
“He probably wasn’t amazing enough to be known to the public or anything, though. He could never beat my mom when it came to solving mysteries or reasoning, so she always got the upper hand on him when they argued back home.”
Ranpo also mentioned his mother’s name, but Fukuzawa wasn’t familiar with it. Apparently, she wasn’t a police officer, detective, or even a criminal psychologist, but just an ordinary housewife. And yet, she was sharp enough to be able to run circles around the legendary Clairvoyant. She must have been one incredible woman.
“Anyway, so that’s why I’m here.” Ranpo pushed aside a bowl with leftover mochi in it, then said, “I have absolutely no idea what adults are thinking. Having said that, I have no home to return to, and my interview disappeared. I’ve got nowhere to go.”
There it was again. Fukuzawa felt as if something was off. “I have absolutely no idea what adults are thinking,” the kid said—and something about how that came across seemed vaguely wrong.
A naive only child raised by genius parents… This kid was different from the others. There was something about how his brain worked that was…extraordinarily different. Fukuzawa didn’t know how else to clearly express it, but it processed information more quickly than others. Most people would probably chalk it up to powers of deduction, but…even if the average person couldn’t understand him, surely the reverse wouldn’t be possible, that he couldn’t understand them? There was a decisive discrepancy.
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“Do I get points for every obvious detail I list in the end?”
Did this kid not realize he was special? That would somewhat explain his odd behavior. Ranpo knew the secretary was the criminal the moment he walked into the office, but the reason he didn’t speak up was because in his head, he thought the adults in the room all knew that as well. That must be
why he kept rambling on about himself rather than the murder. Or perhaps it was because he had simply lived a sheltered life in a bubble with his parents and no one else. But even if this hypothesis were true, how would one explain that to this kid? “You’re special. You have something that others don’t.” But why? And how different exactly was he? How could it be proved?
“What’s wrong?” Ranpo carefully stared at Fukuzawa, but Fukuzawa just quietly shook his head.
What would even be the point of explaining things anyway? He was a stranger, after all. Fukuzawa and Ranpo’s relationship was to end here at this café. They just happened to run into each other at the scene of the crime, but their lives would soon take different paths once again.
Fukuzawa felt as if he had no right to give his opinion, let alone lecture the kid. There was an invisible boulder deep within him. It was hard, cold, and only grew heavier, squeezing his heart into a vise grip every time he got close to connecting with another human being.
The boulder was his past.
Wasn’t that the cause of such tragedy and bloodshed in the first place—getting involved in others’ lives while believing everyone shared the same ideals?
Fukuzawa had had enough of getting tangled up with others.
“Good work today.” Fukuzawa got out of his seat. “I’ll inform the police that you were the one who solved the case. I’ll also recommend you get compensation. If all goes well, you might even be able to slip your way into the police force… I know losing your parents is hard, but I’m sure you’ll manage to find somewhere you can succeed. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
Ranpo suddenly grabbed Fukuzawa’s wrist as he went for the check.
“…What?” Fukuzawa looked at Ranpo, who motionlessly looked right back at him.
“…That’s it?” Ranpo asked.
“What?”
“That’s it?” he repeated. “Isn’t there, like…you know? Something a little more tangible? Don’t you get, like…a lump in your throat when you see a wayward fourteen-year-old boy who lost his parents, is jobless, and has nowhere to go?”
Fukuzawa looked at Ranpo. Then he stared at the café table. From there, his eyes wandered to the nine bowls lined up on top.
“I sure do,” admitted Fukuzawa. “I still can’t believe you ate nine bowls of nothing but soupy red beans.”
“Oh, this was nothing,” Ranpo said boastfully, then almost immediately shook his head. “Wait! That’s not what I’m talking about! I’m talking about mutual aid—the spirit of helping one another! You can’t take connections like this for granted… Wait. Taken for ‘granite’? ‘Granted’? Uh…”
“‘Granted,’” Fukuzawa replied. “You’re right. Nine bowls of red bean porridge isn’t enough to help a boy in trouble. Here. Take this.”
Fukuzawa pulled a white business card out from his coat.
“What’s this?” Ranpo looked back and forth between the business card on the table and Fukuzawa.
“It’s my contact information. I somehow ended up becoming something like a bodyguard after helping out a few people whose lives were in danger. Get in touch with me if you’re ever in serious trouble. First job’s on me,” Fukuzawa said while inwardly sighing at himself.
I’m too soft. Even though I try so hard to avoid getting involved with others, I can’t stop myself from doing things like this. I want to be alone, but I can’t even kick a troubled boy to the curb. It’s true that I do owe him, but…
Ranpo quietly accepted the business card. Then, after bringing it close to his face and giving it a hard stare, he muttered “Hmm” to himself before heading toward the back of the café. He put some change into the pay phone, then began to dial the rotary. Fukuzawa heard something ring in his pocket—his work phone. He always carried it with him in case there was an emergency job offer. Fukuzawa had a bad feeling about this, but he placed the phone to his ear anyway.
“Please help me, Mr. Bodyguard, sir. I don’t have a job, and I’ve got no place to stay tonight. I’m going to die.”
Fukuzawa listened to Ranpo’s monotone through the receiver. He could also hear him from the other side of the café.
“……”
“I’ll die?” Ranpo repeated.
Why did he make that sound like a question?
“…Very well. I know a hotel that—”
“I don’t have a job, and I’m going to die.”
Ranpo cut Fukuzawa off midsentence. He held the pay phone with his back turned to Fukuzawa, making sure to avoid any eye contact.
Saying Fukuzawa was reluctant would have been an understatement. He imagined himself being swallowed by inescapable quicksand.
There was no work for a boy in the bodyguard profession. No need for clerical work or assistants, either. More importantly, what would anyone use this uncontrollable kid for even if they did hire him?
There was silence on the other side of the line. He was waiting for an answer. Perhaps someone other than Fukuzawa would have been able to come up with a sort of compromise. However, Fukuzawa didn’t want a boss or coworker. He didn’t trust organizations or other people. Even if that weren’t the case, talking to this kid tired him like nothing else. The best thing he could do for himself would be to rush out of the café and forget all about it.
“Then…come with me on my next job,” Fukuzawa said into the speaker. “I can’t help you, but my client was looking to hire someone. I’ll mediate. How does that sound?”
“Really?!”
Ranpo’s eyes lit up as he turned around. He looked at Fukuzawa and grinned ear to ear, receiver still in hand. Fukuzawa let out a brief sigh.
Neither a feeling of indebtedness nor an interest in Ranpo’s talents had anything to do with this. He was a stranger, after all. Fukuzawa just couldn’t ignore someone drowning in solitude before his very eyes. Ranpo was all alone. After losing his parents, he was thrown into a confusing world to wander without a path. He had no one to turn to and nowhere to go. He was merely surviving, existing.
Fukuzawa chose solitude, but this kid didn’t even get that luxury. Besides, there was no way Fukuzawa could reject him now after seeing him this ecstatic.
“Great! Now that that’s settled, let’s get a move on! First, I’ll just get my stu— Wait. First, I’ll wash my hands and— Wait, wait, wait. Before that, I wanna eat something a little salty! The inside of my mouth is so sweet that I can’t take it anymore! Hold this for me! I’m gonna go to the fried snack shop next door and get something to eat. Oh, hey! Actually, how about you go grab me something instead? Ugh, I’m so thirsty! Get me some tea, would ya, old guy?”
Ranpo was full of smiles.
A thought crossed Fukuzawa’s mind:
Maybe I ought to just toss him into the ocean.
Three times, Fukuzawa told Ranpo to quiet down as he whined for candy.
Twice, Ranpo wore down Fukuzawa’s patience until he caved.
Three times, Ranpo asked Fukuzawa why planes could fly.
Four times, Fukuzawa convinced Ranpo to keep walking when he complained his legs were tired.
Four times, Fukuzawa carried Ranpo on his back.
The two of them finally arrived at their next destination, but Ranpo endlessly rambled, asked for opinions, and complained all along the way: “I hate walking. I’m not built for physical labor. Traveling’s such a waste of time. What’s the point of phones if we’re not going to use them? Are we still not there yet? I want some more candy. This brand has been garbage recently. Their products got worse after they changed CEOs. Cities are awful, but the countryside is worse. I wanna go on a sightseeing cruise. I wanna feed the birds. Are we seriously not there yet? I want more candy. How are we not there yet? I want more candy. Are you sure we’re not taking the long way?”
Fukuzawa didn’t even bat an eye. A child’s irritating ramblings were nowhere near enough to break the mental concentration of a man who had trained his spirit and technique through mastering ancient Japanese martial arts. His daily trainin
g had paid off; he was able to deal with Ranpo the entire time without letting anything show up on his face.
Nevertheless, while he was responding with nods and brief interjections, he had mentally already tossed Ranpo to the curb. He tied up Ranpo, left him on the street corner, and went home…in his head. He removed a manhole cover, tricked Ranpo to fall into it, and splash! After hearing Ranpo fall to his demise, he closed the manhole cover and left…in his head. Fukuzawa quietly came up with fifty ways to get rid of Ranpo and go home, but all the events solely took place in his mind. The more ideas Fukuzawa came up with, the more expressionless his face became, thus saving him from ever losing his temper and yelling. Ranpo even expressed admiration in the end. After idly gazing at Fukuzawa’s expression, he said:
“You’re one patient old guy.”
It was a moment of great danger. If Fukuzawa’s concentration had wavered in even the slightest, Ranpo would have a manhole over his head by now. Fukuzawa’s daily training in the martial arts really was coming in handy. After traveling for two hours, Fukuzawa had finally come up with his fifty-first idea…but it was something far too wicked to ever repeat. Soon after, they eventually reach their destination.
“A theater?”
“Yes.”
The deep-blue evening sky hung over them as they stood before the rectangular theater building. The current play’s poster was plastered on the bulletin board at the entrance. A few patrons could already be seen inside, despite there being quite a bit of time left before the show started. There was a stone monument installed in the wall with the words THEATRUM MUNDI carved into it.
Ranpo frowned melodramatically. “This looks so boring.”
“The owner here is short on staff. If all goes well, then we can probably get you a job.”
“What did the client hire you for anyway?”
“A death threat.”
The Untold Origins of the Detective Agency Page 9