I

  While waiting for Morgan to finish the police formalities—ones I couldn’t attend as an outsider—I went back to his office and once again reviewed the collected clues. Still, I couldn’t connect them. Every element seemed to require additional context. The second one, in particular, was enigmatic—the only thing it aligned with was a countdown of victims, but there was no prior murder, which ruined any coherent narrative.

  The book, on the other hand, seemed far more straightforward. Who in the underworld wouldn’t want to know what their direct competition—the council—was discussing? But why draw a crescent moon?

  As I was mulling it over, the chief finally finished the interrogation and returned.

  “So?” I asked before he even crossed the threshold.

  “We’ve got a few solid leads.”

  “Finally,” I replied, clearly energized. “What do we have?”

  “Well,” he began, a hint of pride in his voice, “he gave us the name of a bar where a lot of that scum supposedly hangs around. He also explained why he was given the job—apparently they’ve been having serious problems ever since the corporation moved into the district. As for the book… that part’s obvious. They’re interested in the killer just as much as we are.”

  “Did he say anything about the boss?”

  “The boss is a she,” he corrected me, visibly uneasy. “And that’s all he said.”

  “So when do we go?”

  Despite the exhaustion, I was genuinely excited. For the first time, we weren’t blindly fumbling in the dark. Morgan quickly cooled that enthusiasm.

  “Not us,” he said calmly—too calmly. “They know us well enough. At least according to the kid. But fortunately, they don’t know everyone.”

  He looked at me coldly. I understood immediately.

  “No chance,” I snapped. “I’m not dragging her into this. She already worked for you once—how did that turn out?”

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  “Do you see another option?” he replied. “Besides, if it’s about money, you’d both get paid.”

  “You know damn well that’s not the point.”

  I stood up, done with the conversation, and walked out.

  “Think about it!” Morgan shouted after me.

  II

  On my way home, for the first time in a long while, I stopped by the market and bought a bottle of beer. My anger was peaking, though I couldn’t even say what exactly I was angry at.

  I came home tense and irritated, dropped straight onto the couch without even taking my jacket off. I took a sip—and immediately spat it out.

  “Disgusting,” I muttered.

  At that moment, Susan stepped out of the bathroom. Seeing me in a state that was very much not me, she snatched the bottle from my hand and poured it down the sink.

  “Hey!” I yelled, completely thrown off.

  “If I can’t drink, neither can you,” she said firmly. “What got into your head this time?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You’re a terrible liar, you know that?”

  “Leave me alone.”

  She didn’t. She sat down next to me and spoke more gently.

  “You argued with Morgan.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “He made an irritating proposal.”

  As if she already knew exactly what had happened, she asked:

  “What do you need help with?”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “If it were nothing, you wouldn’t look like this. Talk.”

  “They want to pull you into another job. Again.”

  “I’m fine with that.”

  “But—”

  “We need the money,” she cut in. “And a job’s a job.”

  “But—”

  “Let the past go,” she interrupted again. “It hurts you a lot more than it hurts me.”

  Defeated, I rolled onto my side and lay there motionless for a while. Susan used the time to rummage through the groceries.

  “You only bought one beer?” she muttered. “You could’ve grabbed one for me too.”

  Without expecting an answer, she kept talking to herself.

  “Cabbage, potatoes, rice… and what exactly are we supposed to make from this?” She dug deeper into the bag. “Maybe you’ll finally fix that piece of junk.”

  “It really doesn’t bother you?” I asked quietly.

  “I already told you,” she replied. “I’m not as resentful as you are. Let the chief know we’re ready.”

  III

  “Everyone knows their role?” Morgan asked.

  We had just finished listening to the plan he came up with. It was painfully simple: Susan would go inside, while we stayed on standby nearby. After a few additional instructions for the gendarmes, everyone moved into position.

  This feels wrong, I thought, still unconvinced by the approach.

  The sector’s central district, as always, was buzzing with life, completely indifferent to recent events. The bar the boy mentioned was located in the basement of a building near the main square—and it stood out even from a distance.

  The area around it was surprisingly orderly—relatively clean, at least—which set it apart from the surrounding filthy, crowded streets. What also caught the eye was a large brute standing guard at the entrance.

  As I patrolled the area, I had only one hope—th

  at things would stay this way for as long as possible.