A narrow alleyway was flanked by a cluster of low, two or three story buildings. Along the walls lay piles of long neglected refuse, intermingled with the carcasses of stray cats and dogs and filth, all radiating a pungent, foul stench.
Ancient gas pipes crawled across the outer walls, which were plastered with ugly graffiti and vulgar text. Sewage flowed freely from the gutters by the roadside, with scalding steam occasionally leaking out from within.
At nine in the morning, there were few pedestrians on the street. Most adults had already gone out to earn a living, leaving only a few idle children visible, peering into the alley from its entrance.
This was Fox Lane, an ancient alley abandoned by the city.
It was so narrow that even a carriage struggled to pass through. Inside the buildings on either side, dozens of households were crammed together. Many displaced farmers and day laborers without steady income rented rooms here, as the cheap rent was quite attractive to them.
Many special individuals with unsavory backgrounds also hid here. The residents never asked for identities, and even the police rarely approached, making it the perfect place for such people.
But today was an exception. There were many in blue uniforms roaming about, mixed with three men in black suits who supervised the officers as they held up a photograph, knocking on doors in every building to inquire.
"Bang."
Another gunshot rang out. This was the third time; it was the answer received for knocking on a door.
The nature of the residents meant that such searches were utterly pointless. "Don't know," "Never seen them," or "No one by that name here" were the most polite responses. Otherwise, they would point toward various dangerous locations or simply open the door with a pistol.
"Hey, you. Have you seen this person?"
There were also officers in blue on the street, stopping every passerby to ask while holding the photo. Seeing a man in a flat cap enter the alley, an officer immediately stepped forward with the photo to block his path.
However, the man seemed to have poor eyesight. He leaned in to look for a long time and eventually took the photo to inspect it right in front of his face. Before he could even get a clear look, another "bang" sounded not far behind the officers.
The police had already developed a stress reaction. They turned around instantly, drawing their guns and swords, but after searching for a long time, they found nothing. When they turned back to continue their inquiry, they discovered no one was behind them; the man in the flat cap had long since disappeared.
"Cowardly bastard, you could have at least left the photo behind."
The officers cursed in frustration, forced to go fetch another photo. They were unaware that only a few minutes later, a stealthy figure emerged from the alley entrance. Under a streetlamp, a gentleman in a suit was leaning against the pole with a newspaper shielding his face. He leaned in and handed the photo over.
"Damn it, your worry was right. They really did it, those bastards." Lowering the newspaper to reveal her chestnut wavy hair, Officer Natalie took the photo and glanced at it, the veins on her forehead throbbing.
It was a funeral portrait, stained with blood.
"This can no longer be explained away as a mere jurisdictional conflict. It seems we must find Donnie's home before they do." The officer looked at the narrow, chaotic alley opposite and frowned helplessly, musing, "Otherwise, we could try asking around nearby; perhaps someone has seen him."
"I don't wish to make the same foolish mistake as them. That would be an insult to a detective. Besides, I just went inside and followed the police around for a bit. The people here are incredibly guarded and haven't uttered a single word of truth. I estimate that asking like this is meaningless. We must try a different approach."
"You have an idea? Then tell me what to do. I'll listen to you." After speaking, the officer could not help but blush slightly, casting a swift glance at Lynch.
"I think I can guess why Donnie chose to live here." Lynch beckoned to the officer and led her toward a shop across from the alley entrance called the Luiste Cafe. "Fox Lane is the street with the best-informed underground network in Rhine City."
"Hiss, I see. No wonder Donnie chose to live here despite a journalist's decent income. With his profession, a place with a steady flow of information is most attractive. Living here, he can receive the latest news firsthand."
"Exactly. That is why there are quite a few information brokers or informants hiding in the open or in the shadows around here. It's just that the police and ordinary people wouldn't know. I was brought here by my own informant once—oh, the one who died, 'Drunken Peter'—so I have only been here once. I'm not certain, but we can only try."
While explaining, Lynch sighed internally. It was fortunate that the original owner of this body was a detective; otherwise, he would have had no channel to reach these underground intelligence sources. The two entered the cafe and found a corner by the window to sit.
At this time, there were no other guests in the shop. As soon as they sat down, a waiter in a red vest approached with a menu.
Lynch felt a bit nervous. This was an intelligence trade he had only seen in movies. Experiencing it through memory was one thing, but experiencing it firsthand was quite another.
Stay calm, I must stay calm. He took a deep breath and opened the menu with a blank expression.
"I want a cup of Luiste coffee, no cream or sugar, add extra salt and citric acid." Lynch adopted a seasoned demeanor. "Give this lady a cup of honey water, but without the honey, just the water."
The waiter glanced at Officer Natalie, instantly lost interest in her, and turned his body toward Lynch.
"One pound per cup. If you want it spiked with alcohol, the price doubles."
So expensive.
Lynch recalled the code words. A question was one pound, and illegal information cost double.
There was no help for it; it seemed he was going to bleed money. Lynch gritted his teeth, took out his coin purse, pulled out a one-pound note, and pushed it forward. He then gestured toward the window: "I want Donnie Narton's address."
The waiter was about to take the money, but upon hearing the question, he immediately pushed it back. "Apologies, guest. We don't have any Luiste coffee here."
Hmm?
Lynch was stunned and looked up at the waiter in surprise. The waiter maintained his professional expression and skillfully retracted the menu.
"I have been here before."
"I know, Mr. Levive. Three months ago with Red-Nosed Peter. I served you two. You performed a great feat the day before yesterday; the reputation of the Levive Agency has already spread throughout Fox Lane. We welcome you to come for coffee anytime in the future."
The waiter smiled and said:
"But as for this cup of Luiste coffee today, if you truly want to drink it, try coming back tomorrow. It is so chaotic outside with so many police, the shop is in no mood to make coffee."
"Is it because of them?"
"Mr. Levive, originally it would have been an insignificant cup of coffee, and we would have liked to complete this transaction with you to lay the foundation for future long-term cooperation. But we business people have never liked the police. Since they are so interested in this cup of coffee, we cannot sell it. Otherwise, if we sold it to the wrong customer, we wouldn't be able to continue such business in the future. That is the rule of Fox Lane. So if you are truly interested, please wait until they are no longer interested before coming back."
"Wait..."
Regrettably, the waiter had already tucked away the menu and walked off without looking back. Lynch slammed his thigh, feeling frustrated yet helpless.
"These bastards. To think they could cause us trouble even like this. Can't they keep their movements a bit smaller?"
"This person must know. How about... I go and press him for the answer?"
"Useless. Which informant hasn't been threatened before? Besides, he could just make up any lie, and no one would know if it were true or not." Lynch sighed in disappointment and said with frustration, "Let me think of another way. Perhaps... hmm?"
The two were sitting by the window, and through the glass, they could see the entrance to Fox Lane.
Several ragged children around ten years old were peeking around the alley entrance. These were the typical 'children of the Crown District'; they could be seen in every street and alley throughout Rhine City.
When they were inside earlier to trick the police for the photos, Lynch had already seen them, but he hadn't realized it at the time. Now, with his mind full of intelligence trading, seeing them again, he suddenly realized the identity of these little rascals.
"What is it? Did you find something?"
"Let's go. I might have found a way."
Lynch grabbed the officer's hand and ran out of the Luiste Cafe like the wind.
Rate on N.U.
