Chapter 31: "Captain Eight Guns" Rades |
The hallway floor was lined with red carpet, and the swaying group followed the waiting attendant at the second-floor staircase straight into the second room on the left.
The interior was spacious, and the gas lamps were turned up to full power, bathing the room in a dazzling golden light. Yet, having just left the chaotic scene downstairs, the normalcy of the setting now felt unnervingly distorted. The room resembled a typical parlor, but a massive gambling table dominated the center. The table was broader, with more seats, and against the wall stood a liquor cabinet flanked by two women in gaudy makeup and improper attire. Neither the drunken revelers nor the attendant acting as the dealer noticed Shad, who shouldn't have been there. The group settled into their new room to continue their earlier debauchery.
Standing inconspicuously by the sofa, Shad waited for a chance to slip back into the hallway. He debated whether to use his "Ignite" ability to create a small diversion but was interrupted by the voice of the drunkard he had been supporting earlier. The man was addressing someone sitting on the sofa, a scar running along the corner of his mouth, his head hung low:
"Captain Radis, tell us again about the time those Southerners captured you, and you fired eight shots at your own head to prove your loyalty to the Kingdom!"
The drunkard burst out laughing, while Captain Radis, the target of ridicule, kept his head down, staring sullenly at his boots.
"Radis just got ransomed back; let's not bring that up... How about we get a pistol and have him show us how it’s done? Hahaha!"
Another man holding three cards at the gambling table turned to join the mockery, filling the room with boisterous laughter. Using the commotion, Shad slipped out unnoticed, returning to the hallway.
The walls and doors were well-insulated, and within a few steps, the laughter from the room was barely audible. Sticking close to the wall, Shad proceeded cautiously. The empty hallway worked to his advantage. Although unsure of young Franklin's whereabouts, the former detective's notes mentioned an escape ladder on the club's second floor leading directly outside. This kept Shad from worrying too much about being caught.
As he rounded a corner, however, a man in a uniform distinct from the casino guards downstairs appeared. Shad straightened his posture and walked confidently, masking any nervousness. Despite his efforts, the man blocked his path:
The man reached for Shad's shoulder, but Shad instinctively dodged. Though lacking combat experience, he realized again how the enhancements of a Ring Warlock extended to reflexes:
"Yes, I was invited up here and just went to the restroom," Shad explained.
"But isn’t the restroom that way?" The man pointed to where Shad had just come from, eyeing him suspiciously. "You've got some quick reflexes."
"...The restroom over there is out of order. A bunch of drunkards threw up and clogged the toilet—I’d rather not describe the scene." Shad admired his quick thinking. Yet the man furrowed his brow:
"Sir, you’re not a second-floor guest, are you?" Though phrased as a question, the tone was assertive.
Awkwardly, Shad chuckled, seeing no point in further lies. Fortunately, he carried nothing suspicious and wasn’t causing trouble at the club:
"Alright, I was just curious about the second floor and followed some guests up here. I’ll leave the club immediately—I understand."
As he began to retreat, the man’s next words stopped him:
"Don’t wander around again. The second floor and above are for VIPs. Stick to the rules if you’re here. No need to leave—you’re not here for ‘Deadbeat’ Franklin, are you?"
The man squinted.
"Uh...well," Shad considered his options and decided honesty was best for now. "If you mean a young man with a gray hat, sailor’s shirt, freckles, and squinty eyes, yes. His father sent me to take him home."
"His father sent someone again? Follow me. Pay off his debt, and you can take him." The man gestured for Shad to follow him down the hallway.
"You should’ve mentioned it downstairs. For guys like him who owe gambling debts, we always worry about finding someone to pay up."
Surprisingly, the casino staff were reasonable.
"I just assumed..." Shad hesitated. "How much does he owe?" This was the key question. Franklin had promised to reimburse Shad for any debt, but Shad himself had little cash.
"One pound, six shillings. Including interest and his food and lodging these days, two pounds will do."
Two pounds wasn’t an unreasonable amount. Shad silently handed over the money he had prepared. As the man took him to the kitchen, Shad saw the young Franklin lying on the floor, blood from a knocked-out tooth staining the Rhodes Cards scattered around him. A burly chef loomed nearby, steam spraying onto a pig’s head from the pipes.
"Enough! Someone’s here to bail him out," the escort said lazily, waving away the kitchen smells and extending his hand for payment. Shad pulled Franklin up:
"Your father sent me to—"
"He can’t leave yet!" the chef interjected angrily, showing a bloodied bite mark on his hand. "This little rat tried to escape and bit me! Give me half a pound, or he stays."