Chapter 95: Identity Card (2)
The office located at the back of the tavern wasn't particularly large.
It was similar in size to the office of the Forest Restaurant, but the cluttered state of the office made it feel even more cramped.
It was spacious enough for two people, but if there were three, it would feel a bit tight.
Murphy organized the documents scattered messily across the desk and spoke.
"Ah, I’m sorry. I've been quite busy lately, so it's a little messy."
"It's no problem. It seems like you’ve been really busy."
Oliver replied, recalling the bustling tavern.
It was so crowded that there wasn’t any room left, and quite a few people were drinking magical liquor, spending a considerable amount of money on just one drink.
"Here you go."
Murphy pulled out a brown envelope from a drawer and handed it to Oliver.
Oliver opened the envelope and checked its contents.
Inside, there was a fake birth certificate for Oliver and a notebook-style identity card.
Oliver opened the notebook-style identity card, and there, along with a face that slightly resembled his own, was the name 'Dave Light.'
It also contained personal information such as his place of birth and date of birth.
"This is...?"
"It’s your new identity card. Do you like it?"
Oliver checked both the identity card and the birth certificate.
"Yes. I like it."
"I'm glad you’re satisfied. It was worth the effort to prepare a first-grade identity card."
"First grade?"
"Oh, you didn’t know? Even fake identity cards are ranked. There are various types, but they are usually divided into three grades."
Oliver showed interest. He could often catch glimpses of people’s wisdom in such small details.
"If it’s not too much trouble, could you tell me how they’re categorized?"
"Of course. It’s not a secret. By the way, do you enjoy drinking?"
"I can handle a sip or two."
"Great."
Murphy said that as he poured some magical liquor from the corner of the office.
It glowed with a green fluorescent light, but unlike the kind served in the tavern, this one had a much stronger concentration of magic.
Gurgle. Murphy handed the glass over and spoke.
"Fake identity cards are divided into three grades: first grade, second grade, and third grade. Third-grade cards are nothing more than toys that only mimic the appearance of an identity card. Even a police officer would spot them with just a glance. They're garbage. Second-grade cards are made by bribing city officials. They work fine in everyday life, but a closer investigation would reveal them."
Oliver nodded.
"First-grade cards are a bit different. They don’t create identities artificially; they use existing ones."
"Existing identities?"
"Yes. There are quite a few people born with proper identities who waste their lives. Most of them fall into debt they can't repay, and Crime Firm confiscates their identities in exchange for their debts."
Oliver looked at his identity card.
"So, this card belonged to someone else?"
"Yes. As long as no one meets the original owner and cross-checks, there’s no need to worry. After all, the person whose identity this is, really existed. You could say you're living someone else's life."
Oliver stared at the face embedded in the card.
"It’s fascinating. This face resembles mine."
"It’s because we used magical surgery to alter it. With the right excuse and some money under the table, you can easily have a new identity card issued. During that process, we change both the face and name for the client’s convenience."
Hmm... Oliver reacted as if he'd heard an amusing old story.
"The method is simple and highly secure. But because we have to find someone with suitable conditions and then pay for surgery, bribes, and follow-up handling, first-grade identity cards are a bit expensive."
"Yes, I’ve heard something along those lines. Mr. Forest mentioned in passing that they cost several million... Thank you for doing all this for me."
"No, no. Compared to what you've done for me, this is nothing. Last time, I greatly benefitted from your help... By the way, how does the drink taste?"
"Oh, I haven’t tried it yet. Just a moment."
Oliver replied and took a sip of the green, glowing magical liquor.
It was quite drinkable.
"...Tastes good."
Murphy seemed slightly disappointed, as if he had expected a different reaction.
"...Well, I'm glad. Does it suit your taste?"
"Yes, it’s good."
"That's a relief. It’s a product aimed at the wealthy."
"The wealthy?"
"Yes, as I mentioned earlier, my goal is not just to make bootleg liquor but to create a legitimate product. So, despite the additional costs, we label and package the bottles, and give the product a fancy name to enhance its prestige."
After taking another sip of Murphy's magical liquor, Oliver spoke again.
"And you're tailoring the quality to match the customer, maximizing profit?"
"Exactly. This is a premium product intended for the city’s politicians, magicians, and capitalists. It's called 'Gout de Dieu.'"
"...What does that mean?"
"It means 'Tears of God.' It’s in the Gallos language."
"Gallos?"
"A continental nation south of this country. We've fought them quite a bit, and sometimes we've been allies. They aren’t much for fighting, but they sure know how to make food and drink."
"Is there a reason you named the product in their language?"
"Yes. Doesn't it sound prestigious? Most people don’t know what foreign words mean, but they like how fancy it sounds."
"Ah..."
Oliver nodded.
Murphy’s words were half-serious, but they were quite amusing.
Oliver took another sip of the magical liquor.
Compared to the liquor Forest had given him, this one seemed to have a more addictive quality, something that made him want to keep drinking.
Suddenly, Oliver wondered if using Filgaret to process emotions might make the drink even tastier.
'No, that’d be a waste, wouldn’t it? The amount of emotions consumed just to make the tavern's liquor must already be substantial.'
"I’m curious about something. Would you mind if I asked?"
"Go ahead, speak freely, Black Magician."
"You mentioned before that Crime Firm operates real estate businesses too. How much would it cost to buy a warehouse? I don’t necessarily need to buy one; renting would be fine, too."
Oliver inquired. Now that he had an identity card, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to start preparing for future needs.
While he couldn’t buy one right away, it wouldn’t hurt to get an idea of the price.
Murphy smiled.
"This is interesting."
"Huh? What do you mean?"
"I was actually planning to bring that up myself."
"...?"
"Black Magician, how would you feel about having a warehouse? A place free from external surveillance or prying eyes. As it happens, I recently acquired one for a bargain."
"...That sounds good."
"Then, shall we talk more about it?"
...
Of course, it wasn't as simple as Murphy just giving him the warehouse.
There was a corresponding request.
"A truck problem?"
"Yes."
"Are you involved in the trucking business too, Murphy?"
"No, not me. A family above ours handles that. The Hoffman Family. They run several businesses, but their main focus is on transportation."
"Transportation?"
"Yes, Hoffman's Transportation Company. They load up huge trucks and deliver anything anywhere—flour, liquor, canned goods, clothes, fuel... Sometimes even drugs, smuggled goods, or magical liquor."
Oliver nodded.
At first, he didn’t think much of it, but as Murphy went into more detail, he realized they were quite an important group.
In addition to their legitimate deliveries, they also transported goods for Crime Firm, and they had established connections with the local police, which ensured a high success rate for their deliveries.
In other words, they controlled a significant portion of both the legal and illegal logistics. But lately, they’d been facing considerable trouble.
"What kind of trouble?"
"Someone’s been attacking their trucks."
"Attacking? Who?"
"I'm not entirely sure. In this line of work, it's not unusual to get shot. It could be personal grudges, business rivalries, politics—there are countless reasons and suspects."
Sincerely.
"...Have you any guesses?"
"There are a few. If Hoffman fails to manage their business properly, the Crime Firm board will transfer the business rights to another group... There are about four or five other families that could benefit. But we’re not sure. Whoever is behind it is using mercenaries well enough that they’ve left no trace."
"So, you want me to deal with the people attacking the trucks?"
"Yes. Hoffman’s already tried hiring a few well-known fixers, spending quite a bit of money. But none of them succeeded, and they just ended up wasting their funds... Oh! And there's one more thing."
"What is it?"
"The truck drivers have gone on strike after the repeated attacks."
"Because their colleagues died in the attacks?"
"That’s part of it, but also because the company tampered with the insurance paperwork and skimmed off half of the payouts."
"Ah... That’s pretty bad, isn’t it?"
"It’s a terrible thing to do."
"Then why are you telling me this?"
"The drivers didn’t just strike; they also got support from a labor union that provided them with fixers. They’re dead set on resolving this. I was hoping you could help with that as well."
Oliver shook his head.
"I’m not interested in getting involved with ordinary people."
"...?"
"As a Black Magician, I try to avoid situations where I might end up in prison... or worse, dead."
There were other reasons as well, but he didn’t bother to mention them.
Instead, he focused on discussing potential profits, which tended to be more effective. It was also a cleaner approach.
"Oh, I see I didn’t explain properly. I’m not asking you to kill the striking drivers; I’d like your help during negotiations."
"Negotiations? Sorry, but I don’t know anything about negotiations."
"Just having someone like you, a Black Magician, standing behind us would be enough. The situation on our side isn’t great, so we’re willing to settle at a reasonable level. We plan to offer 65% of the original insurance payout."
"That doesn’t sound like a great deal."
"It’s quite a concession. Regular businesses do this all the time. Think of the 35% as a kind of service fee."
Oliver wasn’t entirely convinced, but he didn’t argue. Murphy likely understood the city's way of doing things better than he did.
"So, why aren’t the workers negotiating themselves?"
"Normally they would, but the union supporting them has been stirring things up. They’ve promised the drivers they’ll get double the original payout, though the union would pocket over half of it themselves. In reality, even if the workers win, they wouldn’t get much more than if they settled with us. What we need is someone like you to lend a bit of persuasion. And of course, if it comes to it, we might need to borrow your strength, but I’ll try to make it as hassle-free as possible."
Murphy explained this very carefully, much more cautiously than before.
"I’m not sure if my presence would make much of a difference."
Murphy took a sip of the magical liquor.
"...I saw you fight a magician before. I’m sure you’ll make a difference. Especially with the interesting rumors going around recently."
"Rumors?"
"Yes, about a Black Magician surviving an encounter with a Puppet in T-District. The city is trying to suppress the story, but it’ll spread eventually."
"...It wasn’t that I survived. The Puppet let me live."
"That’s not the important part. What matters is that you encountered a Puppet and lived to tell the tale."
Oliver thought carefully. Was this really a good idea?
Raising his reputation as a fixer was part of his goal, but this kind of situation felt like it carried more danger than usual.
Defeating the Puppet hadn’t been solely his own power; the energy sources like Hell's Entrance and the artificial soul had played a major role.
Then again, it didn’t really matter, did it? What’s done is done.
"So, if I help Hoffman’s transportation business, you’ll give me the warehouse?"
"Yes. You can choose whether to buy it or rent it long-term, whatever suits you best."
"Then, can I see where it is first? I’d like to check it out."