Chapter 33: Continue Following Up

【INFORMATION: THE WOMAN WHO TRADED WITH ANCIENT BEINGS】This novel is originally published on ZhuiShuShenQi, TianTian Kan XiaoShuo, ttks. tw — convenient, with error-free, properly ordered chapters.

【According to several deeply disturbed witnesses, deep within a mansion on the east side of Weston Street resides an elderly woman whose sanity has completely collapsed. She appears to be performing a blasphemous ritual—attempting to trade with those ancient, unfathomable entities lurking beyond the void, seeking to cross the veil between life and death to summon long-decayed souls from eternal silence. Investigators are ordered to resolve this case within three days.】

【Reward upon investigation: 1 Bronze Coin of the Ancient God, $50】

"This information task doesn't seem difficult."

Roger could now judge task difficulty by the reward—this information was about as simple as the garage job, likely requiring only a visit to a fixed location to question the subject.

But trading with ancient beings?

Sounds creepy.

Though the people of Meilijian held diverse beliefs, he had never seen anyone secretly worship Cthulhu or other outer gods.

Then again, if even God couldn't satisfy this old woman, how intense must her obsession be?

Roger looked at his panel, where his SAN Value had recovered to 7 points, and decided to investigate tomorrow.

Afterward, he continued cycling to deliver takeout.

He delivered eight orders total—morning and afternoon combined. Though few in number, he earned thirty dollars in tips using his "pretend to be a fellow countryman" skill.

He didn't return to the community until 4 p. m.

It was then that Vanessa's call came in.

"Unfortunately, I couldn't identify the Black woman's identity."

Previously, Roger had asked the female journalist to investigate the autopsy of the bloated corpse, and received information that its internal organs had been mostly removed.

When Vanessa tried to dig deeper, she discovered the police couldn't identify the woman at all.

No university had reported her as an unclaimed body donor; she had no ID or phone; no DNA records existed in police databases—just like an undocumented immigrant.

The police quickly closed the case, ruling her death an accident and attributing the missing organs to her own organ sales and medical donations.

It made sense: an undocumented immigrant with no money would sell blood or organs, then accidentally fall into the river and die, her body discovered only days later.

This logic might not hold in an Eastern country, but in Meilijian, where hobos had a hundred ways to die, it was perfectly normal.

Thus, Vanessa couldn't write her report.

She couldn't use that photo of the bloated, grotesque face to investigate her identity.

Also, the "Garage Demolition to Build Gundam" story fizzled out.

Because Aodisi cooperated fully, the police closed the case at lightning speed.

Unlike what he told Roger—that he sold Gundam fragments—the police classified the case as private purchase for personal fetish.

When Vanessa directly questioned Aodisi, he denied selling anything, claiming he only used them for personal research.

Hearing this, Roger frowned: "Is the Seattle Police Department full of idiots?"

"Hmm, not all of them are idiots, but I'd bet my life their chief is one hundred percent." Vanessa fired back mercilessly—clearly aware of certain facts.

"So, my payment?"

"Sorry, I can only give you twenty dollars for your trouble."

"Alright, it's settled."

Twenty dollars wasn't bad—TV stations publicly paid that much for tips. For a private journalist's Informer, this was a good sum. Besides, Vanessa had been actively following up and putting in real effort.

Just as Roger was about to hang up, he remembered something: "By the way, Aodisi gave me a phone number."

"Whose number?"

"A Gundam dealer's. His name is Vulture. He said everyone in this trade gets referrals—just tell Vulture you're Aodisi's contact, and he'll give you the goods."

"Really!" Vanessa exclaimed with delight: "If that's true, this lead can still be pursued."

"Exactly. So—are you going to continue?"

"Of course!" Vanessa declared firmly: "I'm sure this is a major story—possibly tied to many black-market industries—but I need your help."

"How?"

"Call Vulture. Pretend to be Aodisi's friend, and buy from him."

Roger thought of the floor covered in Gundam fragments, and hesitated: "This isn't an easy job."

"Don't worry—I'll pay. After the investigation, I'll give you compensation for emotional distress."

Ugh, I love this rich woman's "money's no object" attitude.

Roger had interacted with Vanessa enough by now to notice many things.

First, though she dressed modestly daily, she showed boldness in key matters and wasn't afraid to spend.

Second, she owned at least two cars: a Ford seen at the junkyard, and a black Mercedes at Duwamish River Park.

This indicated she came from a comfortable household—at least middle class.

Though middle-class people could still be troubled by the Execution Line, they had far more resilience than the likes of us bottom-tier people.

After ending the call with Vanessa, he immediately dialed Vulture's number.

"Ding… ding…"

"Hey, this is Vulture's hotline—'Fuck for an Hour.' If you're a girl looking for me, just say so!"

Roger raised an eyebrow—his voicemail was wilder than expected.

"Hello, uh, I'm Aodisi's buddy. He said you sell used stuff—if you hear this, call me back anytime."

Roger mimicked Aodisi's accent, then hung up.

Afterward, he continued working out, cooking at Fiona's house, and playing flight chess with Natasha.

Yet Roger's phone received no call from Vulture—from afternoon until the next morning.

Either Vulture was busy, or he heard but chose not to reply.

To fulfill Vanessa's request, he dialed Vulture again and left another message.

"I really need used stuff—price negotiable. If you hear this, call me back ASAP."

After leaving the message, Roger pedaled his bicycle toward the intelligence destination.

East side of Weston Street.

This location was about ten kilometers from Xin Yidunweier Shequ; by the time he arrived after intense cycling, his legs were slightly fatigued.

After resting for a moment, he slowly approached the community.

Weston Community was a white neighborhood, home to many service workers and white-collar employees; it was somewhat safer than Xin Yidunweier Shequ, as residents could still be seen walking dogs during the day.

And police cars patrolled the surrounding area.

As Roger neared the community, the police cast a glance over him, as if observing.

Roger knew that if he lingered too long or wandered around aimlessly, he would surely be questioned by the police.

So after entering the community, he fixed his gaze on a middle-aged woman walking her dog, planning to extract clues from her.