Pokémon Detective: Cynthia Forces Me to Adopt a Pokémon

Chapter 64: Outwitting and Outmaneuvering a Cunning Black Market Broker

The apartment manager was a gaunt old man who sat on a square wooden chair behind the glass of the duty room, silently and sternly staring at the air in front of him.

Beside him sat a Hayok that looked even thinner than him, its color dull, its tail drooping limply. It hadn't evolved yet, but it already looked more old and decrepit than a long-haired dog.

Hugo knocked on the glass door of the duty room, but when the old man did not respond, he opened the door and went inside.

The apartment manager and Hayok glanced slowly at the detective in the white coat, as if they were two mechanical devices linked together by levers. Then, without a word, they both pursed their lips, turned back, and continued their staring contest into the void.

Hugo didn't seem to mind the cold treatment he received; his shifty eyes scanned the surroundings of the duty room.

Broken tables, broken chairs, wall clocks, landline telephones, old fans, locked drawers, sticky notes covered with distorted symbols, wastepaper baskets overflowing with miscellaneous items... In the cramped duty room, every single object is visible.

Hugo's gaze casually swept over the illegible note, and his eyes began to show amusement.

"Ahem." The detective suddenly cleared his throat and said to the old man, "Sir, besides being an apartment manager, you must also be doing some real estate agency work, right?"

The apartment manager, with droopy eyelids, glanced listlessly at the detective but remained silent.

“Generally speaking, it’s perfectly legal for individuals to work as real estate agents and charge small fees,” Hugo said with a smile. “However, this apartment building looks very high-end, so the requirements for the apartment managers should be stricter, right? For example, shouldn’t managers be prohibited from using residents’ information for profit?”

Hayok suddenly bared his fangs and let out a low growl at the detective, but the old man tapped him on the head, and he quieted down.

"How did you figure that out?" The old and hoarse voice, carrying an aura of decay, wafted over.

Hugo didn't hide anything either—

"Your desk drawer was locked. A typical security guard wouldn't do that for easy access, which suggests something confidential is inside. The landline's buttons are badly worn, but the casing is relatively new, suggesting you make calls frequently. The trash can contained crumpled carbon paper and tissues with light red dots; I suspect you recently processed a contract, and the tissues were used to wipe away ink stains. As for that note…"

At this point, the detective couldn't help but chuckle: "You don't actually think that as long as the handwriting is messy and uses a lot of cursive, people won't be able to tell that this is a list of rental properties, do you? I suppose whenever a new client comes in, you just glance at the numbers on the slip of paper, then tell them the room numbers recorded on it, and let them tour the apartments that are currently available for rent."

The administrator gave a forced smile and said, "You self-righteous fool, stop wasting your breath and tell me what you're here for."

“A murder case,” Hugo said bluntly. “I’m a private investigator outside the alliance system. I’d like to know if Mr. Greta, who died in his own home, was ever your client?”

The apartment building manager, who was also the first person to discover the crime scene, silently shook his head.

Then, facing Hugo for the first time, the administrator revealed information that even the police would not dare to divulge—

"No, he came from another agency. That trainer was as stubborn as a rock, preferring to leave the house vacant for six months while he was away on a trip rather than rent it out again. Now it seems that wasting money really does have its consequences."

"He went on a six-month trip?" Hugo asked, somewhat surprised.

"Yes." The administrator nodded listlessly, as if he was about to fall asleep at any moment. "It was in the first half of this year, just two months after he came back, when he encountered an accident."

"I see." Hugo stroked his chin thoughtfully.

The old man patted Hayok's restless head and urged him impatiently, "Now that you know what's going on, hurry up and leave, or my old partner is about to bite you."

“No,” Hugo refused decisively. “I want to know about the other residents.”

The elderly caretaker's brow furrowed almost like a walnut; after struggling internally for a long time, he finally said—

"Five thousand, give me five thousand and I'll let you investigate."

The detective's face showed obvious disdain, but the old man didn't care at all, as if it were a matter of course, and stretched out his withered palm with ten fingers toward the detective.

"Ugh."

Hugo sighed, reached for his wallet, and grumbled casually, "We were having a pleasant chat, thinking we wouldn't have to go to the tax office to investigate someone's tax situation..."

Hugo had already opened his wallet, but he pulled his hand back from in front of him.

"What's wrong? Do you want to back out?" the detective asked, feigning ignorance.

The old man, too lazy to talk, fumbled for a key on the table and tossed it to the detective.

Hugo didn't stand on ceremony. He stepped forward, used the key to open the drawer of the table, and skillfully pushed aside the clutter on the surface. Sure enough, at the very back of the drawer was a tattered ledger.

Opening the ledger, he saw dense cursive handwriting, which even Hugo found daunting. Although he could barely decipher the contents, the thought of reading through all those ugly symbols made the detective feel nauseous.

“Well then, how about I ask you directly, is the resident downstairs from Mr. Greta your client?” Hugo turned back to the building manager and asked earnestly.

"That family," the old man said with a wistful look, "was indeed my client, but the people living there now are not the same people as before."

"How to say?"

"It was probably in the last few months. That guy started acting as a middleman, subletting the house to a bunch of guys whose backgrounds I don't know. He made a profit by taking the difference in rent, earning a net profit of three hundred yuan every month."

The old keeper's face showed a sour grapes expression, while the old dog beside him looked on with a disdainful sneer.

"So you're the sub-landlord." The detective nodded, then continued to press, "How many new people are there? How are they behaving?"

"Nobody liked those six guys. They lived together, had no stable jobs, idled away their days, and made noise day and night."

The old man spoke ill of the tenants, his expression impatient, as if the six noisy fellows were right in front of him.

“The surrounding residents complained countless times and came to protest countless times, but it was to no avail. One day, they even almost started a Pokémon battle in the hallway. However, they had more people and more Pokémon, so the residents downstairs gave in. Later, they couldn’t stand it anymore and simply terminated their lease and left. That room is still empty.”

After hearing the information provided by the apartment manager, Hugo didn't bother to look at the ledgers anymore. He looked directly into the thin old man's eyes and asked seriously, "After the incident, did those six new residents go out?"

"No, right? They rarely go out, and they've been staying indoors for the past few days..."

Suddenly, Hayok, who was standing nearby, started barking wildly.

The detective looked up and saw through the glass six furtive figures trying to slip out of the door, avoiding the officer's gaze.

The detective glanced at the old man in front of him and said, "Mr. Apartment Manager, now is your chance to fulfill your duty."