New Gods of North America

“Tyrell, it’s been almost twenty years since you last visited my home as a guest, hasn’t it?”

In the manor's small banquet hall, two old men were engaged in a post-banquet conversation.

Compared to the manor's main banquet hall and dining room, the decoration here seemed much more shabby and simple, with the dining table only able to accommodate ten people at most.

But for those in the know, being able to dine here meant that they had truly entered the core social circle of the Beaton family.

At this time, the irrelevant banquet attendees had already tactfully taken their leave temporarily, accompanied by the manor owner's family members, to smoke cigars or visit the greenhouse, while others went to the entertainment room to play billiards.

The food on the table had also been replaced with various delicate pastries and fresh fruits from various places that seemed ordinary but required more expense to obtain in a timely manner.

Reverend Tyrell picked up a fig the size of a goose egg, and after hearing this, he didn't rush to answer. He pinched it in half and took a bite, seemingly reminiscing while chewing:

“About that, maybe even longer. Anyway, I haven’t been here since your son’s consecutive failures in the state senate election. The figs are good, you should try one too. For our age, they are very helpful in preventing constipation.”

Bask Beaton, the true owner of the manor, didn't mind such a direct and somewhat rude statement, “Yes, staying healthy is indeed very necessary.”

He put down his wine glass and then picked up a fig himself, “Corleone is obviously not as good as you in this regard. When he comes back from New York City this time, will we have to attend his farewell ceremony?”

“I don’t know. But God bless, I hope it’s not that soon.”

Reverend Tyrell put the two halves of the fig into his mouth one after another and changed the subject, “Speaking of which, why didn’t I see Victor tonight? Is he still busy capturing wild paranormals?”

“Yes. Since Paster was taken down by you southerners, I had to put my efforts into the military. It’s rare that Corleone is willing to give Victor this opportunity. If he doesn’t work hard, I estimate that after I die, this manor will become someone else’s property sooner or later.”

There was no need for too much formality between the elderly. Reverend Tyrell couldn't help but smile, “Then they have to be able to pay the property taxes. You've messed with this place for so long. If the Norton family buys it, I think the first thing Walter will do before moving in is tear down your greenhouse.”

Bask Beaton smiled subtly, “There aren’t many people in their family in Virginia in this generation. Since you are sitting here now, I think he will hardly have this opportunity.”

Reverend Tyrell waved his hand, “You know the rules, politics has nothing to do with the church. No matter who is elected to Congress or the state legislature, they will still have to go to church to attend services in the end.”

“Of course,” Bask Beaton nodded knowingly, echoing and continuing, “But the church obviously has an obligation to bring lost believers back on the right track. The people under Walter are too mixed, and the Federation obviously doesn’t want to see so many people in the postal service who are always difficult to replace. Victor is still young, and it’s enough to give him a headache just to work with those rough intelligence guys in the military.”

Reverend Tyrell thought for a while, “It seems like it’s almost time for the state legislature to be re-elected, right? Who are you more optimistic about this time?”

Bask Beaton didn't choose to prevaricate:

“To be honest, it’s a bit of a headache. Those who have good momentum now, no matter how you look at it, are all southerners. Even if we can win some seats, no one has enough prestige to unite them. Except for the Winchester area that produces apples in the western district, it’s meaningless to take down the rest. There are too many voices in the mountains, and they always can’t reach the plains.”

Reverend Tyrell, who always looked like a nice old man, rarely smiled mischievously, “The things that give Corleone a headache are probably similar to yours.”

Bask Beaton smiled twice in agreement, and then his expression became slightly serious, “Why?”

Reverend Tyrell knew that the other party wasn't asking about internal church matters, so he was also frank:

“Walter has been keeping things from me recently on key matters. You also know Corleone’s current state, and it’s not just you northerners who fight each other for the backrests in the big house.”

“Indeed,” Bask Beaton nodded, “Traitors are often more hateful than enemies. Even within the party, someone needs to hold a whip to keep an eye on them at all times.”

Just as he was about to continue, the old butler in the manor politely knocked twice on the door, then walked in and whispered a few words in his ear.

Seeing Reverend Tyrell cast an inquiring look, Bask Beaton shook his head at the old butler while explaining, “It’s a private detective introduced by Tom Hagen, saying he has something to visit about. He came once before, for a reason similar to yours, also keeping an eye on Walter Norton.”

“Wayne Constantine?” Reverend Tyrell asked.

Bask Beaton didn't expect Reverend Tyrell to be able to say the name directly, raised his hand to signal the old butler not to rush back to refuse, “Your man?”

Reverend Tyrell waved his hand, and then asked in return, “Didn’t Victor tell you the details of Corleone’s convening of the meeting?”

“Out of caution for this opportunity, I told him not to reveal the specific content to anyone, to avoid attracting Corleone’s antipathy at a critical moment.”

Bask Beaton’s reaction was obviously not inferior to that of young people, “Is he Corleone’s man?”

Reverend Tyrell was reluctant to see these outsiders tied together at this time, so he only said half of the truth:

“I’m not sure. But the participants in that meeting, besides the people from the church, were only him and Victor, two young people.”

Bask Beaton didn't know what he was thinking, turned his head and said to the old butler, “Let him wait for me in the study.”

……

After Wayne was led into the study, he had almost finished two cups of coffee before he finally waited for Mr. Bask.

It was mainly because this thing is a diuretic when you drink too much. Wayne didn't pour too much for himself. If Lina came over, this period of time would probably be enough for her to find the safe and rummage through it.

The trick of “letting a good cop catch a good cop” really works. If Wayne were just guessing, he probably wouldn't be able to guess the correct answer for three days and three nights.

But after Mr. Bask heard the general situation, he quickly had a direction:

“I can temporarily keep the person you brought over to stay in the manor as a guest, get to know him and ask old friends to understand the inside story, and then tell you the results after it is handled properly. According to my speculation, he should have a relatively positive identity and is not suitable for doing too much, but I guarantee that he and his instigator will receive due punishment.”

Wayne originally just hoped that someone could help manage these people who were doing bad things in the dark, and he was quite satisfied when he heard this, “Thank you very much, Mr. Beaton.”

Some trust is based on judging the positions of both sides. If the person is handed over to the cathedral, Tom Hagen is definitely more trustworthy in this matter.

Unfortunately, the church does not seem to actively interfere in political affairs, so as a second choice, simply send the person caught tonight to the “opponent” to see if he will eventually become a bullet that hits someone.

The detective agency is just asking for help from local respected people, how can there be any bad intentions.

Just as he was about to pat his butt and prepare to say goodbye, he didn't expect Mr. Bask to have no intention of ending the conversation. Instead, he asked the servant to change Wayne's tea:

“By the way, Wayne, I heard that you run a detective agency, how is business lately?”

“Thanks to the Federation, it’s not bad.”

“How many people are there in your detective agency now? What kind of commissions do you mainly accept?”

“There are currently less than thirty people. As for the content of the commissions, we basically accept any commissions within the scope of private detective business.”

“What are the business scopes of private detectives?”

Mr. Bask seems to really not understand, but that's right, private detectives are considered a blue ocean industry these days. People probably know that there is such a profession, but in reality, not many people really understand it. After all, not every family has the opportunity to have a murder case or investigate an affair.

Wayne continued to introduce patiently, considering that the other party might be a big client:

“Conventional commissions, such as investigating clues, finding lost items, and assisting in solving cases. As for our detective agency, we are currently more inclined to accept security or cross-regional reward commissions……”