123. Ruben Van Helsing

The cozy yet aged little house still featured the same dining table, draped with a pale yellow tablecloth.

The light revealed a feast of distinctive delicacies: sizzling roast chicken dripping with oil, beef tongue glazed in rich sauce, steaming corn porridge, and artistically shaped golden fried starfish, among other specialties.

Three people sat around the table.

Dean’s gaze swept over the two seated opposite him. Rebecca, draped in a knitted shawl and wearing a tropical floral dress, her hair meticulously arranged, was accompanied by an unfamiliar elderly man.

He stood over six feet tall, lean in build, dressed in jeans, casual shoes, and a black overcoat.

His short, flaxen hair streaked with silver was styled to one side with wax. He had a high nose bridge, prominent cheekbones, deep wrinkles, and a stern, traditional face.

“Rebecca, no wonder you finally swapped out your eternal staple of pork and green bean rice today and prepared such a sumptuous meal. Are you trying to bribe me into hard labor?”

He glanced at the old man, grabbed a roasted chicken leg, and bit into it. The skin was crisp, the meat tender and juicy, filling his mouth with a fragrant richness.

“Talent and gifts left unused are like weapons left unused—they slowly rust. I happen to have an old friend in a bit of trouble, so I thought I’d see if you have time to handle it, consider it a bit of exercise,” Rebecca said with a kindly smile that deepened the wrinkles on her face. She looked at the man beside her. “This is Marco Van Helsing, from Reno.”

Reno?

Dean recalled that Reno was a city more than four hundred miles north of Las Vegas, still within Nevada.

“I’ve heard from Rebecca that you’re a remarkably talented private detective, someone who’s solved several nearly impossible cases in Las Vegas,” the elderly man smiled at Dean, then stood and extended his hand. “And I happen to have an enormous, troublesome matter.”

His voice was hoarse yet commanding.

Dean raised an eyebrow as Rebecca shook her gray-streaked hair, signaling she hadn’t revealed any secrets to him.

“Mr. Van Helsing, right? I’m not really a detective yet. At most, I’m an enthusiast for strange and unusual cases,” Dean said, setting aside the bare chicken bones and wiping the grease from his hands before shaking the man’s hand. His gaze caught several irregular scars on the back and side of the older man’s right hand. “Are you a veterinarian?”

“Indeed. How did you guess?” the old man asked.

“Those scars look like bites from small animals.” Dean pointed to the back of his hand, having learned a thing or two from his time with Holden.

“Sharp observation,” the man’s eyes softened. “I’m somewhat well-known in Reno. If you ever have cats or dogs in need of treatment, feel free to come by. For Rebecca’s sake, I’ll give you a discount.”

“Back to the point. My son, Ruben Van Helsing, has gone missing. I hope you can help find him.” The elderly man pulled a photo from his dark leather wallet and placed it before Dean.

The picture showed a man in his thirties wearing a black trench coat. He bore a strong resemblance to the old man in height, build, and features but was much younger. His temples were slightly hollowed, the corners of his lips turned downward, giving him a somewhat somber appearance.

His cheeks and limbs were tense and rigid; a faint melancholy hung between his brows, evoking the image of an artistic soul.

He tilted his neck slightly, as if uneasy about being photographed.

“How old is your son? What does he do?” Dean held the photo close, mentally noting that he seemed to have a knack for missing person cases—last time it was Grace, now a man.

“Ruben is thirty-six this year. As for his job…” The old man pressed his hands to his knees, pinching them lightly, his face clouding with bitterness. “He’s a freelancer. Since graduating from college, he’s never held a steady job.”

“Was he living with you before he disappeared?” Dean asked.

The elderly man hesitated for two seconds.

“He rented an apartment outside. I sent him living expenses every month.”

Dean smiled inwardly. A thirty-six-year-old adult still supported by his sixty-something father—classic American boomerang kid.

Seeing the man’s troubled expression, Dean changed the topic.

“How long has Ruben been missing? Where did he vanish?”

“About half a year ago, one night after visiting a bar in downtown Reno.”

Half a year?

“You really have faith in me,” Dean immediately took a sip of corn porridge to steady his nerves. “Don’t you think that’s too long? Nearly a hundred times the golden period for solving cases. I guarantee ninety-nine percent of the evidence has either disappeared with time or been deliberately destroyed. The chances aren’t great.”

The old man fell silent.

“Have you reported it to the police?” Dean asked again.

“More than that. I hired two private detectives, posted missing person notices, used newspapers, TV news reports—I tried everything. I spent a fortune and countless hours, but it was all in vain.” Deep furrows formed between Marco’s brows, his expression dark as still water. “My son, Ruben, might as well have vanished into thin air.”

Dean’s face grew serious.

“You know, tens of thousands of people go missing every year across America for all sorts of reasons. Most are never seen again. No so-called genius detective can find them, let alone me, an amateur.”

“I understand what you mean. The chances are slim, but I still want to try.”

The old man lifted his gaze to the ceiling, lamenting.

“My worthless son never married or had children to carry on the Van Helsing line. If he’s gone, our family line ends.”

Yet his slightly reddened eyes and anxious demeanor revealed deep concern.

“If I were twenty years younger and could still have children, I wouldn’t feel this helpless. Now, no matter what, I can’t give up on him.”

“Child, for my sake, won’t you help him?” Rebecca reached out, clasping Dean’s hand. Her weathered eyes gleamed. “Besides, Marco’s ancestors were involved in a business related to you. Helping him will definitely be to your advantage.”

A business related to me.

Dean’s heart stirred. Rebecca’s “business” likely referred to hunting nonhuman monsters and legendary creatures.

Could it be that Marco Van Helsing’s ancestors were experts who had encountered supernatural beings and monsters?

Sensing Dean’s hesitation, Marco straightened his expression and made a firm promise.

“You come highly recommended by Rebecca. I trust your abilities. If you’re willing to help and make the trip to Reno, regardless of whether you find him, I’ll pay you two thousand dollars for travel expenses. If you do find Ruben, alive or dead, I will reward you handsomely.”

“I’m curious… is the reward monetary?” Dean’s hope stirred.

The old man’s cloudy eyes flickered, a faint pain crossing his aged cheeks.

“The case is extremely difficult, so the payment won’t be stingy. Finding Ruben will earn you one hundred thousand dollars after tax—or you can choose another reward.”

“Yes, I heard from Rebecca that you’re interested in mysticism and folklore monsters… My grandfather, who passed years ago, was an expert in these areas. He left behind several precious antiques and collectibles. You can pick any one of them. Rest assured, you won’t be disappointed.”

As the old man finished speaking,

a prompt flashed before Dean’s eyes:

You have triggered a new case—Ruben Van Helsing.

The last male heir of the Van Helsing family disappeared one night after visiting a bar.

His father, Marco Van Helsing, has made a solemn promise to you to help find him.

You must investigate the circumstances leading to Ruben’s disappearance and at least reunite Marco with his son.

…

Difficulty: Unknown (lack of key information)

Progress: 5/100

Deadline: Undetermined

Reward: At least 30 experience points + difficulty bonus.

Penalty: None

…

Unknown difficulty? That meant the case could be a simple disappearance or involve mysterious forces; the risk was considerable.

Yet facing the hopeful eyes of the two elders and recalling Marco’s promise of the family’s mysterious collectibles, plus his own plan to leave Las Vegas soon to broaden his skills,

Dean found no reason to refuse.

“May I see your ancestors’ collection first?”

“After the investigation,” the old man’s eyes held a trace of test.

“Then I accept the case,” Dean mused. “But I can’t guarantee I’ll find him. Also, time is limited—the investigation will last at most one week. After that, regardless of the outcome, I will leave.”

Marco and the visibly relieved Rebecca exchanged a glance and nodded firmly.

“All your food, lodging, and investigative expenses will be reimbursed for that week. No time to waste—shall we set off immediately?”

“Wait a moment. I need to prepare,” Dean considered. With the unknown difficulty, he had to be ready for the worst.

So, grenades, sniper rifles, and other weapons would have to come along.

“By the way, no flying. I’ll drive there myself. It’s seven or eight hours from Las Vegas to Reno.”

“I’ll accompany you by car,” the old man said. “We can discuss any clues already found on the way.”

(End of chapter)