Cross and Conflicts

CHAPTER XXIV: The Mayor of Intramuros

He is one beautiful man—that has always been anyone’s first impression of Caiman Diamante when they see him for the first time. He isn’t purely Maharlikan since he is partly of Russian descent with electric blue-gray orbs—enthralling as if binding anyone whom these would gaze with a spell that would make you swoon.

He is tall and refined, and he is often called the epitome of grace—an angel sent from the heavens to alleviate the worries of his people.

Whatsoever, one who’s not acquainted with him would be even more astonished to know that he is more than just his comeliness. Only in his early-thirties, still shrewd and charismatic in his second term, he is the accomplished mayor of the largest walled city in Asia. Through taking risks in foreign investments, he allowed the maintenance of the high revenue of Intramuros which in turn provided jobs for several of his unemployed constituents. He opened the gates for trade and commerce with other wealthy Maharlikan states. Likewise, he pushed for further development of infrastructure inside the walls. Nearly six years in his position, he received numerous citations for his achievements and recognition for his performance.

But the handsome mayor isn’t omnipotent. He still has his limits. Even with his efforts, the crime rate in Intramuros continued to soar high through the years, and the gap between the rich and the poor inside the walls kept widening. And as it has always been said, he can never please everybody.

His critics are still relentless in highlighting his major lapses as the local chief executive, and there are still those among his people who don’t feel the progress that his administration has boasted throughout his two terms. To them, he lacks in a lot of ways, and he can’t support the betterment of all.

Yet, in his resolve, he seeks for re-election, and for the prospective third term, he will make up for the things he missed to do for his people. Nevertheless, he’s not complacent about his current popularity and good approval ratings; he also needs a major feat during this time. And he sees this through the capture of the “Master Murderer.”

“Cross” has existed since around the commencement of his second term, and as much as Caiman knew that he has nothing to do with the seizing of the serial murderer, there are still people who associate this with his management of Intramuros. So, when his secretary told him that Police Lieutenant Aeon Ginto, the one spearheading the investigation and pursuit of the masked vigilante, requested to pay him a courtesy call, he gave him a careful welcome in his office.

A slender woman led Aeon inside a big air conditioned room with opaque glass walls. Bright lights draped over him as he made way to the person who sat at a swivel chair in front of a desk made of Narra, the national tree of Maharlika.

“Good day, Mr. Mayor,” Aeon greeted.

The young politician stood. “Come in, lieutenant. Good day to you too.”

The two men shook hands.

“Please take a seat,” Caiman said.

Aeon took his offer and sat adjacent to him. “Sir, allow me to apologize in advance.”

“What for?”

“I’m afraid we won’t be able to catch Cross within the time you’ve allotted us.”

Silence crept between them. Inasmuch as how seriously he wants to bring justice to his friend Monsignor Cabrera, Caiman, as a sensible man, also realized the veracity of the situation. He understands that it’s barely possible to subdue a killer who is synonymous to stealth. He didn’t want to put pressure on the police force but demanding to catch him within a month is more of a promise of assurance especially to the public.

“I understand, lieutenant, and I would also like to apologize if I ordered something like that. Don’t get me wrong; I put my whole trust that sooner or later, you’ll be able to unmask who Cross really is, and put him behind bars.”

If Aeon had to spell it out for him, it was ridiculous. The policeman thought that behind the façade of relieving the people of the horror that the master murderer brings, the mayor wants to take the credit under his governance.

“Thank you for understanding, sir,” he said in a straight face.

“So, do you have any leads about the identity of Cross?”

“Yes, we do.”

“That’s great!”

“Well, in the meantime, we can’t tell you—”

“That’s alright. That’s alright! I know that you adhere to confidentiality.”

The mayor said that, but he was really curious. He wanted to get a whiff of even the slightest detail.

“Actually, Mr. Mayor,” Aeon then said, “I’m here to ask you about something else.”

“Sure. What is it?”

He intensely stared to his eyes—an act he does to be able to gauge if a person is lying. “Do you know someone named ‘Noumenon Diamante’?”

Caiman raised a brow and blinked twice. “Who is that?”

The lieutenant did his earnest to arrest the subtlest hint in his expression that he may be bluffing, yet he seemed to be unsuccessful. So, he shifted in his chair and reached for a picture inside his jacket. He showed a 4x4 image of the novice to the mayor.

“This girl is Noumenon Diamante.”

Caiman stared at her face for quite a while, and this made his conversation partner intrigued.

“So, Mr. Mayor, how is she related to you?”

The handsome mayor smiled. “I was actually analyzing how she might resemble my late foster father.”

It was then when Aeon was reminded of the background of the politician. It isn’t a secret to the general public that this man named “Caiman” was one of the immigrants who came to Maharlika in 1991, the year that the Union Soviet Socialist Republic of Russia was abolished. The then wealthy Maharlikano bachelor named Faux Diamante saved him from human trafficking and took him as his own son.

The officer felt like he made a fool of himself.

“I don’t know, but she may be a secret love child of my father,” the mayor said and handed back the picture. “Or she may be a distant relative of the Diamante clan.”

Aeon somehow felt ashamed of himself. He trusted his hunch too much that the incident regarding the novice may have a connection to the mayor of Intramuros himself. It’s what he has always thought of since Sister Lita told him.

“It would be lovely to meet her. Where is she?” The mayor stated.

“That’s the problem, sir,” he replied, “She was a witness to Cross’ recent murder and survived. She suffered severe injuries and was brought to the hospital. However, she was abducted.”

Aeon chose to omit the other important details; he guessed that there wasn’t really a need to tell everything to the mayor, particularly now that he is cleared from his suspicions.

Caiman, in turn, understood that the policeman thought that there could be a link between the both of them because they share the same surname. But, there is nothing he can help about this.

“That’s too bad. I hope she’s safe, and that you’ll find her soon,” he said, coating his words with sincerity.

Aeon stood. “That would be all, Mr. Mayor. Thank you very much for your time.”

“It was a pleasure having you here, sir,” he responded and shook the officer’s hand.

The mayor watched the lieutenant open the door then be engulfed from the outside. He intertwined his fingers and placed his chin over these. Then, knowingly, he smirked.