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Hello, New York! – Part 04

“Once upon a time, hundreds of years ago,” Victorique began. “Groups strictly bound by their religious beliefs, like the Puritans, arrived from the Old World.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“They cultivated the untamed land, built towns, went through order, politics, conflicts like the Civil War, and laid the foundation of the mighty United States, the new land of pioneers, the land of freedom and hope.”

“Mm-hmm…”

“But what happened next? Following two global storms, a wave of impoverished blue-collar folks arrived from the Old World. They had no strict rules to abide by or order to uphold. They came one after another—Irish, Jewish, Russian, and Italian like Nico—and started building towns mimicking their own country’s culture all over New York. Indeed, Brooklyn where we live is a typical Jewish neighborhood.”

Kazuya nodded. “Yeah, that’s right. In Little Italy, it’s cheese and tomato sauce, and back in Brooklyn, it’s chicken and celery stew. The smell of food changes with culture, even in the same New York.”

“Just shut up and listen.”

“O-Okay…”

“Then, the descendants of the stern Puritans, who now occupy the core of the government and the economy, panicked. After all, the new immigrants drink alcohol, sing and dance, fall in love one after another. In other words, they were terrifying people who, though poor, celebrated life like wild animals. So laws were hurriedly made. The infamous…”

“Oh, yeah, the Prohi—”

“The Prohibition.”

“I-I know that,” Kazuya said, deflating a bit.

Victorique continued, “But this law backfired. Because even if prohibited, people are creatures who fall in love, eat what they want. Needless to say, alcohol began to circulate immediately. Although, the sweet drink after a day’s labor was confiscated by the authorities. So, behind the Prohibition, the Mafia organizations rapidly grew!”

“Ahuh, ahuh.”

“Now in this city, the Irish gangs produce bootleg whiskey, the Jewish Mafia deals with beer, and the Italian Mafia, the largest force, deals with wine, making the underworld economy thrive. And currently, there are two methods to bring justice: sound laws of the daytime world and the blood codes of the nighttime underworld—vendetta and killings. Citizens demand not the outdated, sterilized system of the Puritans, nor the dark underworld, but something completely new. What kind of government that is, no one knows, but young citizens are on the brink of exploding with dissatisfaction and anxiety… and… Ah!”

Victorique suddenly started scratching her sparkling silver hair with both hands. Kazuya, standing upright like a knight’s armor in front of the bookshelf, was startled out of his wits.

“Wh-What’s wrong, Victorique?!”

“Speaking to a boring man like you made me even more bored. Ah, what a tragedy!”

“N-Now that’s just rude! You’re the one who started talking. Well, you’re always like that, so. Anyway, I, a boring man, am going back to the office so I don’t bother you.”

Victorique’s green eyes snapped wide. She leaned forward, worked up. “Kujou, do you have something to dispel this boredom? Oh, come to think of it, you haven’t danced at all lately, have you?”

“Huh? What? Dance?”

“Yes. Good thing I remembered.” Victorique nodded with satisfaction.

Kazuya vigorously shook his head. “No way! Why did you even have to remember that? The last time you forced me to dance, Rokushou was watching, and he went and told his mother Ruri. She ended up rolling around laughing on her Persian rug. And Rokushou was pointing at me, giggling forever.”

“Dance or sing. You have two choices, Kujou.”

“Aw, come on. Is there at least one more option?”

“Hmph! You can share an interesting case, but knowing you, there’s probably none. So, sing or dance, which one is it?!”

“Wait, wait. An interesting case? Oh, that reminds me, yesterday afternoon I was covering the trial of the Wall Street banker murder case, but I doubt… Oh? Are you actually interested in it?”

“Hmm. I won’t expect much, but do tell me about it.”

“Okay,” Kazuya said, fixing his posture.

Voices of Brooklyn residents passing by rolled in through the round window. The mild winter sun shone on the streets. The stove hummed. Books on the shelf watched quietly over the two.

Victorique puffed on her golden pipe, her green eyes open as if dreaming of eternal dreams in the world of night.

“So there was this banker on Wall Street who made a huge mistake in the numbers, causing massive losses for clients. He didn’t know what to do, and in the end, he killed himself with a handgun in his office.”

Victorique pointed at Kazuya with her pipe. “Hmm? Didn’t you just say the banker was killed?”

“Well, there’s more to it. When the police investigated, they found out that just before he committed suicide, the man had handed a letter to the receptionist he had a crush on. That was around 11:30 in the morning. The body was discovered after lunch break, a little past 1 o’clock. So it was assumed he killed himself during lunch break. But then later on, an employee working in the adjacent office remembered hearing what sounded like a gunshot at around 11:00.”

“Hmm… Chaos.”

“Exactly. So if he died at 11:00, then who brought the love letter to the receptionist at 11:30 became a big issue. The receptionist later said that the person wore glasses and a hat, so it might have been someone in disguise. They examined the letter, but they couldn’t determine the handwriting because it was typed. Thus, they suspected it could be murder.”

“Hmm.”

“Incidentally, the deceased banker was born and raised in the wealthy neighborhood of Greenwich Village and went to a prestigious university. A real rich kid. The guy in the adjacent office, on the other hand, was a hardworking fellow from the Bronx. He’s an orphan and grew up in an apartment building where everyone was either a thief or a gangster, taken care of by his typist sister. He’s nice to women and is well-liked by them. The receptionist is a second-generation Jewish immigrant, and apparently she also likes the guy in the adjacent office. Says because he’s nice. So, it seems there was a bit of a love triangle going on.”

Victorique eyed Kazuya doubtfully. “You seem quite knowledgeable about these mundane matters. Don’t tell me you know everyone involved.”

“N-No. I’m currently a trainee newspaper reporter. It’s part of my job to always seek out this kind of small detail, so…”

Embarrassed, Kazuya started fidgeting. Victorique urged him to continue, and he collected himself.

“And then speculations came next. That someone must have staged the suicide to look like murder. The boss was suspicious because they’ve never gotten along, and they had a fight over last week’s baseball game results. During the trial, the prosecution wanted to accuse the boss, but the opinions of the jurors diverged. The women said the receptionist was suspicious in some way, while the men insisted on pinning the crime on the guy in the adjacent office, and the argument just devolved into non-constructive territory. And that’s the status of the Wall Street Trial Rhapsody as of yesterday.”

“Wait, wait, wait! How on earth did this turn into such a bewildering case?”

“Well, from what I got, the male jurors don’t like the idea of the guy next door being liked by women, and they claim that guys like him are always fishy.”

“Well, that’s something. It’s turned into a neighborhood gossip session. But this case is undoubtedly a suicide.”

“Yeah, so… Wait. Victorique, what did you just say?” Kazuya blinked.

Victorique sniffed audibly. “Did your stupid ears not catch what I said or is it stuffed with fortune cookies you bought at Chinatown? I said it was undoubtedly a suicide.”

“Huh? Fortune cookies in my ears? No, I mean, how can you be so sure just from that? Sure, you’re smart and all, but still.”

“Because…”

Victorique expression subtly shifted. A smile, perhaps. A faint change like ripples on water, barely noticeable unless you looked closely.

Kazuya tilted his head in confusion. Victorique gazed boredly into empty space and let out a small yawn.

Her emerald green eyes gleamed coldly. Her silver hair swelled, flowing with magical power. The intricately crafted golden pipe sparkled.

Then, her lips, as glossy as cherries, parted ever so slightly, “I gather scattered fragments of chaos from all over this world, fiddle with them, and reconstruct them to alleviate boredom. In fact, that’s just what I did now. My Wellspring of Wisdom tells me that the man committed suicide.”

Kazuya remained silent, appearing a bit dissatisfied.