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Central Park and the Small Aircraft – Part 03

“All right, my turn now. Detective, and Kelly Sue!”

The male client hopped off the dresser and stepped between them. Standing firmly in front of the couch, he pulled out the latest issue of Comic Manhattan from his bag.

“This is this morning’s Daily Road!”

“Huh? That doesn’t seem right,” Kelly said.

“Wait, my mistake. Here it is.”

Flustered, he put the magazine away and quickly pulled out the newspaper, flipping it open.

“I know this one. My dad reads it every day.”

“Yeah, you mentioned that earlier. You said it had an ad for the Gray Wolf Detective Agency, right? But what I want to show you isn’t the ad section. It’s this part.” He pointed at the front page.

Victorique puffed on her pipe, gazing up lazily as thin white smoke curled toward the ceiling.

The headlines read: Public Enemy No. 7 Escapes at Last!, Climbs Through Vent, Vanishes into Darkness!, and Incompetent Guard Makes Huge Blunder.

Kelly Sue leaned in and whistled. “The Kid news. My mom and dad have been in a fuss about it since this morning. They love it, apparently.”

“I see. Good for them.”

“He’s already old. But he knocked out a guard, climbed through the ceiling vent, and escaped, right?”

The male client stayed silent. Victorique took the pipe out of her mouth and began reading the article aloud in a low, gravelly voice.

“Hmm, hmm. ‘The guard Doug is a huge idiot. He suffered a serious head injury and passed out. By the time he woke up, Kid had disappeared. A ‘Goodbye, Doug!’ was scribbled on his uniform’s stomach.’”

She stared intently at the bandages wrapped around the man’s head. Kelly Sue also read the article with curiosity.

“I’d like to know what this stupid guard’s face looks like. Hmm… Wait.”

Kelly Sue finally noticed the blood-stained bandages on the man’s head. She put a hand over her mouth in shock. “Don’t tell me.”

The man glared at Victorique and Kelly Sue in turn. “Yeah, that’s right! Take a good look! Look at the face of the stupid guard! Come on, look, look! You want to see, don’t you?”

“Wait, so you’re this stupid… ah, sorry… guard Doug? But wait, why are you here, then? I mean, what exactly are you doing at a detective agency?”

“It’s a long story!” Miffed, the man plopped cross-legged on the floor.

Noticing the broken pieces of her piggy bank nearby, Kelly Sue warned, “You’ll hurt yourself with those shards.” She left the room, calling out, “Anyone have a broom? Also, can someone lend me a phone?”

Voices from downstairs replied, “I have a broom,” and “I have a phone, miss.”

Kelly Sue returned with the broom and began sweeping the floor, carefully avoiding putting weight on her sprained left foot.

Meanwhile, the male client turned to Victorique. “My name’s Doug Memphis. I’m the guard Doug from that article. And the reason I’m here is… well, it’s a long story.”

The wind through the triangular window picked up, rustling the large palm leaves. Soft sunlight streamed down from the open ceiling.

Victorique’s couch swing creaked as it rocked back and forth. The trim of her dress, and her legs wrapped in silk stockings above pink high heels, swayed gently in rhythm with the swing.

“Forty years ago, the Kid and D’Artagnan Brothers failed to rob the Federal Reserve Bank in New York. There was a shootout, and three of his partners were killed. Only Kid got caught. He was sentenced to 150 years in prison, and then… he was incarcerated.”

Doug looked down at the newspaper spread out before him. Victorique nodded as she puffed on her pipe. Kelly Sue continued sweeping the floor while listening closely.

“In the first prison he was in, they say he was treated horribly. But Kid didn’t give in. Every day he’d say, ‘The Federal Reserve is waiting for me. I will rob it one day. One for all, all for one.’ And then because he was so annoying, they pumped him full of drugs.”

“Oh, they drugged him?”

“Yeah. They sent him to a mental hospital for a while, but he got better when he was put in charge of the flowerbeds in the courtyard. He even tattooed the names of his dead friends on his body—D’Artagnan, Maria, and Cupid. After that, he was transferred to the prison I work at. It’s like a retirement home for prisoners, with mostly elderly inmates. That was three years ago.”

“I see.”

“I’m a first-generation immigrant from Mexico. I tend to get along with the older inmates, probably because they remind me of my father and grandfather whom I left behind. The warden would get mad at me for it. I had lots of conversations with old man Kid. He loved telling jokes, like, ‘Doug, my dear, I’d love to give you a tip, but I don’t have any money on me right now. Ha ha!’ When I told him ‘No tips needed in prison,’ he’d laugh again. Instead of tips, he’d give me handmade pressed flowers. They were beautiful, too. Ah, old man Kid,” he spoke with an oddly fond tone.

Nearby, the red petals of tropical flowers swayed in the wind, releasing a sweet fragrance. Victorique’s silvery hair glittered on the floor, swirling into a different pattern.

“To a guard, old man Kid was a model prisoner, easy to deal with. Then last week, he suddenly started vomiting blood, so I called for a doctor. Turns out, he was terminally ill, with only a short time left. After that, for some reason, Kid started writing a letter.”

“To whom?”

“Well…” Doug looked puzzled, then continued, “It was addressed to the Brothers Orphanage back in his hometown of Kansas. Apparently, Kid had it built back when they were still robbing banks. Did you know about that?”

Kelly Sue stopped sweeping. “Oh, I know about it. Because his friends suffered in similar institutions, they decided to create a proper orphanage and girls’ school. They took in street kids without parents and taught them academics and practical skills.”

“Huh, I see. Anyway, Kid wrote a letter to the orphanage. Then, just yesterday morning, he got a reply. And later that night, Kid suddenly punched me and escaped through a ventilation shaft. And guess what?”

“Hmm?”

“Well, there was an unidentified car waiting at the exit. Kid got in, and just like that, he disappeared into the night.”

“I see.” Victorique nodded. “So, you think someone at the orphanage, who received the letter, helped Kid escape. Kid, with little time left, must have had a reason to get out. And someone from the orphanage helped him, correct?”

“Yeah, that’s it.”

“But you…”

“I woke up last night, blood pouring from my head, and realized I’d let Kid escape. And then it hit me—why Kid absolutely had to get out. It’s the Federal Reserve. He’s going after it again! For forty years, ever since he got arrested alone after losing his crew, Kid’s been saying it. He meant it. He swore he’d take down the Federal Reserve before he died. All for one, and one for all—that’s the promise he tattooed on his skin, the one he made to his crew. He’s going to make good on it before his time’s up.”

Victorique smoked her pipe in silence.

Kelly Sue, sitting beside Doug, chimed in, “Is that so? But it’s his last adventure, and he’s an old, sick man. Maybe we should let him. He’s not a bad guy, right?”

Doug pointed to his bloodstained bandage and tapped it. “What are you talking about? No way. Kid is dangerous. Just look at these injuries! He didn’t need to crack my head open. Damn that guy.”

“Pfft.”

“S-Stop laughing! Look at this, both of you!” Doug stood up and began pulling out old newspapers from his bag, spreading them across the floor.

Victorique peered over while swinging her chair.

Kelly Sue rested her cheek on her hand and started reading. Her face turned pale as she pointed, trembling, “What’s… this? So many bodies in a bank!”

It was an old Boston Globe article. Victorique stopped swinging to look closer. The article featured photos from over forty years ago, showing the scene at the Boston City Bank after Kid’s attack. Bank employees, both men and women, lay dead on the floor, shot in the head and chest, their eyes wide open in a gruesome death.

“A lot of bank employees were killed back then,” Doug said, sagging his shoulders.

Kelly Sue gasped. “I thought they were a peaceful, non-violent gang. But I guess not. Reality is cruel.”

Doug nodded, then spread out another newspaper. “This one was even worse. It happened in the Philadelphia Co-Op Bank. According to this article, three bank employees were blown to bits by Maria’s dynamite, and one guard and four clients were shot by D’Artagnan’s machine gun. There were eight victims in total.”

“That’s horrible,” Kelly Sue said.

Victorique took a closer look at the article. The photo showed a pool of blood on the floor, the bodies of men and women sprawled about, and banknotes scattered everywhere. The vault in the back had been blown open by an explosion.

Doug let out a sigh. “As gangs started targeting banks in the big cities, the amounts stolen and the number of victims kept growing. At the Philadelphia Co-Op Bank, some rich kid was among the casualties. It caused a huge uproar in both the financial and political worlds.”

“Hmm?”

“Then, Kid and his crew targeted the Federal Reserve Bank in New York. Police, soldiers, and security guards were lying in wait. First, D’Artagnan tried to protect Kid but was riddled with bullets. Cupid jumped in front of Maria and took a bullet to the head, dying instantly. Maria was surrounded by guards and about to be captured. When the men started hurling vulgar, humiliating jokes at her, she pulled out a knife, pressed it to her neck, and slit her own throat. Kid was captured while standing there, stunned, watching it all happen.”

A gentle breeze flowed through the triangular window, rustling the palm leaves softly.

“And now, forty years later, old man Kid is about to attack the Federal Reserve again.” Doug shook his head. “Simply put, if we let it happen, there will be more casualties. Bank employees and clients alike.”

“I see.”

“And it’s all because of me. I wasn’t paying much attention, got knocked out by a sick old man with a foot in his grave, and now we’re in this mess. Yeah, I’m a stupid guard. Go ahead and laugh. I deserve it. But I don’t want any more casualties. They’re someone’s friend, son, mother.”

Kelly Sue gathered up the newspapers and folded them. “You’re right. Sorry for laughing when you’re having a hard time.”

“It’s all right,” Doug said, then turned to Victorique. “So, detective. My request is simple: stop Kid from attacking the Federal Reserve again.”

Victorique swayed gently on her couch swing, pipe in mouth, gazing into the distance as she lost herself in thought.

Kelly Sue hurried out of the room. “Can I borrow your phone?” Her voice drifted from somewhere downstairs. “Hello? Dad? Could you bring a bike’s front basket to Central Park? Oh, and get one that’s just perfect for a black bike.”

The breeze continued to blow softly. Victorique suddenly lifted her head. The delicate bud-shaped ornaments on her dress caught the sunlight, sparkling like real pink flowers.

“But why would you ask me of all people?” she asked.

Doug winced as he rubbed his bandaged head. Then, he opened his bag and pulled out an issue of Comic Manhattan.

“Because you’re Wonder Girl, of course!”

“What?”

The pipe dropped from Victorique’s mouth. Her eyes, green as a deep lake, widened in shock, like a squirrel that had just swallowed an acorn by mistake. “Wh-Wh-What did you say?”

Doug’s face flushed red. “I might not look it, but I love comics,” he began solemnly. “I’ve been a devoted reader of Comic Manhattan since I discovered it during my first week as an immigrant at sixteen. That was ten years ago.”

“Hmm?”

“Two nights ago, something strange happened at the world’s tallest tower, Apocalypse. There was a mysterious woman there—silver hair flowing in the wind, a blue dress, like she’d stepped straight out of Wonder Girl. This petite, lovely woman solved the mystery in an instant and vanished into the night sky!”

“…”

“Wonder Girl is a superhero! She helps kids in trouble, even idiots like me, all while dancing under a blue light. The person who brought that mysterious woman to Apocalypse was none other than Bon Vivant, the comic’s creator. And he owns this apartment complex in East Village, the Carousel. This morning, I checked the Daily Road, which was tearing me apart as an idiot… yeah, I cried like a child. But then, I saw an ad in the classifieds. Someone’s opening a detective agency here at the Carousel today. It mentioned an ingenious and philosophical detective with an oriental assistant. How could I not think of Wonder Girl and Linlin? My tears dried up instantly. So I came here, half in doubt.”

“…”

“And bingo! A petite woman with flowing silver hair was here. And an Asian man who looked just like Linlin. Was this a coincidence? No. It’s you. You’re the one who helped everyone the other night with magic and vanished into the night sky. The one and only Wonder Girl!” Doug wiped the tears forming at the corners of his eyes. Softly, he murmured, “When I saw the ad, it felt like fate. It made me happy, like I’d be okay as long as you were there to protect me.”

The wind blew gently again. Victorique didn’t move. She sat gripping her extinguished pipe, swaying slightly on the creaking swing.

Kelly Sue returned, hurrying up the stairs, favoring her left leg. “My dad’s bringing the basket. All right, let’s head out, all three of us, right now!”

Doug quickly hid his tears. “Head out? Where to?”

Kelly Sue flipped through her notebook and pointed. “Here.”

It was a photo of Central Park. Next to the park stood a large, plain skyscraper. The Federal Reserve Bank.

Doug clapped his hands. “Oh, right. The Federal Reserve is right next to Central Park.”

Doug and Kelly Sue stood shoulder to shoulder.

“All right, let’s go!”

“Yeah! Let’s have the detective find both Kid and the map of Central Park!”

“Good idea!”

“What?! Y-You make it sound so easy, but I…” Victorique stammered, her eyes darting back and forth.

“My dad’s bringing the best basket we’ve got.”

“What?”

“Let’s fly over there. Wait, you can’t fly?”

“Of course not! What are you even saying?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Kelly Sue pulled on Victorique’s hand while Doug pushed her gently from behind. Together, they left the quiet Pony Room.