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Dr. G.I. Boleid’s Psychoanalysis – Part 03

An hour and a half later.

Winter days darken quickly. The evening sun cast its last rays over Manhattan Island’s western skies. The Empire State Building’s black peak glittered like an icicle.

Kazuya pedaled his bicycle while Nico jogged beside him, both rubbing their eyes and shaking off sleepiness.

The front basket held a briefcase, a camera bag, and a shopping bag from a specialty jam store. The setting sun cast a glow on Kazuya’s profile.

“My head’s pounding,” Nico said. “What’s up with that?”

“You too? My head hurts as well. Like it’s throbbing deep inside.”

“Remember that weird tea he gave us? That’s probably it. Tasted like they boiled some funky herbs or weeds.”

They tottered southward. Exiting Central Park, they continued on with Little Italy and Chinatown to their right.

“You conked out pretty quick, Kujou.”

“Yeah… That tea knocked me out. I barely heard anything. Frustrating. I think Dr. G.I. Boleid talked about a weak mind during the war or something. I can’t recall it clearly, though.”

“After you knocked out, it was rough flying solo! Dr. Boleid went on about some bizarre stuff, and I didn’t know what to say.”

They reached the foot of the Brooklyn Bridge. Commuters streamed back to Brooklyn from their offices in Manhattan, adults, bundled in thick coats and scarves, hurrying homeward. Kazuya’s bicycle picked up pace, overtaking them.

“He grilled me about ties to the Mafia just because I’m Italian,” Nico said with gestures. “When I said I don’t like the Mafia…”

“You mentioned the same thing this morning. And then what?”

“He insisted that deep down I absolutely admire the Italian Mafia world.”

Kazuya laughed naturally, and Nico grinned.

“So anyway, I said I’ve got childhood pals who joined the Mafia, got rich and stylish, but that’s just not me. Then Dr. Boleid said something like, that’s because I was raised by relatives, claims it’s a fake v-values imposed by them. He said, ‘Deep inside, you want to hold a gun, not a camera! You want to shoot people, bang-bang! You crave money! Photography’s just a… c-com… compen?”

“Compensatory behavior?”

“I think that was it. I mean, yeah, my folks are gone, and I was raised by my relatives who’ve been running a restaurant for three generations. So I guess I can’t really just think of myself, you know.”

“Yeah.”

“But I’m a scaredy-cat. That’s been the real me since forever. My childhood friend who joined the Mafia… Oh, his name’s Carlos Coppo. We used to be tight, but we don’t chat anymore.”

“Carlos Coppo?” Kazuya blinked.

“Dude’s gonna be featured in the fourth edition of Mafia World—I’m a Dangerous Man! He’s blowing up as a junior Mafia.”

“Really? Impressive.”

Nico’s expression shifted, a mix of envy or something else. “Anyway, Carlos swung by last year, bragging about joining a gang, and left behind a brand new banana machine gun. It’s what the Italian Mafia uses nowadays. It looks like a bunch of bananas, with a funny name, but it’s super lethal. Made by two Italian physics buffs, they spread like wildfire, already claiming tens of thousands. It can do twenty-round bursts, and each bullet goes through a person like butter, killing even people behind. It’s terrifying stuff.”

“I-Is that so. You sure know a lot, Nico.”

“Yeah…? So that banana machine gun’s still stashed in my room. I’m scared stiff. Never used it, obviously! But sometimes, I take it out and give it a once-over. Still gives me chills! You get it, right? It’s terrifying.”

They chatted along as they crossed the Brooklyn Bridge. The Statue of Liberty loomed in the distance. The sun dimmed, night descending upon New York.

After crossing the bridge, they entered Brooklyn, blanketed in winter’s black and white, while watching the skyscrapers on the other side. A quaint European-style corner, lined with immigrant apartments that looked like miniature toys.

“Anyway, I was just about to lose it, and then… Huh? Um, what happened next?”

“You don’t remember? You must’ve dozed off too, then.”

“No way! I didn’t doze off. But, um… Huh?”

“Maybe that weird tea had something to do with it. Anyway, what do we do about the article?” Kazuya mulled over the situation.

Nico yawned nonchalantly. “Just give up. Tell the man you conked out. Oh, look, there’s your roommate.” He stopped and pointed.

Kazuya handed his bicycle to Nico and hastened toward the stone steps of 14 Cranberry Street.

Nestled amid the monochrome streets, reminiscent of old-world Europe, stood an old apartment building.

At the foot of the stairway sat Victorique, curled up like a squirrel, her magnificent black and red frills fluttering in the winter breeze. Despite her small size, she exuded an ethereal, chilling presence.

“Victorique?”

The lavender accents on her enamel high heels glimmered under the streetlamp’s glow. A bonnet trimmed with French lace covered her small head. Her silver hair, glistening like snowflakes, danced magically.

“What’s the matter? Why are you out here in the cold?”

Kazuya approached slowly, studying her with his jet-black eyes.

“Why do you care?” Victorique hissed. “I find this spot comforting, so I’m here to relax.”

The half-basement round window clattered open, revealing the cute, freckled face of the red-headed caretaker. She winked.

“Kujou, this young lady’s been sitting there for about an hour, just staring at the Brooklyn Bridge. She reminded me of the adorable dog I had as a kid. He’d wait patiently for me after school. When I tossed a ball, he’d dash around in glee!”

Victorique’s hair tossed as she turned. Her green eyes shot a fierce gaze like laser beams, piercing straight through the caretaker’s forehead.

The round window clattered shut, and the thick baseball-patterned curtain was swiftly drawn.

Returning to his bike, Kazuya pulled out a jar of mildly sweet mint jam from the specialty store bag and handed it to Nico.

“Victorique? I picked up some jam while running errands, and I got some for you too. Max sweetness. Let’s see, there’s strawberry, cranberry, orange and lemon, and peach.”

Nico timidly approached, like a wary hunter who had spotted a fierce beast. “Why were you waiting outside?” he asked fearfully. “It’s freezing.”

Victorique turned her face away. “What are you doing here, Nico?”

“Well, I mean… Wait, huh?” Nico came to a realization. “Right. Why am I in Brooklyn right now?”

Victorique lifted her head, visibly surprised.

Nico studied Victorique’s face, Kazuya’s puzzled expression, the monochromatic streets. “I… I guess I got caught up chatting and ended up following you home,” he said, scratching his beard.

“Well, isn’t that something.” Victorique’s cold, emotionless face shifted, her green eyes blinking with exasperation.

For some reason, she kept glancing back at the street as she vanished into the apartment with Kazuya.

Nico, left on the street, scratched his head. “What am I doing? I have to cross the bridge again to get home. What a pain.”

He strolled leisurely down Cranberry Street, back to the Brooklyn Bridge, then Manhattan Island.

A somber night had descended. Skyscrapers loomed shadowy against the sky.

Nico’s cheerful smile, cultivated as a foster child, faded from his bearded face. He appeared sullen and brooding, a different persona altogether.

“Huh?”

Nico couldn’t shake the feeling that the same black car had been tailing him from around the bridge, but since the vehicle was an unremarkable model, he dismissed it as a mere figment of his imagination.

Passing through Little Italy, he opted to visit Greenwich Village. He came to a stop in front of the Mushanokouji family’s house, where lion statues welcomed visitors, looking down with a twisted expression. After some hesitation, he extended his arm decisively and sounded the lion door knocker.

Just then, Rebecca’s towering figure emerged slowly. She was just preparing to leave.

“Oh, Nico. What brings you here?”

Nico immediately felt at ease and flashed a friendly smile. “Well, I figured it’s about time you went home so I came to pick you up… or no, not really.”

“Shall we go back together?” Rebecca responded casually.

Nico looked straight at Rebecca with unusually bright eyes. Silently, they strolled onto the main street of Greenwich Village.

They walked at a leisurely pace, maintaining a comfortable distance. The sight of their tall figures walking side by side resembled a couple straight out of a movie.

“Remember Carlos Coppo?” Suddenly, Nico broached a topic.

Rebecca nodded nonchalantly. “Yeah, the boy we used to play with. Didn’t he leave home and join a gang?”

“He did. Turns out, he’s going to be featured in our newspaper as an up-and-coming young gangster. He’s doing well for himself… darn it!”

Noticing the bitterness in Nico’s voice, Rebecca raised her head. “I didn’t know that. But why do you sound salty?”

“Well, you know… It’s been three months since I joined the company, and it feels ridiculous to be working hard from the bottom up. Our seniors and the editor-in-chief treat Kujou and I like we’re pushovers. It’s been tough yesterday and today. Sometimes, I think letting loose with a banana machine gun would make me feel a lot better. Doesn’t sound like me, does it? Maybe it’s because of that weird guy who put weird things in our heads today.”

Rebecca chuckled softly. “Come on, Nico. It doesn’t matter if you don’t make it into the newspapers or if people don’t know you. Someone who works hard every day is much more admirable. At least our family knows how great you are.”

“Hmm…”

“Besides, don’t you hate gangs? That’s how our family feels, and you’re no exception.”

“R-Right…! Of course!”

“Don’t worry about trivial things. Cheer up.”

“Yeah. Thanks, Rebecca.”

Rebecca nudged Nico playfully, and his expression brightened just a bit.

Then, they reminisced about their childhood, giggling, then talked about other things.

When they turned the corner of Little Italy, Nico glanced back. The black car that he felt was tailing him on his way to Greenwich Village seemed to have disappeared.

Was it just my imagination? I guess so.

Satisfied, he nodded to himself.

The moon shone coldly overhead.

---

At that moment, the black armored car was parked in front of the Mushanokouji family’s house.

A young man occupied the driver’s seat, with another in the passenger seat. John Smith, lounging in the back seat in his black suit, slowly opened the window and gazed at the splendid entrance.

“I see,” he mumbled. “Sister of the Gray Wolf’s friend. Her name is Ruri Mushanokouji. Her husband is on overseas assignment, and they have a young child. Hmm…” He grinned.

A chill northerly wind blew. John Smith closed the window slowly.

“Time to report to the boss,” he muttered gleefully.

That night, stars twinkled in the skies of New York, and a profound silence enveloped the metropolis.

Cars moved at a leisurely pace, and New Yorkers, out and about, hurried along the sidewalks.

The light of the slightly waning moon illuminated Nico and Rebecca as they strolled home. The Sacco family residence, awaiting the step siblings, was just around the corner.

The night wind howled, stirring Rebecca’s long hair.