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Hello, New York! – Part 07

The telephone on the small table rang, and Victorique sprang up like a cat whose tail had been stepped on.

Ring, ring!

Its shrill tone shattered the silence, setting time back into its normal motion.

Victorique shot a glare at the phone like it was her archnemesis. As if intimidated by her gaze, the phone abruptly went silent. Victorique nodded with pride and satisfaction.

She attempted to return to her books, only for the phone to ring once more.

Ring, ring!

“Mmm!”

The phone rang again, then stopped, then rang again.

“Mmm! Mmm!”

With each recurrence, Victorique’s irritation mounted.

“Kujou, I swear to God… I disconnected the line and he just had to reconnect it. He’s so… how do I put it… he’s always been so nagging,” she grumbled in a hoarse voice.

She set aside her books and rose to her feet. Squatting like a black cat, she sniffed around, searching for the telephone line. Black and deep-red frills squirmed on the floor. When she finally found it, she put all her strength into her arms and yanked the line.

“How’s that?”

She smirked triumphantly. Sunlight fell on her rosy cheeks, casting them in a soft glow.

Victorique returned to the hammock and immersed herself in her books once more. Then, sensing something odd, she stiffened her tiny frame, then approached the triangular window to observe outside.

A black, massive Cadillac, resembling an armored vehicle, drove in from the main street. It was unusually square and too large for a regular car, emitting an unnatural aura. Slowly, it entered the premises, meandering along the path surrounded by greenery.

It drew nearer. Victorique’s expression soured.

The car stopped in front of the Carousel at the Miracle Garden. The passenger-side door slowly opened, and a man in a black suit emerged, carefully opening the rear door.

“Hmm?”

A middle-aged man wearing a luxurious suit, coat, and hat, wrapped in a red cashmere scarf stepped out of the vehicle. He was short, but he had broad shoulders and a robust physique. Leaning against the car, he leisurely lit a cigar.

Victorique peered down at the ground beneath his feet with an unusual intensity, as if seeing something that wasn’t there.

The man jerked his chin, and the man in the black suit went ahead. Something bulky resided in the left inner pocket of his suit—likely a firearm—rocking ominously with each step.

Victorique gazed up at the ceiling. “Hmm…” Her emerald green eyes, emotionless as the dead’s, flickered. “It appears troublemakers have arrived. Let’s hope they’re not clients.”

Her shimmering silver hair cascaded on the floor, swirling with the colorful potpourri. The books on the shelf seemed to shift uneasily.

---

“Where is the famous detective, little receptionist?”

Victorique raised her head with a dubious gaze. Acting oblivious to the arrival of a client, she lounged lazily on the hammock with her books.

Her green eyes, deep as an ancient lake, suddenly widened and gleamed. Her beauty and mysterious aura caused the visitor to shrink back.

Standing there was the man in the black suit from earlier. Other than his Italian heritage, he hardly had any distinguishing features.

“Isn’t this the Gray Wolf Detective Agency?” he said brightly. “Ah, there’s a nameplate. So I am in the right place. I never imagined it would be in such a dodgy locale.”

“…”

“I’ve come to enlist the services of the recently famed ‘brightest mind’ or whatever they call it. Do you mind summoning the renowned detective Gray Wolf?”

“I smell something fishy,” the receptionist murmured in a low, hoarse tone.

Puffing on her pipe, she glanced outside at the unfamiliar man leaning against the Cadillac and looking up at the building. The man in the black suit trembled faintly.

“An invisible river of blood flows at your feet. The blood of countless innocents. And its stench permeates the Carousel.”

“How rude. Who are you?” The man in the black suit withdrew his cheerful tone.

But Victorique only smiled. “I’m just a receptionist. Unfortunately, the detective is out.”

The man fell silent, displeased. A considerable amount of time passed. Then, he glanced out the window and gave a slight nod.

He took out a stack of documents from his bag and presented them to Victorique. “You won’t let us meet the detective, Miss Receptionist?”

“Perhaps.”

“Rumor has it that although the detective agency has just opened, they’re a luxury-loving, lazy detective who only takes on special cases.”

“Maybe so.”

“But we dislike rejection. And disliking something means no tolerance.”

“…”

“I have an idea.” He suddenly clapped his hands. “How about you listen to what I have to say and you can pass it on to the Gray Wolf later?”

Victorique remained silent. Paying her no heed, the man in the black suit continued speaking.

“It started this month. Once a week, on Saturday night or Sunday afternoon, a young Italian mafia member is killed. It’s been three weeks in a row now.”

Victorique furrowed her brows suspiciously and slowly looked up at him. “You… just mentioned three murder cases, correct?”

Her green eyes flickered enchantingly. For the first time, she seemed to show interest in the visitor.

“Over a thousand gang members get killed every year in this city. The newspapers are all over gang murders daily. And yet you’re fixated on only three of them. Why is that?”

The man chuckled low. “Because there’s absolutely no motive behind them.”

“Motive?”

The man smirked even wider. “You see, Miss Receptionist, amateurs might not know this, but gang killings always have reasons behind them, such as revenge or grudges. Vendettas, if you will. Well, sometimes it’s just a petty bar brawl. But in these three cases, there’s no motive, and no suspects. Not even the enemies of the victim, those who lost women or money to them, or the Cosa Nostra have taken such requests. And recently, it’s become a trend to add flowers to the corpses, dress them oddly, or do something unique before the culprits flee, but in these three cases, there’s none of that. They’re all simple killings.”

The man glared into empty space. Then he looked down at Victorique.

“So, this is our organization’s way of saying hello to the Gray Wolf Detective Agency. Got it, Miss Receptionist?”

Victorique slowly knitted her elegant brows. “A way of saying hello, you say? And what exactly is this organization? Who are you?”

Emotions vanished from the man’s expression, and his face turned even more unremarkable.

“My name is… let’s just say John Smith. I’m but someone else’s shadow. Nothing more, nothing less.” He glanced out the window again.

Victorique looked up at his face irritably. “The Gray Wolf is… a lazy detective with a penchant for luxury. They will probably refuse jobs from nebulous clients like you.”

“We’ll see about that.” The man in the black suit chuckled softly.

Then, without a word, he took something small from his chest pocket and placed it down with a loud thud.

A bullet. Engraved on its dark silver surface was a bunch of yellow bananas.

Victorique gasped. “A bullet from a banana machine gun… Wait…!”

But the man in the black suit was already darting down the spiral staircase, vanishing from sight. Without knowing why, Victorique rose and went after him, her black enamel high heels clacking.

She descended the spiral staircase. Her silver hair, flowing magically, brushed against the black and red frills of her dress.

As Victorique emerged from the Carousel, the man in the black suit had already settled into the Cadillac’s passenger seat. The engine roared to life, and the car zoomed away with a thunderous rumble.

Victorique stopped in her tracks, watching the car go, when it abruptly stopped. Clearly receiving an instruction, it swiftly reversed and came to a stop before Victorique.

The rear window inched open. Only the eyes of the man within were visible, peering out from a ten-centimeter gap. Pockmarked, dark brown skin surrounded his eyes, and his thick brows were mixed with strands of gray.

His eerie black eyes, like gun barrels, bore into Victorique’s face and petite frame.

Meanwhile, Victorique’s cherry lips were slightly parted as she regarded the man with the impassive air of a doll.

The man let out a deep breath. “I will see you again.” His voice was deep and commanding. “Legendary Gray Wolf, Philosopher in a Fur Coat. And…”

“Hmm?”

“My Gray Wolf!”

“What?”

Victorique backed away and tucked her chin, casting a disdainful glance at the man. For a moment, a flicker of disgust and unease crossed her icy, emotionless visage.

Then, the rear window closed. The engine growled in a menacingly low pitch, and the black Cadillac rumbled away, vanishing quickly into the distance at a tremendous speed.

Within the Carousel, wild animals cried, birds flapping their wings wildly. The silence shattered, replaced by a buzzing atmosphere.

Victorique stood alone, silver hair and potpourri shimmering in the winter breeze.

“I will see you again.”

“My Gray Wolf!”

In the silence, the mysterious man’s eerie, violent, and masculine aura lingered thickly.

The ominous winter wind ruffled Victorique’s silver hair. The lush foliage felt chilly, concealing their presence.

Victorique’s small hand gripped the golden, lizard-shaped pipe tight. She gazed up at the overcast winter sky.

“See, Kujou?” she said hoarsely. “The moment I come to the office, we get a troublesome client.”