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Hey, This is the NYPD 82nd Precinct – Part 02

Clank, clatter, clunk.

A transcontinental train sliced through the heart of the New World. Gleaming black in the summer sun, it billowed black smoke.

Inside the train, the air was stifling. Passengers were weary from the long journey, their faces damp with sweat.

A woman in her fifties, dressed in shabby Southern-style clothing, sat clutching a small, worn-out suitcase. She was talking eagerly to the young couple sitting across from her, gesturing animatedly.

“The lady of the manor always treated me kindly. She looked after me ever since I was a little girl working at the estate. Even after I grew up, started a family, and became a widow early on, she still cared for us. So, me and my son Eddie would do anything for her.”

The wife nodded emphatically. “I get what you mean, ma’am. That’s just how we servants are.”

“But then, as the war was ending…”

“Oh?”

“The lady fell ill and passed away.”

“Oh my, that’s so unfortunate. Ah! I suppose both you and your son found it difficult to stay at the estate? Servants loyal to the previous masters are often disliked by the new master.”

“Exactly! That’s exactly it!” Tears welled up in the older woman’s eyes. “We were immediately relegated to the attic, barely paid, called useless by the young mistress. It was truly awful. My poor son returned from the war with nowhere to go. So he set off to make a name for himself in New York. And now I’m traveling to follow my son.”

“You’re fortunate to have such a good son.”

The elderly woman nodded, showing a photo. It depicted the woman, a young man who seemed to be her son, and a tall elderly lady in old-fashioned attire, all smiling together. A crescent-shaped brooch gleamed on the elderly lady’s chest.

Wiping her tears away, the elderly woman murmured, “Ah, the lady was so strong and cheerful. I wish I could see her one more time.”

The husband opened a lunchbox, offering homemade sausages. The woman thanked him and eagerly dug in.

“But New York, huh? I never imagined leaving the South.”

Clank, clatter, clunk.

The dusty, soot-covered old train continued its journey across the New World, drawing nearer to the city.

NYPD, 82nd Precinct.

In a corner cell, Victorique sat on her soles, looking utterly displeased. “One, two… five… fifteen… twenty-one,” she muttered, counting the handprints on the wall.

Cheerful voices came from outside the iron bars. The officers were betting on tonight’s boxing match.

“Fifty dollars on the challenger! Not that I really know him.”

“Nah, the champion’s gonna win for sure. I’m putting this week’s paycheck on it.”

“Your mom’s gonna chew you out again.”

“Hey, what’s this rumor about the Christmas Truce Murder?”

“I’ve heard of that.”

From the neighboring cell, a thin voice sang softly, “When the cranberry flowers bloom, I’ll go home. I’ll go home… Because you’re waiting for me.”

Downstairs, a newly arrested criminal was causing a ruckus, with the police officers shouting.

Victorique scowled at the handprints of New York criminals on the wall, grumbling, “How does eating a dumpling that came into my mouth make me a villain?”

Her emerald eyes, brilliant as a deep lake, sparkled.

“At Kujou’s house, there was a big fuss when I ate the mountain of manju placed on that so-called Buddhist altar. Back then, I made holes in all the shoji screens in retaliation. I still don’t understand.” She cocked her head. “Anyway, there’s that mysterious hole in the road, the rolling dumplings, the stall named Poorboys, the shop with completely white display windows, the ghost of an old lady who kept pantomiming, the men stopping in front of a tobacco shop to touch some silver object hanging there.”

Victorique shook her head. “The New World is filled with incomprehensible fragments of chaos beyond my grasp,” she grumbled irritably. Staring at the wall, she murmured, “Kujou’s search for a ‘job and home’ is also… quite a silly mystery.”

She shook her head, her long hair swaying gently. Then, like a wild animal, she curled up in the corner, her eyes gleaming brightly.

Outside the iron bars, the cheerful chatter of the officers went on. The commotion downstairs seemed to have settled.

Then, the singing from the neighboring cell abruptly stopped, and a gentle, delicate voice said, “Ma’am? Lady in the neighboring cell?”

Victorique slowly raised her head, placed a hand on her rosy, chubby cheek, and looked around.

The voice seemed to come from the neighboring cell. It had a thick accent that was hard to make out, and it sounded like a young woman.

Mistaking Victorique for an older lady, the voice said, “Sadness is bad for your health. In times like these, it’s best to conserve your strength until you’re released. Please take care of yourself and live a long life.”

“Hmm. Live a long life, you say.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

Victorique tilted her head, and her long, white-blonde hair cascaded softly, glimmering like the Milky Way.

“Ma’am, if it helps take your mind off things even a little, I’d be happy to keep you company. Don’t dwell too much on your troubles.”

She sounded very humble.

Victorique responded haughtily, “Well then, strange neighbor.”

“Yes?” The voice sounded relieved.

“I have an attendant. I took him to explore Manhattan, but he got lost.”

“No way!”

“And then, a series of events happened. Somehow, a dumpling ended up in my mouth, and the next thing I knew, I was here.”

“That’s quite unfortunate.”

“And that attendant of mine!”

“Ah, but if they find your lost attendant and he pays your bail, you could be out soon.”

“Is that so? Well, it’s hardly inconvenient. I don’t mind this place being my home.” Victorique nodded grandly. Then, she lowered her head in thought. “That attendant of mine wanted to see the Brooklyn Bridge. Apparently, it’s a big and majestic bridge. He was ridiculously excited, saying it connects people, towns, and societies. Just when I was about to take him there, this happened. What a troublesome fellow.”

Victorique’s voice, raspy and lonely like an old woman’s, now held a note of affection.

“You’re a kind-hearted person, ma’am,” said the woman quietly. “Your servant is fortunate. I envy him.”

“No! It’s not just that.” Victorique quickly returned to her cold tone. “I, too, wanted to see Brooklyn myself. According to the map, there are pink cakes, oranges, and pineapples there.” The thought lifted her spirits up a bit.

“Ah, Brooklyn Heights. It’s a small, charming residential area right across the bridge. You’ll find cranberry, orange, and pineapple there.”

“Hmm?”

“They say that the streets were originally named after prominent landowners listed in the Who’s Who. Then, Mrs. Trayton, the mayor’s wife, suggested renaming them to more pleasant, livable names. So, they became Cranberry Street, Orange Street, Pineapple Street, and other delicious-sounding names.”

“Oh.”

“Cranberry Street is lined with cranberry flowers. Cranberries are famous for celebrating immigrants, and its flowers are loved by everyone in the New World. They even appear in the lyrics of the song I’ve been singing.”

The woman began to sing again, “When the cranberry flowers bloom, I’ll go home, I’ll go home.”

“In this season, the pink flowers bloom, and it’s a beautiful sight. You should cross the bridge and take a stroll.”

“So, there’s no pink cake after all!”

Victorique’s voice fell with disappointment, but the woman quickly added, “No, the shops in Brooklyn Heights often sell cranberry cake. There’s also orange pie and pineapple muffins.”

Victorique perked up. “I see. Then I should take my lost attendant there once I find him.”

The woman sighed with relief. “That’s a good idea.”

“Yes.”

Silence descended. Water dripped. Somewhere, an insect scuttled around. In the distance, there was the sound of a ball being thrown, then something breaking.

“Ah! My mug! My special Brooklyn Dodgers mug!”

After a while, the voice from the neighboring cell spoke again. “So, from what you said earlier, you and your attendant just arrived in New York. You haven’t seen the Brooklyn Bridge yet and got lost.”

Victorique opened her eyes. “Not just New York. We only arrived in the New World yesterday.”

“Y-Yesterday?” the woman asked in surprise.

Victorique gazed at the ceiling with a distant look. Shadows darkened her face as she spoke softly, almost to herself, “Yes. I used to live somewhere else. The Old World. It was far from a pleasant place, and I was constantly tormented. But, still…”

She took a deep breath of the foul air.