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Jailhouse Song – Part 01

The Daily Road

July 11, 1930, Morning Edition, Page 8

Tarzan Climbing the Building!

Yesterday, a handsome young man was spotted by several citizens climbing the exterior wall of the Empire State Building with his bare hands. The man was shirtless, with a white cloth wrapped around his waist. Amid cheers and screams from the crowd, he climbed from the first to the fifteenth floor, then disappeared into the building through an open window. The NYPD commented, “We have no idea.”

Chapter 6: Jailhouse Song

Meanwhile, at the Mushanokouji residence in Greenwich Village.

The evening sunlight bathed the room in a warm glow. The spacious area was adorned with elegant furniture, oriental-patterned wallpaper, and matching curtains. A vase of pink flowers filled the air with a sweet fragrance, while the aroma of freshly baked bread drifted from the oven.

Ruri, sleeves rolled up, diligently dusted the furniture. A gentle breeze flowed through the open window, stirring the sheer curtains.

A loud snore came from under the low table, where Rokushou was stretched out, enjoying a nap.

Ruri suddenly paused, her ears catching the solemn sound of the doorbell. “Coming!” she called out cheerfully, hurrying down the hallway. Realizing she still had the duster in hand, she quickly hid it behind her back before opening the heavy front door. “Who is it?” she asked.

A young man stood at the door. He had flowing brown hair, strikingly handsome features, and sparkling blue eyes. Oddly enough, he was dressed primitively, a simple white cloth wrapped around his waist.

“Is Miss Victorique de Blois here? I have an important letter for her,” he said, holding out an envelope.

Ruri took the envelope, glanced at the address, and said, “To Miss Victorique de Blois? Who’s the sender?” She turned it over. “From Walter Bluecandy? I wonder who that could be. Well, I’ll make sure she gets it.”

She lifted her gaze to see the oddly dressed man cross the street, yelling like Tarzan.

“Who was that?” Ruri wondered aloud.

The summer breeze rustled the trees along the street.

Meanwhile, Victorique and Kazuya had left the NYPD and were making their way northwest across Manhattan Island.

The sun was setting, and the heat was beginning to dissipate.

They took a shortcut, passing through Little Italy. The roadside trees swayed gently in the summer breeze. As Victorique walked, her light blue sash, tied in a bow, fluttered with each step.

“How could you even talk about staying in the cell? It’s honestly baffling. Victorique, are you even listening?” Kazuya had been lecturing like an old man.

Victorique appeared lost in thought and wasn’t responding, so Kazuya shifted the subject.

“By the way, do you remember the newspaper article?”

“Hmm? Oh, the one about the boxing match?” Victorique finally answered.

“Yeah. Eddie Sawyer, the man we saw earlier, is the challenger, and William Trayton is the champion. The fight is tonight at Brooklyn Bridge.”

“Right.”

“From the conversation between Eddie and his manager, Mitch, it seems that William bribed the cops to get Eddie thrown in jail. It sounds like William is more afraid of facing Eddie than he is of the match itself.”

“That’s what they said.”

“The article also mentioned that both men were in the same unit during the war and were rumored to be involved in the Christmas Truce Murder.”

Victorique yawned. “It also seems that Eddie’s manager, Mitch, was in the same unit.”

“Yeah. But what kind of incident was it? The rumors at the newspaper were like ghost stories. Things like soldiers being attacked by spirits of people who died during the first Great War on Christmas Eve, a whole bridge flying through the sky, or soldiers being killed by their own men during the truce.”

“Those first two rumors are definitely supernatural,” Victorique groaned.

They walked in silence for a while.

“By the way, Kujou,” Victorique finally said in her deep, raspy voice. “Eddie Sawyer said something interesting. He argued that the New World is different from the Old World with its long and grand history. Here, there are no great mysteries, and the mysteries themselves don’t want to be solved. He claimed that everyone is too busy and struggling to get by, and that the police are unreliable.”

Kazuya wore a perplexed look.

Victorique continued, “He said that mysteries will always exist, waiting for the right laws to solve them. He has his own unresolved mystery from the war, a case whose truth has eluded him for years.”

“Was he talking about the Christmas Truce Murder?”

A breeze blew across the street. Victorique’s hair shimmered, and Kazuya’s jet-black hair rippled in the wind.

“No idea,” Victorique said.

They crossed an intersection and continued on their way. When Kujou looked at Victorique’s face, it was clear she was still deep in thought.

Stretching, he said, “The champion, the challenger, and a past murder case. Quite the mystery.”

“Indeed.”

“But I think I get what Eddie meant. We’re curious about the mystery too, but we’re swamped with problems about finding a job and a home.”

Victorique suddenly stopped and looked up at him. “Hmm. It seems you’ve already become a busy resident of the New World.”

Kazuya blinked in surprise. “Really?”

“Indeed!” For some odd reason, Victorique adopted a haughty tone. “You are one of the hardworking immigrants following in the footsteps of the Pilgrim Fathers. If you’re ever in trouble, I won’t solve any mysteries for you. I’m certain you will be incredibly busy every single day.”

Kazuya raised his hands in surprise. “Come on, solve them! We’re close, aren’t we?”

“But we’re not that close.”

“What?”

“That was a joke, Kujou.”

“Geez, stop being so mean.”

And so they walked on.

Meanwhile, back at the Mushanokouji residence in Greenwich Village, the spacious and sunny living room on the first floor was freshly cleaned and sparkling.

Ruri, Rokushou, and the cook sat around the low table. Rokushou sat on five stacked cushions, wobbling and looking down at Ruri. His plump bottom shone pink in the sunlight from the window.

Ruri opened a sketchbook and repeatedly drew and tore out pictures of cute dresses with colorful crayons. She looked like a schoolgirl doing summer homework. Pink fabric and white lace were scattered on the tatami mat.

“I’ve been learning to sew lately,” Ruri said. “Making clothes for Victorique would be great practice. Dresses are lovely, don’t you think?”

Rokushou nodded emphatically. He almost fell off the cushions and panicked. Ruri propped him up with one hand.

“When I was a child, I wanted to play with dolls, but my wild and uncivilized brothers always got in the way. How about this?”

“Too plain. You have no sense at all, Madam. Watch. You do this.”

“Hey, don’t add weird armor-like sleeves!”

Rokushou watched in surprise as the light argument quickly turned into a serious quarrel.

“I made it a long dress with lots of frills, but now the shoulders look like Napoleon’s! Oh, Rokushou, what’s the matter?”

Rokushou climbed down from the cushions and squeezed between them.

“Mother is busy right now,” Ruri said.

He pointed at the drawing and let out a groan. Ruri cocked her head. Rokushou seemed to be asking her to make the same dress for him.

“You’ve been acting strange since this morning. You were only watching Victorique.”

Rokushou’s eyes, as black and earnest as Kazuya’s, moistened.

“What? You want to wear a dress too? You want a dress and a yukata? Oh my!” Grasping what he wanted, Ruri laughed brightly. “I see now. You want to imitate Victorique, don’t you? Even though you’re a boy.”

The cook, watching them, couldn’t help but burst out laughing. “I thought he only wore loincloths.”

Ruri stood up. “When we left the country, I brought child-sized yukatas. But I don’t think we have pink ones.” She went to look for them.

Design sketches and the letter from Walter Bluecandy were scattered on the table.

The oriental wallpaper glowed in bright colors under the sunlight streaming through the window. A breeze blew through, gently stirring the cranberry flowers in the vase.

Ruri was dressing Rokushou in a light green yukata when they heard Kazuya’s voice from the entrance, “We’re back!”

“Welcome back.” Ruri turned, but Rokushou escaped her grip and ran to the entrance. Ruri chased after him, “Rokushou? Hey!”

Rokushou stood in the entrance, showing off his yukata, but was startled when Victorique came rushing in after Kazuya. Ruri stopped, astonished.

Victorique, pleased to be back at the Mushanokouji residence, stood proudly with her chin high. But her magnificent white-blonde hair and pink yukata were in a dire state.

Ruri let out a motherly scream. “Eek! You’re covered in dirt! Victorique, get in the bath!”