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Murder at the New York Library / Murder in Harlem / Murder in Central Park – Part 06

Victorique and Kazuya stood in silence. Kazuya noticed tiny beads of sweat trickling down Victorique’s cold, doll-like face. Smoking her pipe, she maintained an overly composed attitude that bordered on impudence. Kazuya moved closer to her.

Then, thunderous footsteps sounded from the ceiling.

Kazuya listened intently. Even Victorique’s small ears twitched. They could hear a familiar voice.

“Ouch!”

“You little brat!”

“Stronzo!”

Apparently, there was kicking and biting involved. The voices came closer.

“Stop biting me!”

“Stop kicking me!”

“Ah, help!”

Rokushou’s voice changed to a feeble scream.

The next moment, the ceiling boards opened to the sides, and a small figure in a blue kimono fell upside down, plummeting as if into the abyss.

Victorique threw her pipe and dashed forward. “Rokushou!”

“Waaah, Mommy!”

“Wait!”

Victorique tumbled and ended up passing the spot where Rokushou fell, crashing into John Smith’s side with a resounding thud. Surprised by the unexpected attack, John Smith coughed while still holding the cigar in his mouth. Kazuya slid in like a baseball player and caught Rokushou, holding him tightly in his arms. When Rokushou realized it was Kazuya who had saved him, he thrashed about.

Victorique nodded and approached slowly. She turned to face John Smith with a glare.

And the three of them began to retreat slowly. Kazuya stood in their way, while Victorique carried Rokushou.

“Farewell,” she said.

“Rokushou, are you okay? Are you hurt?” Kazuya asked.

“Sniff…”

“I’m sorry you had to go through all that.”

“…I’m hungry!”

“Huh? Hungry? Wait a moment!”

Kazuya rummaged through his belongings and handed Rokushou some buttermilk fried chicken. Without a word, Rokushou devoured it like a small carnivore.

Victorique and Kazuya nodded at each other, then sandwiched Rokushou in the middle like a filling as they descended the stairs. Carefully and slowly, as if hurrying would only raise suspicions.

John Smith followed them with a suspicious gaze.

Finally, they reached the third floor. And then, the second floor. The gangsters kept their guns pointed. From the second floor to the first floor. At last they reached the ground floor.

Victorique heaved a sigh of relief. Kazuya scanned the surroundings warily.

As they started towards the entrance, the door began to open from the outside. Kazuya stopped and shielded the two of them.

The gangsters also watched while keeping their guns aimed.

The door opened, and someone appeared hesitantly, followed by a shaky, familiar voice.

“U-Uh… excuse me…”

“What? Which gang are you from?”

“I-I’m not a gangster. I-I’m looking for an acquaintance. Um, it’s an emergency…”

“Huh?”

“Wait, Nico?” Kazuya exclaimed. He dropped his voice lower. “What are you doing, coming to such a dangerous place! We got Rokushou back safely.”

“K-Kujou?” Nico peeked out from the door. “You’re okay!”

Shaggy hair, thick eyebrows, and round brown eyes.

“Hey, I uh… I messed up,” he said when he spotted Kazuya, Victorique, and Rokushou, who was devouring chunks of chicken.

He presented something.

“Nico! Behind you!”

Kazuya’s eyes widened, and he instinctively shielded Victorique and Rokushou, pushing them to the floor. Victorique and Rokushou squealed beneath him.

“Huh?” Nico tilted his head in confusion.

From behind, without a sound or warning, Death itself suddenly appeared.

Death took the form of a young man, his thin, jet-black overcoat fluttering in the northern wind. His left arm was missing, the empty sleeve flapping, while in his right hand, he held a revolver, scanning the surroundings as if searching for someone.

The stunned Mafia members quickly aimed their guns.

Kazuya pulled Victorique and Rokushou to the edge of the floor, still covering them.

“Get down!” he shouted at Nico.

In a panic, Nico jumped up, only to hit his head on the top of the door with a loud thud, before collapsing to the floor.

The deathly pale figure surveyed the surroundings with emotionless eyes. The gangsters took aim, but before they could fire, Death found his target and pulled the trigger a fraction of a second faster.

Bang!

A gunshot rang out.

Lying on the floor, Kazuya saw Carlos shot through the chest. Suspended in the air in slow motion, he appeared weightless, blood spraying from his wound as he fell backward.

Angry roars filled the building. Gangsters armed with steel weapons—banana machine guns—started firing simultaneously.

The deafening, heavy gunfire shook the floor.

Victorique reached out to cover Rokushou’s face with both hands. Nico remained sprawled out like a carpet on the floor, unmoving. Kazuya, still shielding the two, squinted through the thick white smoke.

Death—the one-armed young man—was mercilessly riddled with bullets from multiple banana machine guns. Countless holes formed on his thin figure and black coat as he moved in a strange danse macabre, spewing crimson blood. His right arm was torn off and flew far behind, blood gushing like a faucet. His torso was blown apart in several places. Despite becoming a corpse, he remained suspended, unable to even fall to the ground due to the force of the bullets. The body resembled a lump of meat more than Swiss cheese. Finally, the gunfire gradually ceased.

And then, the chunks of flesh that used to be a young man slowly collapsed like an old rag.

“It’s… the fourth gang murder!” Kazuya groaned.

“Yeah.”

“But it’s a day early! Why? The fourth culprit wasn’t supposed to start roaming until tomorrow evening at the earliest.”

Victorique wore a pale face as she glanced at Carlos, bleeding on the ground, and the unfamiliar young man who had turned into Swiss cheese.

Nico weakly got up. He bolted across the floor, hazy from the smoke still billowing from the banana machine guns.

“Carlos?”

A gangster aimed at Nico.

“Stop! Don’t shoot!” Kazuya shouted.

Nico lifted Carlos up. Carlos weakly opened his eyes, and when he noticed who it was, he flashed a mocking smile. Blood spilled from his mouth.

“Carlos. Hey, this has to be a joke. You can’t be doing this gangster stuff…”

“Hmph. Didn’t I tell you I’m not the old Carlos anymore? I’m an invincible gangster now.”

“Are you dumb?! This is a terrible joke!”

“I should’ve eaten that banana chocolate pie after all. I wonder what it tastes like. I’ll probably be curious about it even in heaven. Tell Mrs. Sacco… No, never mind.”

“Carlos…”

“Take a good look at me, Nico.” Carlos forced a smile, then spat out blood. “This is the death of a gangster. Flashy, wealthy, cruel. We all… end up dying young… Don’t I look cool right now?”

With his eyes wide open, Carlos breathed his last. Nico stared blankly at the sky. Gangsters watched in surprise.

John Smith descended the stairs slowly. “It seems another family member has been killed,” he muttered darkly, dropping the cigar from his mouth. “What is going on here, Gray Wolf?”

“I…”

“What was this murder just now? Is this not the fourth incident? Carlos had no reason to be targeted.” He glanced briefly at the young man’s corpse. “Besides, this culprit is clearly not an Irish gangster, Russian mafia, or a Jewish gangster. Expensive coat, top-fine shoes. Looks like a kid from a well-to-do family.”

Kazuya swallowed hard. He scanned the corpse of the young man in the black coat, peered at his face, and gasped.

Victorique looked up at his face. Kazuya gave a nod that said he would explain it later.

John Smith made a call on the wall-mounted phone. They could faintly hear him saying “boss”. After hanging up, he turned around.

“The boss nearly let you leave. It’s an ironic turn of events, but it seems Garbo Boss did not come out of this entirely empty-handed, after all.”

“Hmm?”

“If these killings continue, it will tarnish the Godfather’s reputation completely. So, I have a new case for you.”

“What?”

“Find the cause of this series of gang murders. A reasonable case, wouldn’t you say, Greatest Mind?”

“B-But…”

“We will give you a time limit. Tomorrow morning.”

Victorique grit her teeth.

“Take the kid!”

The gangsters surrounded them, kicking Victorique hard and throwing her aside like an object, then lifted Rokushou. Rokushou burst into tears.

“Rokushou!”

Victorique staggered to her feet and clung to the gangster’s legs. Kazuya shielded her and got kicked in the head instead. Numerous footprints marked his coat. He endured the pain and humiliation.

“Rokushou! Rokushou! Why is it that because I started as a private detective, an innocent child has to suffer? I-I didn’t want any of this.”

“Rokushou!” Kazuya shouted. “We’ll definitely rescue you. Just trust us and wait like a good boy!”

The unruly Rokushou and the half-eaten fried chicken were dragged up the stairs, fading into the distance.

Second floor. Third floor. Fourth floor. And then his cries could no longer be heard.

Victorique couldn’t even muster any arrogance as she sat on the floor, gazing up at the stairs. She seemed like a doll abandoned by its owner long ago, weathered and broken by the elements. Then, with mechanical movements, she slowly stirred, checked her empty hands, puzzled by the absence of Rokushou she had held just moments ago. The way she moved was unnatural and stiff.

Kazuya gently placed a hand on her shoulder. Victorique’s green eyes looked up at the ceiling helplessly.

“Kujou… I know better than anyone how frightened that child must be right now. I had been through that ordeal before.”

Victorique slumped, and her silver hair fell to the floor, forming a complex and forlorn pattern.

Kazuya and Victorique were thrown out of the building of the Italian Furniture Sculpture Importers Association like they were mere trash, flopping onto the eerily deserted street. Kazuya held Victorique in his arms, and Victorique rested her pale chin on Kazuya’s shoulder.

A cold wintry wind blew, chilling them instantly. The trees shuddered. It felt as if they had arrived in a land of northern winds. Nico’s faint crying could be heard coming from inside the building.

“Get that man out of here too!” John Smith bellowed.

The door opened again, and Nico rolled out. Trembling, he walked over to Victorique and Kazuya. His shoulders drooped. He seemed hesitant to say something. Kazuya raised his face and stared at him, and he finally mustered the courage to speak up.

“L-Listen,” he mumbled. He nervously studied their faces, then reached into his coat to retrieve something. Fear etched on his expression, he slowly showed it. “Th-This happened because of me.”

“What?” Kazuya muttered in astonishment.

Victorique lifted her head, observing Nico intently.

Finally gathering his courage, Nico spread it out.

“It’s all my fault.”