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The Bridge Builder – Part 08

The crowd’s cheers gradually faded.

One by one, the spectators began to leave. Some went to pubs to talk about tonight’s match, while others went home for dinner.

In the green room on the Manhattan side, William Trayton sat wearily in a chair. Most of his entourage had already left. Slowly, he removed his gloves.

Reporters and photographers circled the defeated champion, jotting down comments and snapping photos.

When asked questions, William responded in a carefree tone, “I think I’m gonna retire.”

“I’m still young.”

“Actually, I had plans before the war. I’m thinking of going back to study at NYU,” he said, lifting his head.

When he spotted Kazuya entering, limping on his right foot, he stood up. Kazuya whispered in his ear. William listened in astonishment.

“Yeah,” he said. “See? It was a German soldier. What, Dragline?! I see. So, I killed him. I can’t believe it.” His shoulders slumped. “I took the life of a man I became friends with.” He hung his head for a bit, deep in thought, then looked up at Kazuya. “But I’m glad to know the truth. A weight’s been lifted off my shoulders, even if it’s only replaced by another.”

Kazuya nodded. “Yeah.”

“Dragline said that even if he survived, he wouldn’t be able to hit anyone anymore. That he would retire.” William placed his gloves on an empty chair. “Me too,” he said, biting his lip. Then, he raised his head. “Oh, right. I promised the detective about the apartment. I made the arrangements.” He handed over a map and keys.

“Thank you,” Kazuya said as he accepted them. He unfolded the map and compared it to the one Ruri had given him. “This place…”

It was Brooklyn Heights, just across the Brooklyn Bridge depicted with a gray-bearded old man. Near the pink cake that Victorique liked.

14 Cranberry Street.

“I figured a rookie reporter’s salary wouldn’t cover much rent, so I picked a small, old unit. No complaints, all right?”

An old man with a gray beard and a cane entered the green room.

William’s eyes widened. “D-Dad!”

Meanwhile, in Eddie’s dressing room on the Brooklyn side, the press swarmed in, snapping photos of Eddie Sawyer with the champion belt strapped around his waist, tossing him question after question. Mitch, Eddie, and his mother answered with smiles. Flashes went off, and excitement filled the room.

“What’s next for you, champ?”

“Well, first thing’s first. We’re movin’ to New York, me and Ma!”

“How does it feel to become a new-era star overnight?”

“It’s a bit embarrassing!”

Laughter filled the room.

Eddie glanced at Victorique, who was listening quietly in a corner. She gave him a small nod.

“If Eddie lost, I would have been done as his manager,” Mitch said.

Eddie stepped out of the circle and approached Victorique.

As Victorique explained quietly, Eddie exclaimed, “What?! So Willian shot Dragline, and he didn’t even know? Wait, Dragline helped carry Luke? I can’t believe it. The truth must be hard for William. I guess no one did anything malicious all along. It was all a misunderstanding on my part.”

“That’s exactly right,” Victorique said softly, placing the pipe in her mouth.

Eddie looked up at the night sky. “I understand now. But still, if only I’d been stronger back then, I could’ve stopped William. I need to get stronger.” He clenched his gloves tightly.

Reporters called out to him and tugged at his arms. Eddie stumbled back toward the spotlight.

Victorique turned to leave the dressing room when Eddie called out, “Miss!” Victorique turned her head ever so slightly. Surrounded by reporters and photographers, Eddie waved at her.

Flashes went off. The noise in the dressing room grew louder. Questions kept coming.

“Thank you, ace detective.”

Victorique looked utterly taken aback. Then, just for an instant, a surprisingly warm smile flickered across her face.

“De rien, new champion.”

She took a drag from her pipe and quietly left the dressing room.

The spectators headed home, leaving the Brooklyn Bridge shrouded in silence.

Night had fallen. A crescent moon and stars glittered overhead. The river flowed gently below. It was a very quiet night. The large white ring in the center had been dismantled, returning the bridge to its original state.

Lights from the skyscrapers on the Manhattan side flickered like stars. Cheerful voices and footsteps faded into the distance.

Victorique and Kazuya stood side by side at the edge of the bridge, gazing down at the East River. The hem of Victorique’s pink dress fluttered in the breeze, and her white-blonde hair rippled, illuminating the darkness of this new city.

“So much happened in one day,” Kazuya said solemnly. “But I’m really glad we found an apartment. Now I just have to work hard starting tomorrow, get paid, and make sure you have a bed, sweets, books, and, um…”

“And mysteries, right?” Victorique said.

“Well, first we need to secure our living expenses.”

“Living expenses? Hmph.”

“There you go again. Mysteries, though.” Kazuya pondered for a bit. “Ah, but no detective agency! The Italian mafia went after Mitch tonight and caused such a ruckus. It looks like crime and the mafia go hand in hand in this city. I just want to keep you safe.”

“But it’s so boring.”

“What, already? Really? We just solved a case, like just now! Oh, Victorique.”

“I said I’m bored!” Victorique turned away with a huff.

Kazuya peered into her face. “Already bored? Really? I can’t believe you.”

Suddenly, voices came from behind. Kazuya turned around. Victorique, lazily puffing on her pipe, glanced over.

From the nearly dismantled dressing room, former champion William Trayton slowly emerged. His father, former Mayor Trayton, followed with a cane. His huge staff were already gone.

William looked up at the night sky. Then, together with his father, he walked towards the quiet Brooklyn side, matching his steps to his father’s pace.

At that moment, someone came rushing out from the opposite dressing room. It was Eddie Sawyer, wearing his shiny championship belt over a shabby shirt and pants. His mother followed behind, laughing and joking with him.

Spotting the father-and-son, Eddie’s mother gave the former mayor an old-fashioned Southern greeting, bending her knees and lowering her chin. The former mayor noticed and responded with an equally outdated greeting you’d see in a history book, chest out, right hand raised to shoulder height.

The two approached each other and started chatting amicably.

William and Eddie exchanged looks, cast their gazes down, shuffled awkwardly, and simultaneously said:

“So how ‘bout that? I’m the new champ from tonight on!”

“I’m thinking of going back to NYU.”

They fell into awkward silence.

“Right. You said you wanted to study logistics.”

“Yeah.”

They averted their eyes again.

“The detective told me you didn’t shoot Luke,” Eddie said.

William nodded. “But I did kill Dragline. And I thought you were lying.”

“So did I. I guess sometimes we just misunderstand each other.”

“We lacked proper communication.”

Their faces brightened, and they held each other’s gaze.

Wearing a distant look, Eddie softly sang, “When the cranberries bloom…”

“Right. You love that song,” William said, before singing along. “I’ll go home.”

“I’ll go home.”

They sang together.

“Because Dad is lonely without me.”

“Because Mom misses me.”

“I’ll go home.”

“I’ll go home.”

When they finished singing, they looked into each other’s eyes.

The long-standing tension between them had finally been resolved. Both sides extended the hands they’d used to punch each other and shook.

“I’ll see you around, new champ Eddie.”

“Yeah. Take care, William.”

At their sons’ signal, former Mayor Trayton and Eddie’s mother, exchanged polite farewells.

The new champion, Eddie Sawyer, led his mother towards Manhattan, while William Trayton walked alongside his father towards Brooklyn.

They passed right in front of Victorique and Kazuya, heading in opposite directions.

Kazuya stared at the four of them with his deep black eyes. His dark bangs stirred softly in the night breeze.

Victorique narrowed her deep emerald eyes and cast her gaze elsewhere, focusing on where Eddie Sawyer and his mother walked.

An old Southern woman in an antiquated brown dress appeared. Her cloudy eyes narrowed as she stood with her wrinkled hands spread wide. Despite the breeze, nothing on her body so much as stirred.

With a stiff, almost mechanical motion, she opened her arms even wider. Her mouth showed a faint smile. Unaware, Eddie Sawyer and his mother walked by, chatting happily, and passed through the old woman’s form, continuing on toward vibrant Manhattan.

Then, the old woman’s head jerked stiffly, and her cloudy eyes locked onto Victorique.

Victorique, silently smoking on her pipe, returned the stare.

The old woman gave an old-fashioned Southern bow with bent knees and lowered chin.

Victorique smiled faintly. She then took out a crescent-shaped brooch from her pocket and offered it. When the old woman shook her head, Victorique said, “Then I’ll take it as payment from the true client for my services.”

A cold wind blew. In Victorique’s ear, a deep, raspy voice with a hint of its former brightness said, “Thank you for taking on the case, ace detective.”

Victorique exhaled sharply. “To think that my first client is a ghost. How bizarre.” She smirked.

The old woman returned the smile with a deathly cold face. Satisfied, she nodded with an ease that belied her nature. As the summer breeze began to whisk her away, she spoke in her naturally cheerful southern tone.

“Thank you, young lady!”

“De rien, ma’am.”

A strong wind swept through. And just like that, she was gone.

Victorique silently puffed on her pipe. Stars twinkled high above, and the crescent moon shimmered.

“What are you doing? Any reason why you’re staring in some random direction?” Kazuya asked. “Let’s get going.”

Victorique nodded, then started walking slowly across the Brooklyn Bridge alongside Kazuya.