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The Clients of the Gray Wolf Detective Agency – Part 03

As Victorique wrestled with her tiny clients, Sparky quietly sidled up to Kazuya.

“May I read more of this newspaper, Mr. Assistant?”

“Sure, go ahead.”

“Well then, excuse me.”

“I bought it because I’ll be working with the editorial department starting today.”

“Really? So you’re a reporter now?” Sparky said, intrigued.

“Yes. Oh, right! I didn’t notice the Gray Wolf Detective Agency ad, but I did spot you. It’s on the fifth page… here.”

Kazuya flipped open the paper for him, and Sparky’s face lit up.

“You’re right. The Tarzan Man article! No denying it, that’s me.”

Kazuya nodded. “Climbing really high without a safety rope is very impressive.”

Sparky chuckled proudly, then returned to reading the article about himself.

After a while, he raised his gaze and asked, “Do you start work today too?”

Kazuya lifted his head uneasily. “Yes. I’m writing about the rumor of a boy riding a lion in Central Park. I’m meeting a photographer, and then gathering material. It’s hard to believe there’s a lion in the middle of a big city, so it’s a tricky story.”

“Central Park? Then we might run into each other later. I’ll keep an eye out for any lions while I’m there.”

“You’re going there too?”

“Yep. Planning to climb something again today.”

“Is there a tall building in the park?”

Sparky nodded confidently, then struck a pose with his right hand raised as if brandishing something, shouting gallantly, “Procedo!”

Kazuya blinked in confusion. Sparky, losing interest, quickly dropped his hand. Then he began flipping through the newspaper again.

“Ah!” he exclaimed. “There’s an article about Kid. So he really did escape!”

“So you know about him too. He must’ve been very famous. It’s all anyone’s been talking about since this morning.”

“My grandmother used to tell me stories. Said she owed a lot to Kid.” Sparky’s tone turned serious. “Out of all the bank robber gangs in America, the Kid & D’Artagnan Brothers were the most famous, not just because of their looks or fancy lines. They’d rob banks all over the country, steal a fortune, and scatter it from rooftops in the slums. The Green Shower, they called it. It was a much poorer time back then. Grandma said there were months she could pay the rent thanks to Kid.”

“I see.”

“And they even built an orphanage back in their hometown, the Brothers Orphanage. A female member, Cupid, had suffered a lot in an orphanage, so they did it in her honor. Then they founded a girls’ school too, since Maria went through tough times herself. Grandma always praised them for that.”

“Huh. So that’s why they’re still so popular and causing a stir.” Kazuya nodded thoughtfully. Then, setting down his tools, he smiled in satisfaction. “All done!”

Sparky looked up at the swing. “Great job. It’s a proper reclining swing.” Then, he sprang to his feet. “All right, I’ll see you later. Aaah–aaah–aaah!” He leapt away, Tarzan-style.

While Kazuya worked and chatted with Sparky, Victorique was being mobbed by the children. They pulled her hair, climbed onto her knees, flipped up the hem of her luxurious dress.

“Stop it!” she growled. “Don’t pull, don’t lift, don’t bite! You little piggies! Behave yourselves!”

All three children spoke to Victorique at once, their voices so loud they echoed throughout the Carousel.

“Detective! Detective! Little silver-haired detective! Listen. My family runs a general store, and there’s this boy who sneaks in and steals our earnings. I’ve never seen him before, so I don’t know where he’s from. Mom and I decided we’d catch him next time he showed up, and this morning he came again. When we tried to grab him—Mom from the right, me from the left—guess what happened? There was a cat! Wearing a skirt!”

“We run a butcher shop! When I was minding the store, someone stole a chunk of mutton when I wasn’t looking. There was a policeman in the store at the time, so I asked him for help, and he said, ‘I’ll handle the case!’ But after leaving the store, he never came back. Later, my dad checked and found there isn’t any policeman like that in our precinct. He had a big mole on his forehead, but there were no officers with that kind of feature.”

“My family sells cigarettes! Every night at seven, a lady comes to buy a pack of Miss Cigarette. But whenever I’m alone at the register, we always end up four cents short. Every time, my dad hits me… and my mom just cries.”

“Hey, I was first! So Detective, when Mom and I tried to corner the thief, a cat in a skirt with a ribbon on its head jumped out! We were shocked, and so was the boy. In the confusion, he ran off, and we never got the money back.”

“Hey, ladies first! So, what happened to the policeman with the mole? How can he not exist?”

“I’m a girl too! Hey hey, why do we always end up four cents short when we sell a ten-cent pack of cigarettes? Why? Why, Detective, why?”

Victorique, pressing her palms to her ears with a grimace, let out a sigh. “The Wellspring of Wisdom…”

“Ladies first!”

“…is telling me…”

“That’s not fair!”

“The culprit is… the culprit is… hmm… fine, fine! Ladies first then. Just quiet down already. Stop biting! Now then.”

Victorique wriggled free from the children and climbed onto the chest of drawers, standing up straight. The green and pink frills of her dress shimmered like the gown of a regal queen.

The children tried to climb after her.

“Stay down there and listen,” she commanded.

The children sat on the floor in front of the dresser like students in a classroom. They elbowed each other, some even biting, but gradually they quieted down, gazing up expectantly at Victorique.

With a commanding tone, Victorique spoke, “First, the butcher’s girl. Stand up.”

The girl wearing a hat labeled MEAT cheerfully sprang to her feet. The boy from the general store kept poking her, so she kicked him away. “Cut it out!”

“The one who stole the mutton,” Victorique said, “was the mailman. Tell your parents to look for a mailman with a large mole on his forehead.”

“The mailman?”

“Yes. Now, the boy from the general store. Stand up.”

The short-haired blond boy in an apron hopped up eagerly.

The butcher girl murmured, “The mailman? Why him?”

“Think carefully now,” Victorique said. “When the little thief appeared in your store, and then a cat wearing a skirt and a ribbon burst in, wasn’t there a little girl peeking in from outside?”

“Huh?” The boy tilted his head. “Oh! Yeah, there was! A tiny girl, maybe five years old.”

“She was peeking in through a door or window, with only her head showing, so you couldn’t see her from the waist down, correct?”

“Yeah! Exactly! How’d you know?”

“Do you know her?”

“She’s from the neighborhood… and yeah, I know where she lives.”

“Good. Then most likely, her brother, relative, or close friend—someone from her circle—is the boy who stole the money. Start your search around that girl.”

“O-Okay.”

“Lastly, the girl from the tobacco shop. Stand up.”

The girl wearing the cigarette apron stood up with a bright, “Here!”

Victorique crouched down to look her in the eye, her tone softening a little. “The lady who comes at seven to buy cigarette. Every time she pays ten cents, the till ends up four cents short, correct? Very well. I’ll play the part of this wicked woman. Let’s reenact it, shall we? Like this, perhaps?”

Victorique forced a high-pitched voice, lifting her chin with an air of haughtiness. “One pack of Miss Cigarette, please. Ten cents, wasn’t it? Now then. One cent, two cents, three cents…” She pretended to count out coins, one by one.

The girl’s eyes went wide. “Wow! How’d you know? That’s exactly how she does it!”

Victorique continued, “‘By the way, what time is it, little girl?'”

The girl’s eyes grew even wider. “Yes! She always asks me the time! How did you know that?”

“And what do you answer?”

“Seven o’clock,” the girl replied.

“Seven o’clock, huh? All right, thanks. Now then. Eight cents, nine cents, ten cents. There, that makes ten cents.”

“‘Thank you very much. Come again!’” the girl chirped brightly.

Her cheerful face was met with disbelief from the boy from the general store and the girl from the butcher’s shop. It took a bit of time for the girl from the tobacco shop to catch on, but when she finally did, her face flushed red all the way up to her neck in anger.

“Ahhh!”

“Do you understand now?” Victorique asked.

“Sh-Sh-She skipped four, five, six, and seven after I said seven o’clock! What an e-evil woman.”

“You should’ve figured it out sooner,” the boy teased. “You’ll never survive in Manhattan if you’re that slow. Business is tough out there.”

Tears welled up in the tobacco girl’s eyes.

“Don’t cry now,” Victorique said. “Next time she drops by, outsmart her. When she asks for the time, you tell her it’s three o’clock. Understand?”

Kazuya, having finished setting up the swing, walked over.

With the cases solved, Victorique puffed leisurely on her pipe, while the butcher’s girl and the general-store boy looked dissatisfied.