Ch.151Act 2: Ch.10 – Long Live the King (3)

Crayfield and I were cleaning the office, with him holding a rag and me a mop. Agent Scully awkwardly moved around before finally stepping out into the hallway.

“Why don’t you sit at my desk? I’ve cleared it off.”

Only Crayfield in this world could boldly sit at a desk covered with a revolver, speedloader, a sandwich paper bag with sauce still on it, and cigarette butts that were still smoking. Agent Scully casually ignored his offer and instead browsed through a scrapbook from the cabinet.

“May I read this?”

It was an album without labels, meaning it hadn’t been fully categorized yet. Crayfield told her to go ahead. Scully flipped through the pages. She didn’t seem to spend more than 20 or 30 seconds on each page.

“Are you actually reading that properly?”

“It’s interesting,” Scully said without taking her eyes off the pages.

“Usually scrapbooks are classified by date or region, but this one is organized by topic. This scrapbook focuses on crimes in eastern Massachusetts, all stemming from racial conflicts.”

I looked at Crayfield. He seemed a bit disgruntled.

“Well. You could tell that just by reading the headlines.”

“And they’re all connected to the KKK.”

“That’s obvious from just reading the first paragraph.”

“What about the part where the Massachusetts KKK branch receives support from wealthy white Americans?”

“There’s no such content in there.”

“Of course not.” Agent Scully put the scrapbook back. “That’s internal FBI information. The KKK operates as a white terror organization. Haven’t you noticed how chaotically they move?”

“I got the impression they attack groups that oppose government actions. Especially in Massachusetts. More specifically, those who oppose the Patriot Party’s activities.”

“Senator Annette Cole’s party.”

I extended my hand to Crayfield. Naturally, he just stared at me blankly.

“I’ll just go rinse these rags. You two continue your deep conversation about domestic politics.”

“What are you talking about?” Crayfield tossed his rag behind the door. My mop followed suit.

“Let’s clean that up later. And honestly, I’m not interested in classical Greek tragedy either. Does the FBI train its agents in ancient tragedy too?”

Crayfield and I sat down. Scully glared at the sofa briefly before perching on the edge of Crayfield’s desk. She didn’t forget to place a blank sheet of paper underneath her. Well, that sofa now reeked of mold and was stained with someone’s blood. With one hand on the desk, Agent Scully shook her head.

“We learn marksmanship, arrest techniques, interrogation, and tracking, but not that.”

“So you studied Euripides in college?”

“I went to medical school. And I didn’t take it as an elective either. I only started studying classical literature after tracking Giovanni.”

Crayfield and I exchanged glances.

“What does Giovanni have to do with classical literature?”

“Giovanni Savio is an enthusiast of classical tragedy.”

Scully turned her gaze toward the foggy window, as if by doing so she might follow Giovanni’s silhouette that had disappeared into the mist.

“He wants to be a ‘cultured person.’ He wants to maintain his identity as an Italian outsider—not even from the mainland but Sicily—while also projecting the image of a successful businessman in America. That’s why he delved into classical tragedy.”

“Why that specifically?”

“The Old World envies the vigor of young America. But no matter how tall our buildings or how sky-high our wealth, America lacks the pride that comes from the Old World’s years of experience. Tradition. Mythology. Classical beauty. Accumulation… it’s like the jealousy a nouveau riche feels toward an established family.

Giovanni persistently exploited that aspect. Upper-class people who conversed with Giovanni were all surprised to find in someone they thought was ‘just a Sicilian gangster’ the image of the ‘cultured person’ they so desperately wanted to see and become. Nothing leaves a deeper impression than containing contradictory images. The saint and the prostitute, the hero and the coward, the king and the jester.”

Scully, who had been looking at the grandfather clock, startled and turned away.

The lower part of the clock has transparent glass. Not quite like a mirror, but enough to reflect a person’s face with some translucency.

The priestess of a forgotten kingdom and the FBI agent.

The sister who stepped onto the path of destruction because she believed what she saw was truth.

The sister who denounced what she saw as false and stepped onto the path of life.

Twins who differed only in hair length.

“I see you’ve trimmed your hair.”

Crayfield looked at me as if I’d said something completely random, but Scully smiled enigmatically.

“Does it suit me?”

“Enough to make you look like a different person.”

“Well then. I guess I’ll go wash the rags,” Crayfield grumbled.

“That won’t be necessary,” Scully said, shaking her head slightly. Her hair swayed gracefully.

“Anyway. The FBI also investigates organized crime, and Giovanni’s activities are one of the most important cases we need to monitor. So naturally, we need to know about his hobbies and interests, right?”

“Is it hunting?” I asked. “It seems exactly like hunting. Knowing what your prey likes, what it dislikes, circling around waiting for it to weaken, and then pouncing at the decisive moment…”

“It wasn’t a decisive moment, was it? To be honest, I’ve crossed a line here. Our investigation guidelines were to be obvious enough for Giovanni to notice, but to refrain from actual contact.”

“What kind of guidelines are those?”

“Intimidation, warning. Crayfield, as you probably know, Giovanni Savio has deep connections with Senator Annette Cole, former mayor Isaiah Black, current mayor Arthur Black, and former Police Chief Chase. Without their implicit protection, Savio couldn’t have grown this powerful.

Savio provides the funds, and they build their power. From the FBI’s perspective, which wants to tear Annette Cole apart without leaving a bone, Savio is a financial backer that needs to be cut off.”

“But Aurora…”

I regretted saying it immediately, but Scully showed no particular reaction.

“Aurora Savio. She’s a peculiar one. She staged a kind of coup to seize power and has strong loyalty within the organization. She’s tough enough to relegate her father to the status of a sidelined old man, but her recent moves have been more open. To be frank, her business acumen is remarkable. But…”

“But?”

“She’s refusing to cooperate with the established families. Not only is she deliberately erasing contact points, but she’s also trying to make her businesses transparent. Making businesses transparent means she has no intention of creating slush funds, which means she’s cutting ties with her father’s shadowy business partners. But will the established families just sit back and watch?”

The panic room in the office. Full of alcohol, beds, and firearms…

I clicked my tongue. Logically, there’s no reason for such an elaborate panic room in an office. A secret exit that nobody knows about would suffice.

Aurora’s position was so unstable and precarious that she needed such a place in her office. It wasn’t just a space for pleasure.

“I don’t understand,” Crayfield muttered.

“As annoying as they are, there’s no armed organization on Pollard Island as systematic as the White Hand Family. The Red-Headed O’Mellys are just a bunch of outsiders with numbers. How could the established families take them on?”

“Besides Giovanni and Aurora, there’s one more person to carry on the Savio name.”

“Michael Savio?”

I remembered. Aurora had mentioned that Giovanni had left a considerable amount of property to Michael. And that Michael had submitted his discharge papers. Giovanni had donated a large sum to the destroyed Southern Cathedral in the process. It was payment for disposing of assets that would be troublesome to keep.

“What property does Michael have?”

“It’s not property. It’s assistants. Connections. Aurora has already surpassed her father, but Michael’s skills are terrifyingly good. With the camaraderie that comes from being a military man, plus the Savio name on his back, he’s reigning as the crown prince of the entire state of Massachusetts.

On the surface, he’s just a junior executive in the veterans’ association, but in reality, he’s quickly taking control of everything except Arkham and Pollard. The established families have already backed Michael. What happened on Pollard Island is now spreading throughout the state.”

‘Father hasn’t decided yet who will be the left hand and who will be the right hand. He hasn’t decided on a successor either.’

Perhaps there was no need to decide. Aurora is still the ‘left hand’ that oversees violence. I suddenly had a premonition that she would never transition to being the ‘right hand.’

Michael wasn’t a successor. He was a replacement for Giovanni and Aurora.

But why? Why would Pollard’s established families push Michael so hard? Why would they want to remove the sidelined old man Giovanni and the newly empowered Aurora to support Michael?

Simply because they need an obedient violent organization?

“Anyway,” Scully crossed her legs. She was still perched on Crayfield’s desk. Beneath her rolled-up pant leg, I noticed her pale, slender ankle. It looked thin enough to grasp with one hand. There was a strange leisureliness about it. Like the relaxed swish of a lion’s tail even with prey right in front of it.

“I knew the internal struggle within the Savio family was serious. And the play that Aurora Savio brought in this time is famous for all kinds of commotion. It’s controversial both within the play itself and externally.”

“I know. All sorts of thugs are gathering. They say the play touches on all kinds of socially sensitive topics.”

“It’s like a match dropped into a powder keg. Despite the thick fog and people’s frustration, the play is going on. And Giovanni boldly walked into your office.”

Scully stood up. Standing slightly askew, with the eyes of an investigator.

“So tell me. What happened between you and Giovanni before? And why did Giovanni come to ask for help?”

“What?”

That’s absurd. Ask for help? What does that mean? I thought Scully had misunderstood something. Until Crayfield sighed.

“Ah. So that’s why…”

“Crayfield?”

“Yes?”

“Do you understand what she’s saying?”

“I did think something was strange,” Crayfield said, fidgeting with his desk in displeasure. Listening to him, I became increasingly confused.

“What exactly was strange?”

“Think about it. We didn’t do anything. Yet he suddenly visits us, says ‘don’t interfere,’ drops a bunch of provocative hints, and leaves. He was even very conscious of you.”

“Conscious of me? He only talked to you.”

“It makes sense you didn’t notice,” Crayfield rubbed his forehead.

“I was looking at him head-on, while you saw him from the side. His body was oriented toward you. He kept glancing at you with his eyes, and even those two tall guys did the same. He was conversing with me, but all his attention was on you. He even escalated when you showed a reaction. I knew he was trying to test you, but I couldn’t understand why he was pushing so hard.”

“Think about it, assistant,” Scully chimed in. “Logically, why would someone planning to do something bad go around announcing ‘I’m about to do something bad’?”

“Because they’re crazy.”

“No, besides that.”

What other reason could there be? It’s like advertising ‘arrest me’…

“He wanted me to stop him. Is that what you mean?”

“Yes,” Scully sighed and crossed her arms.

“I didn’t hear the conversation from the beginning. I started listening after the ‘consciousness’ part. Maybe it was because his subordinates were watching, or maybe even those subordinates were puppets of Annette Cole or the Black family. But Giovanni was speaking in circles. That’s not his style. He’s usually short, simple, and clear. And he didn’t bring up Euripides’ tragedy for nothing.”

Predetermined sacrifices. A man and a woman.

I looked at Scully. She seemed to read my gaze.

“That’s right. Giovanni came to ask us to save his children. Aurora and Michael themselves probably don’t know. There’s still time before the ‘predetermined sacrifices’ ‘fall to the axe.’ So, Crayfield. Tell me.”

Scully’s gaze turned to Crayfield. Behind his trash-covered desk, he sat as dignified as a lord.

“I’ve gathered almost all the puzzle pieces. The collusion between the mafia and the government. Even the proxy war between forces disguised as an internal family feud. I know about the controversial play opening tonight, and that a massive conflict will erupt on Pollard Island through that play. The fog is thick, and people are accustomed to gunshots and screams. But I’m still missing a few pieces. One of them is you, Crayfield.”

“I’m just a private detective. Specializing in infidelity cases.”

Crayfield tried to brush it off, but Scully’s eyes were cold.

“No. Tell me. No one on this island can touch you. Not the Black family, not Annette Cole, not Police Chief Chase. Not even the Savio family could touch you. Even before your charming assistant here developed a relationship with Aurora. That’s impossible. You’ve always been at dangerous scenes, bizarre scenes. It’s a mystery why no one knew about this case before I looked into it. Crayfield. What exactly are you?”

Crayfield stared at his Camel cigarette pack. He took out the last cigarette, put it in his mouth, and lit it. He seemed particularly deliberate, more than usual.

“What do you think I am?”

“There’s only one explanation. Even those who fear nothing don’t touch you. Not because you’re insignificant, but because they fear you. You, Mr. Crayfield, are the most feared entity on this completely rotten Pollard Island. So tell me. What happened between you and Savio? Why did Giovanni come to you in front of the FBI and his own untrustworthy subordinates?”

Crayfield silently inhaled his cigarette smoke. Finally, he blurted out:

“Well. That’s a rather embarrassing way to compliment someone, but I’ll go wash these rags now. I’m just a day-to-day self-employed worker.”

And then he really did stand up, grab the rags, and walk out.