Chapter 80 In the Name of the Father_1

Gordon woke up in a dimly-lit hospital room, the only source of light being a tiny desk lamp. Shiller, dozing off in the chair next to him, heard the rustling of Gordon and woke up. He removed his glasses and said, "I told you, you'd wake up while I was here..."

Gordon, still unable to speak, was equipped with a respirator. Shiller said, "Your injuries are severe, too severe. We scraped together over twenty hours of emergency treatment just to keep you alive, and whether you'll fully recover is still uncertain."

The psychologist always carried a calm authority in his voice.

Gordon blinked. That's all he could do. Shiller yawned and said, "Thank your associate. He showed up just in time to save your life."

"But I can't help but feel apologetic, as it appears the group that was after you initially targeted me."

Gordon shook his head slightly. He knew the group were merely hired killers. If Maroni hadn't hired them, he would have hired someone else.

Just as Shiller was about to continue his dialog, the door was pushed open, and Harvey walked in, asking, "Is he awake?"

Shilling nodded, stood up from his chair, and Harvey said, "I'll take over, you should get some rest."

Before he left, Shiller took one last look at Gordon, the usually energetic detective who now seemed utterly haggard. The combined mental and physical demands were making him somewhat delusional.

The corridors of the central hospital were pitch-black at night, leaving only the echoed steps of Shiller's leather shoes to fill the silence.

Downstairs, a car was parked by the hospital entrance, a tall man in a suit descended and opened the door for Shiller. Once seated, Shiller said, "Play some jazz."

Soon enough, a light jazz melody began emanating from the speakers, injecting a breath of fresh air into the car's heavy atmosphere. The exterior lights continued to flicker.

Shiller, almost succumbing to drowsiness, shut his eyes. The man seated in the passenger's seat clearly didn't expect Shiller to fall asleep so quickly. This professor is truly unique, he thought.

When they reached their destination, Shiller had yet to rouse from his slumber. The brief nap had only made him more tired.

Walking up a wooden staircase, Shiller entered a room. Falcone sat, suit-clad, as always, behind a desk with Evans, also dressed in a suit, standing behind him.

Shiller sat opposite the mob boss, made the sign of the cross against his chest, and said: "Good evening, Godfather."

Falcone waved his hand, and a tall suited man approached. Falcone rustled a box of cigars from under the desk. Falcone's aide clipped it properly. Just as Shiller was about to refuse, Falcone said, "I've heard you enjoy a good cigar, and I share the same sentiment. So, why not have one?"

Shiller adjusted his position, leaning back fully in the chair, making no effort to hide his weariness, but he took the cigar regardless. Evans moved towards him, bent down to light it for him.

The cigar in his grasp, Shiller took a look at Evans and said, "I haven't seen you in a suit before; you'll be popular with the girls at the party."

Evans flashed an humble smile, said nothing, and stepped back to Falcone's side.

"You've changed a lot, I can tell." said Falcone. The godfather always retained his elegance while smoking his cigar. He'd take a minimal puff and then exhale, the smoke dissipating before he resumed speaking.

"The first time I saw you, I knew you were not from Gotham. But now, you're much better. That's commendable."

"When you're constantly on guard here, you'd think everyone's against you. But when you truly consider this place home, you'd realize there are like-minded souls everywhere."

"Perhaps it's because everyone here is a potential criminal," Shiller interjected.

"Surprisingly, you don't question why I didn't deal with Maroni."

Shiller said in a low voice, "Maroni is not important."

"You always amaze me. I've met many geniuses in my lifetime. They think too highly of themselves, dressing in false humility. But I know their respect for me is derived from the fear of my gun."

"But I know too well that people's respect for the Godfather comes not from the gun."

"You reveal the charm of psychology to me. You always seem to have the answers I seek." Falcone said, allowing his cigar to burn slowly in his hand.

"I hoped Evans could grasp the essence of this field. Unfortunately, I know he lacks the talent."

"He's doing pretty well," Shiller said, flicking away the ash. "And he works hard. He's a good student."

"But that's as far as he can go, right?"

Shiller didn't bother about Evans's disappointed look. He said, "That's not bad, Your Excellency. Studying psychology is a one-way street to destruction."

Falcone looked at him as Shiller took another puff and said, "This isn't just some fancy metaphor. When you study this discipline to its limits, there are only two outcomes: insanity or death."

"So it seems you went for neither."

"What if I chose both?"

Shiller started to feel increasingly sleepy, the sweet scent of tobacco in the air bringing waves of drowsiness. He squinted, the entire world blurring into a haze of white.

"I know Evans still has a long way to go. Just like his mother, he can't be a perfect good guy, nor can he be a complete villain. And that's the most terrifying part."

"What kind of man do you want him to become?"

Before Falcone could reply, Shiller said, "Or rather, do you want him to become a godfather?"

Falcone fell silent.

Clearly, he knew the answer in his heart, but he was unwilling to admit it.

Is it a good thing to become a godfather?

Even Falcone, who had been a godfather for many years, could not provide an answer.

"How is that police officer?" he asked.

Shiller shook his head and said, "He is seriously injured, it may take a long time for him to recover."

"You can let him turn to Maroni, I won't blame him," Falcone said, "I know these people have no choice, they either cooperate or die, in fact, the fact that they have held on till now already impresses me."

"Perhaps this is offensive, but his persistence is not because of the godfather."

"What is it then? If it's not out of fear of me, why would he resist Maroni's proposal for cooperation?"

"Because Maroni is stopping him from fighting crime."

"So what?"

"He is a cop, he believes it is justice for the police to arrest criminals."

"A naive idea, isn't it? It even seems ridiculous in this city."

"Good people don't usually have a long life, especially in Gotham." Falcone said with a sigh.

"That's why I've been your longest-living house teacher."

Falcone closed his eyes, after a while, he said, "Evans, go kill Maroni, kill him with your own hands."

Evans pursed his lips, then, in a low voice, said, "Yes, Father."

"As for the people from Metropolis, I will deal with them."

"You don't have to tax yourself."

"Do you have a plan?"

"Recently, I have made a lot of money, and there is an expensive super mercenary who is exactly interested in the price I'm offering."

"I will finance this," said Falcone.

"In your name, God bless Gotham."

Indeed, the godfather seems to have aged, and he really loves his son. He believes that in the few decades of the godfather's life, he has never shown favor to anyone like this before.

Indeed, in the past glorious years of the godfather, he did not need to express such a stance to anyone, and no one dared to ask him to do so. But today, the fact that he could invite Shiller here and show favor to him in such a posture, simply means that he has truly aged.

Thinking this, Shiller fell deeper into drowsiness. Falcone watched the man across him slowly close his eyes. The godfather sighed and said to Evans, "Send your teacher home to rest."

Evans assented, and the godfather stood up and looked out the window. Outside was a quiet night in Gotham. From Falcone Manor, all one could see was a faint light flickering from the lighthouse on the shore.

Forty years have gone by, he thought. The godfather's friends and enemies had all disappeared with time. His life, together with the previous era of Gotham, was coming to an end. Only the lighthouse was still radiating tirelessly all night long, together with him, witnessing the vicissitudes and the rise and fall of the city's history.

Evans looked at his father behind him. Falcone's figure did not show any signs of old age, he was still very upright, and he always looked proper in a suit.

In the end, the godfather extinguished the cigar in his hand and said, "I just wish, he will indeed be your longest-lived house teacher."

On the dock in East Gotham, lighthouse beams' reflected off the sea's surface, waves resembling a flock of golden fishes incessantly surged forth, a cargo ship left the harbor in the darkness.

The smell of blood on the deck hadn't yet dissipated, the dead bodies of the crew members were tossed into the cold sea. A burly man standing at the bow spat on the ground, saying, "We've suffered a huge loss this time, lost several men and didn't earn a penny."

"Don't worry about it, at least we got away," said another man next to him.

Suddenly, while they hadn't gotten far from the port, the dull sound of a bell came from Gotham city, the tremor-inducing bell sounded seven times. The leader on the bow asked doubtfully, "Why are they ringing the bell in the middle of the night?"

"Who knows? Maybe it's to see us off," the man next to him shrugged off and said.

There was a faint noise from above, following which, a figure in black and yellow appeared on the mast.

"Indeed, it's to see you off... the death knell."