Chapter 155: Party and Umbrella (Part 7)_1

"Vicki's Umbrella Shop? Oh... that's a blast from the past."

In the Gotham Police Department's office, Brock was lighting a cigarette, leaning against the filing cabinet, telling Gordon, "You know, I was born and raised in the East District, a child from the slums of Gotham."

"I remember when you first came to Gotham... It must have been a few years ago, right? Back then, East District was still very prosperous. There were four big families, blocks of high-end clubs, various bars, and clubs, even the strippers were the best."

"Don't assume it's just a ragged slum." Brock switched hands with his cigarette, took a puff, exhaled smoke, and drifted into his memories.

"The East District was once very prosperous with Green Street at its heart, radiating out to dozens of streets, including Elizabeth Street, where the mobs now congregate. But at that time, Elizabeth Street wasn't considered anything special. If you're discussing prosperity, Green Street was second to none."

"Well, that place is a bit..." Gordon frowned, touching his mouth corner, saying, "A couple of days ago when I was working on that case I went to check it out. It didn't look quite like you described..."

"Of course, I've told you, that was all in the past, about five or six years ago... or maybe seven or eight years ago. That was the most prosperous business center in the East District. Vicki's Umbrella Shop was located in a back alley there. It might seem like an out-of-the-way place, but in actuality, it was the prime location."

Brock exhaled another puff of smoke and continued his recollections,"That was the most unique shop in the East District. The shopping streets under mob rule were usually full of bars, dance halls, and high-end restaurants. An umbrella shop seemed somewhat out of place there."

"However, the clientele of that umbrella shop was high-end. The old umbrella craftsman Vicki was very skilled. The handmade umbrellas he made were status symbols for the bosses of the Gotham Gang. If someone walked around with a Vicki's umbrella, it signaled that they were the upper crust of the Gotham Gang."

"I know." Gordon nodded and said: "When I first came to Gotham, the appreciation for handmade goods was just beginning, a retro trend was leading the aesthetic tastes of the East Coast and even the entire country. Everyone was saying that machine-made things were cold and soulless, only handmade items had taste."

"Perhaps so, but that's not the whole story." Brock walked over, sat down in a chair and continued. "You know Gotham's weather; umbrellas are really practical."

Gordon had his elbows on the desk, pressing down on it, flipping through a file, and said, "That old umbrella craftsman was pretty skilled, right? It's a pity he's dead."

"Indeed, all the bosses of the Gotham Gang would only go to his shop to buy umbrellas, so many of the other umbrella craftsmen quit. Until today, he was the only remaining handmade umbrella craftsman in all of Gotham."

"His craftsmanship was indeed superb, but he also had a weird temper. When I was still living in the East District, I heard that he only sold umbrellas to certain people. Even if some people were willing to pay a high price, they couldn't buy an umbrella."

"Really?" Gordon looked at Brock and questioned, "Those mob bosses are not easy to deal with. If this old umbrella craftsman dared to refuse to sell them umbrellas, wouldn't they create problems for him?"

"I'm not sure about that, but it seems like there were no major conflicts." Brock shrugged.

"I guess you wouldn't find any clues from him. He might have just been a collateral casualty."

Gordon insisted: "Kevin's death is linked to Fish's death, but I couldn't find any clues from Kevin. So, the only thing left is to start from others. What do you think, could it be..."

Gordon sighed, rejecting his own speculation, and then said, "Nevermind, unlikely. The handmade goods trend has already passed. Kevin, an uneducated gangster boss, wouldn't engage in customizing handmade umbrellas. Our informants also never mentioned that he knew the boss of Vicki's Umbrella Shop. They're probably strangers."

"But I always feel that their deaths in the same case are a bit suspicious." Gordon stood up straight, hands on his hips, stating: "There have been many cases where mob mutual killing has implicated others, but I just feel that this case is strange..."

"Your instincts have always been accurate." Brock said to Gordon: "Let me go back to that umbrella shop later, after all, I grew up in the East District, and I'm pretty familiar with that place. If there are any clues, I'll let you know..."

"That's all we can do."

Just as Gordon finished his sentence, a junior officer knocked on the door and announced: "Boss Gordon, young Mr. Falcone is here."

Gordon and Brock immediately rushed out the door and went upstairs, where they saw the Chief of Police making small talk with Evans. Evans was all dressed up in a suit with several bodyguards trailing behind him.

The scene made it look like he was the master of the Police Department.

Evans inherited his father's good looks. He was tall with an upright posture, handsome features, and had even inherited a beautiful head of blonde hair from his mother. However, his appearance didn't make him look like a gangster godfather, but rather a movie star or an enthusiastic artist.

When he saw Gordon, he turned around, shook hands with Gordon and said, "Detective Gordon, I've heard a lot about you. I've heard from my classmates and teachers. You're a good cop…"

Gordon and Brock made small talk with the Chief of Police and Evans.

In Gotham it's just like that, even though Evans was the prime suspect in a murder case, all the police officers have to be polite to him, even treat him like an honored guest, because his last name is Falcone.

As they were about to escort Evans into the guest room, Evans said, "No need, I have something to say here..."

In the basement of a hostel on Elizabeth Street, Maroni screamed. Batman broke his leg with a steel pipe. Maroni cursed fiercely, "You meddling freak…"

Batman's voice was as indifferent as ever, "I stopped you from killing the hostel owner. But this is not just because I happened to pass by. Clearly, I came to you for a reason, and you better cooperate."

Maroni glared at him venomously and said, "Don't expect me to tell you anything! You son of a bitch..."

Ten minutes later, Maroni was lying on the ground, all his limbs broken. Batman asked him, "Was it you who shot Fish?"

Maroni seemed surprised by the interrogation angle. He exhaled sharply, pain nearly knocking him unconscious. But Batman shot him with a dose of adrenaline to keep him awake.

"You'd better cooperate, or I don't know which part of you I will break next," Batman threatened, giving Maroni's arm a kick. Maroni screamed in agony that sounded almost like death. Finally, he conceded, confessing, "Yes... it was me... indeed it was me…"

"Why did you do it?"

"Fish and I have bad blood."

Batman stepped on his broken arm again, causing Maroni to scream violently, before managing to trumble out, "Someone threatened me… I had no choice…"

"Who threatened you?"

Maroni stayed silent for a long time, refusing to give up the name no matter how Batman tortured him.

Eventually, Batman said, "I know where the Maroni family hid its core powers and fortunes. If you don't want to see a deadly fire there, you'd better cooperate with me..."

Maroni lay on the ground, seemingly dead. Just when Batman thought he wouldn't speak again, Maroni rasped out a name in a hoarse voice.

"Evans Falcone."

Inside a ward at Arkham Mental Hospital, Shiller drew back his arm, put down his umbrella, and then propped the tip on the floor. He told Cobblepot, "… Don't tell me you bought this umbrella, because you can't afford it."

"So, did you steal it, or did you rob it?"

Taking as if insulted, Cobblepot glared at Shiller, retorting, "I deserved it in the first place!"

Shiller crossed his arms on the umbrella handle, standing still, asking Cobblepot, "Why do you say that?"

Cobblepot turned his head away and didn't answer.

At that moment, there was a knock on the door of the ward. Shiller turned his head and said, "Come in."

It was Detective Gordon. He quickly surveyed the situation in the ward, glanced at Cobblepot, and finally came to rest on Shiller, announcing, "Young Falcone has confessed."

The atmosphere in the room froze. Cobblepot, as if electrocuted, almost leaped from the bed, twisting his head and shouting at Gordon, "What did you say? Who confessed?"

He couldn't believe it. Detective Gordon swallowed hard, telling Cobblepot, "I know it's hard for you to believe because I can't believe it either."

"But the truth is, about forty minutes before I came here, Mr. Falcone's own son, Evans Falcone, voluntarily showed up at the police station…"

"And he confessed to put a hit out on Fish Mooney."

Cobblepot froze, his eyes nearly popping out of their sockets, before collapsing in disbelief, muttering to himself, "… He had Fish Mooney killed, then what did I do? What have I done?"

"I..." Cobblepot sputtered, visibly upset. After a few seconds, it was as if he had replayed all his plans and actions in his head, and then he asserted confidently, "Impossible, why would young Falcone... that doesn't make sense."

Detetive Gordon sighed and said, "Who said it does? Both Detective Brock and I were flabbergasted. Evans just stood there in a police station full of officers, telling us that he came to turn himself in, that he had instructed Maroni to kill Fish."

"He has no motivation to do so." Cobblepot looked athe Detective Gordon, "Don't you cops always consider criminal motive? What reason does young Falcone have to do this? How does killing Fish benefit him?"

Rhetorically asking his question, it then struck him. "Okay, killing Fish might actually benefit him in some ways, like intimidating others, but he shouldn't..."

"I know what you're trying to say. Even if the godfather's son is stupid, he wouldn't resort to such tactics to remove his competitors. More importantly, even if he did, there's no reason to surrender,"

"Gang assassinations are all too common in Gotham," Detective Gordon, brow furrowed, pensively noted, "Everyone knows this. But, this is not a justification for his confession."

"What is he trying to do? Why involve the police department?"

The idea seemed so absurd that it even caught Detective Gordon off guard. What kind of murder case would involve the police? Hell! What was he saying? Was he still a cop?

But in Gotham, this was an unspoken rule. Gang killings were handled within the gang, no police were ever called - lest the gang's reputation gets hurt.

But now, the situation was unprecedented. The godfather's own son had marched into the police station, boldly confessing that he had had Fish Mooney murdered. The nature of this was completely different.

If he didn't confess, no one could make him, because he was a Falcone. Now that he had confessed, everyone had to acknowledge, because he was a Falcone.