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Chapter 155: Party and Umbrella (7)

"Vicin Umbrella Shop? Oh... that's really old news."

In the office of the Gotham police station, Brock was smoking a cigarette and leaning on the filing cabinet as he spoke to Gordon. "You know, I'm from the East District, born and raised in Gotham, a kid from the slums."

"I remember when you first came to Gotham... that was a few years ago, right? Yes, at that time, the East District was still very prosperous. There were four major families, blocks of high-end clubs, bars, and even the best strippers," Brock reminisced.

"But don't think of it as a wretched slum," he continued, switching the cigarette to his other hand. "The East District was once very prosperous, centered around Green Street and spreading out to dozens of other streets, including Elizabeth Street, which is now the center of gang activity. But back then, Elizabeth Street wasn't that big of a deal. If you wanted to talk about prosperity, Green Street was still the top."

"But now, it's a bit..." Gordon frowned, touching his mouth. "I went to see it a few days ago when I was working on that case, and it really doesn't match what you're saying..."

"Of course, like I said, that's all in the past. Probably five or six years ago, or maybe seven or eight, it was still the most prosperous commercial center in the East District. The Vicin Umbrella Shop was located in a back alley there, but don't think it was remote. It was actually the best location," Brock said.

"That shop was the most special one in the East District, where the gang rules over the commercial street, usually filled with bars, dance halls, and high-end restaurants. A Vicin umbrella shop there was quite out of place," he continued. "However, the customers of that shop were high-end. The old umbrella maker, Vicin, was very skilled, and the handmade umbrellas he made were a symbol of status for the Gotham gang bosses. Whoever could carry an umbrella with the Vicin emblem was a person of high status in the Gotham gang world."

"I know," Gordon nodded. "When I first came to Gotham, there was a craze for handmade products, a retro trend that led the East Coast and even the whole country's aesthetics. Everyone said that machine-made things were cold and soulless, only handmade things had taste."

"Perhaps, but not entirely," Brock walked over and sat in a chair. "You know Gotham's weird weather, umbrellas are really useful things."

"Indeed, all the gang bosses in Gotham would only buy umbrellas from him, so many other umbrella makers stopped working. Nowadays, there's only him, the only handmade umbrella maker in Gotham," Brock said.

"His skills are indeed beyond question, but his temperament is also very strange. When I lived in the East District, I heard that he only sold his umbrellas to a certain group of people, and no matter how much money the others offered, they couldn't buy umbrellas," he added.

"Really?" Gordon looked at Brock skeptically. "Those gang bosses didn't get their hands on them for nothing. If this old umbrella maker dared not to sell them umbrellas, wouldn't they cause trouble for him?"

"I don't know about that, but it seems like there wasn't any conflict," Brock shrugged.

"I feel like you won't find any clues from him. He was probably just caught in the crossfire," Gordon sighed. "Kevin's death is related to Fish's death, but I can't find any clues from Kevin. I can only try to find something from others. Do you think...?"

Gordon shook his head, overturning his own speculation, and said, "Forget it. It's unlikely. The craze for handmade products is over, and a Gang boss like Kevin who didn't go to school wouldn't go for handmade custom umbrellas. Our informant has never mentioned that he knew the owner of the Vicin Umbrella Shop. They might just be strangers to each other."

"But I still feel that there's something fishy about them dying in the same case," Gordon straightened up, standing with his arms akimbo. "There have been a lot of incidents where gang shootouts affected others, but I just feel that this case is strange..."

"Your intuition has always been accurate," Brock said to Gordon. "How about this? Later on, I'll go to the Vicin Umbrella Shop again. After all, I grew up in the East District and am more familiar with it. If there are any clues, I'll let you know..."

"That's all we can do," Gordon said. Just as he finished speaking, a young police officer knocked on the door and said, "Boss Gordon, Mr. Falcone is here."

Gordon and Brock hurriedly went out and saw Commissioner Evans upstairs, dressed in a suit and leather shoes, with a few bodyguards behind him. The situation looked as if he were the owner of the police station.

Evans inherited his father's good looks, tall and straight, handsome, and inherited a beautiful head of golden hair from his mother. But his image didn't look like a gang godfather, but rather like a celebrity actor or a passionate artist.

Upon seeing Gordon, he turned around and shook hands with him, saying, "Gordon detective, I've heard of your name from my colleagues and teachers. You're a good police officer."

Gordon and Brock accompanied the commissioner and Evans in conversation. In Gotham, even though Evans was the prime suspect in a murder case, all the police officers had to treat him with respect and even as a guest because of his last name, Falcone.

Just as they were about to take Evans to the interview room, Evans said, "No need, I have something to say here..."

In the basement of a hotel on Elizabeth Street, Maroni screamed in agony as Batman broke his legs with a steel pipe. Maroni cursed at him, "You meddling freak..."

Batman's voice was as cold as ever. "I stopped you from killing the hotel owner. It's not because I happened to be passing by. Obviously, I have something to ask you, and you better cooperate."

Maroni glared at him fiercely 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, "Did you shoot Fish?" Maroni seemed surprised by the question and gasped for breath in pain. But Batman gave him a shot of adrenaline to keep him awake.

"You better cooperate, or I won't know which part to break next." Batman kicked his arm, and Maroni screamed like he was dying. Finally, he surrendered and said, "Yes...it was me."

"Why did you do it?" Batman asked.

"I had a grudge with Fish."

Batman kicked his broken arm again, and Maroni screamed in pain. He trembled and said, "Someone threatened me...I had no choice..."

"Who threatened you?"

Maroni was silent for a long time. No matter how Batman interrogated him, he refused to say that name.

Finally, Batman said, "I know the location of Maroni's family stronghold, and I know where your core forces and wealth are hidden. If you don't want a fire that no one can survive to break out there, you'd better cooperate with me..."

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

"Evans Falcone."

In the hospital room of Arkham Asylum, Schiller withdrew his arm, put down the umbrella, and placed the tip of the umbrella on the ground. He said to Copperpot, "Don't tell me you bought this umbrella. You should know that you can't afford it."

"So, did you steal it or rob it?" Copperpot looked as if he had been humiliated, pursing his lips and staring at Schiller. "This is what I deserve!"

Schiller placed his hands on the handle of the umbrella, stood in place, and asked Copperpot, "Why do you say that?"

Copperpot turned his head and didn't answer.

Just then, the door of the hospital room was knocked. Schiller turned his head and said, "Come in."

It was Gordon who came in. After scanning the situation in the hospital room, he looked at Copperpot and finally fixed his gaze on Schiller, saying, "Little Falcone confessed."

His tone was full of disbelief. Gordon swallowed and said to Copperpot, "I know you can't believe it, because I can't believe it either."

"But the fact is, before I came here, about tens of minutes ago, The Godfather's son, Evans Falcone, came to the police station..."

"Then he admitted to ordering Maroni to kill Fish Mooney."

Copperpot froze in mid-action, his eyes almost bulging out of their sockets. Then he fell back onto the bed, muttering to himself in disbelief, "He ordered Maroni to kill Fish, then what did I do? What did I do?"

"I..." Copperpot choked, and from his expression, it was clear that in just a few seconds, he had gone over all his plans and actions in his head. Then he said with certainty, "It's impossible. How could young Falcone... This doesn't make any sense."

Gordon sighed and said, "Who says it doesn't? Both Brock and I were shocked. Evans stood in the police station, surrounded by police officers, and told us that he had come to confess. He admitted to ordering Maroni to kill Fish."

"He didn't have a motive to do that," Copperpot looked at Gordon and said. "Aren't we police officers who pay the most attention to criminal motives? What reason does young Falcone have to do this? What benefit does killing Fish bring him?"

He had just asked the question when he said in disbelief, "Well, killing Fish might indeed benefit him a little, such as intimidating others, but he shouldn't..."

"I know what you want to say," Gordon interrupted him. "Even if The Godfather's son is stupid, he wouldn't use this method to eliminate his competitors. More importantly, even if he did, there's no reason for him to confess."

Assassinations like this are common in Gotham. Gordon frowned deeply. He could feel the deep marks between his eyebrows almost etched into his face. "Everyone knows that this kind of thing happens every day, but it's not a reason for him to bring it to the forefront."

"What does he want to do? Why involve the police station?"

When Gordon said this, he felt ridiculous. What reason does a murder case have to involve the police station? Oh my god! What is he talking about? Is he still a police officer?

But in Gotham, this is a default truth for everyone. Assassinations between gangs will not involve the police, because it will be looked down upon by other peers and greatly damage their reputation.

But now, The Godfather's own son has come to the police station and openly admitted to killing Fish. The nature of this matter is completely different.

If he didn't admit it, no one could force him to, because he was a Falcone. But now that he has admitted it, no one can turn a blind eye to it, also because he is a Falcone.