Chapter 167: Old Acquaintance Returns

"That fugitive, the Riddler, is reported to have left his signature question mark on the wall of Gotham Plaza. Experts say this mark is highly unusual for the Riddler. Today, we have a guest from the Gotham College of Criminology, Kyle Castro."

Chief Gordon listened to the TV program broadcasting from the radio, his expression not looking good. A year had passed, and the Riddler had attempted to escape prison exactly three times, finally succeeding. Now, he had left a crime marker in the plaza again. Everything indicated that he was about to resume his criminal activities in Gotham City.

He immediately left the hospital and drove toward Gotham Plaza with other officers.

In Gotham's East District, Ma Ma Zhaodi looked at the room before him with satisfaction; his negotiation with the landlord had gone smoothly. Because he held a business card and the comedian had already called the landlord, the landlord did not mind renting the place to him even though he was a police officer. According to Ma Ma Zhaodi's guess, the landlord and that actor must have a very good relationship.

For a landlord pursuing safety, the identity and stance of tenants are very important. This building is maintained by gang forces, so naturally, there are many gang members inside, as well as a large number of lawbreakers engaged in illegal industries.

Although there are many corrupt cops in the Gotham Police Department, the landlord could not determine if Ma Ma Zhaodi was one of them, so before he moved in, the landlord gave him a very blunt warning.

"Remember clearly, this area is under the protection of the Falcone family. Do not cause trouble here. After work, you are not a police officer. If you dare to do things like shooting or arresting criminals in this building, get out immediately!"

Not bad, quite polite, Ma Ma Zhaodi thought. It was better than the landlord at Derek's rental place; that landlord's warning to tenants was blasting stone out with a shotgun.

He had no luggage with him, and the furniture in the small room could satisfy the daily life needs of an ordinary person, so he sat directly on the bed and used his phone to open the police department's internal radio channel—he had hacked into it, as his own radio had been confiscated.

No choice. Anyway, Batman definitely did it too.

"All officers, attention. The wall at Gotham Plaza has currently been protected for evidence collection. We have covered that wall with a cloth. Everyone in the nearby roads, pay attention to any signs of the Riddler. He just left a mark there, so he might not have run far yet."

"?" Hearing the radio exchange, Ma Ma Zhaodi looked completely confused: "What do you mean 'the Riddler might not have run far yet'?"

Wasn't the Riddler locked up in the hospital?

Did he escape again, damn it?

Although thinking carefully, Arkham couldn't stop a super-criminal like the Riddler from escaping prison, but being attempted to escape three times in two days, with two successes, still made Ma Ma Zhaodi feel somewhat helpless.

However, if prisons could actually hold people, super-criminals wouldn't be able to escape and continue doing bad things. Comic book writers must be quite troubled by this.

On the phone, the officers' conversation was still proceeding.

"Understood. Are there any victims at the plaza?"

"None discovered so far, but that question mark symbol and that sentence seem to have been written in blood. We cannot completely rule out the possibility that someone nearby was harmed. We are still searching."

"Understood—what sentence did he write?"

"I'm going to kill you, Joker. Then I will laugh out loud. Ha, ha, ha."

"Ah?"

"That's right, that's the only thing he wrote."

"But where is the riddle? Shouldn't he have left a riddle this time? Or, is this sentence some kind of profound riddle?"

No, Ma Ma Zhaodi thought in his heart. This sentence sounded completely unlike any riddle; it was just a direct mockery.

Others might not yet understand how serious it is that the Joker cannot laugh, but he had seen the Joker who wouldn't laugh in the theater, and the Joker's mood really didn't look good.

At this very moment, he had already thought about the possibility of this hitting the news. If the Joker heard that sentence, especially the three words "Ha, ha, ha" in the second half of the sentence, his mood would most likely get even worse—because he really wanted to laugh but couldn't.

"Kyle, what do you think?"

"Andrew, I can't say. This situation is very strange. The Riddler usually leaves a riddle at the scene hinting at the next crime, but this time is different, completely different. Look, he only wrote this: 'I'm going to kill you, Joker. Then I will laugh out loud. Ha, ha, ha.'"

The Joker, dressed in a tuxedo, stood before a mirror, carefully examining his face, while the sound of the news on the television came to his ears.

"That is abnormal?"

"That is abnormal, and very direct."

"But for a madman like the Joker, the Riddler, or Batman, what meaning does this directness have?"

He showed a series of smiles to the mirror: reserved and confident, cheerful and sunny. Finally, he even stretched out both hands, fiddling and rubbing his entire face, forcibly pulling the corners of his mouth upward. But unfortunately, his face was not plasticine; it could not be molded into shape just by rubbing.

No matter which kind of smile, it appeared quite stiff and discordant. This made the Joker even more irritable and unhappy. As soon as he let go, the corners of his mouth naturally drooped down. It proved that he could not forcibly laugh out while unhappy.

"I don't know either, Andrew. Their thinking is different from ours. Normal people cannot understand them. I can only say that I have been following their news. These people are not only crazy, but also smart. They can kill any one of us, or even everyone—and sometimes, I really feel they want to do that."

The Joker's face in the mirror shifted from several stiff smiles to despair, then to anger, and finally became gloomy and quiet.

"Thanks to Kyle Castro for the interpretation. Tonight, we will continue—"

Click—

The television was suddenly turned off. The Joker, with a gloomy face, took out his phone.

At the same time, in the suburbs of the Diamond District.

Today was a rare good weather day in Gotham. Birds were singing, flowers were blooming, the sky was clear, and the sunlight was abundant. In a forest surrounded by green shade, a white luxury villa sat atop a hill.

Sunlight shone on the tall double oak doors, on the natural limestone exterior walls, on the shimmering swimming pool, on the girl sculpture by the poolside—and on the man surrounded by several bodyguards in black suits next to the pool.

He wore a white suit and sat on a comfortable velvet chair, leisurely soaking up the sun.

Sunlight—this was something he had rarely enjoyed in Gotham before. It sounds funny, but it is the truth. Whether poor or rich, anyone living in Gotham City would understand the preciousness of sunlight.

The phone rang with a ding-ding-ding sound. He looked at this number he had never seen before, first feeling somewhat puzzled, then this puzzlement quickly turned to shock and anger, but ultimately, he still picked up the phone.

"Carmine, it's the Joker. I need you to do me a favor."

"I need you to help me kill the Riddler."

(End of Chapter)