Chapter 36: Time to Make a Name for Oneself

The system had already flagged these items as illegal currency, so Ma Ma Zhaodi felt no particular aversion to setting them on fire.

However, the fact that someone could produce such a quantity of counterfeit bills in Gotham City and hide them so discreetly meant the maker was a professional; this implied Ma Ma Zhaodi better not get caught burning this small mountain, or he would likely face their wrath.

Being hunted by underworld figures was far more dangerous than brawls on a city bus or shootouts in a restaurant; that group would be single-mindedly intent on his life and would stop at nothing.

"System, system, can you confirm no one saw me when I entered?"

No one responded, so he could only submit the route map from just now to the system's query board.

"Infiltration process evaluation complete. Rating: Covert. No one detected."

Spending that one dollar asset point was quite worth it.

"In that case—" Ma Ma Zhaodi looked at the green small mountain piled with bundles of hundred-dollar bills and instinctively licked the corner of his mouth.

"Since I'm already here... why not pull off a job?"

"Gulp, gulp, gulp—"

As gasoline from the barrels was continuously poured onto the green bills, the pungent smell of gasoline immediately began to fill the warehouse. Ma Ma Zhaodi couldn't possibly run out of the warehouse again just to find gasoline, and the warehouse wouldn't stock gasoline that could help others burn their own paper money, so Ma Ma Zhaodi spent a few asset points to buy some from the system's Shangcheng.

He finally soaked every single bill thoroughly. To be honest, thinking that these colorful little cuties would be turned to ash in the next second made him feel slightly heartbroken.

This wasn't a rational judgment; it was purely the instinctive reaction of a unlucky poor soul who usually saved every penny and dared not spend, upon seeing a massive mountain of cash.

Despite this, it still had to be burned, after all, counterfeit bills couldn't be spent, and the importance of asset points in the system's Shangcheng needed no elaboration. With this mindset, Ma Ma Zhaodi casually struck a long match and gently placed it on the ground.

This match was also bought from the Shangcheng; its burning time was relatively long, so Ma Ma Zhaodi simply used it as a timing device. When the match burned down to the base, it would naturally ignite the gasoline on the ground.

Seeing that the necessary tasks were done, Ma Ma Zhaodi immediately turned and ran. According to his guess, this quantity of gasoline and bills was absolutely enough to ignite the entire warehouse. He should run as far as possible right now; once the fire started, the farther away he was, the lower the probability of being suspected.

So he once again followed the evacuation route provided by the system, using his slightly clumsy climbing skills to quickly escape the warehouse. Fortunately, a route suitable for his evacuation could still be found in this warehouse, which meant Ma Ma Zhaodi didn't need to spend asset points to upgrade his climbing skill further.

A pitch-black, slender shadow figure crawled out of the warehouse in a crooked manner. It darted back onto the street in a flash, blended into the crowd, put on that white ghost-face mask, and looked completely ordinary, just like a typical Halloween cosplayer, with nothing special to distinguish it.

Moments after the shadow figure left, crackling flames suddenly pierced out from the warehouse, and thick smoke mixed with the smell of burning gasoline and paper drifted through the street.

"Quick, quick, call 911 fire department! A building is on fire here!"

"Call the Gotham Police Department! Call the Gotham Police Department!"

Amidst the towering flames, no one noticed a figure in a black robe disappearing into the crowd of people in bizarre costumes.

"Shot twice in the head. If you ask me, no one who committed fewer crimes would encounter something like this."

"District Attorney Dent! I don't want to hear you say that again—neither in public nor in private!"

At this moment, a steady, heavy voice interrupted the two men's thoughts: "Let's get back to the main topic."

Hearing the voice from the darkness, Chief Gordon and Harvey Dent immediately stopped arguing. This person seemed to possess a leader's charisma; his thinking was always calm and clear, capable of viewing the whole situation from above and finding the key to breaking the deadlock.

"A. 22 caliber clipper pistol was left at the crime scene. The grip was wrapped, and the serial number was wiped off. The killer knows how to stop us from tracing clues; he is very professional in killing—or he is someone who understands guns and criminal investigation."

The two nodded.

"A baby pacifier used as a silencer. Cheap, but effective."

Speaking of this, he paused. The reason he hadn't brought up the third clue at the scene first wasn't because it was too inconspicuous, but because it was too conspicuous. At the scene of a murder case, it was like a lightbulb glowing in the darkness.

Just at this moment, the three of them turned their gaze to the last clue together.

"I don't want to be misled by this thing, but it—" Gordon hesitated, as if trying to find an adjective for it.

Amidst the twisted, painful expression, there seemed to be a peculiar artistic atmosphere. There were traces of Millet's classical school, a touch of Monet's Impressionism, Matisse's Fauvism, Munch's Expressionism, Balla's Futurism, Picasso's Cubism, and Dalí's Surrealism all reflected on this small pumpkin. In a word—

"It's too ugly." Harvey Dent bluntly took up his words: "I have never seen such an ugly jack-o'-lantern in my life. Carrying this thing around, even on Halloween, would make every passerby stare at it."

"This doesn't match the killer's cautious style." Batman summarized: "I can understand his ritual of leaving a jack-o'-lantern on Halloween, but I cannot understand the contradiction in his behavioral logic."

"Maybe he carved the pumpkin himself?" Gordon proposed a possibility: "If he didn't go to a store to buy a jack-o'-lantern, he wouldn't leave traces of being seen."

"Even if he went into a store to buy one, we still couldn't determine who it was—too many people buy jack-o'-lanterns on Halloween." Harvey shook his head: "Who could possibly carve such an ugly pumpkin? Can we find any clues like fingerprints on it?"

"Unlikely, the jack-o'-lantern was wrapped in a plastic bag." Gordon also shook his head: "But then again, it wouldn't hurt to look."

"Johnny Viti. Who has the guts to take a shot at him? Maroni?"

"Ring-ring-ring—"

While the group was talking, Gordon's phone suddenly rang.

"Hello?"

"Chief Gordon! Something huge has happened! A warehouse in the Diamond District is on fire! Black smoke is billowing out with several hundred-dollar bills—everything burning inside is money!"

"Huh?"

(End of Chapter)