Chapter 39: Haha, I'm Doomed!

While Ma Ma Zhaodi was working his third job, Prosecutor Harvey Dent had already returned home early.

Tonight was not quite as imagined; that fire was of great importance, yet not urgent. He did not even need to stay long at the scene and could simply turn around and go home, because for him, there was temporarily no work left to do.

As for Johnny Viti's murder case, that was something Sheriff Gordon needed to worry about. As for himself, he had already promised Greta to go give candy to the neighborhood kids.

If he returned late, she might get sad again.

Harvey drove home. The time was still relatively early, so he opened the door with a happy mood.

"Hey, Harvey, you're home so punctually today?"

"Ha, I already made an appointment with you, Mrs. Dent."

At that moment, the doorbell suddenly rang outside.

"Guess who's here?" Greta said, turning to come to the front door.

"How would I know? Wait, let me open—"

A sense of alertness rose in Harvey's heart in that instant. This was not because of some strange premonition, but because he realized that if someone wanted to launch an attack on Halloween night, this would be a perfect opportunity.

One only needed to bribe a child to deliver a carefully wrapped bomb as a Halloween surprise, and almost no one would be on guard against it.

But before he could finish speaking, Greta had already opened the door.

"Trick or treat!"

Several "mischievous" ones suddenly jumped out, interrupting his delusions. No bomb, no attack, no gang retaliation—just a peaceful and happy Halloween night.

After all, what reason did Falcone have to take revenge on a small-time prosecutor like himself? He had gone to check license plates in his nephew's party parking lot and got beaten up; such a figure had absolutely no motive to act against him.

He smiled self-mockingly, feeling he was perhaps worrying too much, then walked to the door and, together with his wife, began handing out candy to the kids.

"Happy Halloween, little ones."

"Happy Halloween! Mr. Harvey!"

"Happy Halloween, Mrs. Dent."

Meanwhile, on the other side, at the Gotham City Police Department in downtown Gotham.

Gordon flipped through a mountain of files, glanced at his watch—it was already late at night—and casually extinguished his cigarette butt on a Halloween-themed ashtray sitting on the desk.

"Happy Halloween, Batman. Thank you for your gift."

"Happy Halloween, Sheriff Gordon—go home early to be with your family."

Gotham's Halloween night passed. Except for a bizarre murder, the night was as calm as a beautiful dream.

But for some people, what happened in Gotham tonight was like a nightmare.

—

Today was a peaceful morning. Ma Ma Zhaodi, as usual, drove his beloved little wheelchair to work.

His mood was excellent. He had finished all three jobs in one night, bringing him considerable gains. Even setting aside that small pumpkin lantern, just the two hundred thousand asset points, the Intermediate Culinary Mastery, and Solomon Grundy's friendship were already enough to make him feel it was well worth it. When he left, Grundy even shook hands with him in a friendly manner.

"Pumpkin man, scary, good person."

"Pumpkin man, friend, hamburger, delicious."

For this reason, Ma Ma Zhaodi decided to bring delicious food to Grundy every day from now on. Although Grundy would not starve to death, he would indeed remember Ma Ma Zhaodi as a friend.

Perhaps one day, if Ma Ma Zhaodi encountered a super-villain or a killer organization again, he could shout "Grundy, save me!" into a sewer grate, and then see the big guy squeeze through the sewer opening and climb up to help him.

Of course, if possible, Ma Ma Zhaodi would much prefer that this hypothetical situation never happens.

"Good morning, Santos, Rick, Castro. How was last night?"

He cheerfully greeted his colleagues, but strangely, the three who usually talked and laughed did not respond to him. Instead, they looked at him with strange eyes.

"What's wrong? Your faces look a bit off."

"Ah? Ah, good morning, Ma Ma Zhaodi."

"Good morning."

"Good morning, Ma Ma Zhaodi. Did you go do some part-time work last night?"

"Hmm? Yes, I went to do some part-time work."

"Oh, oh, you weren't at home?"

"You can't work part-time if you stay at home, Castro." Ma Ma Zhaodi looked at the three with some confusion. Their speech today lacked their usual briskness and instead seemed somewhat hesitant.

"Um... I want to confirm. Are you new to Gotham recently? Haven't joined any gangs?"

"Oh my god, what on earth are you talking about? Of course I haven't joined any gangs. Can't you see? I can barely even use a gun. I'm still training every day at the shooting range introduced by the supervisor—wait, you three are really acting strange today. Did something happen?"

"Uh, did you read today's Gotham Gazette?"

"Haven't bought it yet—what's wrong?"

"Then what about today's Gotham morning news? Haven't seen that either?"

"What exactly are you talking about?" Ma Ma Zhaodi frowned. Seeing his colleagues' hesitant manner, a strange ominous premonition suddenly surged in his heart.

"What's wrong with the news?"

"You see for yourself."

Santos handed over a newspaper. Ma Ma Zhaodi casually took it, glanced at it, and the headline that came into view made his pupils widen involuntarily.

"Johnny Viti Assassinated; Ugly Pumpkin Left at Scene!"

"Last Halloween night, Johnny Viti, the nephew of Gotham City Godfather Falcone, was found dead in the bathtub of his own villa. According to the forensic identification, Johnny's fatal wounds were two shots fired directly into the head."

"The murderer left the murder weapon, a. 22 caliber Clipper pistol with its serial number filed off, at the crime scene. No fingerprints were left on the gun. Also left at the scene were two items: a makeshift silencer made from an infant's pacifier, and a pumpkin lantern."

"No cash was stolen from the villa. According to police speculation, this case should be a revenge killing. Sheriff Gordon stated that the key clue in this case lies in the uniquely shaped pumpkin lantern left at the scene."

Dumbfounded, Ma Ma Zhaodi turned the newspaper page with trembling hands. On the back of the newspaper was printed the image of the pumpkin lantern left at the crime scene.

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

"Haha, I'm doomed!"

(End of Chapter)