Chapter 94: Burial

For Maroni, this St. Patrick's Day was indeed bloody.

Not only bloody, but black.

At this moment, he suddenly recognized the deliveryman who had been bringing takeout to this secret hideout during this period; this person was the waiter who had worked in his restaurant that day and had served Bruce Wayne.

During this week, he had been delivering pizzas to the people in this hideout, so he was not the Holiday Killer—because this hideout was only determined by his own dice roll the day before yesterday, and then he moved in to live there.

But this person had appeared in his impression only twice in total, and during these two days, the psychological trauma he suffered was greater than the sum of the past few years; now, the moment he saw this person's face, he would recall his shattered restaurant and the hideout washed out by blood—even though these things were not done by him.

Thus, when he saw that guy raise a pizza to signal him, he immediately made a reflex response.

"Boss, pizza?"

"Get lost!"

Bang!

Ma Ma Zhaodi looked at the pizza box pierced by a bullet, helplessly shrugged his shoulders, and seeing that the rain had stopped by now, he casually took out a slice of pizza, held it in his mouth, and rode his bike home.

"Sigh, what bad luck; no mission to do, couldn't even sleep in, and breakfast is a bullet-pierced pizza—hmm, my cooking skills are truly excellent."

Gotham TV was very efficient; by that morning, everyone knew from the news programs that the Holiday Killer had committed another crime.

Before today, everyone knew the two major gangs were about to clash, and everyone had more or less prepared themselves mentally for it, but at this moment, those preparations were instead in vain.

Falcone and Maroni probably wouldn't fight, and there wouldn't be a scene of bodies littering the streets in the city, but by now, a pile of corpses had already been moved into the cemetery. Even though they were gang members, after witnessing this St. Patrick's Day dyed red with blood, no one had the heart to care about this festival that should have become very lively.

The families of the deceased were heartbroken, Gordon and Harvey were busy until their heads were on fire, Maroni was calming his own psychological trauma, and the Godfather had once again lost the lead on the Holiday Killer, sinking into a long silence. Everyone in this city seemed to be more or less shrouded by the gloom named "Holiday Killer," not knowing whether they should look forward to the arrival of the next festival.

Ma Ma Zhaodi, however, received one hundred thousand US dollars from his supervisor three days later, along with a message—no need to work overtime so hard; if you need rest, just stay at home and rest.

What the hell is overtime? I was just looking for a part-time job—but Ma Ma Zhaodi certainly wouldn't say that, after all, the pay he gave was indeed high.

【Ding】

【You have a new part-time job available, please check and receive it】

【Green St. Patrick's Day

Mission Introduction: St. Patrick's Day, originally green, is now red—even the legendary Saint Patrick perhaps could not have foreseen such a day.

Note: Tree planting comes before, Qingming follows; the former hopes for new life, the latter commemorates the departed; the Spring Equinox is approaching, perhaps it is a good season for planting trees.

Status: Pending Completion (0%)

Reward: Green St. Patrick's Day】

A mission of unclear meaning, bringing a reward of unclear meaning, but the rewards given by part-time jobs have always been quite substantial, so regardless of what the mission reward actually means, Ma Ma Zhaodi planned to get it in hand first.

At noon, Jason, who was explaining automotive mechanical knowledge to his little friends, saw Ma Ma Zhaodi rush over and asked him curiously, "Is there anything special today? Why did you rush over early, and even call to tell me to boil water sooner?"

"Anyway, it's almost lunchtime." Ma Ma Zhaodi shook his head: "I'll rush over first to make porridge for you; I have something to do this afternoon and won't be able to come—actually, I won't be able to come these next few days, so let's skip the lessons for now."

"What matter?"

"Planting trees for the dead."

Ma Ma Zhaodi skillfully poured the already processed five grains into the pot; seeing him make porridge, Jason simply gathered around with the other children.

"Sounds very meaningful."

"Actually, it's very tiring, and besides, once a person is dead, they are dead; funerals can only comfort the living."

"Can we plant them?"

"Not today; if those with bad tempers draw guns and shoot, I can't protect you."

Ma Ma Zhaodi paused suddenly as he spoke: "However, if that group doesn't draw their guns today, you all call the other children tomorrow and come with me—this matter is also somewhat meaningful for you."

Three days after St. Patrick's Day, Gotham City, suburban cemetery.

Under the dark, heavy sky, chaotic and messy rain lines stretched from heaven to earth, endless and boundless; people wearing black suits and holding black umbrellas stood silently in a long queue here; no one engaged in conversation; everyone silently faced the newly erected tombstones.

This was a lonely and desolate cemetery; apart from the sound of rain, only the tombstones and the crowd, silent as the tombstones, remained.

The burial process for the family members had been fully completed; it was worth mentioning that both the Maroni and Falcone gangs were called "families"; in other words, their internal culture advocated collective honor and encouraged members to establish relatively deep emotional connections.

Named "family," in reality, they could also be considered half "family members."

After everyone finished observing a moment of silence, they quietly walked out of this cemetery, but suddenly stopped without moving forward.

A person wearing a black cloak walked past the cemetery gate in the rain, and also past the line formed by the black umbrellas; his steps were very slow; in one hand he carried a shovel, and in the other hand he shouldered a cypress sapling.

No one saw his face clearly; they only noticed that he ignored the Maroni family by the roadside; he walked to the edge of the forest, put down the sapling in his hand, and began filling the already dug hole with the tree.

The atmosphere at this moment was unusually silent; everyone quietly watched him walk over, then silently waved the shovel, and beside him, a row of small trees had already been planted.

Who was he? Why did he appear in the cemetery? And why did he come here to plant trees?

Until he finished filling that tree, a black umbrella in the crowd couldn't help but step forward two paces, wanting to question that person, but at this moment, that person straightened his body, walked to the first tree, and gently patted it.

"Richard Daniel." His voice rose in the rain curtain, like a sigh: "Died by gunshot."

"He said: 'In the future, I must marry her, have two children, one boy and one girl.'"

As soon as the words fell, the small cypress sprouted a bit of green branches and leaves; an owl flew through the rain to the branch and cried three times.

That person walked toward the next tree.

"Johnny Vitti, died by gunshot."

"He said: 'I have thought more than once, if I had gone to court that day to report my uncle Falcone, would I have had a chance to be a good person?'"

"Johnny, life has no ifs."

Another three cries sounded.

(End of Chapter)