Chapter 812: Red Hood (3)

In the end, Red Hood still went out with Jason, and they walked the dark streets of Gotham, a dangerously reckless act—nighttime Gotham was countless times more dangerous than daytime.

But equally, setting out at night did grant the advantage of initiative, after all, everyone knew Gotham's nights were dangerous, and anyone willing to take the risk stood a good chance of great reward.

"You mean a gang boss you know assigned you a task—to find a foreigner named Vandal Savage, because he broke into the Falcone family's territory last night?" Red Hood asked, following behind Jason: "But he didn't cause any real damage—just showed up and vanished…"

Jason paused his steps and said: "Looks like you're a complete greenhorn."

"In Gotham, entering another gang's territory is itself an act of provocation. Sure, Gotham has all kinds of accidents forcing some gangs to cross others' turf—it's unavoidable. But if you have spare hands, you send someone to explain the situation."

"This Savage guy didn't just show up recklessly—he also left without so much as a word, even more impolitely and recklessly."

"Then what should he have done properly?" Red Hood asked.

"If he truly wandered in by accident, he should've raised his hands the moment he was spotted."

Jason was about to continue, but Red Hood interrupted: "Don't gang members all carry guns? If he raises his hands, doesn't that mean he's surrendering? Won't they just shoot him?"

"Of course not," Jason said firmly. "If he's an accidental intruder and someone important, and you shoot him dead, not only you but your boss could face serious trouble. No one's that reckless."

Red Hood nodded, and Jason went on: "If you truly had an emergency, after leaving and finishing your business, you should call the gang's territory and apologize."

"Of course, if it's serious, you might need to visit in person—but visiting isn't like apologizing to a peer. You go straight to their boss."

Red Hood listened intently; he knew these were essential qualities for any gang member. Jason sped up: "If the damage is extremely severe, the two gang bosses must sit down and resolve the dispute."

"And if they can't resolve it?" Red Hood asked.

"Then you bring in a third-party judge. Usually, it's the head of the major gang overseeing the area. If both gangs are high-ranking, it involves the Twelve Families."

"Usually, it's the heir of one of the Twelve Families who handles these matters—it's training for them, because in these disputes, you see every kind of gang ecosystem."

"For example, some gang conflicts arise from profit—someone stole another's truck route, used another's warehouse, and so on…"

"Are there conflicts not about profit?" Red Hood asked again.

"Of course there are—and plenty of them," Jason said, a strange expression crossing his face as if recalling something: "I remember the last time I heard of a Twelve Families dispute—it was when a gang boss's mistress stormed his home. His wife, pregnant at the time, was so frightened she miscarried."

"It was his own fault, but the mistress had ties to another gang boss—not direct kin, but still connected."

"The miscarried wife wasn't without backing either—her family was the strongest among the three nearby gangs. Furious, she went to her father and demanded he avenge her. He was furious too, and went straight to the mistress's gang."

"The wife's husband had his own gang, which even cooperated with the mistress's gang—he didn't want his father-in-law causing trouble. But the father refused to back down, and the three gangs ended up in open war."

"Eventually, it reached the Twelve Families. Spencer's eldest son was studying abroad, so only his eldest daughter could appear. She naturally sided with the legitimate wife—but that angered the gang boss."

"Because his father-in-law had caused a scene, his business deals fell through, and he lost face. So he decided to divorce his wife."

"When he heard his daughter had failed to mediate—and even caused the divorce—Old Spencer was displeased. He stepped in himself, but all three sides gave conflicting accounts. Mediation had been working, but the legitimate wife believed Old Spencer favored the mistress, and they knew they couldn't challenge the Spencers…"

"Furious and unable to swallow the humiliation, the legitimate wife picked up a gun and shot the mistress dead. Now it was a direct slap in the face to the Spencer family. Old Spencer planned to summon both husband and wife to talk things through…"

"But the wife, still weak from the miscarriage, had endured a long mediation process—anger had damaged her health. The moment Old Spencer sent the invitation, she was rushed to the hospital's emergency room."

She wasn't saved after a night of emergency resuscitation. At that moment, the gang boss suddenly remembered he cared for his wife—he blamed the Spencers for the injustice. Back and forth, the matter eventually reached the Godfather…

"And then?" Red Hood listened intently; he'd never imagined gangs had stories like this—he thought all tales were about blade-edge survival and gunfire.

"I don't know how the Godfather settled it, but eventually everything calmed down. Still, the Spencer family's eldest daughter and her father were completely estranged, and the eldest son returned from abroad—inheritance was still up for grabs."

Jason merely recounted the facts, but Red Hood heard more beneath them—he instinctively felt this wasn't just a petty family feud; there was deeper calculation.

Yet through this story, he'd already grasped certain gang orders, and he couldn't help but admire the Godfather.

Gotham's gangs weren't wild beasts free to roar and claw—they all wore collars, tethered by a single rope, yet all of it was disguised beneath rules and etiquette, and obeying them became a mark of honor.

This made Gotham's gangs vastly different from gangs elsewhere—they had countless rules, even replacing law's social role with unspoken customs.

It was nearly equivalent to rewriting an entire legal code—imagine the difficulty. It was a very deep pool, but only by touching the surface could you see how deep it truly was.

The two walked along chatting, exiting the street. At the corner, Jason glanced left and right. Red Hood looked at him and asked: "Do you have a target? Where are you looking for Savage?"

"Of course. A foreigner can't hide long in Gotham—everyone here is a gang informant. If he wasn't noticed and reported as suspicious, it means he's hiding somewhere with almost no gang members—or very few."

Red Hood blinked. "The Saxon Hotel?"

Jason opened his eyes wide, then narrowed them at Red Hood: "So you're a rich man—you even know about a place like that?"

Red Hood stayed silent, but Jason didn't press. "Right—the Saxon Hotel in downtown Gotham was built jointly by wealthy merchants who didn't originate here and hated gang members prowling their homes. So they pooled money to build a luxury hotel, nearly matching the Wayne Hotel in opulence."

"The waiters and staff were all brought in from other cities, occasionally rotated to other locations. They had little contact with gangs. Residents didn't need to show licenses—exorbitant room rates already screened out anyone trying to sneak in."

Jason walked forward as he spoke: "The Saxon Hotel's facilities aren't as luxurious as the Wayne Hotel, but its price is triple. Put simply—those who go there are out-of-town suckers who think staying inside means Gotham's crime won't touch them. I can only say: they're naive."

"Why say that?" Red Hood asked.

Jason sighed: "They want to isolate it—keep violent gangs away. But why don't they think: as long as this building stands within Gotham, they'll inevitably interact with Gotham people."

"First, people living there have to eat. Fine—suppose they spend fortunes flying in ingredients by helicopter landing on the roof. But after eating, there's tons of kitchen waste, plus human excrement from guests and staff. Do they think they can fly the shit out to another city?"

Red Hood's expression vanished beneath his mask, so no one saw his stunned gaze. To deduce the Saxon Hotel's location alone had already beaten 99% of Gotham's population. To pinpoint its weakness so precisely in such a short time? That qualified as strategic genius.

The Saxon Hotel was created by merchants who came to Gotham to do business but feared its crime—they needed to engage with the city, yet despised its chaos, so they built themselves a safe haven.

So they united to build the Saxon Hotel, branding it "a land-based cruise ship"—completely detached from everything around. It attracted many wealthy newcomers who wanted to do business in Gotham but feared for safety.

Room rates were exorbitant—absurdly high—screening out most opportunists.

Gangs had no interest in spending that much to live among rich people. Sure, the Saxon was luxurious, but it didn't match the Wayne Hotel. If they wanted luxury, why not just go to the local Wayne?

But as Jason said, "land-based cruise ship" was just a gimmick. A cruise ship dumps waste into the sea—but this hotel stood on land. Trash couldn't be tossed anywhere, excrement had to be removed—so contact with the outside world was unavoidable.

This strategy might sound dirty, but it wasn't. Transporting anything from inside the hotel to outside inevitably involved many connections.

If the hotel sent its own vehicles and drivers, those cars drove past gang drivers. The dump sites were Gotham's landfills, surrounded by Gotham people. Paying waste fees meant dealing with Gotham's municipal bureau—still Gotham people.

The hotel was essentially a scam by its owners to fool outsiders—claiming zero contact with Gotham, yet in truth, its ties ran far deeper.

"When I was on night watch, I once saw their transport trucks—around this time, they'd send kitchen waste to the incinerator, then return to the hotel."

Jason peered around the corner. "We can hitch a ride on their return trip, slip inside. Once we confirm the weirdo's really there, we don't need to do anything—just go back and report."

Then Red Hood asked another question: "If you can deduce he's here, then whoever's looking for him can deduce it too. So why publicly issue a citywide manhunt? Why not just send people here to grab him? That'd be more efficient."

Jason rolled his eyes: "Who told you it's a citywide manhunt? If the Godfather ordered a citywide alert, Gotham wouldn't sleep tonight—streets would blaze with lights, everyone would be out searching every corner."

"Then what's happening now…"

"The info was only given to the kids. The gang boss specifically told the kids they could show their faces to the Falcones—meaning this weirdo's trying to humiliate us, so we must humiliate him back."

"Have a kid find him, then send someone to drag him to the estate, and make the kid confront him face-to-face. What greater humiliation could there be?"

Jason crouched by the corner, peering out—completely unaware the masked figure was staring at him with burning eyes.

Beneath the mask, deep-set eyes glowed a brilliant blue.