Gordon carefully walked along the edge of the venue.
His old partner, however, Harvey Bullock, stepped straight into a thick pool of blood and lit a cigar in the middle of the casino.
“Careful.
Don’t destroy any clues the killer left behind.”
“Oh, give me a break, Gordon!
There are clues everywhere.
This guy wasn’t even trying to hide his identity.”
Bullock didn’t care in the slightest.
He took a deep drag on his cigar and smiled, revealing a mouthful of smoke-stained teeth.
He picked a playing card up from the floor.
It was as though the card had fallen into a bucket of glue.
It took him some effort to peel it free, and dark-red, sticky blood stretched from its surface before snapping back onto the floor with a wet plop.
“Good luck.
It’s an ace.
If I were you, I’d definitely raise.”
He whistled and glanced at the pitiful corpse beneath his feet.
The body had been torn completely open from shoulder to crotch, with a large pile of chips scattered beside it.
This had been a lucky gambler.
And an unlucky man.
Bullock shifted his attention back to the playing card and carefully plucked a single hair from it.
The hair was thick and stiff, like a pig’s bristle.
After handing the evidence over to the forensics team, Bullock exhaled a cloud of smoke, removed his filthy woolen fedora, and called out to Gordon.
“Buddy, find anything over there?”
“Yeah.
Something big!”
Gordon was examining the scratches on the wall.
The scratches were roughly ten centimeters apart.
The ones below were thin and shallow, while those above were short and thick.
They were typical primate claw marks.
Gordon held out his hand for comparison and estimated that if they had been made by a human hand, the killer’s palm would have to be at least as large as a car tire.
The killer possessed immense brute strength capable of tearing a living person apart.
And he had a pair of hairy hands.
Could it be Bigfoot?
Gordon’s heart skipped a beat.
Harvey began shouting from nearby.
“You know, some new guy was transferred here from New York to replace the district attorney who was assassinated by the mob last week.
I think his name was Dante…”
“Oh, right!
Same name as me.
Harvey Dent!”
“I hear the kid only graduated a couple of years ago, but he’s got one hell of a stubborn streak.
Quite a few wealthy businessmen and politicians in New York have ended up behind bars because of him.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
Gordon frowned and gently shook his head.
Even though he was considered a breath of fresh air within the Gotham police force, after decades on the job, he had learned when to let things go and when to turn a blind eye.
For the sake of protecting his daughter, Barbara, he had been forced to become the kind of person he despised.
If Harvey Dent really was as upright as the rumors claimed, he wouldn’t survive long in Gotham.
Bullock continued rambling.
“Commissioner Loeb just called me.
He said we absolutely have to solve this case before he gets here.
We can’t let some New York kid look down on us.”
“Look down on us?
The Gotham Police Department has been a laughingstock of New Jersey for years!”
Gordon blew out his mustache and gave a short, cold snort.
He knew this was all an excuse from that guy Gillian Loeb.
The real reason was that he didn’t want Harvey Dent interfering in cases involving Maroni.
But if he remained incorruptible, he’d interfere with Loeb’s ability to make money.
Either way, it wasn’t good for Loeb.
“Hey!
Come over here!
Look what I found!”
A young police officer poked his head around the corner and waved to the two old-timers.
They went over to take a look.
The bathroom looked as though a gigantic groundhog had dug through it.
Chunks of dirt and debris covered the floor.
The officer pointed at the large hole in the center.
“I think those monsters crawled out of the Gotham sewers.
Should we send someone down to search?
Maybe we’ll find more clues.”
Gordon and Bullock exchanged a smile.
“Go down and take a look?”
“Sure.
But let me make one thing clear first.
If we run into a monster, I’m running ahead of you.”
…
Oswald woke from unconsciousness.
He shakily climbed to his feet and leaned against the wall, vomiting a puddle of clear liquid.
“Will, where are we…
and where’s that damn woman?!”
“She ran off.
You didn’t seriously expect me to catch her by myself, did you?”
Will rubbed his nose and avoided Oswald’s gaze.
Until a minute ago, Catwoman had still been pestering Will.
Judging by how persistent she had been, Will probably wouldn’t have been able to sleep tonight if he hadn’t given her some kind of answer.
She had only reluctantly left after seeing that Oswald was about to wake up.
“I wasn’t I at the casino?
How did I end up outside?”
Oswald’s memories returned, and he finally noticed that something was wrong.
“Ah…
Yeah…
How did you…
Oh, right!
You forgot, didn’t you?
You came after me.
I noticed your face looked strange at the time.
So you’d already passed out?”
Oswald blinked.
His handsome face was filled with suspicion.
Will’s lie was terribly clumsy, but Oswald couldn’t possibly have guessed that Will had conspired with Catwoman to get him out of there.
The two exchanged a few more words.
Will estimated that the massacre should have ended by now, so he suggested returning to the casino.
But before they could even leave the alley, several tall figures blocked their path.
With the light behind them, Oswald couldn’t make out their faces.
But the killing intent washing over him was unmistakable.
“You go first!”
He stepped in front of Will and drew the dagger from behind his belt.
“You’ve gotten yourselves into serious trouble.
You dared to come after the Romans.
Are you prepared to be hunted across the entire city?”
“What the hell are you talking about?
The boss sent us.”
Oswald put away his dagger.
In Gotham, “the boss” generally referred to Mr.
Maroni.
But Mr.
Maroni had already sent people looking for them.
Could something major have happened?
He stepped closer and took a careful look.
They were actually Maroni’s personal bodyguards.
These men were all products of Blackgate Penitentiary, so it was no wonder they carried such a heavy aura of killing intent.
But they normally stayed at Maroni’s side without leaving him for even a moment.
Today, however, they had made an exception.
Something had clearly happened.
And it was probably something big.
“Well, you guys talk.
I won’t bother you.
I’m heading out!”
Will sensed that something was wrong and was just about to slip away.
But there were people blocking the other end of the alley as well.
The black muzzle of a shotgun was pressed against his forehead.
He could only obediently raise his hands.
A black hood was pulled over his head, and Will was forced into the vehicle with his arms twisted behind his back.
Unable to see, he was overwhelmed by panic.
Whether in the movies or comics, Maroni was little more than a supporting player among Gotham’s many villains.
Aside from serving as cannon fodder for a third faction, his only notable achievement was throwing acid into Harvey Dent’s face and creating the memorable character known as Two-Face.
But that was all from the perspective of the all-powerful Batman.
To an ordinary person like Will, the second-in-command of the Roman Empire, whose influence extended throughout Gotham, was terrifying enough simply by virtue of his title.
Not to mention that the man possessed a cold-blooded and ruthless nature seemingly carved into his very bones.
He was a tyrant who regarded human life as worthless.
Whenever one of his subordinates made a mistake, they could expect brutal punishment involving broken hands and feet.
And just look at what he and Oswald had done.
They were supposed to catch a thief, but they hadn’t even caught anyone.
Maroni would certainly assume that they had neglected their duties and fled in the middle of the operation.
For committing such an offense, Will didn’t even dare imagine what kind of fate awaited him.
The vehicle stopped.
The blindfolded pair were led through a winding route.
Will had no idea how much time had passed.
Then he heard a door open.
The hood was yanked from his head.
A dark study stood before him.
There was no one inside.
On the left, a tall built-in bookcase was filled with an impressive assortment of books.
On the right, there was only a spacious wooden desk, with a half-smoked cigar resting in the ashtray.
“Will, I think we’re in some serious trouble.”
Oswald licked his cracked lips.
His voice trembled, hoarse as though a large hand were squeezing his throat.
He knew this place.
Three years ago, the first time he had met Mr.
Maroni, it had been in this very study.
And back then, Maroni had wielded the ashtray, smashing it over some unlucky bastard’s skull again and again until his head was a bloody mess.
Will said nothing.
From the moment he had escaped the casino, the rest of the comic had already appeared.
At that moment, he was hunched beneath the light, frantically flipping through the comic, desperately searching for some clue that could keep him alive.