Dr.
Hugo Strange had pulled off a completely absurd stunt after robbing the casino.
He took a small amount of the stolen cash, carefully washed the bloodstains off the bills, and paid it back to Maroni as a high-interest loan installment.
It was a blatant, open provocation.
Unfortunately for Strange, Maroni was way too distracted by the sudden massacre at his establishment to pay any attention to the doctor.
Hearing that the two runaways had been brought in, Maroni tightened his tie, grabbed his cane, and walked toward the study.
By then, Vincent had finished reading through the comic book.
Batman had investigated the crime scene at Gordon’s request, following the massive hole in the restroom floor straight down into the sewers.
There, the vigilante discovered piles of thick hair and a torn paper bag bearing a biochemical hazard label.
After returning to the Batcave, those clues allowed him to successfully track down Dr.
Strange.
But right when Batman prepared to enter the laboratory, the pages turned blank once again.
*I don’t get it.
If the casino trap was my inevitable trial, does that mean breaking into Stranger’s lab is another fixed event in the story?* As he stood lost in thought, a sequence of footsteps echoed outside the door.
The heavy door swung open, and Maroni walked in, his slick, gold-tinted hair gleaming under the dim light.
Exhaling a thin breath, he slipped off his tailored gray plaid suit jacket and tossed his cane high into the air.
He caught the cane firmly by its tip, swinging it like a golf club straight into Oswald’s jawbone.
*Crack!* The sharp sound of fracturing bone cut through the room.
Oswald collapsed to the floor, bleeding onto the deep ochre Persian rug as his body writhed in agonizing, worm-like contortions.
“Now,” Maroni muttered, his cold eyes shifting away to fixate entirely on Vincent’s face.
“What do you have to say for yourself?” “The casino hit wasn’t us,” Vincent argued, forcing his voice to remain steady.
“I know that.
If you two ungrateful shits actually had the balls to pull off a heist like that, I’d be the one bleeding on the floor right now.” Letting out a dismissive scoff, Maroni swung the cane down again, burying the tip directly into Oswald’s exposed back.
The sharp metal edge shredded Oswald’s suit jacket, ripping open a deep, jagged wound across his thin back that left the raw flesh completely exposed.
“What exactly do you want from us?” “If you know who the killer is, fantastic.
If you don’t, I don’t give a damn.
All I want is someone to pay the bill.” Maroni delivered another brutal strike.
This time, Oswald didn’t make a sound.
The pure agony had already knocked him unconscious.
“You better talk fast.
I don’t think he can take much more of this.” *He doesn’t care about justice or finding the actual criminals.
The bastard only cares about his stolen millions.* Seeing Maroni lift the cane for another strike, Vincent shouted, “Three days!
Give me three days, and I’ll find your goddamn money!” The gamble paid off.
Maroni stopped his swing.
A cold smile appeared on the mob boss’s face as he wiped the blood off the tip of his cane with his thumb.
“And why should I believe you’re going to hunt down my cash, rather than using these three days to skip town?” “I know who did it.
It’s Dr.
Hugo Strange!
He couldn’t pay back his debt, so he robbed the casino to pay off his debt.
The freaks who slaughtered everyone are almost certainly his latest biological experiments.” Faced with immediate execution, Vincent abandoned all caution, dumping every piece of information he had learned from the comic book.
*But what if he asks how I know?
What if he demands proof?* Panic flared in his chest.
“A very detailed fairy tale.
But how exactly does a low-level grunt know anything about biological experiments?” Maroni shifted his grip back to the handle of the cane.
He already knew about the genetic anomalies from his own informants inside the Gotham Police Department forensics unit.
Because of that, Vincent’s source of information mattered immensely.
If the explanation didn’t add up, Maroni wouldn’t hesitate to drive the metal tip straight through Vincent’s eye socket.
Vincent bit his inner lip so hard it bled.
*I don’t have physical evidence.
Every single detail came from a comic book.
I have no tangible proof.* “I don’t have physical evidence,” Vincent said, keeping his eyes locked on Maroni.
“But back at the casino, Mr.
Pantone mentioned something to us.
He said Strange had biological monsters floating inside nutrient vats in his lab.
Oswald heard it too.
You can ask him when he wakes up.” “You’re saying Pantone and Carlo told you that…” Maroni’s expression shifted slightly.
He had sent those two exact enforcers to collect from Strange just yesterday.
Furthermore, the silent, black-and-white security footage from the casino lobby had captured Oswald and Pantone speaking before the attack, seemingly validating Vincent’s claim.
But what truly smashed through Maroni’s skepticism was the cryptic remark Dr.
Strange had left behind when he dropped off the loan repayment earlier that afternoon.
*Do me a favor and give my regards to Mr.
Pantone.
Tell him to stop dropping his cigarette ash into my chemical solutions…
oh, I almost forgot.
I suppose he won’t be having that opportunity anymore.* “So it really was that son of a bitch Strange.
No wonder that broke rat could suddenly have five million dollars.
He was paying me back with my own goddamn money!” Sensing Maroni’s hesitation, Vincent pressed more.
“The cash he brought back is dirty too.
If you don’t believe me, just check it with…” “Bring the briefcase Strange dropped off, and get a blacklight in here now!” Maroni barked, cutting Vincent off.
A man rushed into the room with the equipment.
Under the harsh violet glare of the ultraviolet bulb, the washed and dried bills began to reveal their true state, one by one.
“Boss, this one has blood traces!” “This one does too.” “The whole damn stack is covered in it!” Listening to the reports, Maroni’s eyes narrowed into twin slits.
They knew who was responsible, but taking him down was a different story.
The Gotham Police Departement was entirely unreliable, and with so many eyes watching the syndicate, the Romans had to handle their own problems.
Yet Maroni knew the extent of the massacre inside the casino.
If he sent a standard hit squad to corner Strange, the desperate doctor might unleash those three monstrosities, costing him dozens of his best men.
His eyes drifted back down to Vincent.
This man was entirely different from the rest of his brainless muscle.
Vincent had remained perfectly calm under direct threat of death, using nothing but raw intuition and minor clues to dismantle the mystery.
He possessed the exact traits required to survive this assignment.
*The comic book ran out of ink right before this.
I know exactly what proposal is coming next.* “Give me three days, and I will do my best to locate the money,” Vincent said.
In reality, Vincent had absolutely no intention of setting foot near that high-casualty suicide mission.
His only goal was to take Oswald’s broken body and vanish from Gotham forever.
Whether Maroni saw through the lie or not didn’t matter.
The mob boss didn’t survive in this underworld by trusting his employees; he survived by holding their leashes.
“Dealing with a smart man is always a pleasure.” Maroni extended the toe of his leather shoe, hooking it beneath the jaw of the unconscious Oswald to direct his bloody face toward Vincent.
“Whether he lives or rots depends entirely on your performance.
And don’t even think about leaving the little Penguin behind to save your own skin.
My eyes are everywhere, and my ears are incredibly sharp.
Try to run, and you won’t even make it past the Financial District.” Vincent barely noticed the threat.
A single name had just blown his mind completely.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.
What did you just call him?” “The Penguin.
That is our dear Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot’s nickname, didn’t you know?” Vincent slowly closed his eyes, drawing a deep breath of the hot, cigar-choked air into his lungs.
*Oswald is the Penguin.* *This pathetic, bleeding youth will one day rise above Maroni, crush Carmine Falcone’s skull under his heel, and take the throne as the undisputed King of Gotham.* With that single realization, his chaotic mind miraculously dropped down to a freezing calm.
He accepted it completely.