Chapter 20: A Calm and Peaceful Day
“Screech—”
The truck’s brakes were slammed, and that bat-like figure reached out a hand, as if wielding a tremendous force, effortlessly wresting control of the steering wheel from Carl.
“Carl Scott.”
A cold, merciless voice emerged from its mouth, a rasping electronic duet that sounded like a demon’s cry descending from hell to earth, causing Carl to tremble all over.
“You know two members of the Falcone family.”
“I…” Carl instinctively wanted to deny it, but the words caught in his throat, unable to be spoken.
The bat’s pupil-less eyes locked onto him, its icy gaze seeming to pierce straight through his soul.
Yet Carl would never willingly divulge secrets about the Falcones. After a long silence, trembling, he finally stammered, “I’m just a truck driver…”
“What did those two have you do at four o’clock in the morning last Wednesday?”
“I…”
“You were involved in a hit-and-run on September 16th, three years ago. The woman carrying a child you struck suffered ruptured organs and died on the spot. You got out and watched the child in her arms bleed out before fleeing the scene.”
“On December 7th and December 25th two years ago, you smashed into a motorcycle and then ran over a drunk lying in the road; last year…”
As the mechanical voice recounted Carl’s deeds, his fear swelled until it twisted into a guilty, hysterical anger. “Enough! I don’t know what you’re talking about! You freak…”
“Crack.”
“Ah—!”
A black handgun clattered to the ground. Carl’s right arm, which had tried to draw the weapon, now hung limp and distorted at his side.
“Answer my questions.”
The bat creature’s tone remained calm and cold, as if it hadn’t just snapped Carl’s arm.
“Damn you… ah!”
“Crack.”
Carl fell from the truck’s door. Having just tried to open it with his left hand to escape, this time it was his right leg that broke.
“I’m telling you, I’m telling you!”
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The searing pain in his right arm and leg brought Carl to the brink of agony. He no longer dared resist this monster for the sake of two so-called good friends.
“I’ll tell you everything! Don’t hurt me!”
The bat stepped down from the truck, effortlessly lifting Carl with one hand like a mere chicken. With a flick of its wrist, a rope shot out. Moments later, both were swiftly ascending, leaping onto the rooftop of a nearby building.
“Speak.”
...
After Carl had confessed all he knew, he sighed in relief as the bat withdrew its gaze.
“I’ve told you everything I can. You’ll let me go now, right?”
But the bat didn’t even glance back. It pulled out Carl’s phone and dialed a number.
“Hello, Gotham Police Department.”
“Tell Gordon to come to the Audisburg district. There’s a fugitive wanted for multiple hit-and-run and intentional homicide charges here.”
Carl’s eyes snapped wide with rage. “No! You can’t do this to me! You lying freak!”
“Bang!”
A fist the size of a sandbag landed lightly on his mouth, rattling his teeth. Two of his front teeth were knocked straight to the ground.
Carl’s cheek swelled grotesquely, and he fell silent.
“I’ll keep the phone on. You can track him to the truck.”
Saying this, the bat hoisted Carl up again and delivered a swift chokehold, rendering him unconscious.
“Hurry up, and don’t forget the ambulance.”
With those final words, the black bat spread its wings and took to the night sky, vanishing into the dense darkness over Gotham City. It was already heading toward its next target.
As always, night after night.
...
“Where did you get such a strange contraption?”
“What strange contraption? I raced back from Audisburg in twelve minutes on this. Please show some respect for my beloved ride.”
“What, this unicycle can fly?”
“It’s a wheelchair, thank you very much.”
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Mazzodi flipped the unicycle over casually, and it transformed back into a ghostly wheelchair. The multicolored lights were off now—if left glowing indoors, they’d cause quite a light pollution.
“…”
Drake fell into a brief silence. From his perspective, neither a wheelchair nor a unicycle fit his stereotype of a high-speed vehicle.
Hmm, stereotypes.
“In any case, today’s work went pretty smoothly, right?”
“Harvey Dent showed up.”
“…No fight?”
“You really know what’s going on over there!”
“I’m not stupid. I can catch wind of things.”
Seeing Mazzodi’s mood grow somewhat unstable, Drake hastened to calm him.
“Relax, relax. This kind of thing is a rare incident. Harvey usually doesn’t go there.”
But whenever he did, trouble almost always followed—either gathering intelligence or forcing someone’s hand.
One year ago, someone couldn’t resist and fired a shot that hit Harvey’s bulletproof vest. That time, bedridden, he coordinated with Batman and Captain Gordon to use the opportunity to severely crack down on the Falcone family’s gray-market operations, even capturing a key family member.
“And putting those rare incidents aside, the tips are still pretty good, right?”
“That’s true…”
Mention the paycheck, and Mazzodi instantly calmed. The three hundred dollars he spent today on upgrades and driving came straight from those tips.
One must say, Gotham’s wealthy aren’t short of money.
The only downside was that the perfume of the rich lady he served clung stubbornly to the right side of his rear, leaving a lingering scent that made him silently lament the auntie’s sweaty hands.
No choice—such is life.
That night, Mazzodi casually browsed the waiter’s log on the system board. After all, a day’s work is a day’s work. As long as the pay was right, he took pride in his job and always sought to learn from the best to improve his service and earn more tips.
After enjoying a dinner cooked by Mrs. Camilla, he took a hot shower, counted his wages, cast a glance at the unlucky soul hanging from the gargoyle, and drifted peacefully into sleep.
It was Mazzodi’s third day in Gotham. Aside from running into Harvey Dent, nearly getting caught in a shootout at work, the ghost wheelchair, and being chased and sprayed with bullets by some fools on the way home, nothing else had happened.
Another day of calm and quiet.