Party and Umbrella (8)

Gordon’s head was about to explode, and Cobblepot had also fallen into a state of questioning his entire life.

His doubts were no smaller than Gordon’s, because he had originally been the mastermind behind the whole affair.

Looking at his plan from Cobblepot’s perspective, he wanted to break away from the Godfather and build up some capital for himself—simply put, make some money and pave the way for his eventual comeback.

So he had repeatedly switched sides between Fish and Kevin. In the end, to completely shake off everyone who wanted to control him, he first used Fish to kill Kevin, then used Maroney to kill Fish, and finally planned to use the accusation against Maroney to clear the Godfather’s son and make a clean escape.

Everything before that had gone smoothly. Now they had reached the final step, but Cobblepot had never imagined that Evans would actually confess???

How was he supposed to carry out the last step of his plan now?

Actually, at this point, Cobblepot himself knew that he did not necessarily have to carry out the final step.

Because he really was mentally ill, not pretending. Even if he did not do one last thing for the Godfather, given his condition, the Godfather probably would not make things difficult for a minor with schizophrenia.

If the Godfather learned that Cobblepot was ill, he might even give him money for treatment.

The reason the Godfather was the Godfather was precisely because of that. He was not like those ruthless figures in movies and television who killed people to silence them after using them. On the contrary, many gang members who retired from the Falcone family received excellent retirement benefits. If they were sick, they received treatment; if not, they got houses and vacations, washed their hands of crime, and enjoyed their old age in peace.

Cobblepot knew that under such circumstances, the Godfather would not trouble him anymore. He no longer needed to rack his brains pretending to be sick or worry every day about whether the Godfather had informants somewhere, because he really had gone insane, with a diagnosis from Arkham Asylum’s attending doctor.

But Cobblepot could not accept his perfect plan ending in a mess. His mother’s episode and his own illness had already thrown his plan off course, leaving him with a lump in his throat and discomfort all over.

For someone with ambitions in the criminal profession, it was like tossing a rat turd into a pot of otherwise perfect soup.

Still, Cobblepot could barely accept it. Birth, aging, illness, and death were things no one could control. The fact that both he and his mother had fallen ill at this time could only be called bad luck.

But Evans’s confession clearly had some hidden reason behind it. It was not an accident. Cobblepot could not tolerate another mastermind appearing in his perfect plan.

Cobblepot could not help wondering, had he really misjudged him? Was Little Falcone actually the true mastermind?

Just as Cobblepot was lost in thought, Schiller’s voice pulled him back. Schiller stared at Cobblepot and said, "You still haven’t answered my question. Where did this umbrella come from?"

Gordon and Cobblepot looked at Schiller together. Cobblepot voiced what Gordon was thinking. "Is this really the time to talk about that? What could possibly be so important about it?"

Gordon added, "My dear professor! Stop obsessing over your broken umbrella!"

"This is serious! The Falcone family’s heir came to the Police Department and confessed to murder…"

Gordon pointed outside. "Just now, our newly appointed police commissioner had a hypertensive attack. He should already be in an ambulance."

"I just got fifteen calls in a row. The city’s only two District Attorneys said they had vacation plans booked two months ago and bought plane tickets overnight to leave Gotham…"

"Of the nine clerks at the Gotham courthouse, five came down with gastroenteritis, three got high fevers, and one suddenly lost his voice and rushed to the hospital for treatment. Even three of the five janitors broke their legs and cannot come to work tomorrow…"

"In just one hour, Gotham’s judicial system has been successfully paralyzed."

After saying that, Gordon himself laughed in anger. "I don’t even know how many times they rehearsed this. In an emergency like this, they all collapsed from top to bottom like dominoes within an hour. They ran faster than if the damn courthouse had caught fire…"

"What’s even more absurd is that we’ve received notices from twelve law firms saying they are temporarily closing. Right now, there isn’t a single lawyer in Gotham whose phone you can get through to…"

Schiller paid no attention to his complaints. He picked up the umbrella and poked Cobblepot’s injured arm with it. Cobblepot cried out in pain and recoiled.

He looked up and glared at Schiller, then lowered his eyes to his arm, which was still tied to the armrest. Resigned, he said, "Fine, but first I need to figure out what happened with Evans. I can’t allow…"

At that moment, there was a sound from the asylum balcony. Batman entered, carrying a chill and the smell of blood. Schiller turned to look at him, and Batman froze as well. He had not expected so many people to be here.

Schiller looked him over and said, "Gotham’s Great Detective is here. Let’s hear what he has to say."

Gordon sniffed and asked Batman, "What have you been doing? Why do you smell like blood?"

"That isn’t important." Batman’s voice remained cold.

"Maroney told me Evans Falcone ordered him to kill Fish."

"You’re too late." Gordon stood with his hands on his hips. "Evans has already confessed."

Before Batman could ask Gordon for details, Schiller knocked the umbrella against the metal rail at the foot of the hospital bed, making a loud clang. He raised his voice. "I hope you understand that this is my office. Let me speak first."

Schiller held the umbrella upright and said, "Answer my question, then leave and find somewhere else to hold your detective convention."

"God! It rains every day in Gotham, my umbrella is broken, and the umbrella repairman who could have fixed it is dead. How can you be so cold and heartless? Don’t you have any sympathy at all?"

Everyone else stared at him in silence. Schiller paused, then said helplessly, "Fine. If you have to solve your problems before you can answer mine, then you do not actually need to ask Evans…"

He lowered the umbrella and tapped the tiled floor with its tip again. Then he said, "I was the one who suggested he do it."

Gordon and Cobblepot’s eyes widened at the same time. Schiller set down the umbrella, sat behind his desk, and said, "It seems you’ll have to hear my version of the story from the beginning again."

Batman stood with his arms folded in a corner of the room, wearing an expression that seemed to say, I expected this.

Schiller took a sip of water, then began his account.

"About a month ago, Evans came to the psychological clinic at Gotham University and confided his troubles to his teacher."

"He had some conflicts with his father. The first half of the story sounded like a teenager’s worries, but the second half was far less pleasant, because his father was also Gotham’s Godfather."

"We all know that Old Godfather had originally planned to retire. He handed a large portion of the West End businesses over to his son and let him do as he pleased. Although Evans had not performed very well, Old Godfather was not in a hurry, since he was still young."

"But then Gotham’s reforms began."

"Clearly, Old Godfather had not originally wanted to retire because he was truly old. It was because he had already reached the top. No matter how hard he worked, there would be no further change."

"But Gotham’s reforms gave him new hope. They let him see the possibility of climbing even higher. So tell me, do you think he would still cling to the mindset of retiring early at that point?"

Gordon shook his head. "I met Old Godfather recently. He has always been energetic, but I could sense that something about his state had changed."

"Exactly. Falcone has ruled Gotham for forty years. He wanted to end his rule and hand his position to the next generation, not because he was no longer capable, but because it was lonely at the top. Other than cultivating the next generation, there was nothing else for him to do."

"But after the reforms began, everything changed. The Falcone family had too many new possibilities. The logistics industry needed managing, urban construction needed overseeing, cooperation with Chicago involved too many hidden games, and so did communication with Imperial City. Not to mention the East Coast coordination plan that was still on the agenda…"

Schiller tapped the desk. "If Old Godfather had originally treated all of Gotham as a training ground and handed it to his son, then he would not be so careless now."

Batman’s voice came from the corner of the room. "An emperor who has not yet grown old regains his ambition. Then the prince’s position…"

"Exactly. Evans was placed in an awkward position. His father had already handed over a considerable number of businesses to him, giving him the means to shake Old Godfather’s rule."

"But then his father suddenly decided not to step down, and even seemed prepared to rule Gotham for another forty years."

"Then the position of an heir who had already received part of the power could no longer merely be called awkward. It could be called dangerous."

"Evans told me all of this and came to seek my advice."

Schiller glanced at Gordon and Cobblepot. "You should know Old Godfather better than I do."

Cobblepot was silent for a moment before saying, "He loves his son, but that does not mean he would tolerate his heir having excessive ambition. He would not sit back and watch anyone else gain power that could threaten his position ahead of time."

Cobblepot suddenly understood. He looked at Schiller. "What advice did you give Little Falcone?"

"Of course, I advised him to retreat while the tide was high."

Schiller stood and slowly paced around the desk. "You should know better than I do that Falcone is generous in some respects, but he ruled Gotham for forty years through more than just tolerance and kindness."

"If Evans dared show any ambition to shake his father’s rule at this time, Falcone would not kill him, but it would be perfectly normal to place Evans under house arrest until he agreed to retire."

Gordon immediately understood as well. He glared at Schiller. "So you…"

"The Godfather once told Evans to kill Maroney with his own hands. Evans did catch him, and he could have killed him, but I suggested he make better use of him."

"Of course, what happened afterward was Evans’s own brilliant creation. It had nothing to do with me."

"Evans first acted impulsively, clashing with every gang boss while handling the interpersonal relations in Living Hell. Then he ordered Maroney into Living Hell and had him kill those gang bosses, damaging his own reputation…"

Then he looked at Cobblepot, who said himself, "So Maroney and I hit it off immediately…"

"Just as you said before." Schiller looked at Gordon. "An heir who starts out reckless and impulsive, hesitates when handling matters, and then resorts to assassination when cornered looks truly foolish and poses no threat."

"Not to mention that he sought out the police." Gordon added helplessly.

"More importantly…" Schiller pulled a medical record from beneath the desk. "Just as expected, the moment Little Falcone said he wanted to go through the proper trial process, Gotham’s judicial system collapsed. That allowed him to skip bail, trial proceedings, judgment, and imprisonment, and fast-forward straight to medical parole…"

Gordon wore an expression as though he had eaten shit. "…And then he could meet up with you here, right? You even prepared the medical records in advance…"

Schiller pointed to the bed beside Cobblepot. "That is his bed."

"Medical parole for mental illness means he can avoid appearing before his father for a very long time." Batman gave the final summary. "That is good for both of them."

"All right, the story is finished." Schiller turned his gaze back to Cobblepot. "Now you should answer my question, shouldn’t you?"

Everyone’s gaze followed Schiller’s movement and fell upon the umbrella he had raised.