Chapter 9: You're Only Paid a Few Thousand a Month, Why Risk Your Life?

Just then, Gordon’s radio crackled to life. "Commissioner Gordon, we have a situation!"

"What’s going on?"

"Two bodies found in Crime Alley, East End. A man and a woman—they appear to be a married couple."

The three people in the car couldn't help but glance at Bruce, before realizing their rudeness and awkwardly looking away.

"…Commissioner Gordon, the couple’s identities have been confirmed. They’re from the Falcone family!"

"A mob hit?" Gordon frowned. "I’m heading to the scene now."

The Falcone family was one of the largest crime syndicates in Gotham City. Being of Italian-American descent, they carried themselves with the distinct aura of the old-school Italian Mafia.

"I think I’ll pass," Roland said. "I might still be able to find a girl without a date and salvage a late Valentine’s Day."

"Go ahead, stay safe," Gordon said, unlocking the car door and letting Roland out.

The next day.

"Falcone family loan sharks gunned down; murder-suicide not ruled out?" Roland read from the newspaper. "A husband and wife shooting each other? What kind of nonsense is this? The papers are getting more ridiculous by the day."

"Then stop reading it," Jason said irritably.

"Forget it, I swiped it from someone’s mailbox anyway, it didn't cost anything. Might as well make do," Roland continued reading. "Could it be a financial dispute where the creditors took them out?"

"Maybe it was a mob hit. The Falcones have plenty of enemies in Gotham," Jason said.

"Who knows," Roland leaned back in his chair. "Anyway, how much did we make for Valentine’s Day?"

"After paying the wages for my crew, we have sixteen hundred dollars left."

"That’s not bad at all." Roland rubbed his hands together. "Too bad Valentine’s Day only comes once a year."

"We could find ways to make money on other holidays too. Like selling Easter eggs or pumpkin lanterns for Halloween," Jason suggested.

"Wait, what did you just say?" Roland suddenly had a thought.

"Other holidays…"

"Do you think the 'Holiday Killer' could be the one who took out the Falcone couple?"

"You've heard of that legend too?" Jason scratched his head. "Isn't that just a Gotham urban legend?"

"The Holiday Killer only strikes on holidays, always leaves a souvenir related to the day at the crime scene, and the targets are always members of Gotham’s crime syndicates—especially the Mafia. The bullets used are always fired from a .22 caliber pistol."

Jason rattled off the details of the Holiday Killer. "That sounds made up, doesn't it? What kind of killer has that much obsessive-compulsive disorder?"

"You’re forgetting that Batman is also a Gotham urban legend," Roland reminded him. "Haven't you already seen him?"

"That’s true…" Jason nodded. "But the paper didn't mention any Valentine’s Day souvenirs at the scene."

"Maybe it was flowers or chocolates. Things like that wouldn't draw any attention at a crime scene," Roland said.

"So, are you planning to play detective?" Jason asked.

"Forget it." Roland thought about it. If it were a major, well-known event, he could use his foreknowledge, but the Holiday Killer wasn't exactly a high-profile villain. Besides, he hadn't read *Batman: The Long Halloween*; he only vaguely remembered that there were three different Holiday Killers involved. Who was he even supposed to look for?

"Let someone else handle other people's business. I’ve got enough on my plate; I need to focus on making money," Roland told Jason. "Go exchange that sixteen hundred dollars for food. I’m going to keep treating your little friends to meals."

"Probably not today," Jason said. "They picked up a lot of leftover chocolates and cakes from the trash cans yesterday. They’re all pretty full right now."

"…Hope they don't get poisoned by anything laced," Roland muttered.

"You think we’re some sheltered noble kids? We’ve been scraping by on the streets for years; we know when food’s been tampered with. It’d be embarrassing to fall for something like that."

"Fine, we’ll treat them in a couple of days then," Roland said. "Besides them, call over some of the homeless folks who can't afford a meal."

"What’s this about? Suddenly feeling generous?"

"I’ve always been generous, haven't I?" Roland thought for a moment. "Right, buy the cheaper ingredients. Try to get as many people as possible, and let's have a few more rounds of meals."

"Bosses! Big trouble!" One of Jason’s underlings burst into the church.

"What happened?" Roland sat up.

"Boss, did you hear? Two people from the Falcone family were killed!"

"I know," Roland nodded. "I saw it in the paper, but what does that have to do with us?"

"The man was Simone Falcone. He was the one in charge of the Falcones' loan sharking operations. After he died, a very important ledger went missing. Now the Falcone family is tearing the city apart looking for it. All of Gotham is in chaos."

"Good grief, are mob families really that intense? The whole city is in an uproar?"

"Yeah, we don't dare show our faces easily now, and a lot of our business is stalled."

"Alright, from now on, you guys come here to eat," Roland said. "And finding a place to sleep shouldn't be too hard, right?"

"Thanks, Boss. Knowing that puts my mind at ease."

Gotham City Hospital.

The Mad Hatter was receiving treatment. His entire body was covered in bruises, he had an unknown number of broken bones, and he was currently hooked up to several tubes.

Six armed police officers stood guard in the ward, terrified of any mishaps.

Just then, an Italian man in a sharp suit pushed open the door and walked in. He pointed at the Mad Hatter and said, "Ciao, officers. I need to ask him a few questions. Could you help me out?"

"He’s a suspect in a major case. No private contact is allowed. You should quickly—actually, go ahead and ask. We won't disturb you." The lead officer changed his tune as soon as he saw the line of gunmen standing behind the Italian.

"That’s better. You’re only paid a few thousand a month—why risk your life?" The Italian pulled out a stack of cash, distributed some to the officers present, and walked straight up to the Mad Hatter, pressing down on his wounds to wake him.

"Shh, don't play the fool. Tell me, do you recognize the person in this photo?" The Italian held a picture in front of the Mad Hatter.

"He is… the Dormouse."

"I see." The Italian immediately understood. He continued, "The ledger he was carrying—do you know where it is?"

The Mad Hatter shook his head blankly.

"Use some persuasion on him," the Italian said, stepping back and gesturing to his men.