The cold wind in the western suburbs of Gotham cut like a knife, sweeping past the bare hedges behind the wall.
Jay pulled his gaze back from the towering spire of Wayne Tower in the distance and looked at the faded, blurry sign by the gravel road ahead.
"Private Property…"
He had expected that, given Falcone's status, the estate would be as luxurious as the Palace of Versailles.
Instead, it was in a rather remote area of the suburbs, resembling a farmstead.
The tires crunched the thin layer of frost on the gravel, making a sharp, fragmented sound. The G20 spat out black smoke as it wound its way down the small path.
Bob had asked Logistics to "slightly fix" it, and they had truly only slightly fixed it.
Even the passenger door lock was jury-rigged with a thick iron wire, not to mention the suspension and steering—whether he could even drive it back today was questionable.
When the car finally sputtered to a halt and stalled at the entrance, Cobblepot, who was waiting on the porch, nearly had his eyes pop out of his head.
He probably hadn't expected a pile of scrap metal hastily assembled and filled with gasoline to actually run.
Watching Jay hop out of the car, carrying a box from the seat, he quickly hobbled forward two steps.
"Welcome, Officer."
Jay nodded and looked around.
The high walls and iron gates he imagined were nowhere to be seen. Behind a low stone wall was a slightly messy orchard, with bare apple tree branches reaching out.
The manor itself was a sturdy, two-story Tuscan-style building with a touch of Old World clumsiness.
The roof was covered with deep red terracotta tiles, and the paint on the balcony shutters had long faded to gray-white. Wisps of blue smoke drifted from the chimney, immediately dispersed by the wind into the lead-gray sky.
They bypassed the small fountain in front of the door—the cherub statue inside was not spraying water this season—and stepped onto the porch.
Amidst the hollow thud-thud sound of their steps on the wooden floor, they reached the parlor door.
Cobblepot tapped lightly. A moment later, someone opened the door a crack, revealing a pale, lean, skull-like face. The deep-set eye sockets were filled with lifeless emptiness.
"Officer Jay has arrived."
Cobblepot's voice was even more humble and slightly trembling than usual, and his bow was lower than usual.
Those eyes scanned Jay before the man stepped back and pulled the door open. Cobblepot gestured for Jay to enter, but Jay's attention was fixed on the skull-faced man.
A shiny, bald head, an expensive custom-made suit, and scars seemed to run inward from the exposed wrist under the cuff. He was staring back at Jay.
As the two brushed past each other, their gazes crossed like sharp blades, briefly sparking fire in the air.
"Officer… Jay?"
A fanatic light suddenly flashed in the skull-face's eyes, but Jay smiled and raised his hand to show him the box he was carrying.
"Shouting my name won't help. This gift isn't for you."
He turned to face the room.
Inside, it was unexpectedly warm. The floor was covered with several intricately patterned hand-woven carpets. The crackling fire in the fireplace and the burning logs cast a warm red glow.
The walls were not paneled but painted with aged cream-colored paint, adorned with a single richly colored Italian landscape painting.
In the main armchair at the center of the parlor sat a tall old man wearing a thick, open-front wool cardigan.
He looked… sturdier and more domestic than in his newspaper photographs.
His gray hair was neatly combed. The deep wrinkles on his face, illuminated by the firelight, made him look no different from an old newspaper vendor on the street.
But his eyes were like two polished, dark flints, sharp enough to pierce flesh and go straight to the bone marrow.
He held a steaming rough pottery mug. Seeing Jay enter, he slightly raised his hand toward the empty seat opposite him.
"Please sit, my boy. I heard Gotham PD has a remarkable talent, and I wanted to meet you."
Jay walked around the sofa, placed the gift box on the coffee table, and was about to speak when he suddenly glimpsed another person sitting nearby.
He turned his head and couldn't help but exclaim: "Gordon?"
He suddenly remembered he hadn't greeted the host yet and quickly turned back, gesturing.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Falcone." He pushed the box across the table. "This is a small gift I brought."
"Heh heh, that's very kind of you." Falcone smiled, straightened up, and reached for the gift box to examine it. "What fine thing is this? May I open it?"
"Of course. It's Keemun black tea… a type of tea from my hometown."
"Oh?" Falcone was about to hand the box to the skull-face behind him, but pulled his arm back when he heard Jay's words. "Zsasz, please bring me the paper cutter. I want to open this gift myself."
He reached back. "Victor Zsasz, my bravest guardian, my sharpest blade. I believe you've already met."
"Yes… indeed." Jay waved a hand toward Zsasz. "I bet his BMI is excellent."
Falcone smiled, took the cutter Zsasz handed him, and carefully sliced open the gift box's wrapping. "Keem…un… tea. I know this. It's a prize-winning rarity worldwide. Oh, look at this beautiful box. This gift is too precious."
"Uh… the region is the same, but this isn't the prize-winning kind." Jay rubbed his neck awkwardly. "That one is too expensive. I couldn't afford it."
"You are an honest boy." Falcone smiled and put the box away. "It's fine, I like it just the same. Cobblepot?"
He called out, raising his voice. Oswald pushed the door open and entered, bowing slightly: "Your Excellency?"
"Come, sit down." He patted the armrest on the sofa to his right, and then the one on his left. "Zsasz, you sit down too."
Cobblepot's face lit up. He quickened his limping pace, walked up to the sofa, thanked Falcone, and sat down.
Victor Zsasz shook his head, remaining silent, still standing behind Falcone.
"Alright, I must be frank. A lot has happened recently." Falcone took a cigar from the humidor on the coffee table, clipped it, and lit it.
Cobblepot tried to stand up to help, but Falcone waved him off.
He looked around the room and slowly exhaled a plume of smoke. "Some of you here are firsthand witnesses to the events; others have suffered losses because of them."
Jay, sitting opposite, clearly saw Zsasz's gaze silently flick toward Cobblepot.
Cobblepot's posture, which had been relatively straight, immediately shrank by half, and he tried to sink himself into the soft leather of the sofa.
"The cause of the matter is quite simple. Certain people in the family were blinded by greed and desire.
Fish Mooney—her betrayal wasn't of Carmine Falcone, but of this Family, of tradition, and of the wall of order forged over many years with blood and oaths."
He paused. Everyone in the room was silent. You could hear a pin drop.
Jay wasn't too bothered; back when he was in school, this kind of intimidating demonstration from the head teacher happened almost daily, so he was used to it.
His gaze drifted over Cobblepot's shoulder to the mantelpiece, where in an unassuming picture frame, a faded photograph showed a much younger Falcone and a few men standing on a fishing boat, with the murky water of Gotham Harbor in the background.
"…Wavering like grass on the wall, bending with the wind… Power is merely a tool, a heavy responsibility. Is this position… important? …
The Family, la famiglia… this is the blood that flows in our veins, older than any throne, more sacred than any oath!"
His mind wandered, and many words slipped past his ears.
It wasn't until he suddenly heard Falcone call his name: "…If not for the two brave officers, Gordon and Jay, things might have spiraled out of control."
"Huh?" He snapped back to attention.
Falcone was looking right at him. "Jay, I owe you an apology. To avoid unnecessary misunderstandings and turmoil.
I didn't let Cobblepot overly emphasize the tension of the situation, but I underestimated Fish Mooney's madness.
Also, some of the weapons in her ambush team leaked out from those fence-sitter families."
Ah… I get it! So you weren't even sure if you could control the situation yourself back then. Also, we aren't that close, so maybe don't call me by my nickname so intimately.
But those thoughts were kept strictly internal. He certainly wouldn't voice them.
"It's alright, Mr. Falcone. For me, encountering a terrorist attack on ordinary citizens during active duty naturally meant I couldn't stand by."
Jay smiled politely. "Although my colleague was severely injured and my car was destroyed, forcing me to pay for repairs out of my own pocket.
And I could only drive a half-wreck here today for this invited visit.
For an officer of the Gotham Police Department. We are never afraid of death, nor hardship.
We work diligently, striving to succeed. As long as we can maintain the city's stability, defend Gotham's peace, and guard the safety of innocent citizens, all of this is worthwhile."
Everyone present had likely never experienced this kind of "institutional speech."
Even a seasoned kingpin like Falcone showed a momentary look of bewilderment.
He regained his composure, flicked the ash from his cigar, and smiled: "That was wonderfully put…"
But then he fell silent. After a while, he brought the conversation back on track.
"I heard that Mr. Cobblepot took certain actions on his own initiative during this… attack, which also led to some misunderstandings." Falcone turned to look at Cobblepot.
The short man sat motionless in his seat, his hair plastered to his forehead, almost soaked with sweat.
"However, his plan also successfully exposed the criminals' actions and stabilized the situation. So…"
He looked at Jay, then turned to Victor Zsasz. "Zsasz?"
"As you wish."
Zsasz nodded, said nothing more, and simply stared expressionlessly at Cobblepot.
Sweat rolled down the small Penguin's neck, dampening his white shirt collar.
"So… Jay?"
"No problem! I even told Mr. Cobblepot the day before yesterday that his idea was effective, and if I were him, I would probably have taken the same measures."
Although Jay was still unhappy with Cobblepot, since the precinct had accepted both the money and the car, he couldn't very well take the money and then refuse to cooperate face-to-face.
"Besides, Mr. Cobblepot also donated quite a bit to the police department. Our Chief is absolutely delighted. Although my own car was smashed up by Fish Mooney's men, that's secondary, and it's worth it."
"Yes, for stability and order, it is all worth it." Falcone smiled. "Now those greedy people and fence-sitters have been cleared out by Zsasz.
Peace and tranquility have returned, and it will last for a long time.
Jay, you are honest. Don't worry about your car."
He waved his hand. Zsasz retrieved a small box from the cabinet and placed it on the coffee table.
Falcone opened it and took out two bundles of cash, placing one bundle in front of Jay and one in front of Gordon.
"We are all family. A family member's loss shouldn't be borne alone."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Falcone, but we are not family."
Gordon, who had been silent and almost invisible, suddenly stood up. "My name is Gordon, and I am a GCPD officer. I will never be family with the Falcone crime syndicate."
He turned to look at Jay, his eyes filled with undisguised contempt and disappointment. "You demanded that I be here today only to show me how an officer can be bought by profit, but I am not like him."
He looked up at Falcone, his eyes exceptionally firm. "To me, justice is priceless. You may be my father's friend, and I can respect you, but I will not compromise."
Having said his piece, he turned and walked away without hesitation. Zsasz moved to stop him, but Falcone raised a hand to halt him.
"Let him go." The Roman shook his head, then looked at Jay. "What about you, Jay? What is your choice? Do you also believe justice is priceless?"
"I believe justice is an incredibly precious, indispensable, rare quality or spirit that is worth striving and fighting for by everyone. Therefore…" Jay shook his head, swallowed hard, and reluctantly pushed the roll of cash back. "Justice costs more than that."
——————————
"What do you think?"
Watching the Chevrolet struggle away, trailing black smoke from the balcony, Falcone turned and asked Zsasz and Cobblepot.
"An ungrateful fool, that's all." Zsasz gave a cold smile. "Just give the word, and I can kill them both immediately."
"I find it very interesting," Falcone dropped the cigar in his hand and lightly clapped his hands. "Two men with completely opposite personalities rejected me for completely opposite reasons. That is very, very, very interesting."
He began to smile slowly. "My dear Mr. Cobblepot, can you tell me what you said to the Officer when you saw him off just now?"
Meanwhile, in the bumpy, rattling Chevrolet, Jay sighed deeply.
"Damn it, I didn't manage to walk away with anything this time. A total loss!"
——————
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