Schiller still chose to go downstairs. Wearing his pajamas, he waded through the chaotic living room, reached the front door, and glanced through the peephole.
Standing outside were the old cop and a familiar face: Gordon's old partner at the precinct, Harvey Bullock. He was still as potbellied as ever.
Schiller opened the door and looked at them. "I'm afraid I don't have time for questioning right now. I've got a whole pile of trouble waiting to be dealt with."
"We're not here to question you, Professor." Bullock narrowed his eyes with a smile, casually tossed his extinguished cigarette butt into the nearby trash can, and pointed behind him.
Behind them, Schiller saw a strange, bulky machine about waist-high. A hose extended from one of its ports, ending in a vacuum head.
"I've stressed to those young punks over and over that they need to wear shoe covers when entering someone else's home, but there are always a few who refuse to listen." The old cop spoke pointedly. "Especially the newcomers. They charge around without a care in the world."
"We can't just let them keep fooling around like this." Bullock leaned against a porch pillar. "Otherwise, all the good image we built up before will have been for nothing. But there's not much we can do about them for now, so all we can do is try our best to clean up after them."
Bullock patted the machine. "Allow me to introduce an industrial cleaning machine. We happen to have someone who knows how to operate this thing. It works as both a vacuum and a floor scrubber. Apparently, it can even level soil and tend lawns."
"I know those newcomers made a complete mess of this place," the old cop said. "We'll take responsibility for cleaning your porch,