A Heart of Stone (Part 1)

A rainy night in Gotham. The rain in Gotham is always fine and long, with a bone-chilling coldness. The rain lines look like a gray net under the lights, and when they get close to the ground, each raindrop splashes up tiny water droplets.

The sound of an engine rose from the end of the dark alley, accompanied by the faint sound of water and the subtle creaking of tires over the uneven pavement. As the blinding headlights appeared at the back door of the Police Department, Gordon knew he was in trouble.

A limousine pulled up in front of Gordon. He saw the reflection of a rifle barrel in the car window, and a man in the rearview mirror nodded at him. No one spoke, and the whole process was as quiet as a Gotham night.

Gordon took a deep breath and reached for the pistol on his waist. Although the pistol had just been fitted with new parts, it did not give him any sense of security. In this city, the police could not obtain any law enforcement power with their guns, and they could not even protect themselves.

A man in a black suit got out of the car and opened the door for Gordon. Gordon glanced at his watch; it was 9:12 p. m. He was going to miss dinner with Barbara again.

Finally, Gordon got into the car. As the vehicle started, he looked out the window. The neon lights of the Shop signs flashed by, leaving a trail of red and blue light. Raindrops hit the car window, blurring the lights into an indistinct halo.

Gordon asked, "Who is the person I need to see?"

"You'll see when you get there," the person in the passenger seat replied.

As they drove onto a somewhat rugged road, the vehicle swayed a bit, and the headlights flickered on different buildings. Soon, they turned into an alley that Gordon had never been before. He knew that this should be in the East End, and on the most dangerous edge of the East End.

He got out of the car, and the man in the black suit led him to the entrance of a mansion. Two men stood in front of the gate, each holding a gun. One of them came up, and Gordon put his hands together in front of his forehead. The man took the gun from his waist, searched him up and down, and after confirming that he had no weapons, Gordon followed the man who led him inside.

The mansion was luxuriously decorated and brightly lit, but there weren't many people inside. Gordon went up to the second floor, and as soon as the person leading the way opened the door, Gordon saw a rather burly figure from behind. He knew that it was Sal Maroney, the newly promoted the Leader of the East District.

Maroney turned around. He wasn't handsome; he looked somewhat fierce, with a mouth that always turned down sharply, while his eyes always slanted upwards with a sinister air.

He twirled the ring on his hand and said, "Sheriff, please sit down. I'm sorry to have invited you over tonight."

"I don't know what's wrong with gang members these days. You're all so polite, you seem more like police officers than I am."

Gordon's reply was rude, and he didn't sit down as Maroney suggested, but stood up straight.

Maroney's expression was ambiguous, but he didn't seem to mind Gordon's offense. He said, "I invited you here to talk business with you, you know, the kind of business the mob always talks about."

"I don't do business with gangsters."

"Oh?" Maroney laughed. "That's a novel idea. I've heard some of you say that my offer wasn't enough, but I've never heard of anyone who didn't want to work with the mafia."

"That's the truth, I don't cooperate with any gangs."

"Then why did you get involved in the Godfather's business? Your Field Operations Team must have made a lot of money off his private prison network, right?"

"I'm just a cop; fighting crime is a cop's duty," Gordon said.

He was telling the truth. Even though he knew that the criminals he arrested were only bringing more revenue to the Godfather, his actions were indeed about arresting criminals. If this could bring him profit, that would be even better, but if not, Gordon would continue to do so. After all, he did the same thing when there was no business, and he was the One who did it.

"My conditions are very simple. You don't have to do anything. You just need to stall and find all sorts of reasons to prevent the Field Operations Team from going out."

Maroney spread his hands and said, "How simple! All you have to do is do nothing, and I will offer you a price that will satisfy you."

Gordon said, "I can see that you've been imitating the Godfather. I've never met His Falcone Gotham who think they are elegant, polite, and speak in a pretentious manner, even adopting an Italy accent like him."

"But that won't work, Mr. Maroney. You are not Falcone, and there will never be another Gotham in Falcone. At least for now, Gotham is the Godfather's Gotham, not yours."

Maroney's face darkened completely because Gordon had spoken his mind: he was indeed imitating Falcone, or as Gordon said, too many people in Gotham were imitating the Godfather.

Although they had never even attended secondary school, they still imitated Falcone, using all sorts of very elegant language to try and twist a short sentence into a long and complicated sentence with all sorts of complex grammar.

They wore suits and bow ties, pinned flowers to their breast pockets, and carried pens instead of pistols, just like the Godfather.

Falcone Gotham City. The Godfather's personal charisma is so strong that all the mob bosses imitate him, and Maroney is one of them.

When you arrive in Gotham, you'll be very surprised. The gangs here don't hire a bunch of kidnappers to abduct you. Instead, they drive a black luxury car and silently arrive at your doorstep on a rainy night. Then, in a luxuriously decorated room, they sit behind a black desk, dressed in a suit, and speak to you politely.

They didn't look like gangsters; they looked more like a group of old-fashioned nobles, all thanks to Falcone's influence.

This was something that made Maroney feel ashamed, because he was different from the others. He felt that he had never succumbed to the power of the Godfather, and that he was destined to overthrow Falcone, but he had to admit that he had indeed been imitating the Godfather all along.

Furthermore, his imitation was not accurate. Maroney was actually not suited to wearing suits at all. He lacked the refined demeanor of the Godfather, and even a well-tailored suit could not conceal his savagery.

But Falcone represents the most glorious era of the Gotham City mob. Every move he makes bears the mark of that tumultuous time. This refined temperament from that golden age, and that commanding presence that seems to have everything under control, fascinates Maroney.

He harbored a deep-seated malice towards the Godfather, wanting to take his place, but like everyone else in Gotham, he also held him in the highest esteem.

Gordon looked at Maroney's silence and said, "You know what? Before I even stepped through that door, I knew it wasn't His Majesty the Godfather who invited me, even though you used his favorite car model and his most common way of inviting people."

"Really? Why?" Maroney asked.

"If it were His Falcone who invited me here today, I wouldn't be searched or have my gun confiscated. The Godfather doesn't really care whether I have a weapon on me when I meet him, because he's much more confident than you are."

Maroney was almost losing his composure; every word Gordon said was like a knife to his heart, and everything he said was true.

When Falcone invites anyone over for a talk, he never disarms them, even if they are a notorious murderer. He dares to sit behind the table, less than two meters away, unarmed, and win their hearts with just words.

But Maroney dared not.

How could he dare let a well-trained veteran policeman with a gun come within two meters of him? He had absolutely no confidence; he had to be wary of Gordon suddenly attacking him, and he didn't even know why Falcone dared to do that.

Why was the Godfather so confident that no one he saw would dare to lay a hand on him? Maroney never understood this question. In his view, if he made a mistake even once, all his efforts would be in vain under the gunshot, and he would never give anyone that chance.

He felt his caution was justified, but that didn't stop him from feeling a sense of humiliation, as if he'd been defeated before the battle even began. He said to Gordon in a low voice, "Do you think your actions are wise? Constantly provoking me on my turf?!"

"Are you starting to drop the pretense?" Gordon asked him. "Your wording just now was no different from that of a street thug. You didn't use a single complicated word because you thought I saw through the Truth and there was no need to keep pretending?"

Maroney waved his hand, and a click sounded behind him as a bullet was chambered, echoing in the room. The Suit Man behind him was holding a shotgun and pointing it directly at Gordon.

Gordon shook his head and said, "That's the difference between you and His Falcone. You called me here to talk business, but there's no such thing as killing someone if a deal falls through. You're still the gangster type. If I don't agree, you'll point a gun at me and force me to agree."

"So why did you bother sending a car and people to pick me up here? You might as well just find a group of kidnappers, like the other gangs in the East District, tie me up in a basement, punch me twice, then point a gun at my head and ask me if I agree. If I don't agree, then shoot me in the arm."

"That's enough," Maroney said, taking a deep breath and waving his hand. The man behind him lowered his gun. "You're smart," he said. "You know I don't want to lose to Falcone."

"Your intelligence saved your life, Sheriff Gordon. I can let you go tonight, but it's not because I'm imitating anyone, but because I'm mercifully giving you a chance to think things over. If you change your mind, you know where to find me."

When Gordon emerged from the mansion, his shirt was almost completely soaked with cold sweat.

Only he himself knew how dangerous it had just been. If he hadn't repeatedly used Falcone to provoke Maroney, stirring up Maroney's rebellious psychology, it would have been questionable whether he could have left the mansion unscathed.

The cold wind of Gotham blew against him, and fine raindrops pattered on his face. He slowly walked back, thinking that he wasn't wrong; Maroney was far inferior to Falcone. He was already furious.

If it had Falcone who invited him tonight, putting aside whether Gordon's little tricks could anger the Godfather, even if he spoke rudely to Falcone, the Godfather wouldn't have refused to send him a car home.

Thinking this, Gordon looked up at the Gotham night sky. Raindrops fell into his eyes. He wiped his face and thought that this trouble was probably far from over.