*Chapter 39: Haha, We're Screwed!*

While Cody was working his third gig, District Attorney Harvey Dent had already headed home early.

Tonight hadn't turned out quite as expected. The fire was a big deal, but it wasn't urgent. He didn't even need to stick around the scene; he could just turn around and go home because, for now, there wasn't anything he needed to do.

As for the Johnny Viti murder case, that was Commissioner Gordon's problem to worry about. As for himself, he'd promised Gilda they'd hand out candy to the neighbor kids.

If he got back late, she'd probably be upset again.

Harvey drove home, and it was still relatively early. So, he opened the front door in good spirits.

"Hey, Harvey, you're home right on time today?"

"Ha, I already promised you, Mrs. Dent."

Just then, the doorbell rang.

"Guess who's here?" Gilda said, turning to open the door.

"How would I know... Wait, let me get it—"

A sense of alert suddenly rose in Harvey at that moment. It wasn't because of some strange premonition, but because he realized that if someone wanted to launch an attack on Halloween night, this would be the perfect opportunity.

All it would take is bribing a kid to deliver a carefully wrapped bomb as a Halloween surprise, and almost no one would be prepared for it.

But before he could finish speaking, Gilda had already opened the door.

"Trick or treat!"

Several "little ghouls and goblins" suddenly jumped out, interrupting his anxious thoughts. No bombs, no attacks, no retaliatory strikes from the mob, just a safe and happy Halloween night.

After all, what reason would Falcone have to seek revenge on a small-time District Attorney like him? He'd gotten beat up just for checking license plates in the parking lot at his nephew's party. A guy like that had no motive to go after him.

He gave a self-deprecating laugh, feeling he was being a little too paranoid, then walked over to the door and joined his wife in handing out candy to the kids.

"Happy Halloween, little guys."

"Happy Halloween, Mr. Dent!"

"Happy Halloween, Mrs. Dent."

Meanwhile, across town, at the Gotham City Police Department headquarters.

Gordon sifted through mountains of case files, glancing at his watch. It was late into the night. He casually put out his cigarette butt in the Halloween-themed ashtray on his desk.

"Happy Halloween, Batman. Thanks for the present."

"Happy Halloween, Commissioner Gordon – get home to your family soon."

Gotham's Halloween had passed. Aside from a bizarre murder, the night was as peaceful as a sweet dream.

But for some people, what happened in Gotham tonight was like a nightmare.

-----------------

It was a peaceful morning today. Cody, as usual, rode his beloved little wheelchair to work.

He was in a great mood. He'd finished all three jobs in one night and gotten a decent haul. Even setting aside the little pumpkin lantern, just the twenty thousand asset points, the intermediate cooking mastery, and the friendship with Solomon Grundy were enough to make him feel it was totally worth it. Grundy had even shaken his hand cordially when he left.

"Pumpkin man, scary, good man."

"Pumpkin man, friend, hamburger, delicious."

Because of this, Cody decided to bring Grundy tasty food every day from now on. Although he wouldn't starve to death, he would definitely remember his friend.

Maybe one day, if Cody ran into some supervillains or a killer organization again, he could shout "Grundy, save me!" down a sewer grate, and then see the big guy push open the grate, crawl out, and help him.

Of course, if possible, Cody would prefer this hypothetical situation never happen.

"Morning, Santos, Rick, Castro, how was your night?"

He greeted his colleagues cheerfully, but strangely, the three who were usually joking around didn't respond. Instead, they looked at him with a weird expression.

"What's up? You guys look a little off."

"Huh? Oh, morning, Cody."

"Morning."

"Morning, Cody. Did you go work a side hustle last night?"

"Huh? Yeah, I went to work a side hustle."

"Oh, okay, so you weren't home?"

"You can't work a side hustle staying at home, Castro." Cody looked at the three of them with some confusion. They weren't talking as freely as usual today; they seemed hesitant.

"Um... I just want to make sure, you're new to Gotham, right? You haven't joined any gangs?"

"Good grief, what are you guys even talking about? Of course I haven't joined any gangs. Can't you see? I barely even know how to use a gun, and I'm still training every day at the shooting range my supervisor recommended – wait a minute, you guys are really acting weird today. Did something happen?"

"Uh... Did you see today's Gotham Gazette?"

"Haven't bought it yet – why?"

"How about today's Gotham Morning News? Didn't see that either?"

"What are you talking about?" Cody frowned. Seeing his colleagues acting so hesitant, a strange, ominous feeling suddenly surged in his heart.

"What about the news?"

"You... see for yourself."

Santos handed him a newspaper. Cody took it casually, his eyes scanning it. The headline that met his gaze made his pupils widen.

*"Johnny Viti Assassinated, Ugly Pumpkin Left at Scene!"*

"During last night's Halloween, Gotham City Godfather Falcone's nephew, Johnny Viti, was found dead in the bathtub of his villa. According to the coroner, the fatal injuries Johnny sustained were two shots directly to the head."

"The killer left the murder weapon, a .22 caliber Klibor pistol with the serial number filed off, at the crime scene. No fingerprints were found on the gun. Also left at the scene were two other items: a makeshift silencer made from a baby pacifier, and a jack-o'-lantern."

"No cash was missing from the villa. According to police speculation, the case is likely a revenge killing. Commissioner Gordon stated that the key clue in this case is the uniquely shaped jack-o'-lantern left at the scene."

Stunned, Cody's trembling hand turned the page. The back of the newspaper showed a picture of the jack-o'-lantern left at the crime scene.

The twisted, painful expression seemed to contain a different kind of artistic flair, a bit of the shadow of Millet's Classicalism, a bit of the impressionistic feeling of Monet, Matisse's Fauvism, Munch's Expressionism, Balla's Futurism, Picasso's Cubism, and Dali's Surrealism seemed to be embodied in this small pumpkin, to put it bluntly—

"Haha, we're screwed!"