บท 3470: Chapter 2604: Descending Gently (53)
"Damn it, what the fuss in the middle of the night? ...Ah, Chief, you're here."
The originally serious and tall officer immediately plastered a smile on his face, but Gordon had no time for niceties. As he passed the police line and walked inside, he asked, "What happened, how did a large-scale firefight break out, and what on earth are your people doing?"
The tall officer's face turned sour as he replied, "Who knows what got into those bastards? Instead of sleeping in the dead of night, they come here to fight."
"How many casualties?"
"Two dead, more than a dozen injured. Right now, both sides are in a ceasefire, and our negotiation experts are trying to persuade both parties, but so far, there's been no success."
Gordon glanced at him impatiently, and the tall subordinate immediately felt a chill go down his spine.
This chief, who had lived through the darkest times of Gotham, was no longer a pebble that could float and sink with the tide but a reef that stood unshakable on the coastline for millions of years—tall, silent, resolute, immovable, indestructible.
The imposing presence he carried was like the fossils of a behemoth's footprints unearthed, allowing one to glimpse the snow-clad traces of hundreds of ships struggling through that turbulent era.
Gordon stopped, turned back to look at the subordinate following behind, and said, "Get me a local who knows what's going on here."
The crowd immediately scattered, preferring to deal with the riffraff rather than exchange another word with an infuriated Gordon.
Soon, someone was brought over, appearing somewhat jittery yet managing to flash Gordon a brilliant smile.
Gordon sized him up as the tall officer who brought him over said, "Blackskin Martin, people here say he's in the know about everything."
"Hello, Chief, hello." Blackskin Martin bowed and scraped, even reaching for a cigarette to light for Gordon.
Gordon waved his hand, refusing the cigarette, and said, "I don't have time for small talk. Tell me straight, what's going on here? How could things have turned out this way?"
Martin also made a sour face and scratched his head as he said, "I find it strange too, Chief. Everything was fine during the day, but after I finished a delivery and came back, it turned into this."
"Everything was fine during the day?" Gordon clearly didn't buy this explanation and said, "What about yesterday during the day, the day before that?"
Martin immediately displayed a hesitant expression.
Gordon sighed and said, "I'll tell you, if this goes on, don't expect this market to stay open for business. However long they fight, I'll keep this place closed just as long. We'll see whether they run out of people first or you fail to pay your rent first."
"No, no, no, please don't do that, Chief, you're a good man. You can't do this!!" Martin's tone rose sharply as he continued, "There are so many vendors in this market, you can't let them all starve."
"You know they don't want to starve, so tell me quickly, what's the deal with those two bunches of fools?"
Martin sighed and said, "If we trace it back that far, there's indeed a bit of an issue, about a few months ago..."
"A few months ago?!"
"Two, maybe three months," Martin took a drag on his cigarette, cleared his throat, and spat to the side before pointing with his toe and saying, "Two and a half months ago, no mistake, two and a half months... A group of strangers showed up around here, by that I mean Mexicans."
"I grew up in this neighborhood; I recognize all the Mexicans around here. Some were mob enforcers, others, like me, were stowaways who came over in the last couple of years, but anyway, they were all acquaintances."
"But two and a half months ago, some guys with unclear origins showed up. They looked wealthy, took over a whole street of stalls, and chased away the small vendors who came near."
"Unclear origins?"
"Right, I'm sure they didn't sneak in," Martin took a shallow breath and continued, "You know, most of the snakeheads running into America are Mexican, the demand from our side is just too high. When I came over, I made sure to be on good terms with them. Can't say I got to know everyone, but quite a few."
"After those guys showed up, I immediately called people along the border. They all said they hadn't seen them; what, do people still come by sea these days?"
"I couldn't figure it out, so I didn't mess with them, but the locals aren't that easy to push around. They moved in and took over territory without paying tribute, who could hold back with them?"
"Locals kept picking fights over time. At first, both sides were evenly matched, but then at some point, a local boss's brother went missing. They've always suspected it was them, but there's no proof."
"If you ask me how these two sides suddenly started fighting, I reckon it was probably those new strangers who made a move and the locals found their proof. They've been putting up with those guys for a while and must've taken this opportunity to try and drive them out."
Gordon didn't interrogate like a normal cop, asking about time, place, cause, process, result, etc. Instead, he also took a breath and said, "These guys must have some backing to be so brazen, right? Who's backing them?"
Martin instantly flashed a smile and gestured with his hands the sign for money. Gordon snorted coldly, took a roll of US dollars out of his pocket, and handed it to Martin, curling his lip as he said, "Don't complain it's too little, we're all having a tough time."
"How could I, Chief? You're generous. I swear I'll make things clear to you."
Martin simply squatted down, his most comfortable posture, counting the money in his hand and saying, "Locals couldn't figure out where these rich, bold new guys came from, but I saw the trick to it."
"Every industry is not making money now, and those with cash are spending sparingly. Not many are generous, but this group spends without any reservations, as if they have a grudge against money itself, almost like they can't wait to get rid of it."
"From my years of experience, this indicates their money comes from a shady source, and they need to convert it into assets as soon as possible, or they could get dragged down with it,"
"Ordinary folk, I'd suspect money laundering, but these guys don't seem the type; frankly, I feel like they can't even count properly, let alone be somebody's laundering glove."
"That leaves us with only one possibility, nowadays, the only criminals making money are the drug traffickers."
Gordon folded his arms with a sigh, having to admit, Martin was right. Every line of work is challenging now, even the criminal industry; robbery nets no cash, theft garners nothing of value.
Organized crime on a large scale, the most lucrative is smuggling, followed by drug trafficking. Plus, with everyone under so much pressure, not in great mental states, many people look for some relief, and drugs are about the cheapest option available.
New Jersey State's drug prohibition laws are not strict, but they are also not legalized. Since Gordon took office, he cracked down on organized crime, and the local drug dealers all ran into serious trouble. Still, drugs continued to flow in.
Gordon knew that it was impossible to completely prevent these things; leave an out if need be, as long as it doesn't cause massive chaos. Otherwise, those crazy junkies could cause even bigger problems.
That could explain why these new Mexicans are both wealthy and arrogant yet seem to be moving in the shadows. They are an emerging drug trafficking ring, able to lord over most people but also unsure if they can take on the Gotham Police Department, hence their current state.
"Where are the drugs coming in from?" Gordon asked.
Martin quickly waved his hand and said, "I don't know that, Chief. You can't ask me that question, and I can't answer it; otherwise, we both are in big trouble."
Seeing his attitude, Gordon couldn't help but narrow his eyes. He said, "You are one thing—you've got to make a living here, and it's normal to fear their revenge. But you talk about me? You don't think I'm scared of a few small-time drug dealers, do you?!"
"That's... not exactly it, but this group... how do I put it... they have a big backer, better you don't ask,"
The more Martin talked like this, the more suspicious Gordon became. He beckoned a subordinate over, pulling out a roll of US dollars from the subordinate's pocket, much thicker than the one he had taken out before.
Still, Martin continued to wave his hands, mumbling that the money was easy to make but not worth losing your life over.
Seeing this wasn't going well, Gordon took Martin to the car. With a pained expression, Martin said, "Taking me here won't do any good. Everyone knows you're interrogating me. If you just open fire tomorrow, then I'm as good as dead without a place to be buried."
"Don't worry. Since you say they have a big backer, I won't be rash and alert them. I know it probably involves some people you think you can't handle,"
"But after all, I am the Chief of the Gotham Police Department. I have connections beyond your imagination. If I take action, I won't give them a chance to react,"
Martin seemed to struggle internally for a long time. Staring at Gordon sitting in the front through the rearview mirror with utmost sincerity, he said, "Of course, I believe you will fight evil to the end, because that's what you've always done. Precisely because of that, I can stand here and talk to you."
"Everyone here thinks this way. It's not easy to make a living here, and we can make it because if someone tries to take our bowl, we can still call the cops to seek justice instead of being killed like dogs and thrown into the drainage ditch."
"But this is really not simple, Chief. I come from the state of Guadalajara."
At the last word, Gordon's eyebrows twisted into a line; he immediately understood what Martin was hinting at.
"You're involved with the anti-government army?"
Martin did not continue on this topic but said, "Back in my hometown, drug dealers have more power than God. In the past, whatever they wanted us to grow, we had to grow. Anyone who disobeyed, they would set both the land and people ablaze."
"It's precisely because I grew up in that environment that I know their sneaky behavior isn't due to a sudden bout of conscience, but because they are afraid of someone."
"Since you know they're afraid of me, why all the secrecy?" Gordon asked.
"Of course, it's because I don't want you involved in this mess. If you know about the Revolutionary Army, you know how heavy this struggle is. Once you're entangled, there's no getting out."
Martin placed his hand on the front seat, looking through the rearview mirror with bright eyes at Gordon's reflection and said, "You could simply treat this as a regular feud, instead of having to look into what side they're on, right?"
Martin's implication couldn't be clearer, and Gordon fully understood what he meant. The appearance of this drug syndicate in Gotham undoubtedly had to do with the situation in Mexico, and to this day, even major powers dared not brazenly interfere with the Mexican quagmire.
Gordon had already reached the top of the Gotham police system; he had become the toughest and foulest stone.
But even tossing such a large rock from the coast into the cosmos would still be an insignificant speck of sand. The danger this matter presented was far beyond the scope of justice Gordon could oversee. Martin didn't want him to get involved; he hoped Gordon would continue protecting the peace as usual.
What would Gordon choose?
What could this stubborn rock choose?
Gordon paused for a second, got up, and flipped a pack of cigarettes from the door's storage, then readjusted his sitting position, leaning back in his seat. As the aroma of good tobacco spread inside the car, Martin sniffed.
Gordon bit the cigarette in his mouth with the corner of his tiger teeth, reached over the seat to offer the rest to Martin, and then took the cigarette out of his mouth with his rough fingers, exhaling a cloud of smoke saying,
"Times are tough for everyone. That's all there is. Speak up."
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