Chapter 54 Chapter 54 Are you playing a detective game?
"Uh," Tim said first. "That place?"
Elio exchanged a look, then slowly turned to look at Smith, trying to glean some insight from his reaction. However, the only fully armed adult present was standing by, his arms folded, seemingly oblivious to Elio's gaze. His gaze drifted toward the shooting scene a few blocks away, as if he could see what was happening there.
All right. Elio shook his head and made a quick decision.
"Let's wait here for a while," he said. "We'll go over and take a look when the shooting stops."
Tim didn't have any objections. It was more like hearing gunfire meant no one rushed over to see what was happening. Perhaps Smith was the exception, but he'd strictly adhered to his earlier instructions to "keep an eye on them," so he just watched without moving. Behind him, Tim and Elio briefly exchanged updated intelligence.
"It's been eight years," Tim asked. "How are you going to reconstruct the scene?"
"I researched that street beforehand," Elio said, opening his notebook and showing Tim a sketch of the shops he'd drawn. "The shops there haven't changed much in the past eight years, so I'm assuming the witness still works there."
The gunfire hadn't stopped yet. Bang, bang, bang, it was quite lively.
"I've managed to reconstruct the accident scene based on the case report," Elio said, his voice rising as he traced the vehicle's direction on the sketch. "The car was coming from Chinatown and was turning left at the intersection when it was hit, damaging the fast food restaurant on the west side. It was forced to close for a while to repair the broken tables, chairs, and glass, so..."
"So they probably still remember the car accident!" said Tim.
"And we can get a late-night snack," Smith said briskly. "Why are you looking at me like that? Am I the only one hungry?"
There was a loud bang. The explosion illuminated half the street, and for a few seconds, the three of them felt a warm sensation. They paused, partly because of the conversation about their late-night snack, and partly because of a burst of curses coming from the window above their heads. Then, there was a bang, and the resident opened the window and shouted curses across the street at the exploded area.
Amid the sounds of gunfire, explosions, and Gothamites shouting and cursing—even the cat rummaging through the trash can was startled and meowed harshly—Elliot said calmly, "Let's go."
No one disagrees.
"That sounded like an explosion," Tim said cautiously. "Gotham PD will probably come check it out."
The gunshots quieted down. The explosions soon stopped, leaving only the flames still burning. The people of Gotham were cursing the bastards who had disturbed their sleep. The cat squatting on the trash can was also yelling louder and louder, making it hard to tell whether they were cursing or cursing.
"Probably not." Elio put his hands in his pockets. "The gunfire was so loud, if they wanted to come and see, they would have come a long time ago."
The people in Gotham in the windows began to put their hands on their hips and curse the cat. The cat didn't stop either, mumbling curses at the people.
"They probably won't come," Smith said. "I remember this area being a two-faced place."
Maybe it was because of this that the police car with flashing red and blue lights never arrived. They entered the area where the accident had just occurred without any obstruction. A car, still burning, was overturned in front of the fast food restaurant. A woman with her hair in a bun and an apron was standing there, looking anxious and worried, as if she wanted to get closer but didn't dare.
As soon as she saw Smith appearing at the intersection, her eyes lit up.
"Young man," she waved at him, "come here! Yes, you!"
Smith leaned over cooperatively. The woman coaxed and tricked the diners who had popped their heads out to observe the situation. Together with Smith, they carried buckets of water from the kitchen to put out the fire. The car's entire frame was warped and twisted. From a driving perspective, it looked completely wrecked, but from another angle, it gleamed with the golden sheen of recycled goodness.
By tomorrow morning, nothing would be left of the accident scene. However, no one had touched it yet—the reason was simple: it was too hot—which gave Elio and Tim the opportunity to explore the scene. Since they were with Smith, the apron woman not only didn't chase them away, but also poured them each a glass of hot milk.
"What happened?" Smith asked. He was holding a paper cup with the Paulie's logo printed on it, but it was filled with coffee.
"I was pouring coffee behind the counter," the aproned owner recounted vividly, "when suddenly there was a loud bang. I immediately squatted down, not daring to see what was happening! When I stood up again," she pointed toward the car, "there was this huge piece of scrap metal lying there."
"What bad luck," sighed a diner munching on a chicken sandwich. "The glass wall's broken again. Will we see you open tomorrow?"
"Oh, I suppose," the boss said, rummaging through her apron, "I'd do that if things were any safer here. I'm afraid it'll be a while before you get to try our signature bacon waffles again. You want some, young man? And those two kids you brought along? You're welcome, we need to use up the food in the kitchen anyway."
Smith nodded, and she walked in, as if she wasn't worried at all, and asked the kitchen staff to wave the spatula again. The scrap metal truck "parked" in front of her shop was still smoking, and the flashlight behind it quickly disappeared. Elio and Tim walked over, talking about something.
"We think it came from that direction," Elio said to Smith, pointing behind him with his thumb. "And it got hit by another car."
"Based on the ruts on the road," Tim said, taking a sip of milk, "we can infer that the car stopped briefly on the side of the road and then drove away again." He also pointed in the direction of the other side of the road. Smith glanced in that direction and nodded to them.
"There are bullet casings scattered on the ground," Elio said, holding up his palm and showing a few he had picked up. "This is probably not a coincidence. They were driving and shooting at the same time. In other words, one car was chasing another."
Smith took a bullet casing from his hand and held it up to examine it for a moment. "Nine-millimeter Parabellum, □□17."
The diner, sitting at the entrance of the shop chewing a sandwich, his cheeks bulging, slowly stopped. He turned his head and looked at the strange trio outside the shop: one adult and two children.
"The most commonly used ammunition by street gangs." Tim drank the glass of milk in one gulp while they talked, and casually wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "We also found a long trail of blood next to this big guy. It looks like dragging marks. Combined with the brief traces of another car stopping, they must have dragged the people in the car away. So now the question is, why were they chasing each other? And why did they drag the people in the car away? Did the people in the car have something in their hands, and the other car wanted it?"
After the kid, who drank milk like coffee, finished his long and excited speech, Elio and Smith turned their heads and looked at him with different expressions. Being looked at like this, Tim couldn't help but calm down a little, trying to cover up his accidentally exposed tail. "Well, it's just a guess, maybe not. We still have to wait and see what the police investigate, right?"
Elio looked at him silently. Tim squeezed the paper cup into a strange slime shape, but looked at him with a serious and innocent look on his face.
"Are you playing detective?" a customer at the entrance asked curiously. "Here? Now?"
"No..." Tim started to speak, and Elio beside him said at the same time, "Yes."
They looked at each other and quickly revised their answers, "Yes." "Not really."
Smith was silent. He raised the paper cup deliberately to cover the corner of his mouth.
In the eerie silence, the diners' expressions grew even stranger. As the only adult in this "group," Smith was forced to bear most of the glares. The two children awkwardly shut their mouths, one looking up at the restaurant sign, the other studying the dust on the toe of their shoe, finally avoiding the simultaneous denials. Just as Smith coughed softly and was about to speak, the aproned owner poked his head out from behind the counter again.
"Why are you still standing there?" she asked curiously. "Come on in! There won't be any room to sit here tomorrow. Here are your bacon waffles, come on!"
She hurriedly stuffed the hot food into their hands and went back into the store. Obviously, the sudden car accident did not affect the mood of Gotham people for late-night snacks. The calls were still coming one after another; they acted as if the car had not died tragically in front of them, and she was still busy like a spinning top.
“…extracurricular activities,” Elio said.
"Yes, extracurricular activities." Tim also said.
The diners scoffed at Smith, who was busy carefully biting his own won waffle from behind his mask, turning up the collar of his windbreaker, as if hiding his face was more important than anything else.
"Come on, what kind of extracurricular activities would bring you two kids to this place so late at night?" The diner moved in and waved a hand to make room for them. "Now let me tell you something, if you need to ask questions, just find a reliable adult. Come on in, I saw everything."
It was just as the kids had suspected. Two cars were approaching from the direction of Chinatown, chasing each other with a bang-bang-bang thud, as if they weren't drawing enough attention. None of the diners in the restaurant ventured out to intervene, ducking under tables for a moment. Soon, they heard a deafening boom. The gunfire faded, and the car screeched to a halt, its tires skidding loudly on the asphalt. One of the brave diners (Smith suspected it was himself) peeked out and saw someone dragging someone from the burning car into the trunk of another.
"And then," the diner swallowed the last bite of his sandwich with difficulty and glanced at the tissue in front of Tim. Tim noticed this and handed it to him. The diner smiled at him and wiped his mouth with the tissue, "the car drove away."
"Thank you, sir," Tim said. He glanced at Elio, meaning "It's pretty much as we thought," but Elio didn't meet his gaze and was playing with the mug on the table thoughtfully.
"Are you a regular here, sir?" Elio asked, imitating Tim's polite tone. "We just heard you say the glass wall was broken again."
The diner, about to leave, gave Smith a strange look. But the lone adult in the odd group didn't show any intention of stopping them. So, scratching his head, he decided to go all the way. "Yeah, but these shops around here get vandalized every now and then. You know? It's a security issue."
"I know," Elio said. "There are always people who do something destructive. They're drunk, high, or even sane. But a car crashing through the front door isn't something that happens all the time." He pointed outside. "The whole window is shattered. It's terrible. If this happened regularly, I can't imagine how many times a month this store would have to close!"
"I can't imagine it, kid," the boss, who was passing by with a cup of coffee, interrupted them. "A police officer told me that the probability of a car exploding after being hit is actually very small! I've been doing business here for so long, and I've only seen this happen two or three times. Luckily, I saved up money and bought Wayne Insurance..."
She talked a little about insurance, and Elio waited patiently, fiddling with his mug even faster. When she finally finished explaining how helpful insurance was, Elio finally got the chance to ask, "So, when was the last time this happened?"
"Oh, I can't remember." The boss scratched his hair with his free hand and thought for a moment, "Maybe seven or eight years ago."
"Do you remember anything about the car accident?"
Elio asked. He leaned towards the boss impatiently, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. The boss looked at his reaction with some doubt, but because he was so young, he just thought it was childish curiosity. After thinking carefully, he said, "Maybe I remember a little bit..."
But just then, the table next to them called out, asking why their coffee hadn't arrived yet. The boss's recollection was suddenly interrupted. He smiled at them and quickly rushed over. Elio subconsciously leaned out of the booth and tried to reach out and grab the boss's apron, but Tim pulled him back.
"She won't answer you now," Tim pulled him back. "Don't worry!"
"How can I not be anxious!" Elio shook his hand away. "Those are my parents, not yours!"
Tim froze, his grip loosening, and Elio nearly flung himself out like a cannonball. But a more steady force gripped his shoulders, sending him crashing back into the booth. Elio jerked his head up, and when he saw Smith, the eagerness in his eyes gave way to disbelief.
All of this happened in an instant.
Smith held Elio's shoulder, a gentle sympathy flowing from his green eyes; but when that emotion dripped into Elio's eyes, it was quickly burned away by the boy's impatience and anger that was about to burst out. Elio sat there, clenching his fists, looking like he was about to jump up, and it was obvious that Smith's attempt to soothe him had only further angered him.
On the table, the mug that Elio had just dropped was rolling around, about to fall off the edge, but no one noticed it.
Tim didn't either. Or rather, he didn't fully notice it. One of his hands reached out, instinctively trying to grab it by feel, but he didn't look at it. He was watching Smith and Elliot. The young detective, the only one present and not connected to either car accident, witnessed all the rapid changes, his expression shifting from surprise to thought. He thought very quickly, and the boy quickly reached out to the older and younger ones, as if trying to prevent them from getting into a fight.
The mug rolled. Smith didn't move. Elio was about to speak. Tim reached out his hand; just as it was about to fall to the ground, a fourth hand suddenly caught it.
"So, you are the orphan from that year." said the diner.
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