Chapter 396: Barbara Gordon and Kara Zor-El (4)
The Bait Takes the Hook
This case was peculiar; finding clues through normal means was extremely difficult. Thus, Bellon came up with the idea of "entrapment."
A police officer, disguised as a homeless man, successfully infiltrated the temporary accommodation provided by the circus. All they had to do now was wait. If Laszlo Valentin was truly up to something, he wouldn't pass up such a prime opportunity.
The wait was long. Bellon and his subordinates hid in a nearby building, smoking and observing the circus movements using infrared binoculars.
Unbeknownst to him, time crept to 2:00 AM. Bellon, who had been resting on a sofa, was woken by a subordinate.
"Captain, we have movement."
Bellon quickly got up and grabbed the binoculars. He saw Laszlo Valentin, the Ringmaster of the Strange Circus, carrying a bag outside the homeless men's tents, seemingly distributing food. A moment later, several tramps emerged from the tents and approached a cargo truck, speaking with Valentin. Soon after, the group boarded the truck and drove away from the circus grounds.
"I knew something was wrong!"
Bellon sneered, signaled his men to get into the car, and followed from a distance.
Tonight, they were going to catch him red-handed.
The truck drove east, passing through the chaotic Crime Alley and the Boiler District, but didn't stop even when it reached the outskirts of the city.
Bellon didn't dare follow too closely, ordering his men to maintain a long distance to avoid being spotted. Unexpectedly, as they passed under an overpass, a large truck suddenly appeared and blocked the middle of the road in a bizarre way.
"What the hell? Who parked a truck here?"
The officer driving hesitated. "Captain, it looks like the truck drove across the road horizontally."
"Horizontally?"
Bellon paused for a second, then instantly erupted in anger. "What are you talking about? You think it's a crab?"
They ran to the front of the truck, only to find the driver's seat empty. A truck moving without a driver?
The eerie sight made everyone's blood run cold. One officer gulped and whispered,
"Could it be a ghost?"
The single sentence seemed to drop the temperature of the air even further.
Bellon glared fiercely at his subordinate. He couldn't believe they were joking at a time like this. "Forget the truck! The case is the priority. Carrick is still in that cargo truck, and if we lose them, his life is in danger."
Everyone snapped to attention and nodded.
Since this route was blocked, they had to turn back and take the adjacent overpass. This detour would waste a lot of time. Unfortunately, the strange events were far from over.
As the police car backed up to the center of the bridge, the tires suddenly burst.
Bellon was furious and helpless. He had no choice but to call a nearby precinct to send a patrol car.
Gotham in December was terrifyingly cold. The team huddled inside the patrol car, staring silently at the distant sea.
"I hope Carrick can hold out a little longer."
Inside the Butcher's Dungeon
The cargo truck carrying the homeless men passed through the suburbs and arrived at a dilapidated slaughterhouse.
Laszlo Valentin opened the door and invited the tramps inside for a drink. After several bottles of whiskey, the atmosphere grew warm and boisterous.
Valentin, who had traveled extensively, had excellent conversational skills. A few stories had the room cheering. He then went to the kitchen to prepare food and drink, doing his best to play the generous host.
His actions perfectly displayed a hospitable demeanor.
Even Carrick, the undercover officer, was confused. Could a man like this really be a kidnapper? Perhaps the FBI was looking for the wrong person.
Empty bottles piled up. The tramps couldn't withstand the assault of the alcohol and collapsed onto the floor one by one. Valentin's cheeks were flushed, but his eyes were wide and strangely excited, his pupils round, with a faint suggestion of fire burning within them.
Carrick simply couldn't hold out any longer. After downing the last glass of whiskey, he collapsed on the sofa, sound asleep.
Everyone was drunk except Valentin, who sat there, grabbing a half-eaten beef steak and tearing into it greedily. Blood seeped from the meat, splashing all over his face.
He sat in front of the fireplace, the firelight illuminating his bloated face, revealing endless greed and craving in his round eyes.
After eating his fill, Valentin picked up a set of keys and went to the cellar behind the slaughterhouse.
The heavy iron door swung open, and the stench of blood washed out, making a person want to vomit.
Valentin, however, savored the smell. He inhaled deeply, feeling his entire body relax, and couldn't help but smile blissfully.
Walking deeper into the cellar, he first passed rows of hanging pig carcasses. Further back, the pigs thinned out, and the hooks held "pupae" sealed in plastic bags.
Hair and bones were scattered on the ground, some still dripping blood.
At the deepest part of the cellar was a bolted iron door. Behind it was the butchering room. Valentin took off his fur coat, changed into a blood-stained apron, and opened a cabinet, taking out an ugly, bizarre pig's head mask sewn together from human skin.
Wearing the mask, Valentin seemed like a different person, exuding an aura of brutality and cruelty.
He walked to the mirror, staring at the pig face reflected there, his mouth splitting into a cannibalistic smile.
"What's the difference between a man and a pig?"
"Look at them. See how happily they eat? Hee hee hee hee!"
Valentin laughed eerily, picked up a large cleaver from the table, and made slicing motions back and forth across his own neck.
"There's no difference between a man and a pig. Killing a man is just like butchering a pig."
"I never thought there were people like you in the world."
A strange voice came from behind him. Valentin's face twisted. "Who? Who's there?"
Bang!
The iron door was kicked open. Under the flickering lamplight, a woman wearing a nightingale mask and a tight, brown power armor walked in.
"Laszlo Valentin, you are despicable. You're an animal."
"Another boring one."
Valentin sneered, licking the back of the cleaver's blade. He inspected the newcomer with impatience. The longer he looked, the deeper the smile grew on his face, until finally, he burst into a shout.
"Perfect! You're perfect!"
"Your body is too perfect! Taut thighs, straight calves, high hips, round breasts, firm shoulders... Hee hee hee hee!!!! The saturated muscles, strictly trained, are full of muscle fiber, yet not dry at all."
"Your flesh must smell so sweet when hung up."
Boom!
The ceiling above exploded, and a figure descended from the sky, landing a kick straight into Valentin's stomach. The air rippled visibly. Valentin's stomach caved inward, and his body folded almost 150 degrees. Amidst a flurry of cracking bones, he flew backward like a baseball hit by a bat.
Thud!
An inverted human silhouette was impressed into the wall. Flesh and blood oozed down the cracks, mixing with the fragments of the shattered pig mask.
"He's dead."
Barbara's mouth was wide open, her shock undeniable. She then shouted, slightly exasperated,
"We agreed you would wait outside! I was supposed to handle this!"
Linda snorted angrily.
"That pig wanted to eat your flesh! You'd let him get away with that?"
"But..."
Barbara threw up her hands, completely frustrated. "The case can't be handled this way; it's too hasty! He should have faced punishment—punishment by the law, not by us."
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