Of course Jude had seen the warehouse fire. He'd started it.
The question was a test, just like every question Batman had asked. Multiple choice, but with only one correct answer that wouldn't get you beaten.
Batman knew Jude had carved pumpkins in the restaurant, so answering "no" to the first question was impossible.
Batman could easily discover what Jude had told his coworkers. Jude had said in the break room he'd go sell pumpkins on Halloween, so for the second question, he could only answer that he'd gone to the streets.
Similarly, Batman could verify the pumpkin headgear existed. He'd probably photographed it, checked surveillance cameras at key intersections, interviewed residents near Johnny Vitti's murder scene. Even an elderly woman with poor memory would recognize that particular headgear immediately. It was too distinctive.
So for the third question, Jude had answered he'd gone to the Diamond District wearing the hood.
Those three questions used known intelligence to determine if he was lying. But this question about the warehouse fire sounded different. After removing the pumpkin headgear, Jude had hidden and changed clothes using the system. Batman likely couldn't continue investigating using the headgear as a clue.
But it only sounded different.
The warehouse fire had been massive. That night, nearly everyone in the Diamond District could see billowing black smoke and flames shooting skyward from blocks away. That kind of spectacle was rare in a wealthy area. Impossible not to attract attention. No exaggeration to say the entire district probably noticed the fire that made Falcone furious.
"I saw the fire from a distance. Heard the crowd getting agitated." Jude kept his voice steady. "I was worried something else might happen, so I left immediately."
"Without your headgear?"
"I'd already taken it off." Jude laughed awkwardly. "It was too ugly. Kind of embarrassing. Besides, everyone was going to see the fire. I was afraid people would notice my hood and remember it."
This was true. After quickly moving away from the warehouse area, he'd deliberately removed the headgear. When the fire started, this would be his alibi.
So he knows his pumpkin carving is ugly.
The thought surfaced in everyone's mind simultaneously. Even Batman's.
Batman continued staring at Jude. This person's physical reactions—pupil dilation, heartbeat, perspiration, micro-expressions—all indicated he was telling the truth. But Batman's instincts said something was wrong.
He was too nervous and too relaxed at the same time.
Everyone got nervous facing Batman. But criminals were usually terrified of him, actively hostile. Even ordinary citizens mostly felt fear, distrust, and mild hostility toward him. Normal reactions. Who would trust a bat-themed vigilante who lurked in darkness, beat people until bones broke, and hung them from gargoyles? He was Gotham City's nightmare—not just for criminals, but for everyone. Very few people willingly trusted him.
But this man seemed confident Batman wouldn't hurt him. Maybe his brain wasn't wired correctly. Or maybe he understood Batman better than most people. He understood—or thought he understood—Batman's capabilities and code of conduct. So he was more afraid of Batman than most people, while also trusting him more than most people.
I need to thoroughly investigate this stranger who just arrived in Gotham.
Batman filed the thought away and turned his attention to Philip.
"Where's Donald?"
Philip's expression changed instantly. He and Donald had done significant work for the Falcone family recently. Nighttime operations. People had died. Batman definitely wasn't looking to reminisce about old times.
"You won't get anything from me!"
In that instant, Philip used his free hand to throw a vicious hook punch. From technique alone, it was clear he was an experienced boxer. If that punch connected with Jude's face, it would knock him unconscious.
But he'd punched at Batman.
Pop.
Batman casually caught Philip's wrist with his other hand and dislocated the joint with minimal effort.
"Where's Donald?"
This was obviously not a satisfactory answer.
Batman grabbed Philip with one hand, walked to the broken window, and pulled out his grappling gun. Then he jumped into the night, supervisor in tow.
"AHHHHHHHHH—"
Jude watched the bat's shadow and his supervisor disappear into Gotham's night sky. He stood in silence, tears streaming down his face, screaming internally.
Batman! I have work at 8 AM! I haven't even received my paycheck yet!
The sound of sirens drowned out the rain. Commissioner Gordon rushed in with his team, surveying the disabled gang members scattered across the floor. Then he spotted Jude, standing alone in sorrowful silence.
Gordon looked confused.
Why was there still one standing this time?
"Age?"
"Twenty-four. Restaurant waiter."
Staring at the glaring fluorescent lights in the interrogation room, Jude—who never smoked—suddenly had an overwhelming urge to light a cigarette.
"I just work there, sir. Why was I brought back to the GCPD for questioning again?"
"Wrong place, wrong time." Gordon shook his head and pulled out his cigarette pack. "I've never seen anyone as unlucky as you. Do you mind?"
"Go ahead and smoke." Jude pulled a chocolate-covered pretzel stick from his pocket and stuck it in his mouth with a look of utter despair. "You can laugh if you want. I'm already like this anyway."
Gordon hadn't wanted to laugh initially, but seeing Jude's current state made it difficult to resist. First time he'd seen an innocent civilian arrested by the GCPD twice in such a short span.
"Your situation is abnormal." Gordon exhaled smoke thoughtfully. "You were there when Richard Daniel got shot. Johnny Vitti's assassination—you were there. The counterfeit money warehouse fire—you were there. And you work at that restaurant."
He turned to look at Jude directly. "You're new to Gotham City. You're not a gang member, so you're less suspicious. But you're suspiciously unlucky."
Jude sighed and finished his pretzel stick. "Forget it. Let's just finish the statement quickly."
I have to work tomorrow, he thought. I hope someone can pay my salary eventually.
The next day, Jude stood at the Red Dragon's entrance, staring blankly at the locked door. His expression suggested profound existential confusion.
"Wait. What happened to my workplace?"