Chapter 152: Party and Umbrella (Part Four)_1

"On what grounds…" Cobblepot glared at Shiller, his face darkening. A moment later, he realised what Shiller meant and snarled, "Dammit…"

He turned to take another look at Shiller. However, he didn't see the expression of a successful police interrogation on Shiller's face. Instead, Shiller was genuinely looking at him with confusion. The sight made him feel humiliated.

Cobblepot pursed his lips, extended his neck, tilted his head, shrugged his shoulder, and then said, "First, unfasten the restraint on my arm. It's getting uncomfortable..."

Although he assumed Shiller would refuse, Shiller stood up without any hesitation and went to his bedside. Once the restraint was undone, Cobblepot hastily flexed his arm.

As his right hand was fastened to a splint, Shiller reminded him, "Your right-hand fracture has become so serious due to the delayed treatment that there's a risk of amputation if you delay any further. Leave it as it is for now."

Cobblepot mumbled under his breath, seemingly cursing something. As soon as Shiller's gaze turns towards him, he suddenly fell silent, as if choked.

Returning to his seat, Shiller picked up the medical record, saying, "Shall we continue our discussion? Judging from the configuration of the crime scene, it seems you were in a hurry. Can you tell me what you encountered?"

Cobblepot frowned, lifting his upper lip in a sneer. It made him look rather menacing. While he wanted to refute Shiller's speculation, he also felt it wasn't right to share too much with a stranger, especially a psychiatrist.

"Let me hear your thought process behind the crime. After all, it would be a shame if there were no audience to witness all the effort you've put into it, wouldn't it?" Shiller continued.

Cobblepot gripped the hospital bed railing tightly with his good arm, tilted his head and glared at Shiller, "You damn psychiatrist…"

Cobblepot admitted, Shiller's line was more effective than any police interrogation technique.

Shiller looked at him with a smile. He knew well that any criminal who appeared on the Gotham Grand Stage in the future was a fundamentalist in the realm of crime.

They took great pride in their crimes. Whether it was in the level of precision, the way the outcomes were presented, or the misdirection effect on bystanders, every detail was aimed for perfection.

They would meticulously consider these aspects while devising every crime plan, awaiting someone to notice their genius ideas.

They were all adamant about one thing: a crime without an audience was not a perfect crime.

Rationality was telling Cobblepot that revealing everything to Shiller at this time was not a good idea, given that there was the possibility he could be recorded and could not escape conviction.

However, he was itching from curiosity. Another thought in Cobblepot's mind suggested that Shiller was like him - a good listener who could understand the elusively intricate process of committing a crime, something ordinary people couldn't comprehend, and would grasp the uniqueness of the crime.

Unable to contain himself, Cobblepot muttered: "It was accidental. If it weren't for..."

He paused, attempting to collect his thoughts. Next, he relaxed his body, laid on his back and stared at the ceiling as he began his narrative.

"...Meeting the Godfather was entirely accidental. My father used to be a prominent mob boss in the East District. But after his death, the turf and property that should have been inherited by me were divided by those jackals of a mob…"

"Out of the desire to protect me, my mother took me to move back to our old house near Living Hell. Yet, we still couldn't live in peace as our enemies were constantly hunting us…"

"On one evening, I was washing dishes at a bar in the East District. As soon as I stepped out, I was surrounded. They were about to pull out their guns when a car drove by. Inside was Your Excellency Falcone who stopped them and sent them away…"

"The Godfather saved you?"

"Yes. I was only 12 years old then, skinny, frail, and looked even younger. He might have despised them for wanting to shoot a kid. Anyways, that's when I met the Godfather…"

"I still don't understand why he thought I was worth cultivating. I was skinny, frail, unattractive, and incapable of being a peacemaker. Yet, the Godfather supported me in secret…"

"So, when he needed you, you started to kill for him?"

With a blank expression, Cobblepot replied: "What's wrong with that? He saved me. Although I know it means nothing to him, killing doesn't mean much to me either…"

"I must say, the job you did with Old Edward was quite slick, not like a novice. Can you detail what happened that day?"

Cobblepot shook his head, "That was purely because of the Godfather's influence. No one dares to make trouble on his turf. There's nothing praiseworthy there…"

"Fine then, let's get into the crux of the matter. Everything that you're doing isn't aimless, so what exactly is your goal?" Shiller inquired.

"I wish to be free from the Godfather's control." Cobblepot said, astonishingly.

To be precise, not the old Godfather..." Cobblepot added, "I am willing to work for Falcone and kill for him, but only for Your Excellency Falcone..."

"I had known for a while now that the old Godfather wishes to retire and pass his power onto his son, young Falcone."

Cobblepot sneered contemptuously, "But he is not up to the task. Young Falcone is nowhere near his father. If I continue to work with him, there will be no future."

"The new Godfather inherits the old Godfather's position as well as his assets and connections, including me. But as I see it, young Falcone falls too short. I do not wish to work with him…"

"Why do you think so?" Shiller asked him.

"Before, he wanted to reform, and the territory that the old Godfather handed over to him, he messed it all up."

"He's full of drive, but without a goal, his approach is forceful, yet lacking in thought, simply put, he is not up to the task."

"So, what did you do?"

"I knew, the old Godfather was still alive, it was impossible to get rid of him by force, otherwise, I would die."

"I've been under his favor, and I've already killed for him, so perhaps it seems we're even."

"But every Gothamite knows, once you have done such things, it's impossible to return to a normal life. You either die, or continue on the dark path."

"But I don't want to be part of that legacy, or to follow the orders of the new Godfather. In other words, the stupidity of the new Godfather would not only kill him, but it would kill me too. I don't want to die, so I have to leave."

"When the Godfather sent me to keep an eye on Living Hell, I realized that my opportunity had arrived..."

"My first goal was the Munney Gang." Cobblepot raised his voice: "I have to stand firm here first, understand the situation, then draft the next plan. So I joined the Munney Gang, followed Fish's orders, and took a very short time to figure out everything here."

Cobblepot's words gradually became smooth. When it came to this aspect, the future Penguin Man was extremely articulate.

"When I finished the initial survey, the Munney Gang was no longer a suitable place to stay. Fish's territory got shrinking, the activity range began to narrow, I could not gather enough information. At this time, I couldn't let the Godfather think I wasn't working hard."

"So, I found an opportunity and got in touch with Kevin. Yes, it was not he who chose me, but I who chose him..."

As Cobblepot continued to share, his voice reverberated in the ward, his recent life turned into a series of dramas, unfolding before the two men.

With his words echoing, the red curtain opened, revealing the narrow corridors of Living Hell.

Cobblepot and Kevin stood in the corridor. The short and hunched Cobblepot flattered Kevin: "Mr. Kevin, please, you must patronize my business..."

The tall Kevin looked up, took a pack of cigarettes from Cobblepot, opened it, and said, "Are you the new cigarette seller? I've never seen you before. You must be that crazy woman's guy, right?"

"Yes, yes…" Cobblepot nodded eagerly, then hesitated and rubbed his hands, saying, "I'm just trying to make a living. There are too few people buying cigarettes in the south, otherwise I wouldn't risk coming here..."

"How much do you sell for a pack?"

"Seventy cents, sir, just seventy cents."

Kevin raised his eyebrows in surprise, "Seventy cents? What's going on? Our local peddlers sell for ninety cents or a dollar. Why are you selling so cheap?"

Kevin looked at the pack of cigarettes again, took out one, Cobblepot eagerly approached to light it for him, then said: "Actually, I still make a profit. I operate in both the south and north. It takes 1 hour and 20 minutes for one round trip. I can sell about 6 to 7 packs of cigarettes. Even if the profit per pack is only ten cents, I have 13 hours a day to operate, on average I can sell..."

Kevin took a puff of the cigarette, blew out the smoke, looked Cobblepot up and down, and said, "You can calculate? That is surprising, the kids selling cigarettes I have met can't even make the change..."

Cobblepot still kept nodding and laughing. Unintentionally, he revealed that he had studied in the South rich area. He kept chatting with Kevin. After Kevin smoked two cigarettes, he seemed a little intoxicated. Holding the cigarette butt, he said, "I think you're not bad. Working with Fish, that crazy woman, there's no good outcome."

"You go get me a couple of good cigarettes, and I'll let you work at the pick-up point on the 2nd floor. You get a three-cent cut for every ten items. This is more than you make selling cigarettes."

Cobblepot showed an overjoyed expression, Kevin sneered, "Kids like you, weak arms and soft legs, can only run errands, buy newspapers, sell cigarettes, also count money…"

"Those little brats make mistakes every day. Their brains are less bright than rusty door bolts. They cost me money. You can't be lazy or tricky..."

As the smoke from the cigarette in Kevin's hand gradually dispersed, the curtain slowly closed, Shiller turned to Cobblepot and said, "So far, from what I heard, you've done quite well."

"Using your slim figure to your advantage, you posed as one of the most common cigarette-selling errand boys in Living Hell, and subtly showed your calculating skills, successfully switching over to Kevin's side."

"But that's not all that I want."

The curtain opened again, more and more boxes stacked up, invoice after invoice flew out from Cobblepot's hands, passing through the narrow corridors of Living Hell, the gates of the delivery exit, the stairs for goods transportation, the backstage of a restaurant, a thin figure shuttling through them all.

The last piece of paper "popped" onto Cobblepot's face. When he took the paper off, the eyes that peeked out reflected the dazzling neon lights of a restaurant's sign.

"I can tell that part wasn't a lie," Shiller commented, "You really do want to open a restaurant."

Cobblepot lying on the hospital bed moved his lips, he was silent for a while, then said, "Yes, but that's not what I should be thinking about now."

"What I need to think about now is, as a runner, I've reached the end of the road at the bottom. Next, I need to figure out how to become part of the management team."