Chapter 76: Drive the Tiger to Swallow the Wolf Scheme (Part 2)_1

"I knew it, I knew it. Who do they think they are? Just because the Godfather is getting old, they think they can do whatever they want? Well, I must say, they're itching for a quick death..."

In a bar in the East District, a big-bearded man puffing on a cigar spoke. He was the second-in-command of the Coca Gang. The bartender poured him a whiskey on the rocks. As Big Beard took a sip of his drink and a puff of his cigar, he said through the smoke, "They didn't live during that era. They don't understand..."

"All the Godfather asks for is sincerity." He tapped on the tabletop for emphasis, "He's telling us, if you want a piece of the pie here, you must follow his commands."

"Just like what he did all those years ago, how he consolidated the whole Gotham gang and then established the Twelve Families. Those greenhorns will never understand."

Across him sat a skinny man, less rugged, looking rather pale and gloomy. He was the manager of this bar, a member of the Four Giant Star Gang of Elizabeth Street, "I've heard it from my boss. You know, our Big Boss was the first leader of Elizabeth Street. He used to work under the Godfather."

"Those Metropolis bastards, provoking the Godfather and thinking that he's afraid of them just because he hasn't moved yet. How naive. The Godfather wouldn't personally get his hands dirty..."

"He doesn't have to," Big Beard interjected, "The Gotham of today isn't an age where big bosses still need to handle gunfire themselves."

"He's telling the gangs that even though he's old, as long as he's alive, he'll always be the king of the Gotham underworld," said the skinny man.

"The head doctor gets injured, and the mental hospital closes? Only rookie gangsters would buy such an absurd excuse. Damn head doctor!"

"What do they need a head doctor for? To treat the henpecked guy on the next street who shivers at the sight of eggs?"

Amidst the laughter in the bar, the bartender, cleaning a glass, added: "Look, it's not like head doctors are hard to find. I could even do it, all I gotta do is balance the books and write medical records. No actual patients there that need treating."

"That's why I said, it's all nonsense. The Godfather intentionally cut off this industry to make the gangs realize that if they want to make money with him, they have to obey and take out his enemies for him. Otherwise, they won't earn a dime."

Big Beard took a sip of his whiskey and continued, "The Godfather did exactly the same thing many years ago. He had control over two poppy farms and threatened the downstream gangsters to take out his biggest nuisance at the time, that... Anthony. It was a big deal, if they could truly get their hands on the products of those two farms, they'd make a fortune. But as you all know, the head of that Frenchman was placed on Godfather's table the next day."

"They won't last long," said the skinny man solemnly, "The Metropolis sissies should just crawl back to their holes and stop meddling in Gotham's business."

"Crawl back? I'm afraid they won't have the chance to crawl back anywhere. They're as good as dead."

Meanwhile, Shiller was on the phone in the hospital, "Yes, thank you for your concern. I'm alright, I just... need some rest. I really didn't expect..."

Just as he hung up the call, a nurse came in with a large bouquet, "Seems like it's from the Loren Family."

"Put it there. Thank you. Could you also remove these flowers? They are not so fresh anymore."

The nurse tidied up around the bed, which was filled with flowers and gifts from various gangster families. She couldn't help but remember the chatter amongst her colleagues; even if the Godfather was ill, he might not receive such a grandeur of gifts.

Shiller, on the other hand, was in high spirits. This was like a paid vacation for him. Over these few days, he had received tens of pounds worth of fine wines and cigars alone. Somehow, someone had leaked that he enjoyed smoking cigars. Now, millions worth of expensive cigars had accumulated in his mansion.

The idea to fake his illness was actually inspired by a sudden thought one morning.

Without others needing to remind him, Shiller knew that the people from Metropolis were most definitely targeting him.

After Deathstroke took the money to kill him, but was talked out of it, the people behind the scene wouldn't just easily give up. Possibly due to Deathstroke's refusal, instead of hiring famous solo assassins, they've recruited a gang of thugs, planning gang warfare.

Ordinarily, at a time like this, Shiller would have started a defensive battle with them. Considering Gotham's style, seeking help from the police was wishful thinking. The enemy in the dark, Shiller in broad daylight, the most he could do was hire expensive bodyguards or find people to protect him round the clock.

Even if he could use Gray Mist to locate them, Shiller would have to be very cautious to take down a few singled-out individuals from their group.

But that would just be too stupid. Shiller thought. He didn't want to drag himself down to the level of those thugs and then get beaten by their rich experience.

If the people behind this could afford to hire Deathstroke, then the gang they've gathered wouldn't be small fry either. They must be somewhat capable. Otherwise, they wouldn't have killed the Godfather's people as soon as they arrived in Gotham.

Live in fear every day, worrying about possible assassinations? Shiller wasn't going to do that.

So, after informing Falcone, Shiller "got injured", and it was quite a serious injury.

When asked, he'd say he needed a long time to recover. When asked, he'd say he was in a bad mood and couldn't think straight.

Shiller getting injured wasn't important. The mental hospital had to close down due to the absence of the head doctor. Which gang leader could sit still now?

Having operated for such a long time, those who had first cashed in on the mental hospital had already made a fortune. Those who followed were earnestly investing, spending a great deal of time and money to establish their businesses there. Seeing their returns were just within their reach, they disliked having their businesses abruptly cut off—wouldn't they resent that?

The individuals who had already turned a profit were even more reluctant. Without having to risk being shot at, they only needed to negotiate their share with Shiller and could let the money roll in while kicking back. Who wouldn't want a deal like that? They had already made a lot of money and aimed to make even more. Stopping the business at this point would mean losses, wouldn't it?

On the first day the mental hospital announced its closure, all the phone lines exploded with activity, including Bruce's.

During the time Shiller had returned to Gotham University, Bruce managed the hospital as a proxy. Shiller had not consulted with Bruce about his plan, but Batman—who was Bruce—figured out Shiller's intent within seconds.

And so, the world's richest man did a clean sweep. All the mob bosses who called him, intending to indirectly inquire about the situation, were responded with Bruce's three-point "idiot's guide": I don't know, I'm not sure, and I don't understand.

I am just an idle and empty-headed billionaire, what use is it asking me? You should be asking Evans instead.

Evans was doing well at the hospital, after all, he was the Godfather's son and naturally in the same camp as the mob bosses, leading them to call Evans instead.

Evans also expressed great difficulty. All he could tell the mob bosses was that this was his father's decision, and he could not interfere.

Once he explained this, the mob bosses understood—wasn't it another one of the Godfather's tactics to put a hit out on someone?

They weren't fools. They knew the Godfather was warning them. If the Godfather found himself in a tight spot, none of them would fare any better.

The group from Metropolis had daringly disregarded Gotham's rules, and others had just stood by and watched the spectacle. Now, no one will make any money.

The mob bosses figured that the Godfather was indeed warning them. If they wanted to continue profiting together, they needed to show sincerity. Wherever I pointed, they'd have to strike.

After weighing their options, the mob bosses realized that the so-called guests from Metropolis were simply rabble from Metropolis. They needed to rally their men immediately. Once found, chop them to pieces. No need to see them alive, just show their corpses.

To continue their lucrative business at the mental hospital, the mob bosses were ready to dig three feet into the ground to find the group from Metropolis.

There's no need to elaborate on the audacity of Gotham's mob. Especially when their real interests were threatened, everyone related was frantically looking for and attacking the outsiders.

Initially, this group had found their target, Shiller, shortly after they entered Metropolis. But they didn't act immediately, they held off out of confidence, waiting to strike when they had set up the perfect scenario.

Shiller had moved out from Gotham University and they had been about to close their net. But before they could act, Shiller was suddenly injured!

What? Was he attacked by outsiders from Metropolis? Outsiders from Metropolis? Aren't we those outsiders? But we didn't do anything!

The criminals from Metropolis felt as if they'd swallowed shit. Having been in business for many years, they had seen all sorts of strange things, but this was the first time they had ever been framed!

We haven't made a move yet! He fell on his own! What does that have to do with us?!

But it was obvious that they couldn't clear their names. If you looked for evidence proving they had a hand in it, you'd find plenty. But proving they didn't do anything—especially when the victim was lying in the hospital—what were they supposed to say?

If the victim said that they did it, then they did it.

Even if they didn't actually do anything, if the Godfather said they did, then they did.

They had already staked out a suitable location to plant bombs around Shiller's manor. They had found a good place nearby to keep watch, planning to lure Shiller there. But now that all of Gotham's mobs were looking for them, the place where they had staked out was exposed, and they needed to change locations.

Even though they initially took the Godfather by surprise, they had to resort to sneak attacks. Over the past few days, they had witnessed how Gotham's mob launched a small-scale war. Where in Metropolis were you going to see this kind of spectacle? Now, the mobsters stopped fighting each other and instead united to fight against them.

Looking at the rows of machine guns on the armored vehicles, the rocket launchers in everyone's hands, and even the several rocket artillery vehicles brought by someone who was asking for death—who wouldn't have a pounding heart at this spectacle? Your legs would even feel numb!

And so, the ones who were now on the run were these outsiders. It seemed like Gotham's mob didn't even want to capture them alive. The several places where they had previously hidden were found by the mob, who proceeded to fire rocket launchers, blasting the places. They didn't want any survivors; they only wanted corpses, it didn't matter if they were intact.

When it came to discussing the degree of ruthlessness of the mob, no city in the world could compare to Gotham. And when these ruthless mobsters united to target one group, you could imagine the tragedy that befell their targets.

The loss caused by frequently changing locations not only led to a lack of supplies and difficulty storing daily necessities, but more importantly, once they were discovered, they had to leave someone behind to cover their retreat. After moving several times, they had left behind numerous skilled members. Their group had decreased from dozens to only a few.

They wanted to abandon their mission and run, but Gotham's mob wouldn't give them the opportunity.

No one knew who spread the word that whoever could first hand over a token of allegiance would get the largest slice of the pie. As a result, everyone wanted to capture them to plead for rewards.